Authors: Kassandra Lamb
Kate felt a momentary pang of sympathy for that poor maid. How often had the servants been caught up in the tug of war between mother and daughter?
Damn it, Mother! Why do you do this to me? I can feel the dark tendrils of the depression curling around me. Damn it to hell! I hate this!
So it had been her mother issues more than the dream that was triggering the depression this time. Or at least that had been Josie’s take on it.
The following day’s entry was written after her therapy session. She described the analogy Kate had made with Buster, her childhood dog. She seemed excited about the breakthrough.
The depression is gone. Poof! I feel lighter than I have in eons. I really think I can handle Mother now and not let her get to me. Bless you, Kate!
This time a tear broke loose, making a dark, wet spot on the white page. Kate leaned back and swiped at her eyes. She didn’t want to leave tear stains in the journal that she would eventually have to return to Mrs. Hartin.
Josie really had turned a corner that day. Kate’s brain was off and running, crafting a treatment plan for advanced recovery–strategies for managing the bipolar mood swings better, now that the worst of the client’s psychological issues were getting resolved. There were adjustments she could make to her lifestyle, and ways she could better identify when her mood was headed up or down.
Reality slammed on the brakes. The client was dead. There would be no advanced recovery.
Kate’s throat closed.
Reading the journal was harder than she’d thought it would be. She leaned her head back against the sofa and gave in to the tears. They streamed down her face.
A soft clearing of a throat. Her head jerked up.
Skip was watching her with worry in his eyes. “You okay, darlin’?”
“No, but thanks for asking. The kids ready for goodnight kisses?”
“Yeah.”
She swiped at her wet cheeks with her fingertips, then pushed herself up off the sofa. She was almost past Skip when he touched her shoulder. She turned toward him.
He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin. “That’s not your life,” he whispered. “This is your life.”
She held on tight.
~~~~~~~~
Kate’s stomach churned as she drove to work the next day. She was starting to relate to the roller coaster of emotions that had been Josie’s life. She’d been feeling so much better yesterday, until she’d read those entries in the journal.
She tried to rationalize the guilt away, with little success. Not only had she not followed up with Josie on the dreams, but apparently her client didn’t trust her enough to tell her she was having doubts again about her sexual orientation, and that she was interested in a possible new relationship.
Was Dr. Laurie Blake a lesbian? Kate had no idea.
She reminded herself that the latest confrontation between Josie and her mother had pushed these things aside in Josie’s mind during that last therapy session.
“You are not a mind reader,” Kate said out loud.
No, but you’re supposed to pick up on nonverbal cues.
No doubt Josie assumed there would be plenty of future sessions to explore those other issues. Just as Kate had assumed there would be time to come back to the dreams that Josie had mentioned and then veered away from discussing.
For her own self-preservation, she wanted to stop reading Josie’s journal, but she couldn’t. Not when there might be answers on those pages. Answers that would ultimately give her and Josie’s parents some peace, and might get them to stop trying to get their hands on Josie’s file.
Answers that might keep someone from getting away with murder.
She had tucked the journal into her briefcase this morning. She couldn’t read it at lunchtime and risk being upset when she had to deal with her afternoon clients. But if she didn’t have too many phone calls to return at the end of the day, she would read some before leaving for home.
Perhaps then her evening ritual of figuratively closing the door on her clients’ issues would work with Josie as well, and she could go home to a peaceful evening with her family.
.
The plan didn’t work. At the end of the day, she did indeed have some time to read in the journal. But what she found out was too disturbing, and also too exciting, to let it go when she walked out of her office door.
She was mentally rehashing the entry as she headed toward the parking lot where her car was parked. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. That creepy sense of being watched was back.
She stopped and looked around. The sidewalk was relatively crowded with workers from the surrounding office buildings, who were now rushing to their cars to get home in time for dinner. Which was what she should be doing.
Only a few people were moving more slowly. A young couple sauntered hand in hand toward a nearby restaurant and a woman in a black jacket and red knit scarf–the latter a little excessive since the evening was not all that chilly–was staring into the window of a shop down the block. A rather disheveled man of indeterminate age lingered at the corner behind her. He too was overdressed for the weather, in an old Army coat. Was he homeless? The red-scarf lady turned away from the store window and stepped over to a car parked at the curb. She opened the passenger door and climbed in. She’d probably been killing time, waiting for her ride to show up.
Kate did another slow turn, scanning the hustling crowd of pedestrians. Then she pulled out her cell phone as she started moving again toward the corner where she would cross the street. “Hey, Manny,” she said when he answered. “Where are you?”
“Heading home. Do you need me to do something?”
“Never mind. It can wait until tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She didn’t want to tell him she’d thought he was still following her, against her express orders to Skip about that.
“I need to think this next move through a bit more,” she said, ad-libbing. She had no next move–yet. “I’ll call you tomorrow if I need your help.”
“Okay. ’Night, Kate.”
“Have a good evening.”
She pocketed her phone and glanced up. The crosswalk signal flipped over to the little stick man walking. She stepped off the curb.
“Look out!” a woman screamed from behind her.
Kate jumped and whirled around, braced for an attack of some kind. A whoosh of air plastered her skirt to the back of her legs.
She twisted around again as horns blared and tires screeched. A car had run the red light. Fortunately the other drivers had managed to stop or swerve out of the way.
A woman appeared at Kate’s elbow. “That was too close for comfort. I can’t believe the way some people drive these days.”
Kate placed her hand over her pounding heart. “Were you the one who yelled?”
“Yeah.” The woman patted her own chest. “I was right behind you, about to step into the crosswalk, when I saw that jackass wasn’t gonna stop.”
“Thanks for yelling. I wasn’t even looking his way. I would’ve walked right into his path.”
