Page 8 of Letters From A Stalker

She laughs quietly, shaking her head.

Her son Connor once told me I only have two facial expressions — grumpy and slightly less grumpy. I've never fully recovered from that observation or the fact that a ten year old psychoanalyzed me like he’s the therapist and I’m the patient.

"He's asking if you're still coming over Friday."

"I told him I would."

"I know. He wanted me to remind you anyway."

"I've never forgotten."

"No," she says. "You just work until midnight and then act surprised when everyone else has gone to bed."

"I like my odds."

"He likes beating you at Mario Kart."

"He cheats."

"He's ten."

"He cheats creatively."

"I'll let him know you said that."

"You absolutely will."

She reaches for the tablet tucked beneath her arm, then pauses.

"Oh."

I raise an eyebrow.

"I almost forgot why I came in here.”

Somehow I highly doubt that but play along.

"I was beginning to think this was a wellness check."

"It was both."

She slides the tablet across my desk. "I've got a new intake."

I unlocked it.

"Anything I should know?"

"Nothing urgent.” The answer comes too quickly.

I've known Mara long enough to recognize when she's choosing her words carefully.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning..." She exhales quietly. "I think she's waited a long time before asking for help."

I lower my eyes to the screen.

Julia Hayes.