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)
I have a difficult time focusing on anything we talk about for the remainder of our session. Luckily Gabriel seems to be in a talkative mood this week, and I can get away with a bunch of “tell me more about that” and head nods. For the first time, I’m desperate for his hour to be over. I need to wrap my head around some things we’ve talked about today. There are only a few minutes left when our conversation comes to a lull. I don’t want to dive into another probing topic with so little time left, so I ask what I think is a safe question.
“Anything else new and exciting happen over the last week?”
Gabriel frowns. “I almost forgot. I got a check from the estate of the guy who murdered my wife and daughter. Un-freaking-believable. What balls on that family.”
I stiffen. “Why does that upset you?”
“My brother tried to get me to sue after the accident. I didn’t, because what is money going to do? It can’t make up for the loss of lives. It would feel like I was trying to cash in. I don’t want that blood money.”
My heart races. I’d convinced myself it was the right thing to do, to give Gabriel the money. But maybe I was being selfish, trying to wash my hands clean of the blood.
“What about if you used the money for good? You mentioned your daughter had a hearing deficiency and wore hearing aids. Perhaps you could start a foundation to help hearing-impaired children who couldn’t otherwise afford devices to assist them?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Or donate it to a shelter or some charity that is meaningful to you, or perhaps one that was meaningful to your wife.”
“I guess.”
The buzzer goes off. I’ve never been so grateful for a session to end. Lord knows how many more times I’d stick my foot in my mouth if we had another ten minutes.
I force my best warm smile while I reach for the timer.
Gabriel rubs his palms on his pants. “Maybe you’re right. A foundation isn’t a bad idea.”
I nod. “Take your time and think about it. I’m sure you can find a lot of good to do with three and a half million dollars.”
The moment the words come out of my mouth, everything freezes as I recognize what I’ve done. Oh God. I think I might be sick.
Gabriel squints. “How did you know the check was for three and a half million?”
“Um, you must’ve mentioned it.”
He studies me, his head tilting ever so slightly. “I don’t think I did.”
I smile. I’m a nervous wreck, so it feels forced. Too big and broad, all teeth and gums. I pray I don’t look deranged. “How else would I know?”
He holds my eyes for what seems like forever but is probably not more than ten seconds. Then he smiles. “Yeah. Of course. Same time next week?”
CHAPTER 25 Now
Overthinking is apparently my new thing. Or maybe I’m just now recognizing it in myself. I pace my apartment, reliving my session with Gabriel over and over. And not just what I said—my massive screwup that he obviously noticed—but also the way he looked at me after.
Did he know?
Did I blow it?
Or was it all in my imagination? And everything’s fine, and he’ll come back like nothing ever happened next week.
Next week.
Shit.
I sink onto the edge of my bed and stare blankly at the wall. I can’t do this. I can’t keep seeing him. Not when there are so many secrets, when I’m so heavily intertwined with his life and he doesn’t even know it. Unless he does. But again, that’s all speculation, likely a production of my guilty conscience.
I’m just trying to help.
Right?
I don’t even know anymore. I tried to help, and the money only made him upset.
I go to the kitchen and find the wine cooler nearly empty. All that remains is a Riesling, too sweet, too heavy, like honey. But it’ll do. I pour a glass and lean against the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out over the city, contemplating it all. I was so glad to still have a view into Gabriel’s life. But now that view threatens to expose me.
I swallow more wine, wandering from one room to another. A ghost, haunting my own home. Worse, a ghost who drinks too much. I ignore my phone when it pings with new messages on the dating app, silence an alarm to remind me to send an email for work. My mind is too muddled anyway. I swear the sweet wine goes to my head faster. Eventually, I sit down and catch up with a dozen notifications—a request for a refill through my work email, a message from Sarah reminding me about a last-second schedule change. Three messages wait for me on the dating app, but I’m not sure there’s any point.