“I’m sure you inspire your students as well.”
“I like to think I do,” she says, hooking her arm in mine. “Let’s walk a bit?” She’s already steering me down the driveway.
“Where are you going?” Jacob asks.
“I’m taking her for a little stroll,” Nancy says. “We’re catching up.”
He gives me an anxious look. “Don’t be long. She needs to get some rest.”
“I’ll have her back soon.” We turn right onto the dirt lane winding through a dense fir forest. When the men are out of sight, she says, “This road was a lot bumpier when we were kids.”
“How long have you and Jacob known each other?”
“Since we were babies,” she says wistfully. “Spring, summer, Christmas. He lived in the city, came to the island on holidays with his parents. But I told you all this.”
“Sorry. I still have a little trouble—”
“Have you given any thought to seeing Sylvia? She might be able to help.”
“Sylvia?”
“The therapist.”
A familiar anxiety seizes me. “We talked about her, too, didn’t we?”
“I asked you if you were seeing anyone, like a psychologist. You said your doctors in Seattle did all they could.”
“They gave me memory exercises to practice at home, but—”
“I told you if you want to consult with a professional here, I know of one.” She reaches into her coat pocket and hands me a business card embossed in blue text. Sylvia LaCrosse, Licensed Clinical Social Worker, with a telephone number and an address on Waterfront Road. The card looks familiar.
“Did you give me a card last week?” I say. She must have, and I’ve lost it. What did I do with it? My fingers tremble. I nearly drop the card in the dirt.
“No, I didn’t give you a card,” she says. “You said you wanted to think about it.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “She’s not a psychologist.”
“She’s as good as one. She worked for Pierce County for a lot of years, family therapy. She got burned out in the city. Too many sad cases and not enough funding. She’s semiretired, but she’s still taking on some clients in private practice.”
“You told me all this last week, too, didn’t you?”
Nancy nods sadly. “You need to see her. Trust me, she’s good at what she does.”
“Thank you,” I say, tucking the card into my pocket. Somehow, the possibility of talking to Sylvia LaCrosse calms me, like a soothing balm.
When we get back, Jacob gives me a searching look. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m okay,” I say, although my legs are wobbly.
Nancy gives him a high-wattage smile. “We were talking about how you two have to come over for dinner.”
Jacob looks up at me. “If Kyra wants to—”
“We would love to,” I say.
Van is already in the truck, revving the engine.
“He’s too impatient,” Nancy says. She gives me a quick hug. “We’ll pick a date for dinner. Don’t forget about the school. So good to see you.” But she’s smiling at Jacob, not at me.
“And you,” I say as she heads back to the truck.
Jacob takes my hand. “We don’t need to go for dinner if you’re not up for it.”
“It’ll be nice to be with friends. They can tell me things about my past, fill me in, so it’s not all on you. And it sounds like Nancy might have some great stories about you as a teenager. I wouldn’t want to miss out on that.”
“I don’t mind it all being on me.” He kisses my forehead. “And I’ll have to warn her not to give away any of my secrets.”
Nancy climbs into the truck next to her husband. He says something to her, not looking at her, waving his arm in a dismissive motion. She shrugs and looks away, tapping her fingers on the passenger-side window. The wind scatters leaves across the garden as he shifts the truck into reverse, hits the gas, and peels out of the driveway.