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“Fine.” I grab my wine, spin on my heel, and call for Banjo.
I find myself pausing in the hallway. I don’t know where to go. I don’t want to see Aunt Jenny, I don’t want to go to the bedroom Shepherd and I share, and I don’t want to sit in the living room which is adjacent to the kitchen. My home, my sanctuary, is turning into a place where I no longer want to be.
My throat suddenly feels like it’s constricting. Tears well in my eyes. I feel like I’m on the fringe of a panic attack, which only makes it worse. Frantically, I swing open the door closest to me—the basement door. After fumbling with the light switch, I stumble down the steps, Banjo at my heels, barely making it to the couch before the tears bubble over.
An hour later, I hear the door slam, Shepherd’s truck fire up, and the garage door open and close.
Three hours later, he returns.
I wait until my husband is passed out in bed before opening a new text.
Me: You up?
Kellan: Yes.
Me: Alone?
Kellan: Of course.
Me: I’ll see you at The Cliff in 15.
TWENTY-ONE
AMBER
It’s two in the morning. I can’t sleep.
After ensuring Mark is deep in slumber, I slip out of the blankets, and quietly pad out of the room.
I tiptoe to Connor’s bedroom and slowly open the door. Moonlight pools on the hardwood floor, illuminating a new baseball glove, probably from Mark’s mom. I cross the room to the twin-size bed in the corner.
Connor is still asleep, curled into a ball under the red flannel comforter that’s at least two sizes too big for his bed. His soft, chestnut-brown hair is sticking out from all angles and it makes me smile. Inhaling, I cross my arms over my chest and lean down. His sweet angel face is peaceful.
“Keep sleeping well, my baby,” I whisper, then make my exit.
I tiptoe downstairs and retrieve my laptop briefcase. After turning on the stove light, I fill a glass of water and slide into a seat at the kitchen table.
I pull out the mystery notebook I found in my old client couch and begin thumbing through the pages.
Entry after entry, filled with daily logs of what this mystery person ate, drank, and how many Xanax she took. Incoherent writings of a woman who, I believe, has a severe case of anorexia, coupled with anxiety and depression. By now, I have built an image of the woman in my head—and it’s not pretty. Eating disorders are extremely common, and most common in wealthy or affluent populations. The illness is typically triggered by cultural pressures, skewed perception of one’s weight or body type, or traumatic events. I have treated women with this illness in the past. One was a woman who had recently lost her mother, with whom she was extremely close. The woman was jarringly skinny but unaware that she had developed an eating disorder in her attempt to regain a sense of control over her life. She could control food, and therefore became obsessed with it.
The personality types of those who are more likely to experience eating disorders are typically anxious, obsessive, perfectionist, and achievement-oriented.
So, with all that in mind, I’d say the owner of this mystery journal is an affluent woman in her mid-forties with generalized anxiety disorder and several unresolved traumas in her life. Perhaps she is in the throes of a mid-life crisis, though is unaware.
I spend a few minutes trying to recall previous clients that fit this description; but I can’t quite place her.
I flip the page, skim through the logs.
Bfast: Coffee. Black, no sugar, no creamer. Xanax.
Lunch: 1/2 apple with 1 tablespoon of peanut butter. Coffee, black, no sugar. Apple cider vinegar and ashwagandha root.
Dinner: Protein shake. Vodka. Xanax.
Feelings: I feel crazy. Sometimes, I really think I’m crazy. When I don’t feel like I want to cry, I feel like I want to drive my car into a telephone pole. I feel like a slug, weak, and lightheaded, but also like a tornado is spinning in my body. Like my bones are rattling underneath. I think I need to make an appointment with doc to increase the dosage of my Xanax. Or maybe switch to valium?
Workout: HIIT and hill ride, upper body strength training, ten-minute sit-up circuit.
