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Someone knocks on my door and I jump. Connie is on the floor in a fetal position, her cries loud. Anxiety courses through me; my palms fill with sweat.
"Emma? Is everything okay in there?" Knox's voice calls through the door. Shit. This looks bad, very bad.
I open the door and for some odd reason, relief floods through me. I back away to let Knox in. He glances down at Connie then back up at me, his eyes full of questions. He leans over her as I shut the door.
"We need to call the hospital." I say as Knox kneels down next to Connie.
"Suicidal?" Knox asks and I nod. Tears prick my eyes as the enormity of the situation crashes over me.
I rush to my desk and lift the phone. I press the speed dial for the psych hospital in the city and wait for the call to connect. After speaking with an ER nurse, I arrange for an ambulance to come and collect Connie.
I hang up and turn to see Knox speaking in hushed tones as he rubs Connie's back to comfort her. She doesn't move or respond but Knox continues to whisper to her. My heart melts towards Knox while it aches for Connie.
The next ten minutes become a blur as the ambulance and team of staff from the hospital pull in. Questions are asked in every direction and I do my best to answer. Knox stands by me the entire time; his mere presence comforting.
Once they clear out, I fall onto my couch. "Shit," I mutter, as I rub my hands along my face. Exhaustion runs through me. Guilt rears its ugly head as it digs it way inside me deeper and deeper.
I don't realize Knox is sitting next to me until I feel his warm hand on my back. He rests it there without moving, without saying a thing. Tingles run down my back but I ignore them. Questions overload my brain and I close my eyes in attempt to ward them off.
What if I had helped her more? What if I had seen the signs sooner? Would she have tried to kill herself? Would she feel the way she does?
She'd been doing better; she'd been taking her meds...
"Emma?"
I look up to see Knox studying me, his mind analyzing what he can't see. I know those tricks, doc.
"It's not your fault." Knox says.
"What?" My mouth drops open slightly. He reads me like a book.
"It's not your fault. You did the best you could with her."
"It is my fault, Knox. I've been working with her for so long; I thought she was on her way to getting better. There's something I missed, something I didn't see..."
Knox interrupts me. "Don't do that. Don't beat yourself up over the what ifs. People can seem better or even be better, but one small thing in their life triggers the ugly and they're back to the beginning."
I let Knox's information sink in. He's right, I know he is. He rubs my back and the tingles go into overdrive. He must feel it too because seconds later he pulls away and rubs his hand on his thigh like he's trying to wipe something off.
"She'll be okay, Emma. The psych hospital will take good care of her. You did the right thing."
"I hope so." I whisper. I take a deep breath and glance at the clock. I had Faye cancel the rest of my morning appointments due to the crisis and now it's lunch time.
"Want to grab some lunch?" Knox asks. How does he keep reading my mind?
"I'd love to." I say before I can stop myself.
* * *
A half hour later,the mood is somber over the table Knox and I share. We eat, neither one of us saying much.
"This career is a lot harder than I thought it would be." Knox says, and I look up as I stop eating. My hands move to my lap as my fingers press together.
"It is. Our help isn't always enough. That's the sad part."
Knox sips his water as he does that therapist-let-me-analyze-your-brain look. "We can only do so much. I learned that the hard way."
"How long have you been practicing?" I thread my fingers together and jiggle my leg. Knox ignites a fire in me, a heat stirs in my body.
