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Stop it, she admonished herself. Matt would never get romantically involved with one of his students. Never.
“And he’s uncomfortable about that?”
“I don’t think so.” Sophie shrugged. “He just wants to make sure I’m with him all the way, doesn’t want to rush me through my college years, give me time to sow my wild oats if I need to. I really love him for that. It’s just another way he shows me that he’s thinking about me, loves me. I’ve never felt so cared for in my life.”
Phyllis felt increasingly convinced that she wasn’t talking about Matt; he would never lead a girl on, as this man seemed to be doing. “And do you need to sow any wild oats?” she asked mildly.
Think, Phyllis.
“No way. I’ve always known that when I found the man who was right for me, I’d recognize him—and I’d be done looking.”
Phyllis studied Sophie carefully, her certain expression, the legs now still, her open body posture. “And you recognize him?”
“Absolutely.”
Or was it just that this young girl had nothing to compare her current lover to?
“Have you had other boyfriends?” Phyllis asked. She only had about ten more minutes before she had to leave for class. She wasn’t finished yet.
“Several,” Sophie said. “One of them, Paul, is still hanging around, though I haven’t gone out with him since April thirteenth of last year.”
“You remember the day of your last date?” Kind of remarkable, considering she had no interest in the guy.
“I remember because the very next night he slept with someone else.”
Phyllis filed that information away, too.
“Did you love him before that?”
“I thought I did.”
“And how does that feeling compare to what you feel now?”
“There is no comparison. The man I love would never be unfaithful. Not ever.” One of Sophie’s legs was bobbing again. And she was studying her right index finger, frowning as she ran her thumb over the marked knuckle.
Phyllis wasn’t quite as satisfied as Sophie that this paragon of virtue was as perfect as he seemed.
If the man loved her so much, was so concerned about her, why didn’t he see that she needed help? The symptoms had been obvious even to Matt, and he only saw her a few hours a week in class. During shows and rehearsals, too, but everyone was occupied with work during those intense and busy hours.
Sophie continued to worry her knuckle—and Phyllis continued to watch that slow back-and-forth motion of thumb over forefinger.
The girl was far too confident, considering the very serious problem she had. If Sophie wasn’t careful, she was going to kill herself.
“Have you ever made yourself throw up?” Boldness wasn’t Phyllis’s us
ual style.
But they were running out of time. If Phyllis couldn’t coax Sophie into coming back for another meeting—and since the girl thought she had no problems, getting her to come back wasn’t likely—she had to reach her within the next five minutes.
“Hasn’t everybody?” Sophie asked, resettling herself in her chair and reaching for her bag on the floor by her feet. “Haven’t you ever had too much to drink and known that if you could just throw up, you’d feel better?”
Phyllis had never been much for drinking.
“Have you ever made yourself throw up?” she repeated. “When you think you’ve had too much to drink—or eat?”
“Sure. Everyone does it.”
Yeah, and that’s a way to avoid the fact that you have a problem. Convince yourself that “everyone” does it, thus making it normal.