Vehicles and pedestrians had only paused a few seconds to bear witness to the potential tragedies the speeding driver came close to causing. Both cars and people were again rushing past. Kate and the other woman had to wait through another cycle of the traffic light before crossing over.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
March 5
I’m getting some inklings of what the dreams may be about! I’ve started having bits and pieces of
…
something during the day. Not sure if it’s a memory or what. It’s completely dark, like in the dreams. I’m cold and scared, and really little. There’s a flash in the darkness. It blinds me, and then it’s gone. The second time I
…
I guess “remembered” is as good a word as any. The second time I remembered it, I heard voices in the distance.
Kate read the words again while waiting for Skip to finish the kids’ stories. She turned to the next day’s entry.
March 6
I went to see Father Sam today. I just had a gut feeling that he might know something helpful. But he didn’t. I asked him why my parents took me out of the school at St. Bart’s. He didn’t remember, said he wasn’t sure they gave a reason. He’d always assumed it was because Bryn Mawr would improve my chances of getting into a good college.
Then I tried to tell him about the dreams. But the anxiety got so overwhelming that I had to get out of there. I should call him and apologize for bolting on him like that, but the mere thought of having to explain why has me reaching for my Xanax bottle.
Skip came down the stairs and joined her on the sofa.
Kate closed the journal and slipped it into her briefcase at her feet.
He circled her shoulders with one arm and pulled her close to him. She snuggled against his side and sighed.
But her mind wouldn’t let it go.
Why hadn’t Fr. Sam mentioned that Josie asked about the school switch? Had the next topic of conversation–the dreams–and Josie’s abrupt bolting from his office, had that overshadowed the school discussion sufficiently that it hadn’t even registered in the priest’s elderly brain?
Skip had said to go back to the beginning. She now had two reasons to go see Father Sam again.
“Glad to know I’m such scintillating company,” Skip said from beside her.
“Oh, sorry, sweetheart.” She turned her face up to him.
He was smiling, a teasing light in his eyes. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his.
She shoved aside all thoughts of Josie and focused her attention on the deepening kiss.
~~~~~~~~
Kate showed her client to the door of her office. Her waiting room was full of people. She looked around, trying to remember who she was supposed to see next.
Who were all these people? She didn’t even know half of them. And some of the others were clients who had finished therapy years ago.
She couldn’t remember any of their names. What kind of therapist was she?
“Next,” she called out.
A woman rose from a chair against the wall and moved forward, her gait dragging. Her skin was pale, translucent, the area around her eyes bruised with fatigue.
As she came closer, Kate recognized her.
“Why did you put me in the hospital?” Carol’s words were angry but her tone was sad. “You know I hate it there.”
Kate reached out. Her hands went through the woman’s body.
A scream caught in her throat. Tears streamed down her face but she couldn’t move, couldn’t talk. She started shaking, more and more violently.
“Kate! Wake up!”
The shaking eased as her eyelids fluttered open.
“You’re havin’ a bad dream, darlin’.”
A dream. Carol isn’t dead.
Kate shuddered.
Skip gathered her against his chest and held her tight. “You wanna tell me about it?” he said softly, his breath stirring her curls.
Did she? Not really. Because then she would have to admit to her doubts about herself. She shook her head against his chest.
He eased his hold on her and held her slightly away from him to look into her face. His expression said loud and clear,
Are you sure?
He knew her too well. Normally she used language to sort out her feelings. It was what she did professionally, what she was used to. Who she was.
That last thought hit her in the solar plexus. She gasped, then immediately pushed the thought aside. She was not her job. She was Kate Huntington-Canfield, wife and mother. Psychotherapy was only her profession.
Oh really?
a little voice smirked in the back of her mind.
She told it to shut up. She couldn’t think about all this now, or she’d never get back to sleep.
Skip was still watching her face.
“It’s okay. I was dreaming about the client that I had to hospitalize this week.” It was the truth, just not the whole truth.
He looked down at her for another second, then rolled onto his back, taking her with him, snug against his side. “You wanna mess around to get your mind off of her?” His tone was teasing.
She lifted her head and smiled up at him. “I always wanna mess around, but it’s late. We both have to work tomorrow.”
“How about a back rub to help you get back to sleep?”
“Mmm,” she purred. “You are way too good to me.”
He grinned. “Yes, I am, but I get plenty in return.”
Do you?
The thought startled her, sent a small chill through her core. She couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.
Skip had maneuvered her onto her side and was caressing her back in warm soothing circles.
She tried to empty her mind, but sleep evaded her. Finally, she intentionally slowed her breathing, pretending she was asleep.
He eased over onto his back. Soon, soft snoring told her that at least one of them would get some decent rest tonight.
~~~~~~~~
Father Sam couldn’t see her at lunchtime the next day, but he was willing to stick around for a while at the end of the day. “It’s not like I have a long commute,” he’d said with a chuckle. “The rectory’s right across the courtyard.”
When Kate arrived at the church at five-twenty, the office door was locked. She peered through the glass window at an empty desk and a darkened hallway beyond. She rang the bell.
After a minute, the priest shuffled into sight.
He pushed the door open and tried to hold it that way so she could pass by him into the building, his manners no doubt demanding that ladies go first. But his elderly muscles were no match for the automatic closer mechanism.
Kate grabbed the inside handle. “Lead on, Father.”
Once he had gingerly settled himself into his desk chair, he said, “So, to what do I owe this pleasure, Katie? Two visits in as many weeks after decades of neglect.” It could have been a rebuke but his eyes were twinkling.
She smiled at him. “I know you want to get to your supper, so I won’t keep you long. I have Josie’s journal and it’s given me some new information.”
“Oh? Something that supports your theory that she didn’t die by her own hand?”