love you, too.’
‘It’ll happen. We still have time. So much time.’
That’s right, thought Nikki. We still have time.
‘Dr Roberts?’ Carter Berkeley sounded irritated. ‘Were you even listening to me?’
‘Of course.’ Nikki dutifully repeated everything her client had just said. She’d long ago learned the knack of ‘surface listening’, using one’s brain to multitask, in this case memorizing Carter’s words whilst actively focusing on something else entirely. It was a trick Doug had taught her.
Why did everything seem to come back to Doug?
‘Now, as we’re almost out of time, I suggest we finish up with a mindfulness exercise,’ Nikki told Carter, deftly regaining control of the session. ‘If you don’t mind putting your feet flat on the floor …’
Once Carter Berkeley had left, Nikki wandered out into the lobby.
Trey Raymond, her PA, office manager and general right-hand man, was busy updating patient files. Not that there was much to update any more. Since Doug’s death, patients had been deserting Nikki’s practice like flies. Perhaps they thought her grief was contagious. Or that her loss might make her less focused, less effective as a therapist. Perhaps they were right about that. Whatever the reason, Nikki now only had four regular clients, down from almost twenty a year ago.
Inevitably, her final four were the most desperate, the ones who simply couldn’t let go.
Carter Berkeley, the paranoid banker, who came once a week.
Lisa Flannagan, the deluded mistress, who typically came twice a week.
Anne Bateman, the insecure violinist, who was Nikki’s most frequent flier, coming to therapy almost daily. Therapeutically, this was overkill, but like many people Nikki found she had a tough time saying no to the young and beautiful Anne. In fact it worried Nikki quite how often she thought about Anne, and how important her patient was becoming to her.
And finally there was Lana Grey, the actress, who regularly failed to pay Nikki’s bills on time, or even at all. Poor lost Lana. Once a mid-level TV star, she was washed up now and borderline bankrupt.
‘Lana ain’t your client,’ Trey would tell Nikki, repeatedly. ‘Clients pay. She’s your charity case. Your lost cause.’
‘Oh really? My lost cause.’ Nikki would smile. ‘And what does that make you, I wonder?’
‘Me?’ Trey would grin. ‘Oh, I’m the patron saint of lost causes. But you can’t get rid of me, Doc. I jus’ keep on coming back, like a bad penny.’
To which Nikki would reply that she didn’t want to get rid of him. That she didn’t know how she would manage without him. Both of which were true, but not because she needed an office manager. The reality was that Trey Raymond was a last link to her husband. Doug had helped Trey, picked him up off the streets and turned his life around. He’d done the same for countless others over the years. But for some reason Trey was different. Doug had loved him like a son.
The son I was never able to give him …
Trey shot Nikki a sidelong glance now, as he finished his filing. ‘You headin’ home, Doc?’
‘I was going to.’ Nikki hesitated, casting around for reasons to stay. ‘Do you need me for anything?’
‘Nope.’ The young man beamed, strong white teeth lighting up his ebony complexion. ‘I got this covered.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m positive,’ said Trey. ‘I’ll call you if anything comes up.’
Outside on the street, Nikki squinted. The sun was blinding, blasting out of the clear blue California sky with a vengeance after yesterday’s unexpected rain.
Nikki used to love the rain but now she hated it. It reminded her of Doug, of the anguish and misery and rage – God, the rage! – that could never be washed away. She imagined the wheels of his Tesla, slick and slipping across the freeway. His panic as he hurtled towards the lights of the oncoming traffic. Nikki imagined Doug’s foot stamping frantically on a useless brake pedal. Did he scream? I hope he screamed.
Up until that day, as far as Nikki knew, she and Doug had been happy in their marriage. Blissfully happy.
Clearly she was mistaken. That was the day it had all unraveled. All the smoke and mirrors had fallen away, and she was left staring at the raw truth. The ugly truth.
And now Doug was dead and she was alone, her life a never-ending nightmare of unanswered questions and ‘what ifs’. Until the accident, Nikki wouldn’t have believed it possible to love someone so much, miss them so much and hate them so much, all at the same time. But here she was, drowning in all three emotions, fighting simply to make it through the day.
She’d found solace in her work, to a degree. But sometimes, like Doug with his addicts, Nikki found herself so frustrated with her patients she wanted to pick them up by the scruff of the neck and shake them, like a terrier with a rat.
Get over it, for God’s sake.
STOP WHINING!
She never used to be that way. Intolerant. Superior. Judgmental.
Grief had changed her.
Lisa Flannagan was a case in point. Nikki didn’t approve of Lisa. Of her life, her choices. On the plus side, unlike Carter Berkeley, Lisa did at least sincerely want to change. Although, again unlike Carter, she was so stupid, so profoundly intellectually giftless, that getting her to see even the most simple correlation between her behaviors, thoughts and emotions was like trying to teach a swamp rat calculus. Was it frustration that had made Nikki so depressed after last night’s session with Lisa? Or something else? Maybe it was envy. Envy at Lisa’s positive outlook. Her happiness, her hope for the future. Hope was something that Nikki Roberts no longer possessed, in any area of her life. After last night’s session she’d driven out into the rainy alley, so upset she’d had to stop the car to compose herself. Then she’d gone home, finished an entire bottle of wine alone (a nightly occurrence these days) and collapsed into bed, too drained even to cry. To her amazement, she slept deeply and well, not waking until almost nine this morning, feeling nauseous but more rested than she had in months.
The sleep had done wonders for her mood, carrying her through the morning on a mini wave of euphoria, right up until her trying session with Carter Berkeley. That had brought her down again. But now it was over, she made an effort to recapture her earlier good spirits.
Arriving home, she kicked off her shoes and turned on the TV news before running upstairs to change. Pathetic as it was, Nikki found that background noise from the television or radio made her feel less lonely, especially in the evenings. Up in the master bedroom it was off with the professional psychologist’s clothes – skirt, pumps, silk jacket – and on with the shorts and sneakers. This evening, Nikki decided, she would run on the beach. She hadn’t done that in forever, not since long before Doug’s accident. Back then, in another life, running beside the ocean used to make her feel happy. Free. Blessed. She didn’t expect any of those feelings today. That would be too much to ask. But
