Page 32 of The Unraveling

“How’d it go?” Sarah greets me with a fresh cup of coffee and a supportive smile. I smile back, wondering if we could be friends. Would that ruin our professional relationship? We are friendly…

“Good,” I say. “I’m relieved the first patient was one I’m familiar with. I think it helped me ease into things.”

“I’m glad.” She takes something from her back pocket and holds it up, though not offering it to me. “I’m sorry to tell you that this person dropped by.”

I peer over at the business card in her hand and notice the logo immediately. Two fists. I frown. “Someone from Mothers Against Abusive Doctors came here? Inside the office?”

Sarah nods. “Her name was Mary Ellis. She was kind of scary-looking. Manic with a nervous facial tic and nails bitten down so far she barely had any nail beds. Her hand shook when she held out the business card for me to take.”

“What did she want?”

“She asked to talk to you while you were in session with Mrs. Amsterdam. When I said you were busy, she told me about her group and what they stand for. Then she asked if she could make an appointment to speak to you. I told her she could leave a message with me, and if you were interested in speaking to her, we’d call her.”

I feel sick. First the book arrives to set me on edge, and now this. “Did she leave a message?”

Sarah nods. “She said to tell you that more than sixteen thousand people died from prescription opioid drug overdoses last year, eleven hundred of them children. I showed her the door and told her this was a private office and she wasn’t welcome to stop by ever again. If she did, she’d be trespassing.”

While I know Sarah meant well, I’m not sure it was wise to threaten a group that likes to hang my picture around town like a mug shot. It might be smarter to lock up, go back home, and reconsider my career, perhaps something where I’m not expected to be the stable one. Yet I swallow back my fears and nod. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Sarah.”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me at all. I’m sorry they’re pestering you.”

Anxious to change the subject, I force a smile. “So… what’s the rest of the day look like?”

Her expression brightens. “A full schedule! Just had a last-second add-on, so you have two new patients today.” She hurries around the desk, pressing her finger to the schedule where she’s written names. “I booked them for ninety minutes, like you asked. Oh, and don’t forget, I have to leave by five for Charlie’s cello lesson. But…” Sarah screws up her face. “Shoot. That means your last new patient won’t be here until five fifteen, after I’ve gone. Tell you what, I’ll stay a few after. I’d hate for a stranger to walk in when you’re all alone. Maybe he’ll come early—they usually do—and I’ll sneak out while you’re in session.”

Sarah’s done so much to keep my practice afloat already. “No, you should go. Take Charlie to his lesson. I’ll be okay. I’ll put the sign out and…” I shrug. “It’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

The outer door creaks with another patient coming in, and I return to my office to finish my notes on Mrs. Amsterdam before my next patient is on the couch. Keeping busy is key. I can’t think about the book that just happened to arrive today or the group that wants my head. If I allow myself to dwell on things, I’ll be the one on the couch, curled in a ball, sucking my thumb.

Hours later, the sunlight slanting through the side window changes. That golden glow of late afternoon begins to fade toward early evening. My next-to-last patient waves goodbye, and I take a sip of herbal tea—a replacement for afternoon coffee, at Dr. Alexander’s suggestion.

One more appointment. A long one, though, since it’s another new patient.

I blow out a breath and reach for my appointment list, skimming down to the bottom until I find the name of the new patient Sarah has added.

But it can’t be correct.

Because the name that is handwritten in at the bottom of the typed list is…

Gabriel Wright.

I blink down at it and wipe my eyes, as though that will clear away an illusion. But no, the letters are still there, written in black ink, Sarah’s familiar bold cursive. My mind short-circuits, goes blank. And that’s when I realize what it is—a coincidence. It has to be. It’s not actually him.

Wright is a common last name. I went to med school with a Bianca Wright and had third grade with a Bobby Wright, before he moved away. New York probably has hundreds of Wrights. This is just one named Gabriel.

Yes, it’s definitely a coincidence.

Albeit a shocking one.

But one all the same.

I yank my laptop from my desk drawer. Sarah would have done an intake when she set up the appointment. Basic answers, like date of birth, address, and insurance, are stored in our computer system. That information will set my mind at ease. I type away, logging into the computer, finding the program icon, clicking into that system… While I wait for it to open, I fan myself, realizing I’ve gone hot with anxiety.

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