Page 66 of Never the Best

“It means exactly what you think it does,” he replied calmly. “I’m here with you, for you, and when you’re feeling better, we’re going to start dating.”

“You meanifI feel better?” I wanted to kill hope with my words.

He wants to date me even after all this?What’s wrong with him?

“No, I meanwhen, because you’re already better than you were a day ago, two days ago, a week ago.”

“How come you’re here all the time? Don’t you have to go to work?”

“I took a leave of absence.”

Hope soared, giving me the middle finger. “What?” That was the only word that managed to slip out, considering my shock.

“It’s my company, Pearl. I can take time off, and I am.”

“Why?” I was one hell of a conversationalist; just look at my articulate wit!

“Because you need me,andI need you.” He kissed my forehead. “Now, sleep, darlin’. Everything is going to work out. I promise.”

I believed him.

CHAPTER 23

Rhett

Missy was on Pearl watch. We were taking turns: Aunt Hattie, Missy, and me.

I felt like a gigantic asshole whenever I saw Pearl, wondering how she’d gone through this alone when I’d ripped her life apart, and later, when she’d first been diagnosed with anorexia after her heart stopped. She thought she was weak? A failure? I didn't think so! In my book, anyone who got through what she had on her own was the strongest motherfucker out there.

To help Pearl, I knew I needed to better understand her condition. Since I couldn’t talk to her therapist about her, which was unethical and impossible, I found someone who could teach me to be a better caregiver.

Aunt Hattie suggested I talk with her friend, a therapist, Dr. Monica Ryan. We were meeting at The Sentient Bean near Forsyth Park for coffee and afreeeducation session.

I used to frequent the Bean often when I was younger. It was a Savannah staple on a cobblestone street, cozy and unassuming. It was populated with locals, college students, and the occasional out-of-towner who stumbled upon it while looking for a decent cup of Joe.

The wooden tables were scratched but polished, evidently both lived-in and loved. I chose a table by the window, where the scent of coffee mingled with the faint tang of magnolia blossoms drifting in from the park despite the summer heat that killed pretty much anything green in sight.

Dr. Monica Ryan walked in right on time.

She had the kind of presence that instantly put you at ease, and her warmth and demeanor were inviting. Yet it was clear there was a sharp intelligence beneath her friendly exterior. Her salt-and-pepper curls framed her face, softening the sharpness of her eyes. She wore a neatly pressed teal linen blouse—a surprise, given Savannah’s humidity, which had most people surrendering to wrinkles by midday.

"Rhett," she greeted warmly as she set her leather bag on a chair.

I rose, shook hands with her, and gestured for her to sit across from me. Once she was settled, she told me, "I have to admit, I was a little surprised when Hattie said you wanted to talk, but not as a client. She made it sound important."

"It is," I admitted. "Thanks for making time."

A server came by to take our orders—an iced tea for me and a cappuccino for her. Dr. Ryan adjusted her chair, folding her hands on the table and tilting her head slightly asshe studied me. "Alright," she said with a small smile. "Tell me what’s on your mind."

I wasn’t used to feeling helpless. It wasn’t in my nature. But watching Pearl slip into a world I didn’t fully understand left me feeling raw and desperate.

“I have a friend,” I began. “She was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa about a decade ago. A week ago, she relapsed. I want to make sure I’m taking care of her the right way—that what I do actually helps and doesn’t hurt her, whether that’s now or in the long run.”

“Does she have a therapist?”

“Yeah, but she refused to talk to him until last night. I’ve set up an appointment for her later today.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Youset up an appointment?”

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