Page 75 of Midnight Valentine
Everything starts to spin.
Theo’s accident was exactly five years ago to the day that Cass died.
20
“Hello, Megan. It’s Dr. Singer.”
“Oh, thank God! Thank you for calling me back so fast!”
“I was in a meeting, or I would’ve called sooner. You sounded upset in your message. What’s going on?”
I’m in the ladies’ room at the church, where I fled without saying a word of farewell to poor Coop, who must think I’m a lunatic. I chew my thumbnail as I pace back and forth in front of the row of sinks. I avoid looking at myself in the mirror because I’m frightened of what I might find lurking behind my eyes.
“I need your honest, professional opinion about something.”
“Of course. What is it?”
I stop pacing, close my eyes, and take a deep breath to calm my thundering heart. “Am I insane?”
Dr. Singer’s silence is almost as loud as one of Theo’s. It makes me nervous.
“Like, on a scale of one to ten, with one being a fully healthy, functional person and ten being the writer who tries to murder his family in The Shining, where do I fall?”
“In my professional opinion, I’d say you’re at two and a quarter. Perhaps two point five.”
Clammy with relief, I sag against the sink. “Really? I’m not even a three? That’s good, right?”
“There’s no such scale in clinical psychiatry, but I answered that way because you’re an accountant. I knew you’d appreciate my being exact.”
“Was an accountant. In my former life. Which no longer exists. Like most of the reasoning capacity of my brain.”
I laugh. It sounds crazy. I know it does, because in his most gentle I’m-dealing-with-a-cuckoo voice, Dr. Singer says, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
I start to pace again because it feels productive. Like I might be in control of at least this one little thing. I can’t control my thought processes, my fantasies, or the psychotic little voice in my head whispering impossible things in my ear about Theo Valentine, but I can march back and forth over this terrifically ugly brown tile.
“Um. God. Where to start?” This time, my laugh is nervous.
“Start at the beginning.”
“Okay.” I blow out a hard breath. “There’s this man.”
“Ah.”
I stop pacing. “What do you mean, ‘Ah?’ That sounds important.”
“May I ask you a few questions about this man?”
“Yes. Ask away.”
“Are you attracted to him?”
Oh fuck. “I’m…I’m…”
After it becomes clear I won’t add anything more, Dr. Singer says, “It’s all right to admit it, Megan. You’re not betraying Cass’s memory if you find another man attractive.”
I start pacing with renewed vigor. Back and forth I go, my heels clacking on the tile, my hands shaking, my armpits damp. “Let’s just say he affects me.”
“Go on.”
