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CHAPTER 3
Twenty Years Later
“You know what they say, Kara,” Dr. Zhou suggested, her thin eyebrows raising a bit as she sat in an overstuffed chair in her office on the second floor of a historic house set in northwest Portland.
“No, but ‘they’ve’ always got something profound on their minds. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed,” Kara responded, then asked, “Ever wonder who ‘they’ are?”
“Oh, I know who they are. The sages. The wise ones through the ages.” Dr. Zhou’s dark eyes sparkled a bit, catching the afternoon light slanting in from the window. She was a small woman. Petite. Jet-black hair, intelligent eyes and a lean body from running marathons.
“Well, they’ve got an advantage, don’t they? You know, the benefit of hindsight and all that.” Kara’s gaze slid to the window. The December sun was peeking through high, rolling clouds that promised more snow, sunlight gleaming on icicles hanging from the eaves. Like crystal daggers. She’d heard on her Jeep’s radio that more snow was predicted, a foot on Christmas Eve. Kara shuddered at the thought. There was no dreaming of a white Christmas for her. More like a nightmare.
“You’re right.”
“So, what great insight are they offering today? Enlighten me.”
“That guilt is a jealous lover.”
“Oh, save me.” Kara didn’t want to hear it.
“She doesn’t leave room for any other emotions, chases them away, guards her position in a person’s heart feverishly.”
“And guilt is a woman? Of course.” Kara let out a bitter laugh. “So now, you’re not just my psychologist. Now you’ve graduated to philosopher?” She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.
“Just a gentle reminder.”
As if Kara could ever fight the survivor’s guilt that was her constant companion and had been for two decades.
Twenty years of therapy, of becoming an adult, of facing the trauma that had left her scarred for life, and she wasn’t anywhere near to being “okay.” She knew there was no cure, but she had been told there was a life out there for her, a “normal” life, as she’d been told by a child psychologist, a teen counselor and now Dr. Zhou, the third professional she’d seen as an adult.
Kara wasn’t sure that “normal” was in the cards for her.
“You said you aren’t seeing any more ghosts,” Dr. Zhou said. “Right?”
“I should never have told you,” Kara said. “It was just a silly dream.”
“A sillyrecurringdream.”
“Yeah, but nothing for a while now,” Kara lied. “Not for two, maybe three months.”
Dr. Zhou’s eyes were assessing. She leaned back in her chair, tapping a pencil to her lips. As if she didn’t believe her patient. “What about the feeling that you’re being watched? That someone might be stalking you?”
Kara lifted a shoulder. “That’s better, too.”
“Is it?” More disbelief as she dropped the pencil into a cup on a small table.
“Yes!” Kara said.
Frowning thoughtfully, the little lines appearing between her eyebrows more distinct, Dr. Zhou said, “Look, Kara, I know this is a rough time of the year for you, and that makes my going away for the holidays difficult, but you’ve got Dr. Prescott’s number and my cell if it’s an emergency.”
“Isn’t it always an emergency?” Kara asked, half joking. She wasn’t going to call a different psychologist, wasn’t going to have a session with a new person in a new office. Wasn’t about to start over, or bring Dr. Zhou’s associate up to speed. No, she was comfortable here in this room with its icy green walls, soft furniture and framed watercolors of fields of flowers. And with this shrink. Finally. She’d gone through her share of others.
“Comes with the territory.” Dr. Zhou stood and stretched out a hand. Then when Kara tried to take it, Zhou hugged her instead. The doctor was a few inches shorter than Kara, but that didn’t stop her from patting Kara’s back. Then she straightened. “I’ll see you January seventh. Yes?”
“Unless I’m all better.”
“Uh-huh.” There was more than a note of sarcasm in the psychologist’s tone. They both knew that not only were the holidays the worst time of the year for Kara, but this year there was an added wrinkle: Jonas, her surviving brother, was getting out of prison. In two days.
Oh. Joy.
