Page 55 of Always

I resist the temptation to call Skye, and I begin Monday morning at the private gym in my building. After an intense workout, I take a cold plunge with my trainer for some much-needed forced meditation.

I need my mind sharp and clear for the meeting today.

And damn, it’s grueling. For the last several years, we’ve had supply chain issues because of severe weather disruptions and political tensions in several key regions. Producers, local logistics partners, manufacturing units—all sporadic, all with unpredictable outcomes. Over the years, I’ve been able to work with some of the best minds in the industry to mitigate these threats, but they remain daunting, a constant source of worry.

Today’s meeting ends on a somber note as we pore over spreadsheets and graphs, each telling a more disillusioning story than the last. The pressure is palpable, but we come to an agreement with the supplier that will work, at least temporarily.

As my team disbands, I spend a moment alone in the silent boardroom. Thunder rumbles outside, a fitting soundtrack to my tumultuous thoughts.

I’ll need to stay here in New York for a few more days, so this time I give in to temptation.

I call Skye.

She doesn’t answer, so I leave her a quick voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me. I’ll be in New York another day or two. How long will you be staying in Liberty? Please let me know.” I pause andthen add, “Love you.”

I skip lunch and head to my office.

Several hours later, my phone buzzes.

It’s Skye.

“Hey,” I say into the phone.

“Sorry I missed your call,” Skye says. “I was…”

“You were what?”

“In a session. A therapy session.”

I raise my eyebrows. This is news. “Why didn’t you want to tell me that?”

“I don’t know. It’s personal, I guess.”

“You mean you were ashamed.”

“No, not really. I know I have no reason to be ashamed.”

I can’t help myself. “But it’s kind of a stigma, right? The great Skye Manning should be able to fix everything herself.”

She chuckles. “It’s scary sometimes, how well you know me.”

“I see a lot of myself in you.”

“Except, as you told me the other day, I’m not actually a master of control. Not like you are, anyway.”

“No, you’re not,” I say. “But that doesn’t make your need to be in charge any less valid.”

“I know.”

“Would it surprise you to know I’ve been to therapy?”

“Uh…yeah, actually. It would.” Disbelief is apparent in her tone.

I keep my therapy private, but not because I’m ashamed of it. I keep it private because I’m a private person. Just like I keep my alternate lifestyle private. My relationships private. It’s who I am.

“I have,” I tell her. “In fact, I have a standing monthly appointment with my therapist, just to check in.”

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