Page 12 of Meet Me at Christmas
The minute she was in the room and in view of the patient, her gaze met his, and she froze. She’d know those blue eyes in any crowd, eyes that once enveloped her with love, but now stared back at her with an emptiness that made her shiver.Henry. All the breath left her lungs. Suddenly, his behavior in the ice storm came back to her—the harsh reception, him asking where she lived… Her laptop and handbag clattered to the floor, the contents of her bag spilling all over the white tile.
She broke eye contact. “Oh, my goodness.” The words came out in winded shock as she scrambled to pick up her computer and checked to make sure it still worked. The screen lit up, to her relief, and she closed it once more.
The therapist, a pleasant-looking woman with mousy hair in an updo, walked over. “I’ll help you,” she said and began picking up the contents of Stella’s bag.
Stella hardly noticed. She’d already looked back over at Henry, unable to believe what was happening. She was supposed to be an observer, not involved in the therapy in any way.
A flicker of interest showed on his face, and he said, “I took you home last night.”
Not breaking eye contact, she slowly reached down and picked up her handbag, still trying to process this revelation.
He stood and walked toward her, bent over, and snatched up her lip gloss and wallet and handed them to her.
Their years together vanished right in front of her. “Henry?”
Upon hearing his name, he stiffened, and then walked back to a sofa on the other side of a muted green rug and took a seat. Leaning on his thighs, he balled his hands into fists, his knuckles turning white.
“Do you and Henry know each other?” the therapist asked as she picked up a few last items from Stella’s handbag that had rolled across the room.
She handed them over, and Stella shoved them into her bag, her mind filled with questions. If she said “yes,” it would certainly be a conflict of interest, and she wouldn’t be able to work on the case. But Henry was the only person who’d consented. Also if she admitted that she knew him, she wouldn’t be able to write her second article, and a possible promotion depended on it. That promotion was hers to lose, she’d been told, and she was just about to lose it.
“Uh,” she said, still rattled. She locked eyes with Henry and offered him a pleading stare. “No. Dr. Astley gave me his name.”
“You don’t have to talk as if I’m not capable of answering,” Henry snapped from the sofa, quickening her pulse.
Please, Henry. Don’t tell her.
“We’re sorry, Henry,” the therapist said. “You’re right. Perhaps you’d like to have a direct conversation with…” She peered over at Stella.
“Stella. Stella Fisher.” She stared at him to get his reaction and to her surprise and utter relief, a flash of a look of solidarity crossed his face.
“Stella,” he said slowly before his brows pulled together, his face crumpling. Then he studied her as if he were mentally taking stock of every one of her facial attributes. “Nice to… meet you.”
Light-headed, she forced herself to take in small, steady breaths. Carrying her computer and bag, she walked over to an empty chair at the back of the room.
She considered the fact that last night he’d had no knowledge of their breakup, which was a relief. His short-tempered drive to her house was due to whatever this was, not because he was still angry with her. She felt lighter knowing his resentment wasn’t directed at her, but the fact that he’d been horribly injured and had no memory of their good times together made her feel like she’d lost something wonderful.
The therapist stepped closer to Stella. “My name is Sarah Weixel. I’m a military clinical psychologist serving at Fort Campbell. I’m here as part of the military-civilian trauma team training. Because Henry lives closer to Vanderbilt, we decided to treat him here so we could also have—and learn from—the expertise of Dr. Astley’s team. We see him every day to start, and then we’ll reassess his plan once we’ve made some progress.”
Stella opened her laptop and typed a few notes about the partnership.
“Today we’re working on reducing negative thought patterns,” Ms. Weixel said, her shoes clacking against the floor as she neared Henry. “I was asking Henry to tell me three positive things that have happened today.”
“It’s a waste of time,” he growled.
Stella typed a note to herself:Combative. Not receptive to suggestions.
“What makes you feel the time is wasted?” Ms. Weixel asked.
Henry rolled his eyes but didn’t answer.
The woman slipped her hands into the pockets of her pressed trousers. “Let’s see if we can find one pleasant thing about today?”
Henry stared into space, his adorable lips set in a frustrated pout.
Stella quietly typed below the initial description Dr. Astley had given her:Subject is obstinate, distressed. Seems to have shut down. When she looked up, he was staring at the laptop, evidently curious about what she was typing.
“Not going to participate today?” the therapist asked him.
