Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“But… if I had addressed things, maybe the accident would never have happened.”
He nodded. “Perhaps. But there’s no criminal case.”
A few minutes later, Detective Green walked me back out to the lobby. He stopped before opening the front door. “Can I give you some advice, Dr. McCall?”
I nodded.
“You need to find a way to let go of the guilt, or it will eat you alive.”
“How do I do that?”
He smiled halfheartedly. “I’m just a dumb cop. You’re the doctor. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
CHAPTER 14 Now
My chest tightens, about to burst, as I wait for him to recognize me. The moment when his eyes will go wide and he’ll realize who I am—whether that’s his family’s killer’s wife or merely the woman he collided with coming out of an alleyway.
But he smiles pleasantly and sits there on my couch while I gape at him. “Good evening.” He nods. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Gabriel… Wright?” I somehow force my voice into my smooth therapist’s tone, hoping that whatever is on my face has transitioned from shock to confidence. I do try to instill confidence in my patients, especially on day one. They come in timid and self-conscious, huddled in on themselves. Though Gabriel doesn’t seem to have that issue. His shoulders are relaxed and his dark eyes soak in the room before finally landing back on me. He might as well be waiting for a seat at a local restaurant, not sitting in my office.
Cool. Calm. Confident.
I clear my throat, putter at my desk as my thoughts go haywire. My cell phone sits at the corner, and I reach to put it away in a drawer when it occurs to me—I could fake an emergency.
Pretend to get a call.
Apologize, promise to reschedule.
Have Sarah send him elsewhere, to another therapist, preferably on the other side of town. Then this problem would be gone, and I could go back to focusing on growing my office and not following him.
“I’m sorry, do you need a minute? I just walked right in.” Gabriel offers an apologetic smile. “I don’t mind. I can step out.”
“No, no… of course not.”
Get it together, Meredith.
I manage to land one foot in front of the other and walk to my seat across from him. Staring down at the notepad in front of me, I take a deep breath and motion to the couch. “So, welcome, Mr. Wright. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
He sits. “Please, call me Gabriel.”
“Of course. Gabriel. How are you doing today?”
I look up and wait for him to respond, realizing I’m holding my breath. But it’s more than nerves. I really want to know how he’s doing. Is he living again? Yes, from the outside it seems he is. I’ve witnessed him laughing, going out with multiple women, and doing all sorts of things that appear normal. But he can’t feel normal inside. Not after what I’ve allowed to happen to his family.
This, perhaps, is the perfect opportunity.
Maybe I’ll find out the truth…
“I’m okay,” he says. “I just… think I need to see someone.”
I process a moment, trying to sort out how to word my next question. “Might I ask how you found me?” I shake my head. “I mean how you heard about my practice. Were you referred by someone?”
“Yes, I was referred.”
“That’s wonderful.” I force a smile. “And who referred you? I like to thank people when they recommend my office.”
“It was Johnson and Johnson.”
I squint. “Johnson and Johnson?”
“The maker of Tylenol PM.” He flashes a playful smile. “Sorry, I’m just teasing. I saw an ad for your practice, for people who are having trouble sleeping, on the Johnson and Johnson website when I was looking up how long the sleep-aid effect should last for Tylenol PM. I thought it sounded better to say I was referred.”
“Oh. Okay.” I swallow. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I have a few basic questions I do for intake, and then we can really talk. How does that sound?”
He nods along, and I take him through a basic patient intake—verifying his primary physician, his demographic data, family psychiatric history, medications, and so on. No red flags. No history at all, really, besides the obvious—what you did to him. What we did to him. Gabriel speaks easily, relaxing back on the couch, talking with his hands. He has good eye contact, and I find myself starting to relax, noticing he’s even more handsome up close. Soft fuzz peppers his angular jaw, telling me he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. When he speaks, his whole body grows animated, and his entire face smiles, not just his very full lips. His emotions are on display through his big brown eyes, as though he holds nothing back, and something about that seems almost freeing.
But he can’t be free. I know that better than anyone.