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)
“Thanks.” I shuffle the papers, looking for his name. He’s coming on Friday, which means I have three days until I see him. Until we either pretend nothing happened or… I lick my lips. Repeat our last appointment. Which I can’t do. I can’t let that happen. I know that, and I’ve come up with a dozen ways to put him off. To remind him that what we did was wrong. But in my heart of hearts, I know—I know—that if he tries to bend me over the desk again, I won’t be able to say no.
I find Friday’s sheet and skim the names, but my five o’clock has disappeared. I could swear that’s when his appointment was. I bite my cheek, ignoring the way my pulse pounds, because surely I’m just mixed up. I spread the sheets out on my desk, scouring them for Gabriel Wright.
But he’s not there.
Suddenly, I feel clammy. Flushed. This means it’s over. Canceling once is one thing, but twice? It officially means he’s avoiding me.
Unless…
“Sarah?” I call. When she doesn’t respond immediately, I get to my feet and poke my head out the door. “Hey, Gabriel’s off the schedule. Again.”
She looks up from her phone, where she’s tapping out a text. “Oh, yeah, he said he’s still stuck out of town. I offered him a virtual session, but he declined.”
I frown. His appointments were put in as standing weekly sessions when I took him back on as a patient. “Did he only cancel this week’s appointment?”
She tilts her head. “Yes? Why?”
So he hasn’t canceled them all. Meaning he hasn’t ended our relationship entirely. Our doctor-patient relationship, that is. I swallow, staring at Sarah, thoughts racing. It’s possible he’s really out of town. Maybe he said it was for work, but actually it was a family emergency, and he didn’t want to say so.
“Are you okay?” Sarah sets down her phone and starts to get up, as though she’ll come over to me.
“Fine.” I frown. “Um, we’re done for the day, right?”
“Yes. Mr. Wilson was your last patient.”
I nod and give her a tight smile, duck back into my office, shut the door. I walk from one end of the room to the other, considering how little I actually know about Gabriel. Sure, I know his day-to-day habits, and that he has a thing for blondes, a dead family.
But maybe he has parents who called for help. Or a brother or sister. Or, hell, maybe he really did have a work thing come up, though I can’t imagine what a professor would need to race out of town for.
Or he is simply avoiding me.
I come to a sudden stop, gaze fixed through the window on the outside world, where nature is coming alive, flowers blossoming, trees blooming. And yet I’m here, unchanged.
I have to know.
Which means I need to figure out where Gabriel is.
* * *
The path comes back to me easily, though I usually took it during daylight hours. Tonight the sun has long set, and the sky is speckled with a few stars and a sliver of a moon, a rarity with Manhattan’s light pollution. I’ve swapped my heavy winter coat for a lighter jacket and scarf. When I arrive at Gabriel’s building, I stare up at it, debating my next move. I know from his patient profile that he lives on the fourth floor. And from here, the fourth floor looks dark, empty. Abandoned. Like whoever lives there is, well, gone.
I stroll from one end of the block to the other, keeping watch on those dark windows, hoping to catch sight of something, anything, that signals Gabriel is within those walls. After five minutes without a sign anyone is home, I pull my phone from my pocket and try something new. On the train ride here, I downloaded an app that lets the user make anonymous calls and send anonymous texts. I pull it up now and type his number in. I hit call.
And then wait.
A couple passes by, on their way to or from dinner, maybe. A homeless man weaves out from an alley, takes one look at me, and staggers off. And finally, the sound of a phone ringing comes from the app. I press it close to my ear, all but holding my breath.
“Hello?” Gabriel’s voice comes through the line. I look back at the fourth floor. No flicker of light. No sign someone’s rolled out of bed to answer their phone or wandered from one room to the next. “Anyone there?”
I want to shut my eyes and soak in his voice. Soak in the sound of Gabriel. But I can’t. I disconnect.
So he didn’t lie. He’s not home. He must be away, out of town, wherever he’s gone. And of course he doesn’t owe me any explanation. It’s not like we’re together. I’m embarrassed for myself. What am I thinking? Stalking this man again. Just like Rebecca—Rebecca, who probably needs far more care and therapy than I’m capable of providing her these days.