THE THERAPIST

01

𝐂 𝐡 𝐚 𝐩 𝐭 𝐞 𝐫  𝟏

     Death always hit hard, especially to the deceased’s relatives. I had witnessed my share of it and knew the pain that accompanied it. Everyone dealt with grief differently. I was surprised at how I dealt with it this time around. If I hadn’t ended up in a sleazy bar downtown with a bucket of beer, then I sure as hell handled Rosalind’s death well.

     I should have gone straight home after the graveside service was over, but out of respect for Rosalind, I drove to the house for the postburial gathering. I didn’t know what I was doing here. The crowd didn’t exactly know me. Okay, it wasn’t entirely true. I was certain one or two who were big fans of relationship talk shows would have seen me on TV before. But it was unlikely they’d make me out dressed in a black pantsuit I always wore to funerals, my hair hanging down my shoulders and entwined so much that someone might wonder the last time I saw the inside of a salon.

     I didn’t waste time with my makeover like how I did when I was going on air. I didn’t care about my looks. A woman was dead, and she was my client. It wasn’t the first time. Over the course of two months, I had been to two funerals and in all of them, I knew the deceased like the back of my hand. I studied them, gave them advice, and hoped they would go out there and see the world from a different perspective. I failed. Again.

     Now would be the appropriate time to sneak out of the manor. Everyone’s attention was elsewhere. I didn’t think Rosalind was from a very wealthy family, although she’d hinted at it during our many one-on-one sessions. She paid me more than necessary and brought me gifts I knew I shouldn’t accept. A bad habit for business, but it was difficult not to accept them when all she wanted was to thank me for helping her.

     As I thought about it, I couldn’t stop thinking I had failed her big time. She trusted me to help her. She was finally going to break up with her abusive boyfriend. It took us several months to realize that her current relationship was toxic, and her boyfriend was only with her because of her money.

     I didn’t bring up the breakup idea. I never tell my clients their big decisions. I guided them to it, and when Rosalind brought up the idea of breaking up with Lucas, I knew our sessions had been effective. Except that she was dead and never got the chance to live her life. She was so young. She had a whole life ahead of her.

     It was difficult to believe she was dead, but as a therapist, I knew better than to go down that path. Pushing the thoughts away, I skittered out of the big living room filled with grim faces. I had been standing by a pillar, listening and observing. Had someone seen me? No. I was certain.

     I veered left and found myself walking across a long hallway, the clicks of my black Louboutins echoing off the walls. I pressed on, praying I’d find myself at the front door. Instead, I slowly approached a room. I didn’t come in from here. At this point, it was best to admit I was trapped in this maze.

     Where was the entrance? I wished I knew. I had entered with many strangers, of which some were friends, distant relatives, and sympathizers. That was the thing about death. It brought a lot of people together and reopened old memories. The scent of death still lingered around the manor. I need to get out of here.

     I stopped momentarily in the hallway, looking here and there. If I stood for a while, I might remember how I entered this house. A minute or two later, I was still racking my brain. No such luck. I should have just driven home. So much for trying to show respect.

     Tucking my hair behind my ear, I backstepped, almost freezing to the floor when a voice mentioned my name, “Dr. Newton?”

     My heart thumped. Who could that be? I gulped air; then, as the realization hit me, it occurred to me that the caller wasn’t even sure of my identity. I could just pretend I wasn’t Dr. Newton, but I wouldn’t. I might get out of here thanks to the person behind me.