A pleasant darkness surrounded him. The air felt inky. Under the scar she had carved on him, his heart fought to pump. “I feel strange,” he said. It slurred a little in his mouth.
Fifteen feet away from him Gretchen slumped to the floor, her arm dangling above her, cuffed to the banister. He could feel it, even here, even like this. That’s how strong his desire for her was.
He tried to stand up and slumped to his knees, overcome by a wave of vertigo. She reached her free arm toward him, stretching her fingers in the air. And he crawled to her, first on his hands and knees, then, as his skin got cold and his muscles failed, he dragged himself to her on his elbows.
He collapsed when he reached her and she took his head in her lap.
“You fucking moron,” she said.
“I know,” said Archie.
CHAPTER
61
Gretchen Lowell crosses her legs and leans forward on the striped chair.
“So, how do we do this?” Archie asks. He feels out of place in Gretchen’s house. He agreed to the individual sessions she offered mostly to be polite. He didn’t expect them to be in her home. It feels vaguely inappropriate.
Her blue eyes widen. “You’ve never been in therapy before?” she says.
He has only known Gretchen Lowell a few weeks, since she appeared at the task force offices to offer her help in catching the Beauty Killer. She makes him feel self-conscious. He’d sat in his car outside for ten minutes working up the nerve to come in. “Just the group session you led,” he says.
She smiles. She is wearing a skirt and she threads her fingers and hooks them around one knee, and the skirt exposes an inch of her thigh. “Well, it’s easy,” she says. “You tell me what’s on your mind. And we talk about it.”
Archie shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his gun pressing into his hip. He does have something on his mind. Something he hasn’t even told Henry about. “I’m thinking about asking for a transfer,” he says. “I’d like to spend more time with my family.” It feels good to finally say it. It gives it power. Like he might actually do it this time. He looks up at Gretchen. She’s a woman. He expects her to encourage him to choose his kids over his work. It’s one of the reasons he’s come.
But she doesn’t.
“Is it hard on your marriage?” she asks. “Working so much?”
Archie considers this. He knows the answer. He’s just not sure how much he wants to disclose. “My wife would like to see me in a different job,” he says.
Gretchen leans forward a little more, and her skirt inches up another notch. “But you’re so good at what you do,” she says.
Archie laughs. “I have one job. To catch the Beauty Killer. Which I haven’t done.”
“I think you’re close,” she says. She reaches out and puts a hand on the armrest of Archie’s chair. She doesn’t touch him. Just the chair. “Don’t give up now,” she says. “You need to stay focused on the case.”
Archie shakes his head. “I need to be home more,” he says. “I don’t want to end up being one of those people who miss their kids’ birthdays.” He’d already missed too much of their growing up. It was easy to justify working late when you could convince yourself that lives depended on it.
“How long have you and your wife been together?” Gretchen asks.
“Since college,” he says.
“How many women have you slept with?” Gretchen asks.
Archie feels his face flush. He looks out the window, at a stand of cherry trees planted in the yard. “Just her,” he says.
“Really?”
He clears his throat. “I had a girlfriend in high school who wanted to wait until she was married. I respected that. Then I met Debbie in college. And that was it.”
“And you never cheated on her?” Gretchen asks.
“No.”
“That’s unusual,” Gretchen says.
“Is it?” Archie asks.
“To have been with only one person your whole life?”
Archie shrugs. “I love her.”
“Is the sex good?” Gretchen asks.
Archie feels hot. He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. The only sound in the room is the ticking of Gretchen’s grandfather clock. “I feel really strange talking about this with you,” he says.
Gretchen nods sympathetically. “In order for this to work,” she says, “you have to be honest with me.”
“Yes,” Archie says, looking away. “The sex is good.”
“How do you know?” Gretchen asks.
Archie smiles. Touché. “I know,” he says.
Gretchen touches the chair again. “It’s okay to fantasize about other people,” she says. “It’s not cheating.” Gretchen’s hand rests on the arm of Archie’s chair. Her fingers are slender, alabaster, boneless. Her nails are manicured. “You are attracted to other women,” she says.
Archie splays his fingers out helplessly. “I’m male,” he says.