Dr. Roberts held up her hand. “Let me see if I understand. Your boyfriend broke into your apartment and tried to kill you.”
“He didn’t get in. He shot through the door. But yeah, he broke in later.” Cali’s voice shook. “I wasn’t there. But he ransacked my apartment. The detective helped me clean it up.” A few more tears rolled down her cheeks. “After I cried all over him.” The lump of emotion kept growing and she kept talking. She dropped the tissues and grabbed a clean one. “Then the dickhead broke into my mother’s place.”
“Wait.” She held up a hand. “The detective broke into your mother’s place?”
Emotion caught in her throat; she pushed it away and kept talking. “No, Stan, the bigger dickhead. And he broke my car’s window after he found me at the lawyer’s office.” Cali clutched her hands. “He kissed me. I hated it. I don’t think I ever liked kissing him. And I keep having these dreams about my mother. Oh, and the detective wouldn’t give me my keys.” Cali gave up trying to make sense; she just let it all out. “And Sara’s mom has cancer.” Cali’s tears flowed.
“Who’s Sara?” The doc’s voice sounded a little less calm.
“My student. She asked what happened to my mom.” Her voice shuttered. “I told her. But I didn’t know her mom had cancer. And now she thinks her mom is going to die, too. I feel terrible.”
Dr. Roberts stood behind her desk and moved to sit beside Cali. “Good Lord, you’ve had a bad week, haven’t you?”
“You think?” Cali wiped some more tears from her face.
For the next fifteen minutes, Cali calmed down enough to explain things better. And she told the therapist everything. About all the dreams and how they made her feel nuts. When she finished, Cali looked into the counselor’s eyes and asked the all-important question. “Am I crazy?”
A smile washed over the doctor’s face. “Your life’s been crazy, but I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“But what about the dreams?”
“What do you think about the dreams?” Dr. Roberts asked.
“I asked you first,” Cali said, and looked at the empty Kleenex box. In her lap, she had a baseball-size wad of tissues. Cali spotted a small trash can beside the sofa. Leaning over, she tossed them away, keeping one for emergency use. “Are you sure I’m not crazy?”
The woman folded her hands neatly in her lap. “At hospice, I deal a lot with people who have lost loved ones. You’re not the first person I’ve counseled who said she’s felt the presence of someone who passed away.”
“But I don’t feel it,” Cali insisted. “They’re dreams. Sort of.”
“I know, and that’s my point. Feeling close to our loved ones who have died generally brings us comfort. I’ve never seen a ghost, but I can’t say they don’t exist. However, you’re not even seeing ghosts. Most of the time when we dream, the people appearing in our dreams are usually a projected image of ourselves.”
The doctor got up and poured them each a glass of water. “If you dream of a child, you’re really dreaming of your inner child. If you dream of your mother—”
“So my mom is really my maternal psyche trying to help me.” Cali accepted the water and leaned back.
The doctor smiled. “You catch on quick.”
“But what about the things she tells me?”
The woman sat down beside her again. “Everything you’ve told me she said could be easily explained. You heard Stan opening the door. During the funeral, you probably noticed Stan flirting, but were too upset to really think about it. Even with Lowell showing up. You’re an intuitive person. He’s a cop trying to find your ex-boyfriend. It makes sense he would need your help.”
Cali let out a deep breath. “So I’m not losing my mind. I’m okay?”
“Besides the fact that you’re grieving, have a murderer after you, and are having to deal with a detective who could use a few manners.” She grinned. “Yes, I’d say you’re okay.” She paused. “Do you want to talk about why you got involved with someone like Stan?”
Cali bit down on her lip. “I know that one. I didn’t want to be alone. And he was there.” She recalled what Lowell had said about her being the kind of woman who allowed men to abuse them.
“What about past relationships?”
“What about them?” Cali asked, now afraid Lowell might be on to something.
“Have there been many?”
“Some.” Cali set her water down. “But not for a long time. The last few years I’ve spent most of my time with Mom.”
“Were they good relationships?”
“If they were good, wouldn’t they have lasted?” She thought about Marty, the man she thought she’d marry—the only one she’d really loved.
“Not all relationships can last. But there’s still a difference between good and bad.”
Cali considered it. “Some of them were okay, but most of the guys ended up being jerks.” And one chose a career over me. Or did I choose my mother over him? Cali stiffened. She had enough to cry over, she didn’t need to dredge up Marty memories.