“Hi, Hunter.”
He paused. “Feel free to call me Hunter, by the way.”
Sophie winced.
Grinning, he said, “Please follow me to my office.”
As he turned to walk down the hall, Sophie noticed they were roughly the same height. She wondered how old he was. He looked about thirty-five, but he also appeared to take good care of himself. His broad shoulders tapered into a lean waist, indicating he was likely a frequent flyer at the gym. His casual black shirt and jeans helped Sophie feel slightly more at ease.
Hunter led her into his office, and Sophie was immediately drawn to the huge aquarium set into one of the walls. She placed a slender hand on the glass, mesmerized by the colorful fish peacefully swimming in lazy patterns. “This aquarium is beautiful.”
“Do you like it?” He stood by a chair, waiting for his client to step over to the sofa. “My partners in the group practice were a little dubious, but I’d like to think it works.”
Sophie nodded, and noticing him still standing, politely waiting for her, she gracefully took a seat on the sofa.
“The fish seem to provide a soothing presence for my clients,” Hunter noted as he took his seat.
“What a great idea. Oh, look, a Nemo fish!”
He chuckled. “Ah yes, my percula clownfish. Let me go over a few things with you before we get into it, Sophie. Looking over your paperwork …” She feigned interest while he launched into a description of confidentiality, as if she didn’t know the laws governing privacy and duty to warn for psychologists. But her focus sharpened when he added, “Apparently I’m supposed to report your attendance and progress to your parole officer?”
“Yes,” Sophie confirmed, adding uncomfortably, “Officer Jerry Stone.”
“Okay, then, I’ll need you to sign this release of information form, giving me permission to speak to Officer Stone.”
“What exactly do you have to share with him?” she inquired warily, taking the form and pen he offered to her.
“The POs never want the details,” Hunter responded. “They’re too busy. I just need to tell him whether or not you attended and provide an overall sense of how we are progressing toward therapy goals.”
Sophie reluctantly scrawled her signature, barely managing to avoid adding a “PhD” at the end of her name. She still had her doctorate, but the degree was useless for practicing psychology without her license.
“So,” Hunter began, settling back into his chair and preparing to take notes as they chatted. “Have you ever been in therapy before?”
“No.” Her graduate program had encouraged students to obtain their own therapy as they learned to become therapists, but Sophie never had the time or the inclination. Perhaps she should have taken her professors’ advice. Perhaps she could have avoided this whole mess if she’d done some work on herself before delving into the problems of others.
“You must be nervous, then, not knowing what to expect.” He smiled warmly.
You don’t know the half of it.
“Therapy is basically a conversation. I’ll be asking lots of questions today, and you answer them to the best of your ability. It’s okay to ‘pass,’ and it’s okay to ask me questions. Were you mandated to attend therapy as part of your parole?”
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, tight-lipped.
“Well, that Officer Stone must be some kind of jerk to force you into therapy, huh?”
Sophie looked up, startled. “He’s not really a jerk. He’s just doing his job. The truth is I probably need therapy. I made a colossal mistake, and I need to figure out why so I can prevent making another …” Her voice trailed off, and she eyed her psychologist suspiciously, gleaning sudden insight into his techniques.
Oh, he was good. He’d just made her argue that she needed and wanted to be here, despite the mandate.
“You made a mistake?” he repeated curiously, his pen poised above the file in his lap.
Sophie raked both hands through her strawberry-blond hair and sighed. “Thank you for explaining what therapy will be like,” she began. “But I’m actually a psychologist myself. Well, I was a psychologist … before I went to prison and my license was revoked.”
He cocked his head to one side, intrigued. “Really? You were a psychologist? Where did you go to school?”
“Undergrad at Northwestern and grad school at DePaul.”
His interest was further piqued. “And your pre-doctoral internship, where did you complete that?”
“At a VA hospital in Virginia.” She studied the clownfish, darting in and out of the coral in the tank.
“Huh, I went to U of I. I wonder if we know some people in common. What year did you get your PhD?”
Sophie wasn’t quite in the mood to schmooze about her past life. “In 2004.”
Hunter rubbed his cheek pensively. “Do you know Chris Dowd? He went to DePaul.”
She shook her head.
He glanced at her smooth, alabaster skin and long, toned legs clad in youthful navy shorts. “Oh, he was probably before your time. I’d already been practicing ten years by the time you graduated.”
Her mental calculations put his age near forty. At least she was getting an experienced psychologist.
“So, you were a psychologist, but you were never in therapy yourself?”
“I never had time. I was trying to hold down another job in addition to classes, research, and practicum. Even with the extra job I still came out with some hefty student loans.”
“You’re in a lot of debt?”
“Yeah, about sixty thousand dollars’ worth. Officer Stone told me I need to get a job soon, but I have to find something that pays well enough, or I won’t be able to make my loan payments.”
“Can’t your parents help you out?” Hunter asked casually.
Sophie froze, shame clenching in her chest. She recalled her father’s cold stare at her mother’s funeral, his frosty blue eyes laying blame that sliced through her like an icicle. Then an earlier memory emerged of those same eyes filled with fury when she was only nineteen years old. Her father had screamed incessantly upon discovering her plans to study psychology instead of joining him in the family construction business. He had groomed her for years to be his protégé, but she wanted nothing to do with his world. You ungrateful girl! You want to be some namby-pamby shrink? You’re on your own, then! Shocked by his words, she had fled their house, vowing never to return.
Hunter carefully studied the beautiful young woman, whose sorrow was evident. She eventually returned his gaze and feebly requested, “Can I pass on that question?”
“Of course,” he nodded. She seemed relieved to be given a reprieve.
Glancing down at his notes, Hunter cleared his throat. “Let’s see … I got us off track a bit. You were saying you made a huge mistake?”