She flinches.
She hides it fast, sliding on that calm smile. But it’s there. A tiny crack in her smooth facade. I see it. And that little frisson of tension in her face goes through me like a blade of ice. I resist the urge to fidget, holding my fingers steady in my lap.
“You remember Julien, right?” I ask. “From our study group?”
She smiles, but I can tell she’s uneasy. Maybe even sad. Apparently even trained clinical therapists aren’t immune to the clenched jaw and tight smiles that give the rest of us away.
“I believe I remember Julien,” she says softly. “As you remember, my time with your study group was very limited. Just a few minutes here and there. I sadly didn’t have the opportunity to know you very well as individuals.”
Is she making excuses? It sounds like excuses. And the way she’s playing with her pen looks like guilt.
Oh God, Maggie was right. Something happened to Julien, and Dr. Kirkpatrick knows what it is.
“I don’t think Julien wanted to move to California.” I say it before I can stop myself.
“Sometimes families make decisions that will upset some of the parts of the whole.”
“Maybe. Or maybe none of them wanted to go.”
This time there’s no mistaking the way her cheeks go pale. She is nervous. Maybe even scared.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” I say, chewing my lip before the accusation I’m feeling shows. “The Millers have been here forever. Mr. Miller was on the Chamber of Commerce. And Julien loved it here. They all did. And now, she’s just gone.”
She uncrosses and recrosses her legs and glances down at her notebook. “You know, Chloe, I believe our lives should be examined and explored until some sort of understanding is reached.”
“Well, you are a therapist. Wouldn’t it be weird if you didn’t think that?”
She smiles then, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “That’s probably true. But despite believing that, I also know that some things in life don’t have answers. Some things must just be accepted.”
“Are you telling me it’s not important for me to understand why she’s gone?”
I’m hoping it will rattle her, but it doesn’t. Her smile softens with her eyes, telling me that I’m playing right into her hand.
“What I think is most important here is that you miss her,” Dr. Kirkpatrick says. Her ultracalm mask has descended, the little notepad she uses held easily in her palm. “I think the real lesson to be learned is how to deal with that loss.”
I shrug and slouch back in my chair in defeat. The clock ticks by and I let it. I need a minute to get myself together. I should have known I wasn’t going to lead this whole conversation. Her whole job is to take the reins in here.
“Maybe it isn’t just Julien that I miss,” I say at length.
“Is there something else you’re missing, Chloe?”
“Nothing obvious. I mean, I have the perfect life right now, like every little thing has been laid out exactly like it should be.”
“You don’t sound pleased by that.”
I glance up at her, letting a bit of the accusation I’m feeling show. “Well, maybe I didn’t want the perfect life. Maybe I liked the life I had just fine.”
I watch her closely now, but her face is remarkably still. I see her hands though, her knuckles going white in her lap. It’s more than enough proof for me.
She knows things. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be on edge like this, her face as smooth and hard as stone.
Her eyes flick up to the clock and her jaw unclenches. “I’m afraid we’re running short on time today. I’d like to talk more about your feelings on this next week. Can you prepare for that?”
“I’ll be ready,” I say, knowing my smile is bordering on predatory.
Which is exactly how I want it to be. I’m not some mute seventeen-year-old who’s going to be terrified into silence because this woman’s got a few degrees on her wall. I have every right to know what’s happened to me, whether or not she wants to tell me.
I let the door close behind me, leaving Dr. Kirkpatrick alone. The lobby is empty, which is typical since I’m the last appointment of the day. I pull on my coat and look at the empty receptionist’s desk.
I look at it for a long time.
No. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a snoop.
Still, no matter how many times I say it in my head, I still frown at the motion sensor above the main door as I push it open. The door chimes, indicating my exit. Except I’m not exiting. I’m wedging my purse in the door and walking back toward Dr. Kirkpatrick’s office.
Not my proudest moment.
My cheeks are burning with shame as I lean closer to her door.
It’s totally silent. Okay, not totally, but the paper shuffling and the soft tap of keys are the only things I’m hearing. And it’s not exactly a sinister sound track.
Any minute now, she’s going to come out here with her lipstick refreshed and her briefcase in hand and I’m going to be standing here, looking obvious and creepy.
Still, it’s a little concerning how easily I can hear through this door. Normally, there’s some soft elevator music out here, but apparently the receptionist turned that off on her way out.
Ugh, I need to go. This is just too slimy.
“It’s me.”
My head perks up at the sound of Dr. Kirkpatrick’s voice. This is not her therapy voice. This voice is tired, a little wary maybe.
“I know you don’t want to talk, Daniel, but my career is on the line here,” she says.
Great. I’m stalking my own therapist so I can listen to her fight with her husband? Clearly, I do need therapy. Probably for the rest of my life if I don’t get my crap together and get out of here.
“Well, if everything’s so fine, why is Chloe Spinnaker asking me about Julien?”
Everything goes cold and still, inside and out. I don’t blink or breathe. I stand there, legs turning to jelly, wishing I could hear whatever’s being said on the other end of the line.
She’s talking quieter now, or maybe she’s turned so that she’s facing the other way.
The phone rattles into the cradle, and I bolt like a horse out of the gate. I dance sideways through the waiting room, trying not to knock into the magazine stand between the chairs.
My heart is drumming so loud I can feel it behind my ears. I slink over to my purse, tugging it free of the door as I step outside.
***
The light from my front door looks like heaven. I feel myself deflate like a balloon as I turn off the car, my shoulders finally relaxing.
I still know nothing. Tomorrow I’ll still wake up with a gaping hole in my memory and a best friend who won’t speak to me. Plus, I have no idea who the hell this Daniel person is or how he fits into all of this.
But I’m one piece closer, and that’s something.
Outside, the air is frigid, and I find myself cursing my missed summer again. I climb the steps to my porch with visions of a hot shower and fleece pajama pants in my future.
I toss my keys on the end table and chuck my coat on the hook by the door. And then I hear someone laughing in the kitchen. No, not someone. Someones.
“Chloe?”
It’s my mom who calls out, and I’m about to answer when another figure appears in the kitchen doorway. Blake. Blake is standing in my kitchen, sock-footed and holding a mug of something steamy.
I see my mom and my dad and everyone’s smiling and this is supposed to be normal, but my teeth are starting to chatter again and then he’s kissing me. Right in front of my parents. He just leans in and kisses me, letting it linger just long enough so that it feels like he’s proving a point.
“Hey, babe,” he says.
I return his embrace like a puppet, invisible strings lifting my arms and placing them around his middle. Over his shoulder I can see my delighted parents. Or my delighted mother at least. My dad’s smile looks just a little too tight around the edges to totally convince me.