Who lives in Montana? I can’t even remember where it is half the time,” she said, hating that she’d used the word mistress. They moved to Montana to be closer to her family. He’s with her now, and they have a little girl. I can’t have babies, so it was literally the worst thing that could’ve happened to me. I just went through a divorce, and before the ink was dry, I found out my ex-husband got his mistress pregnant. He hadn’t completely made his mind up yet. She had her share of want-to-jump days like everyone else, just had never made it over the railing before. She wanted him to think and know she was like him they were the same. She didn’t want the man on the bridge to know she was a therapist with a rich big-shot brother and a calming office just yet, because that would separate them. Her older brother, Lionel, was a big-shot finance bro and had given her the money to design everything so beautifully from scratch it made her feel guilty, like she could never do anything so important and pretty for him. Her receptionist’s fingers gently clicked the computer keyboard, the rocky fountain bubbled in the waiting room. She pictured her office perfectly, transported herself there in her mind, willed that calm into her voice. The bookshelves were packed neat and tight, with an amber salt lamp atop the one closest to the door. There were potted spider and dracaena plants, bamboo palms, a Monstera, succulents in the sunlight-natural air purifiers. She had a scented-oil diffuser on a table by the window-lavender and a hint of lemon she’d mixed it herself. The shiny, honey-smooth hard- wood floors the soothing, soft almond suede couch. Instead of being out in the cold rain, she imagined they were in her cozy office with the calming lapis walls, the white-noise machine, her chair-a basil green. She began speaking to him as if it were true. He wasn’t her client, but he could’ve been. But this one was on-the-bridge. She’d never lost a client to suicide, and she wasn’t going to start now. We can figure it out. And how often did licensed therapists get to do surprise on-the-street sessions? A lot, actually. She’d almost forgotten she was a licensed therapist until she said those words. We can figure it out,” she said, her voice climbing a rickety set of stairs. Is there somewhere I could take you and maybe we could talk? Or I could call someone for you? Come with me. Tallie put her hands out in front of her, surrendering. Why bother speaking softly when death is slipping its hand in your pocket? Far too softly for someone who was about to jump to his death.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |