Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
The doctor folds her hands on top of her desk and leans in like a friend ready to gossip. “Have you given any thought to what we discussed in our last session?”
In some ways, she’s a lot like Mrs. Cooper: kind and supportive, though maybe twenty years younger. Maternal. That’s probably why I feel like I can tell her things, even if I still get nervous. It’s as if a part of me still waits for the other shoe to drop. Part of me is sure something terrible is going to happen. Like she'll tell me there’s no use trying, that I’m a hopeless case. Or she’ll judge me when I confess to thoughts, feelings, and actions I’m not exactly proud of.
All it takes is looking into her kind, warm eyes, and all those fears dissolve. “I have.” I sit up a little straighter, and now my blood is pumping harder than before. There’s a nervous little flutter in my stomach, but that’s a good thing, right? I’m excited, not scared.
“And have you come up with any ideas? It’s not a race,” she reminds me gently. “But from your change in body language alone, I can tell the idea resonates.”
“Because it makes sense. I want to take what happened to me and turn it into something good for other people. I have nothing concrete in mind yet, but I’ve considered a few things. I have plenty of resources with my trust fund and everything, so the possibilities are endless.”
“I’m happy to see you so hopeful. However take your time. Be kind to yourself. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“I know, I can’t let myself get impatient and quit.”
“I believe you’ll see it through. You'll find a way if it means that much to you.” She checks her watch, and I know that’s my cue. “That will be our time for today. See you Friday?”
“I’ll be here. Thank you.” I feel lighter and happier when I leave the office. I know it’s not all in my head, either – I mean, I didn’t have the best experience with therapy until now, so it’s not like I walked into this with huge expectations. I’m not talking myself into being more hopeful than I am. But I know this isn’t a quick-fix sort of thing. No matter how good the doctor is, it’s not like I’ll be cured after half a dozen sessions.
But I still feel hopeful. When I’m talking to Dr. Jacobs, I can say whatever I want without her cutting me off or giving me the sort of puzzled look Dad always does whenever I start talking about something that doesn’t have to do with his business. I know he tries his best, but at the end of the day, he’s much better working with the sort of guys he’s worked with for years. He understands them. I’m a baffling, mysterious female. Women have never been his strong suit. He and Bianca must belong together; otherwise, she would’ve strangled him by now.
Thinking of her makes me rush to get home and talk to her about the idea that has been bouncing around in my head for the past couple of days. I wasn’t even home yet on Monday afternoon, and already I had an idea of how to take my experience and turn it into something positive. It actually seems pretty obvious that I would use my money this way.
One problem: it would be a tremendous job. I wonder whether I have what it takes to pull off something this big. I wouldn’t be doing it alone – but I wouldn’t know where to begin getting help.
Right away, doubt starts to creep in and tickle the back of my mind. Who do I think I am? I’m nobody. I don’t have experience. And who’s to say I would end up helping anybody? I might make everything even worse somehow. I’m not in any position to give advice or provide what anybody needs.
Is it better to just throw money at a charity and hope it does some good?
I’m still going back and forth by the time I roll through the front gate. The sight of Henry sitting at his usual post makes me smile to myself. Some things just are the way they are. Like Henry. He’s been sitting there for as long as I can remember, maybe since before I was born. If I ever drove through these gates and didn’t see him there, everything would seem off. He is continuity; he’s a sign that everything’s going how it should.
I wish the rest of my life could be that way. All safe and comforting. Predictable.
If life was more predictable, I wouldn’t be walking through the house calling out to people who aren’t here. “Bianca? Where are you?” No response. My heart sinks a little despite the fact that I’m standing in the middle of a Christmas wonderland. This doesn’t even seem like a real house anymore. With all the garland, trees, and twinkling lights wrapped around the railing leading up the steps, wound through the wreath swathed over every doorway and expertly tucked between the branches of a fifteen-foot spruce. It’s like a movie set, and standing in the middle of it makes me happy, but I was hoping to talk to my best friend. I’m enthusiastic about something for the first time in forever.