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“You seem uncomfortable,” said the middle-aged woman with the black glasses.
“Just a little,” he confessed. This place wasn’t what he’d expected. It looked like some cozy den tucked away in the back of one of the spec houses he’d built over at Dolphin Isles. At least there wasn’t a couch. Just a few overstuffed chairs and a desk. No padded walls.
Dr. Joanna Carson, LCP, smiled at him. “That’s a normal reaction when you first start therapy.”
He waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t, which meant the ball was in his court. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So let’s talk about why you’re here.”
“Like I said, I want to figure out what mistakes I made in my past marriages so I don’t make them again.”
“Because you’re thinking of getting remarried?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On what you tell me.”
“You don’t strike me as the type of man who sits back and lets other people tell him what to do.”
“Listen, doc—”
“Please, call me Joanna.”
“Okay, Joanna, I didn’t come here to listen to a bunch of platitudes. I really need your help. I don’t want to fu—I don’t want to screw up this time.”
“Why do you think you need help?”
If the next words out of her mouth were “And how do you feel about that?” he was out the door. When he’d walked by her office the other day on the way to the construction site, he’d taken it as a sign. He’d checked out her credentials online, but that still didn’t mean she wasn’t a quack. Maybe this had been nothing but a big mistake.
“I’ve been divorced three times. Most people would say there’s something wrong with me.”
“Do you think there’s something wrong with you?”
“My third wife told me the other day that I was a cold son-of-a-bitch.”
“Are those your words or hers?”
“Mine,” he admitted.
She kept her expression neutral. “And is that how you see yourself?”
He hesitated. There was no good way to answer that question. Not without validating Terrie’s opinion of him.
“Look, Steve, this isn’t going to work if you’re not honest. What is it about the idea of therapy that you dislike?”
“It’s just not for me.”
“Yet, you’re here. No one forced you to walk through my door the other day to make an appointment. Did they?”
“No. Not exactly. It’s just…look, I don’t see how this is going to work.”
“All right. Make sure to leave your billing address with the receptionist out front.” She began to get up.
“Wait. That’s it? You’re giving up on me already?”
“I think you’re the one who’s giving up. But if you’d like to talk some more, you still have almost an hour left in the session.”
