Page 55 of Penalty to the Heart

“I doubt I’ll be very forthcoming if you’re looking down on me,” he explains. “If this is going to work, then I’m going to need you to sink to my level. You think you can handle that, Doc?”

I hesitate for just a brief second since this isn’t exactly how I like to conduct my session. There is a reason why a therapist and patient should always maintain a proper distance from each other. This helps reduce pressure on the patient and ensures a professional boundary for the therapist. Being seated so close might blur some lines that should remain immaculately clear.

Still, I find myself following through on his request and sitting down beside him.

“This is highly unorthodox,” I explain, feeling a bit uneasy about the situation I just placed myself in.

“Don’t sweat it, Roxie. I’m not your conventional patient, either.” He smiles reassuringly, easing my nerves somewhat.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“That’s what I’m here for, ain’t it?” he retorts with an impish grin, placing his hands behind his head.

“If you decided to come in anyway, why wait until the last minute to do it?”

“Honestly? I don’t like your receptionist very much. I kind of made a pass at her on the first day and then turned her down an hour later. Shit like that gets messy real fast. If I’m going to take this whole therapy thing seriously, then I would rather not have to deal with all of that.”

“Understood.” I nod, writing a note to remind Lisa not to fraternize with patients… again. She’s extremely organized and professional in every aspect of the business, but her Achilles heel seems to be hockey players. She just can’t help but flirt with them. However, in this case, it seems that Caleb was the one in the wrong and not her. Still, I have to do something to ensure a safe environment for my patients, in this case, Caleb.

“If you prefer, we can conduct our sessions after working hours. I’d be okay with that if it would make you more comfortable.”

“Thanks.” He grins. “And for the record, she’s not my type. I mean, she was. Most women like her were. But not anymore. I don’t… I mean… fuck… what do I mean?” he stammers nervously.

“Caleb,” I interject, placing my hand on his thigh. “Breathe. We have plenty of time to discuss every aspect of your life, including women and your relationship with them.”

It’s only when he goes uncharacteristically mute, just staring at my hand placed over his bulging thigh, that I see the huge error I just made.

I swiftly pull it away, inwardly chastising myself for the impulse.

This.

This is why there should always be a clear distance between a client and their therapist.

Argh.

“I… um… shouldn’t you start the recorder or something?” Caleb asks after we’ve both gone silent for a full minute.

“Right. Of course,” I reply, quickly turning to my side to grab the recorder.

“So, where do we begin?” Caleb asks after I’ve recorded today’s session intro.

“I was thinking that today you could tell me a little bit about your childhood.”

“The origin story, huh?” He laughs. “Okay, Doc. It’s your show. What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything. Whatever you feel at ease telling me. Maybe you can tell me about Jack and your relationship with him if you feel you’re ready to talk about it.”

“Yeah, okay. I can try to do that,” he replies, sounding a bit apprehensive.

I have to sit on my hand to force myself not to comfort him, reminding myself that words are just as effective as touch.

“Tell me how it was growing up. In your file, it says that you’re a townie and that you and your family have lived in Boston for generations, tracing back several decades. What was it like to have such roots in one place?”

“As you might expect.” He throws a noncommittal shrug. “Everyone knew just about everyone else in our block. And with our father being a cop, it meant total strangers knew who we were, too. The Donovan boys, they would call us.” He lets out a tiny chuckle. “Here come the Donovan boys!” he calls out, pressing his open hand against the side of his mouth. “Yeah. Everyone knew who we were and knew exactly how to tell us apart, too. Jack was the reliable one, the responsible brother. He was the guy everyone called if they ever got themselves into trouble. Me? I was trouble. Always running my mouth and getting myself into all sorts of mayhem. Chaos might as well have been my middle name.”

“So you were total opposites, huh?”

“Still are.” He tries to grin, but the sadness coating his eyes tells a different story.

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