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She’d scheduled a video call with Charlee for 7 p.m. and the clock read 7:08. Eight minutes was enough to warrant panic. Charlee had second thoughts. That was it.
If the Pender woman flaked on her, Kenna would have entered an undefined degree of psychological distress.
A walking, not yet recognized DSM entry.
The apartment was empty. Quiet. Alex was at a concert in Portland and wouldn’t return home until late.
She poured a generous amount of red moscato. The rose-tinted liquid sloshed around in the glass until she retracted the bottle. The scene presented itself as a pair of girlfriends gearing up for a casual conversation though it was destined to be anything but. A pen and notebook stood by for their deployment. She was armed and ready. Still, an air of unease simmered in her gut.
The call would either quell her fears or worsen them. She’d spent the bulk of the afternoon praying for the former.
But if there was nothing to tell, Charlee wouldn’t have been calling.
Kenna nearly spilled her wine as a loud, cheery ringtone blared. She accepted the incoming call and her adrenaline descended from its astronomical peak as Charlee materialized on the screen.
“Sorry for the delay. I’m notoriously awful with wine corks.”
Her golden blonde hair was identical in length to Dr. Merino’s, stopping short at her shoulders. It bobbed while she scooted her chair in at what Kenna assumed was a dining table.
She raised her own bottle. “Twist top.”
“I need to make that switch.” Charlee sipped from a petite stemmed glass. A faint smile played at her raspberry glossed lips, like the forced joviality was an effort to cheer herself up. She looked like the poster girl for some off-brand antidepressant. “I almost canceled.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“How did you find me? He didn’t say anything, did he?”
Her defensive, paranoid edge made Kenna’s scalp prickle. With those two questions, Charlee had set the tone for the conversation that lay ahead; the one that she had awaited with raging anxiety. Now, that anxiety morphed into a more menacing feeling. One of terror, uncertainty.
Despite the obvious threat of danger, she proceeded.
“I saw a picture of you two on theHerald’s website, taken at the Alzheimer’s 5K.” Realizing the information may have sounded creepy, she added, “I googled him.”
Charlee redirected her gaze to the keyboard. “So, is Dr. M your shrink or your mentor?”
“Mentor.”
“Just like me.” The murmur almost went unregistered by the laptop’s microphone. Her mouth twisted in a grim manner, resembling neither a frown nor a smile but rather something that was altogether unpleasant. She deadpanned, “Is he still calling you ‘miss?’”
Kenna didn’t like the aura of discomfort that accompanied the woman’s foul expression, nor did she like the pointed question. Whatever answer she provided, she’d be met with an unfavorable response. There was something in Charlee’s face that hinted toward horror, the way her damp eyes pleaded through the poor resolution of the display.
“Miss O’Callaghan.”
“Try to keep it that way. When he starts calling you by your first name, you’re fucked.”
She skimmed the list of questions she’d jotted down. Charlee had communicated her pain before the verbalization of a single one.
A formal approach would’ve been inappropriate, especially since she had skin in the game. Script be damned.
“What happened with the two of you?”
“Fall of senior year, he was my mentor. When we started working together, I thought he was an asshole—but in a sexy way, you know? Later, I found out he was just really lonely; but there was something enticing about that.”
Kenna knew precisely what Charlee meant. Dr. Merino was mysterious—there was no denying that—but it was tinged with malevolence and that was decidedly not sexy.
Not by her standards.
“Our dynamic shifted over the months. It was so subtle, I didn’t realize it was happening, but thinking back on it now, it’s clear as ever. Like he’d had everything planned from the start, from our first meeting.” Charlee tugged at one of her teardrop-shaped earrings and her mouth pulled into something reminiscent of a smile as her eyes brightened. “That picture you saw, from the 5K? He kissed me that day. Really kissed me. Toe-curling, heart-pounding, magic. But I was in a committed relationship at the time, and I didn’t know how to handle Dr. M’s advances.”
