Page 11 of Good and Gone

“Speaking of… I think we need to hire a nanny. Someone more dependable.”

He looks over his shoulder and meets my eye. “Okay.”

“You know—that way I don’t have to call Mom.”

“I get it,” he nods. “The question is, can we afford it?”

“We can’t afford not to,” I say, refilling my glass and then topping his off. “She’s driving me crazy.”

“Funny,” he says sarcastically. “During bath time, Lily said the same thing about you.”

“They've eaten?”

“Your mother fed them.”

“Oh, crap.” I walk into the entryway, dig my phone out of my bag, walk back into the kitchen and place it on the charger. “Remind me to text her,” I say to Tyler. “Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“You can thank her in person tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I say, looking up. “Why tomorrow?”

He turns to face me. “We have our session with Marcia, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“I figured you might have forgotten.”

“Actually,” I say, grimacing, “I kind of did.”

“No worries.” I watch as he plates our dinner. “I asked your mom to watch the kids.”

I bite my tongue until I’m sure it’s going to bleed. Everything is so perfect, and he’s gone to so much effort, I don’t want to mess it up. But in the end, I can’t help myself. “I’m just not sure I see the point.”

“I know, Hailey. I know what you’re going to say.”

“What?” I ask, leaning against the bar. “What am I going to say?”

“You’re going to say we don’t need marriage counseling.”

He’s right. That’s exactly what I was going to say. “And you disagree?”

“Not exactly.”

Two months ago, not long after Sarah died, Tyler suggested that we see someone. What he really meant was thatIshould see someone. I don’t think he wanted to make the accusation, so he offered to tag along as though the issue wasours, instead of simplymine.

Of course I was sad, he’d said. I had every right to be. My best friend had just taken her life. Everyone thinks Sarah succumbed to her cancer, but then there are those of us who know the truth. She was tired of fighting. I can’t say I blame her, because everyone would think I’m a terrible person. But I do. I really, really do.

Within days of her death, my hair started falling out. There would be clumps in my hand when I showered. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even think straight. My focus and memory were shot. When I stopped wanting to get out of bed at all, that’s when Tyler suggested Dr. Marcia Bennett, our city’s most popular psychologist. He thinks she hung the moon. I think she’s in it for the money. When I told him that, he only smiled and said, “Who isn’t?”

“She’s only in it for the money,” I say now, standing defiantly over my glass of wine.

“What does it matter if it’s helping?”

I roll my eyes. “Is it helping, Ty?”

“I think so. Your mother—”

“Do not bring my mother into this.”

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