Page 189 of Heart So Hollow

It seems like a big deal—too big of a change for me to even consider it. But logically, how is it any different than Bowen letting me live in his house rent-free and buying me a car?

“If I did quit my job, when would I do it?” I muse, “When’s the best time to walk into Dave’s office and say, hey, I’m resigning to go write books?”

Bowen shrugs, “Do it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

He laughs, “What—do you have some prior commitment? Come on, destiny’s waiting.”

And, honestly, I can’t think of a good reason not to.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Brett

Present

“Like I said at our last session, I want to try something new with you today,” Judy clasps her hands pensively, “it’s called Accelerated Resolution Therapy.”

She looks pretty excited. But, then again, Judy always looks excited. She brushes her flowy sagebrush skirt down her leg and bounces her foot, adorned with bright orange polish and matching shade of Chaco sandals.

“Research shows that bilateral stimulation helps repair parts of the nervous system that are damaged when someone goes through a traumatic event.” She motions around her head emphatically as she explains, “ART helps your brain process all that through eye movements and, as a result, your nervous system actually heals and desensitizes you so that you no longer have severe reactions when exposed to triggers.”

It's a nice thought, not waking up trying to claw my way out of my bedroom or, at the very least, not feeling like there are someone’s eyes boring into the back of my head every time I leave my house. Not like it matters if I leave my house…I feel like he’s there, too.

“This will keep me calm whenever I think about him instead of giving me anxiety and panic attacks?”

A wide, mischievous smile spreads across Judy’s face as she slowly nods her head.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, “OK, let’s do it…” my chest trembles as I try to keep the lump in my throat down, “because I can’t live like this anymore.”

???

“Seriously,” I toss my turquoise leather cross-body across the console to the passenger seat, “thank you for everything. We should do this again, except without the car repairs,” I say with a laugh.

“It’s the least I could do, especially after smashing your bumper,” Valerie glances to the side sheepishly, “did insurance cover the entire thing?”

“Oh, yeah,” I nod, “aside from waiting on the part, the whole thing was pretty seamless, even with the weird ignition issue.”

By late afternoon, my 4Runner is otherwise good as new and I’m finally about to head back home after Valerie drops me at the dealership. With a promise to make plans next week, she embraces me in a farewell hug coated in vanilla and orange blossom perfume and turns to head back to her SUV.

“Oh, um—” Valerie turns around and opens her mouth, but hesitates before finally shaking her head, “never mind.”

“What is it?” I ask, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Valerie bobs her head back and forth briefly and then approaches my door, “What—” she lowers her voice, “what did you mean by he has a type?”

“Who?” I scrunch up my face, utterly oblivious.

“Ah…um…” she stammers, “the guy…the one you told me about.”

“Oh!” I exclaim. “Sorry, that guy.” I squint at her with amusement as I pull my seatbelt across my chest, “You want to know?”

“Sorry,” her eyes fall to the asphalt and she shakes her head again, picking at her lavender nail polish, “I shouldn’t have asked, that’s weird.”

“No,” I shrug, sliding my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, “it’s OK. It’s in the past. I don’t mind talking about it anymore.”

I press my brake pedal and push the ignition. The engine roars to life, just as it should, and I start bobbing my head to the Limp Bizkit song that blares through the speakers at a much higher volume than I left it before my car got towed. I suspect the mechanics were having a good time…

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