Page 29 of Trial Run

The drive was familiar, but not. It had been so long. New construction had cropped up on the highway, lanes closed that hadn’t been before. Even the trees looked different, bursting with pale green early leaves.

“So, you mentioned looking for a third job.”

The corner of her mouth turned down. “I don’t want a third job, of course. It will mean more time away from Marco. But we need the money.”

She put on her turn signal and took the highway exit. “I’m hoping to find something I can do online from home, maybe while he’s asleep, or when there’s free time.”

“I can’t imagine you have a lot of free time.”

She gave a little laugh. “Not much. But I’ll manage. This is a nice part of town.”

They’d turned into the older, residential neighborhood that housed the clinic, where restored Victorian homes stood on both sides of quiet, brick streets.

“When I set up the clinic, I wanted it to feel more comfortable, less medical. So we bought a house instead.”

“These houses are huge, though.”

“They are. Definitely big enough for our needs. The clinic has three floors, with fourteen treatment rooms and three sitting rooms total. I can’t imagine it as a family home, but it was, at one point.”

Ben’s pulse picked up as they got closer. The clinic had been his home away from home, and he hadn’t seen it in weeks. His return was due in large part to the woman sitting next to him, and she didn’t even realize it.

“This is it.” He pointed as she turned down a street lined with Bradford pear trees. Their branches, thick with white blossoms, formed an archway over the brick street.

“Oh. It’s so beautiful. With the trees in bloom.”

“This is a good time of year to visit. You can park there, in the driveway. There won’t be anyone here on a Saturday.”

They pulled up to the clinic, and Nell parked next to the hand-painted sign with the clinic’s name. His throat tightened at the sight of the familiar building with its slate-blue exterior, white trim, and wraparound porch.

“Thank you for driving. I haven’t been in so long.”

She put the car in park and turned to face him. “I can already tell, this place is amazing. I’m glad you asked me to come.”

Ben took a breath and pulled himself together. “Let me show you around.”

Together, they climbed the porch steps. He unlocked the heavy oak door, disarmed the security system, and flipped on the lights of the main reception area. They’d furnished it like an old-fashioned sitting room, with velvet and floral couches, leather armchairs, and stained glass lamps. The reception desk was an old oak rolltop Vanessa had dug up at one of the estate sales she couldn’t stay away from.

“This is the main floor reception area. We have sitting rooms on each of the other floors as well.”

“It’s so homey. It feels like a place people would come to relax. And I love the style.” Nell’s eyes scanned around them as they walked.

“That’s mostly my co-worker Vanessa’s doing. She’s good at finding vintage furniture and making it all look right together.”

He walked down the hallway, flipping on more lights as they went. “These smaller rooms used to be bedrooms, but they’ve been converted into individual treatment rooms. We have six therapists and two nurses on staff now. But when we started out,it was just me and Vanessa. She’s the other senior counselor on staff.”

He motioned for her to follow him up a flight of stairs. “My office is on the third floor.”

At the top of the staircase, they passed the third-floor reception area and he took out another key to unlock his office. Stepping inside was like going back in time, with everything as he’d left it, from the organized cherrywood desk to the leather couch piled with neutral-toned pillows. Someone had been dusting and watering his plants while he’d been gone.

Behind him, Nell hummed appreciatively. “This is amazing. What a view.”

“It’s not too bad, right?” The bay windows spanned most of one wall, showing the city skyline and the trees in bloom, pink and white.

He’d never be here, if it hadn’t been for her help, and he still hadn’t figured out a way to say the words to her. But he had to tell her, to at least let her know a small part of his feelings, if not the whole of them.

Ben turned to face her. She walked the perimeter of his office, studying the walls. She’d folded her arms across her chest, as if trying not to touch anything.

“Is that you?” She squinted at a framed news article on the wall, which included a photo of Ben in a TV studio, shaking the show host’s hand.

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