Page 63 of Bedroom Therapy

What about my expertise as Esther Knight, she’d like to ask, but she kept that question to herself.

She wanted to talk about last night. She wanted to know what was going on with Zach. But she understood she was going to have to find the right time and the right place.

She kept the easy camaraderie going during the meal, accepted his help cleaning up the kitchen and let him go off to work up his notes—if that was what he was really doing.

Although she’d been using the desk in the bedroom, she knew the new arrangement would be distracting. Finding her computer and the letters that Zach had set on the closet floor, she carried them to the living room.

The good thing about a laptop was that you could work anywhere, she mused as she settled down on the sofa, with the computer on her lap and the letters in a pile beside her.

Today she was determined to get enough material for the column. So, although she hated herself for doing it, she started looking for questions that were easy to answer.

Dear Esther, I’m sixteen years old and I haven’t gotten my period yet. Is there something wrong with me?

Worried in Atlanta.

That was easy enough to deal with. “Dear Worried,” she began. “You might want to make an appointment for a physical exam. But there’s probably nothing wrong with you. Different women get their periods at different ages. And you are probably just a late bloomer.”

She looked at her answer, then realized that there might be a problem. She hadn’t read any letters in Esther’s previous columns from anyone in her mid-teens. Was there some age limit on who could get answers from the column?

She could simply skip the letter, she knew. But it suddenly made her remember that Beth had called the day before, and she hadn’t answered. When she went to get her phone from the kitchen, she realized she’d forgotten to charge it. Again.

She plugged it in, then called from the landline. The receptionist put her right through.

“Amanda, thank God,” her friend said as soon as she got on the line. “I was worried about you. I tried ringing you again this morning, and the phone at your place is disconnected. And I just get voicemail on your cell phone. What’s going on?”

She sighed. “I’ve moved.”

“Moved? You just got there.”

“Long story. Two nights ago, someone broke into my house.”

“Good grief! Are you all right?”

“Yes. I called Zach, and he chased the guy off. But he’s worried that the incident could be connected with Esther’s death.”

She heard Beth suck in a sharp breath. “That’s kind of scary.”

“Well, he got the real estate company to let me move. That’s why you couldn’t get me on the landline.”

“Very resourceful. Is he there with you?” Beth asked.

“Yes. He wanted to stay around and make sure nothing else happens.”

“Good. He seemed like he knew his job. I’m not worried if you’re with him.”

“Yes,” Amanda answered, wondering what else to say.

“How is it going with the two of you?”

Amanda hesitated, not sure of what to say.

“He’s there, and you can’t say much?” Beth guessed.

“In the house, yes.”

“Then just answer yes or no. Do you like him?”

“Yes.”

---