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39
He Can’t Really Love You
PARKER
I’m standing outside Dr. Vera Callahan’s white Victorian-styled home.
It resembles a dollhouse with its wraparound porch, grey-shingled roof, dark green door, and a tower room that juts out of the second floor of the house.
I took a 3 p.m. train ride to Connecticut as soon as I got off from work.
Being in New Canaan is like a breath of fresh air. The town is small and cute, similar to those in movies with little cafes at every corner and antique stores with families everywhere. Sometimes it feels good to be away from the rush of the city.
Besides, the air is fresher without the constant stench of car fumes and greasy food takeouts on every avenue. There aren’t any police cars or ambulance vans rushing around here. Just the lull of nature.
I tuck my hair on both sides, inhale deeply, and press the doorbell. A few moments pass before the door is opened and an elderly man dressed in a tuxedo with white gloves stands there.
He’s smiling even though he doesn’t even know me and it momentarily reminds me of my grandpa and how he’d always be smiling whenever I’d head to L.A. to be with him and grandma.
I have a soft side when it comes to the elderly. Besides, who can’t help but like being around adorable old people? They were certainly better than people my age.
“How can I help you, young lady?” he asks slowly.
“I came to see Dr. Vera Callahan. My name is Parker. She invited me here today,” I tell him.
“Oh, yes. I remember her telling me about you coming. I suppose I forgot,” he murmurs. “I’m Ms. Callahan’s butler, Charles.”
He holds out a wrinkly hand and I shake it. “I’m pleased to meet you, Charles.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Let me take you to Ms. Callahan.” He steps aside and lets me into the house.
The foyer’s ceiling is the first impressive thing I notice when I walk into the house. It’s with a smooth creamy surface and darker wooden panellings that have intricate carvings of flowers and vines. It’s beautiful.
In the middle of the ceiling is an impressive crystal chandelier directly above a dark wooden table with a vase of pretty flowers.
Even though the house is probably over a hundred years old, it feels like things stopped in time from the Victorian Era and nothing has changed.
I follow Charles as he leads me across the foyer to the double glass doors and pushes them open.
“She’s in the garden,” he says as he steps aside and lets me through.
I go out into the garden to find the grass freshly manicured and different rows of rose trees trimmed to perfection.
Just ahead there’s a wooden deck in the middle of the garden with a dark-haired woman sitting in a chair with a book.
As I approach her, she twists her head in my direction and I’m immediately stunned by the youth on her face even though her website states that she’s forty-nine years old.
Her hair is kept in a pin-straight long bob, not one strand out of place and when she smiles, it touches her blue almond-shaped eyes. She’s very elegant in her pale blue wrap dress.
“Hello, you must be Parker.” She reaches out and shakes my hand lightly.
“Yes, thank you so much for meeting with me Dr. Callahan,” I say as I take a seat across from her.
“You can call me Vera and I have to say I mostly agreed out of intrigue,” she explains. “It’s very rare that I get to hear from my patients directly or indirectly. Especially in Hudson’s case.”
I pull out the letter from my jeans pocket. His psychological evaluation. The surface is crinkled from all the hours I’ve spent opening the letter, trying to make sense of everything.
“I received this from someone and I don’t think they had any good intentions by giving it to me.” I hand her the letter.
