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“Nah. I just needed to talk it out, y’know.” She gave him a quick kiss on his beard-stubbled cheek. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Okay, but you be careful,” he warned, “and if you need anything . . .”
“I’ll let you know.”
He walked with her to the back porch. “You do that. Keep me in the loop.”
She sketched a wave and hurried down the two steps and shivered. It wasn’t cold outside, just gloomy. She had things to do.
Such as what?
Keep the kids safe?
Get real.
Patient, lying back in the recliner: “I don’t know what’s happening.”
Therapist: “What do you mean?”
Patient: “People are dying. People I know.”
Therapist, calmly: “Death is a part of life.”
Patient, a little more anxious: “But they’re being murdered! Killed.”
Therapist: “And how does that make you feel?”
Patient, whispering: “Responsible.”
A beat.
Therapist, concerned, leaning forward: “Why do you feel responsible?”
Patient, fighting tears: “Because I think . . . I feel that if it weren’t for me, for my lies, they wouldn’t have died. It all started with Luke.” Tears begin to sprout. “I lied to him, oh, God. I lied to him and I shouldn’t have. I want to talk to him, but I can’t find him. I think . . . I think he’s hiding from me.”
Therapist, eyeing the clock: “That’s long over.”
Patient: “I don’t think so and it haunts me. He haunts me.”
Therapist: “Luke haunts you?”
Patient: “Because of my lies. You told me I could speak to him.”
Therapist, pausing, then: “That might not be possible. You have to let him go.”
Patient, swallowing: “I try, but it’s hard.”
Therapist, relaxing a bit and inhaling the scent of lemongrass from the burning incense: “I know, but you can do it. Now, it’s time for you to surface.”
Patient: “He would never forgive me.”
Therapist: “You can’t bring him back. You can’t undo what’s done, but you can move forward. Look to the future.”
Patient, confused: “What? How?”
Therapist: “Just try. First, look back at the past. What do you see?”
The patient is still uncertain.
