Hell, she hadn’t thought of the answer to that one. Wasn’t it obvious? Wasn’t that why doctors loved to send their patients there? Or maybe an answer lay in the fee structure. “I realized I wasn’t as fucked up as some other people are.”
Instead of the disapproving glare Max expected, Prunella smiled, chasing the frumpishness away. “I’m serious, Max. Why did it work before?”
“Someone finally understood me. They were exactly like me, and they understood. They didn’t look at me like I was crazy.”
Ah, right answer. Prunella smiled again. “I have to admit I don’t have any groups going right now for people whose dead husbands talk to them.”
This time Max laughed. “That’s not what I want a cure for anyway.”
“Well, Max, for someone with food issues, I usually like to meet with a patient at least three to four times before deciding on a course of treatment. However, since you’re so sure about what you want and I happen to have an opening in my Friday group, let’s give a whirl. Can you be back here at three this afternoon?”
Food issues. What a lovely term. “We’ll meet in this office?” Max looked around the cramped quarters.
“We have a larger room for group meetings. It even has sofas and pillows. You can throw the pillows if you want.”
Max looked at the clock. Damn, that had been easy. She hadn’t even used her full forty-five minutes.
She was so sure of herself, she didn’t even wonder if Jada belonged to Friday’s group.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Max had a few hours to kill. For no apparent reason, she decided to kill them outside the grocery store where Ladybird had seen Bethany’s little courier boy. Call it a premonition. Call it a hunch. Just don’t call it psychic. She laughed at her quip and cracked the window while she ... waited.
Yeah, she was waiting. Lunchtime. Grocery store. Pizza parlor. Arcade games. Odds were if he was here yesterday with a bunch of his pals, he’d show again today.
She thought about her conversation with Prunella Shale. In hindsight, it was rather unsettling. She didn’t like the questions about her childhood. She didn’t like the references to a fear of abandonment or abuse. She didn’t like the way her emotions had leapt into her throat, and things she didn’t want to say almost jumped out of her mouth.
If Group was anything like that, she’d better sit and keep her mouth shut.
“Like you’ve always done.”
“Oh God, don’t start picking at me now, Cameron.”
“Actually, I was going to congratulate you. You got exactly what you wanted.”
She narrowed her eyes at the passenger seat, simply because Cameron’s voice sounded as if he was sitting right there. “All right. I better stand by for the ram. I know it’s coming.”
“I’d say you had the Ram last night.”
“I meant,” she enunciated, “that I’m standing by for the slam. From you.”
“I’m not going to give you one. I wanted to finish our discussion from last night.”
“Been there, done that, don’t need to hear it again.”
“Actually, I was referring to the part where you admitted you were psychic and that eventually sweet Bethany would tell you everything you want to know.”
“Oh, that.” Relieved, she shrugged. “Being psychic doesn’t bother me so much any more. See there? I said it flat out.” It didn’t disturb her, really, though she’d only just noticed.
“Aren’t you afraid I’m going to leave you now that you’ve admitted it?”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek, then shook her head. “Nope. I’ve finally figured out that you have some other agenda. I just don’t know what it is.”
“Neither do I. I suspect we’ll both find out in God’s own time.”
“Right.” Max watched as a lone teen wheeled in on his ten-speed, a forest green backpack hanging off one shoulder. “So. Want me to wow you with my newly acknowledged psychic abilities?”
“Sure, baby.”
Baby. Witt had murmured that very word last night as he filled her. Then, she’d told herself she hated the term. Now, she wanted, almost needed, to hear it again. From Witt. Not Cameron.
Holy shit.
She wouldn’t think about that now. Maybe never.
She rested her hand on the top of the steering wheel. “If I had to bet my life on it, I’d say that kid”—she pointed her index finger—“is Bethany’s Freddy. And I’d be right.” The boy disappeared inside the grocery store.
“How do you know?” Cameron whispered, awe seasoning his tone.
She let her lips rise in a slow smile. “Bethany. She knows him.”
“So do you don’t want to kick her out? After all, it’s your body.”
“I’m content with her unless she makes me eat until I want to puke.” She flipped a glance at his ethereal shimmer beside her. “For now.” She grabbed her purse off the passenger seat and popped the car door open. “Gotta go. I have some tailing to do.”