Page 4 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

Cara speaking. A tick-tock of the Grandfather clock. Her own heartbeat.

“Lastly, three things you can touch, please.”

The rug beneath her tickled her neck. Her dress felt a bit too tight around her throat. And her finger swept over the ridged line of a clean scar on her inner, left wrist.

“And how do you feel now?” Cara asked.

Catherine swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Better.”

“How often do you get anxiety attacks?”

“Lately? Every day.”

Cara tipped her head to the side, and Catherine met her gaze. “Try that trick when you’re alone and having one. Try it when you’re not alone and having one. It helps to give your mind different things to focus on while reminding your body and brain you are still here.”

“Okay.”

“Would you like to hear my rules for our talks?” Cara asked.

Catherine pursed her lips. “I suppose you won’t care if I say I don’t want to talk, or that you don’t need to come back.”

“Because those are lies, Catherine. You do need to talk, and I will be back.”

“I figured.”

Cara pushed up into a sitting position, and rested into an Indian-style pose. “The rules for me are simple. You can speak about whatever you want, and I expect you to, but you can also trust that nothing you say will ever go beyond you and me.”

“Not even to my mom and dad?”

“Especially not to them,” Cara replied. “That’s up to you to tell them whatever you need or want to, not me. As long as you’re not planning to harm yourself, or someone else, I’ll never say a word. Also, you’ll find no judgement from me. I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to help.”

“And what about the rules for me?”

“No lying. No wasting my time. Simple enough.”

Catherine glanced away when Cara shot a look over her shoulder. “I do that a lot.”

“Hmm?”

“Lie.”

“Not to me, you won’t.”

“You think you can tell the difference?” Catherine asked.

“I think you should not test me where that is concerned,” Cara said frankly. “You see, I sincerely do not want my time wasted, especially when I know there are a dozen more young women just like you that I could be helping in one way or another. Women who are in desperate need, yet, I chose to get on a plane today, and come to you. I chose, out of the dozens of files on my desk, that you would be the young woman I needed to sit with and talk to. But I do have others. So if you plan to make this difficult simply because you can, then maybe my first instinct to come here was wrong. Right now, however, I know you are the one in need of my help. I would like to give that to you.

“Tell me, Catherine,” Cara continued, still calm and soothing in her tone, “about what you might like to get from me being here with you. Say you do decide to talk, and that perhaps I can help. What would you like to walk out of here having gained from this?”

Catherine didn’t even have to think about it.

Not really.

She wanted him—Cross Donati.

That meant she had to … get up off the fucking floor, get better, and figure her goddamn life out. She had to do it alone.

She was a mess.