Page 119 of Broken Dream
“This is between you and me,” I say.
“Of course.” She grabs my hand across the table, squeezes it. “Everything you say to me is always just between the two of us. You know that, Angie.” She tilts her head. “Something really is wrong, isn’t it?”
“Not wrong so much as…”
“You can tell me. I noticed you seemed a little off at dinner last night and breakfast this morning. What are you struggling with?”
I open my mouth to speak when the barista brings our drinks over.
Aunt Melanie smiles. “Thank you.”
Once the barista leaves, Aunt Melanie meets my gaze. Her own seems troubled.
I take the lid off my mocha and swirl it, letting the steam escape.
“So this is really confidential between the two of us,” I say again. “You can’t tell anyone. And I mean anyone.”
“Of course not, Angie.” She furrows her brow with concern. “What is this about?”
I take a sip of my mocha.
Burn my tongue.
“A couple of things.” I swallow. “This wasn’t going to be easy to talk about anyway, and now it’s even harder.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it involves… It involves Dr. Lansing.”
Aunt Melanie’s eyebrows nearly pop off her head. “What about Dr. Lansing?”
“Well, like I said, he’s my anatomy lab professor.”
“Yes. I know you’re having trouble with lab. With cutting into your cadaver.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the problem. I…” God, my cheeks are burning.
“You can tell me,” Aunt Melanie prods. “You don’t have to, but if you think it will help to talk to me about it, please, tell me. This is a judgment-free zone.”
I purse my lips. “Are you saying you’re acting as my therapist?”
She chuckles lightly. “No, I’m acting as your aunt. Your aunt who cares very deeply about you and does not like to see you troubled.”
“Can you say you’re acting as my therapist? That way I know you’ll be bound to keep this between us.”
She laughs uneasily. “I’d do that for you anyway, Angie. You know how things are between us.”
I look down at my mocha again, swirling the dark liquid in its paper cup. Aunt Melanie waits patiently, sipping her latte. She’s good at hiding it, but I can tell she’s worried.
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “It’s about Dr. Lansing… Jason.”
“Jason?” Aunt Melanie repeats, surprise coloring her tone.
“He told us to call him Jason,” I say. “In class, I mean.”
“I see.” She takes another sip of her latte.
One thing about Aunt Melanie—you can never tell exactly what she’s thinking. I suppose she’s had to learn to hear just about anything from her patients and not react.
