Gavin blinked. “Yes, you did. That’s exactly what you said. Jesus Christ, you’re actually accusing me of this.”
Anna hesitated. “I haven’t accused you of anything, Gavin.”
“Of course you are. What did I do this weekend? Where was I Friday night? This is unbelievable. I come here for help. I come here, trusting you to help me deal with a personal crisis, and what happens?” He shook his head. “This is fucking unbelievable. So I guess every time something bad happens to anyone in Milford, I’m immediately the number one suspect. Was there a hit-and-run this weekend? A bank robbery? Did someone steal a candy bar from the 7-Eleven? Do you think I had anything to do with those things, too?”
Anna had begun to look slightly less sure of herself. “You have to admit, Gavin, that what happened to that woman is not unlike the stunt you pulled, the one that landed you here.”
“I swear, I don’t even know who that woman is. What’s her name?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Yeah, well, if you think it’s me, you might as well, since I’d already know it, right? But I don’t. If I’m the prime suspect, why haven’t the police been to see me?”
Anna said nothing.
“So wait, not only are you accusing me of doing this horrible thing, but you think I’m snooping around in your computer? Checking out who comes to see you and what their problems are?” He shook his head and adopted a wounded expression. “Wow. So this is the kind of help and understanding I’m getting. I’m sure going to get better coming to see you a couple of times a week.”
“Gavin—”
He stood. “I can’t do this.”
“Gavin, killing an animal is a sign of a more serious issue than any we’ve dealt with so far. You need to understand that—”
“Understand what?” he shouted. He jabbed a finger in her direction. “I should report you or something. There must be some kind of ethics commission or something for you people. They need to know!” He stood.
“Gavin, sit down!”
“No, I think I’ve had just about—”
The door suddenly swung open. Paul Davis stood there, looked quickly at Gavin, then at Anna.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I heard—are you okay, Dr. White?”
She got out of her chair. “We’re fine here, Paul.”
“I heard shouting and—”
“Whatever your fucking problem is,” Gavin said to Paul, “don’t expect her to help you.”
Paul gave Gavin a long look. “You need to calm down, buddy.”
“Buddy?” Gavin said. “Are we buddies?” He regarded Paul curiously, as if wondering whether they had met before. “You’re Paul? Did I hear that right?”
Slowly, Paul said, “Yeah.”
“Well, Paul, good luck.”
He started for the door so quickly that Paul didn’t have time to step out of his way. Gavin put his hands on the front of his jacket to toss him to one side, knocking Paul’s head into the jamb.
“Shit!” Paul said, touching his head for half a second, but just as quickly pushing back. Gavin stumbled from the office to the small waiting room.
“Asshole,” Gavin said.
Now they were both pawing at each other, each trying to grab the other by a lapel so as to make it easier to land a punch with a free hand.
“Gavin, stop it!” Anna screamed.
They stopped, looked in unison at her. As each released his grip on the other, Gavin turned and ran for the door.
“Paul, I’m so sorry,” Anna said.
He brushed himself off, as though some of Gavin had somehow stayed with him. “I’m okay.”
“Your head,” she said. “Did you hit your head in the same spot?”
He touched it again. “No, it’s okay. I’m fine. What about you?”
“I’m okay,” she said, then frowned.
“What the fuck is his problem?” Paul asked, glancing at the door through which Gavin had departed. “What was his name? Gavin?”
“I think I just handled something very badly.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Mr. Hitchens is my problem, not yours. Do you still want to talk? I’ll understand if all this—”
“I’m okay, if you’re okay.”
“I just need a minute,” she said, taking her seat.
“You’re shaking,” Paul said. “We don’t have to do this.”
“No, no, we do. What just happened here, it’s still nothing compared to what you’ve been through.” She sat up straight, raised her chin, and said, “I’m ready.”
“You’re sure?”
A confident nod to assure him she was back on track. “So, tell me what’s happened since we last spoke.”
He filled her in on his online research and how it was having an empowering effect, although it hadn’t stopped the nightmares. He told her that Charlotte’s gift of an antique typewriter had triggered a bizarre dream that seemed so real, he ended up blaming his son for something he clearly had not done.
“I texted him an apology. It took him the better part of a day to reply.” He paused, reflecting. “Do I seem borderline suicidal to you?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“It was something a friend said. He seemed worried I might do something stupid.”
“I would say no,” Anna said. “But you’d tell me if your thoughts were trending in that direction?”
“Of course.” He also told her about not remembering his drive home one day, forgetting about texts he’d sent, other memory lapses.
“When do you see the neurologist again?”
“Couple of weeks.” Another pause. Then, “Do you know anything about visiting someone in prison?”
“Not much.”
Paul nodded. “From what I read on the state website, the inmate needs to put you on a list. Unless you’re, you know, a police detective or a lawyer or something.”
“You still want to see Kenneth Hoffman.”
Paul bit his lip. “I think so. I know closure is a huge cliché, but a sit-down with him might provide some. You always hear it on the news. How the family of a murder victim gets closure on the day the accused is convicted.”
“I’d say that’s something of a myth,” Anna said. “But I won’t stop you from looking into a visit. In the meantime, you can think about what you’d want to say to him. What you’d want to ask him.”
“I’d like to know if he’s sorry.”
Anna smiled wryly. “Would it make a difference?”
Paul shrugged. “If I can get in to see him, I don’t want to go alone.”
Anna nodded. “You’d want to take Charlotte.”
“No. I’d want you to come.”
Anna’s eyebrows went up. “Oh.”
“I don’t know if I could come back here and give you an accurate account of what happened. Having you there to observe could be helpful.”
Anna appeared to be considering it. “I don’t normally do house calls.”
Paul grinned. “You mean, Big House calls.”
_________________
WHEN PAUL WENT OUT TO HIS CAR, HE COULD NOT FIND HIS KEYS. Anna said if she found them, she’d let him know. He called Charlotte, who picked him up at Anna’s, drove him home, and unlocked the door. Once he had his spare keys, Charlotte drove him back to Anna’s so he could retrieve his Subaru.
That night, over dinner, he told Charlotte about what had happened at Anna’s before his session had started.
“Some people,” he observed, “are even more fucked-up than I am.”
They killed off a bottle of chardonnay while watching a movie. At least, part of one. Halfway through, Charlotte ran her hand up the inside of Paul’s thigh and said, “Is this movie boring or what?”
“It is now,” he said.
When they turned the lights out shortly after eleven, Paul thought, Things are getting better.
_________________
AND THEN, AT SIX MINUTES PAST THREE, IT HAPPENED AGAIN.
Chit chit. Chit chit chit. Chit. Chit chit.
Fourteen
Before the sounds of the Underwood reached him, Paul had been dreaming.
In the dream, he has a stomachache. He’s on the bed, writhing, clutching his belly. It feels as though something is moving around in there. Something alive. It’s like that Alien movie, where the creature bursts out of John Hurt’s chest as the crew of the Nostromo eat lunch.