Page 37 of Give Me Strength

Nothing whatsoever.

Powering up my laptop, I pull up my schedule for the week. Terri has already organized it, ensuring every hour is accounted for, for all of Aspen Grove’s psychiatrists. I scan through my appointments, making mental notes of meetings and patient sessions.

As I review my schedule, something pops up — a new and last-minute addition. I’m not sure why Dr. Morrissey wants to meet with me virtually this afternoon, but it never is good. There are a few consultations this week and a staff meeting on Thursday.

Hmm… Thursday. I’ll be meeting with the forensic accountant for Ashlynn’s accounts during that time, so I’ll have to miss the staff meeting. I shoot a quick email to Terri about blocking off my afternoon that day. With the necessary adjustments made, it’s time to tackle the one consult I definitely haven’t been putting off: Ashlynn’s therapy.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Come in,” I call out, knowing it’s probably one of my colleagues.

I put the photo frame back in its place as Dr. Jenkins — Sheila — walked in, a warm smile on her face.

Sheila is one of the psychiatrists I employ, specializing in trauma and PTSD. She’s been an invaluable asset to Aspen Grove, and a personal friend — but not that kind of personal friend. Not that it matters.

Gosh, why am I being so defensive?

“Hey, Gilbert,” she says, taking a seat across from me. “Terri said you wanted to talk?”

“I was coming to you.”

She shrugs. “Thought I’d save you the trip. Unless you’d like to make this a working lunch.”

“Not for this,” I reply, leaning forward. “It’s about one of Dr. Kaplan’s patients. We have some… mutual acquaintances, which makes it a potential conflict of interest.”

Sheila nods, her expression serious. “For you or the patient?”

“Both,” I confirm. My voice sounds steady, but inside, I’m anything but calm. “She’s coming back; whether it’ll be short-term or long-term is up to her. And given the circumstances, I believe it would be best for her to see another psychiatrist.

She listens intently, understanding the nuances of such situations. “I see. And you’d like me to take over her case.”

“I do. I think your expertise and fresh perspective would benefit her.”

Sheila leans back in the chair. “Mutual acquaintances, huh? Care to elaborate?”

I hesitate, wondering how much of it is mine to share and how much it should be Ashlynn’s. A beat passes, and I settle on, “It’s… complicated.”

She lifts a curious brow. “Try me.”

“Resuming therapy was one of my stipulations, so it’s safe to say she’s not too thrilled about it.”

Sheila’s eyes narrow slightly, a mix of curiosity and concern. “Gilbert, you’re being intentionally vague about this, and that’s not like you. If there’s a conflict of interest, I need to know the details to fully understand the situation. A name would help.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “Ashlynn Crane.”

She goes silent, and her expression shifts, a mix of surprise and something else — disapproval, perhaps. Her gaze falls to the picture of Rachel and me on my desk.

Sheila wasn’t Rachel’s biggest fan. She also wasn’t privy to the true nature of Rachel’s and my relationship. She had her suspicions and had even asked about it once, but I neither confirmed nor denied it. That oversight was intentional, of which I take full responsibility. And after Rachel died, I simply didn’t see the point.

Then again, Sheila did see Everett Crane punch me at Rachel’s and Hannah’s funeral. That wasn’t a secret; a lot of people witnessed it. It was no secret that Rachel and Hannah were best friends. It made sense that we did a joint funeral for both, and they were buried in the same cemetery. For all anyone knew, Everett was a grief-stricken husband lashing out. I saw no point in explaining what had transpired, so people drew their own conclusions.

The silver lining here is that I wasn’t legally responsible for Ashlynn when she saw Dr. Kaplan back then, so as far as anyone’s concerned, there wasn’t a conflict of interest then. The last thing I would ever do is jeopardize a patient’s chances at recovery by not disclosing a connection like this, and I hold all of Aspen Grove’s psychiatrists to the same standard.

Sheila sighs, shaking her head slightly. “Ashlynn’s therapy could be impacted by this.”

“I know,” I say, my voice tinged with frustration. “That’s why I’m asking you to take over her case. Like I said, I think your expertise in trauma and fresh perspective would benefit her.”

Her expression softens, albeit slightly. “And this stipulation? What’s that about?”

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