Page 89 of The Wedding Party

ANDI

My interview with Carrie will be held in what is far from a normal interview setting.

The receptionist for the treatment facility, Jeananne, takes my coat and then leads me to a cozy room lined with book-filled shelves, with a crackling fire in a fireplace. Four chairs circle a coffee table, with a plate of cookies on top. I sit facing the door, setting my bag on the floor at my feet.

“Would you like a latte, Agent Castle?” Jeananne offers. “We have a full coffee bar.”

“Oh. Well, sure. Can you make a white mocha?”

She offers me a small smile. “We can make you a delicious white mocha.”

And she’s right. A few minutes later, I’m left alone in the room to enjoy one of the best white mochas I’ve ever had. Carrie is living the life of luxury, if you can call being captive in a treatment facility while recovering from the murder of your fiancé living a life of luxury.

The door opens and a tall, attractive Black woman enters, followed by Carrie and Ms. Littleton. Ms. Littleton is in a hot-pink blouse and skirt, always doing her best at an attention grab. Carrie is in black like myself, but while I’m in a pantsuit, she’s in a simple, loose-fitting dress. I stand and the tall Black woman offers me her hand. “I’m Dr. Thompson,” she greets me. “I’m Carrie’s doctor, and for her safety, I’d like to sit in today.”

“Of course,” I say. “I’m more than fine with that.”

“For her safety,” Ms. Littleton says, “I’m also sitting in.”

“Sorry, Agent Castle. They want to protect me, but I do want to talk to you. I just don’t want to become the fall guy, either.”

“Let’s sit,” Dr. Thompson suggests. “And I highly recommend the cookies. They’re amazing.”

The shift in topic is one I accept reluctantly but willingly. Patience is a virtue. We’ll shift back to Carrie. I’ll get to ask my questions. “If the coffee is any indication of how good the cookies are, I have no doubt,” I say, making small talk, but I’m aware of the bombshell I have to lay on Carrie today. I can’t warn the doctor or Ms. Littleton. I need to know if Carrie knows about her father. I need a genuine reaction.

“What have you remembered?” I ask.

Dr. Thompson reaches for a notebook on the shelf and then says, “When she hides, she has a reason to hide. I need you to understand that, Agent.”

“All right,” I say. “I’m clear on that point.”

“Good,” she says. “I’ll assume you’re sincere in that response.” She offers me the notebook. “Carrie wants you to have her therapy journal.”

Interesting, I think, accepting the journal. Surely someone on Carrie’s team knows a written journal holds liability. Or maybe they don’t. “You wrote this, Carrie?” I ask, needing her confirmation.

“I’ve been writing things down as I remember them,” she confirms, and now, seeing her in a calmer state, I’m struck by her sincere and gentle nature. And I certainly see why so many people close to her stood by her. “There’s not a lot there, but the one thing that really stands out,” she continues, “is a sense of me needing to save Oliver and failing him. I just . . . I don’t know what that means.”

Dr. Thompson chimes in. “I’ve explained to Carrie that this feeling could be guilt oriented, which is normal in the aftermath of a tragedy. We blame ourselves.”

“Do you remember anything else at all?”

“I have these weird flashes of memory, but none of them make sense,” Carrie replies. “One of the memories I realize was actually from months back. I don’t remember drinking a lot. And Dr. Thompson tells me there wasn’t a high level of alcohol in my system.”

“But there was a high level of trauma,” Dr. Thompson states. “Carrie has agreed to stay with me for another three weeks. I believe we can make progress if we can keep working together.”

“I’m sure you can see how this helps us all,” Ms. Littleton adds quickly. “We all want and need Carrie to remember what happened the night—” She catches herself before she says something she obviously thinks will traumatize Carrie, and finishes with, “Well, that night.”

I don’t agree or disagree, and I won’t until after I finish reading Carrie. “Do you know your biological parents, Carrie?”

“What does that have to do with this?” Ms. Littleton pipes up.

“I have to agree, Agent Castle,” Dr. Thompson interjects.

“Of course not,” Carrie states. “I’m adopted.”

“You’ve never looked for your biological family?”

“Never even considered it,” she says easily.