Page 11 of For Her Own Good

Or maybe he’s been hiding from me? No, he gave me a heads-up that I might see him here, I can’t imagine he’d go out of his way to avoid me like I have the plague after that. Another possibility occurs to me, which is that he knows when I’ll be here and he’s done his best to not be in public areas when I’d be coming or going because I told him I didn’t want to see him ever again. Something about that rings true, like that perfect last note of a tuning orchestra. Yes, that is precisely something he’d do.

My urge to see his somewhat unruly ginger hair emerge from the ripped canvas of a painting I’d brought down upon his head is all but extinguished. The desire to talk with him across a dinner table and have a conversation because he knows my history and isn’t afraid of or disgusted with me because of it is ignited instead. Perhaps I’d like that. Very much.

I could certainly use more pleasure in my life given how much of it is taken up by corporate bullshit I never wanted but that I’ve been saddled with, and I had—have—a very complicated relationship with my father which makes it impossible for me to simply slough off like most of the other things I find unpleasant.

“Starla? What are you doing out here? I tried calling because you’re never late.”

That’s embarrassing. Having Doctor Gendron catch me in the hallway mulling this over. But now that I’ve arrived at this conclusion, I should follow through before I talk myself out of it. Which will be in approximately twelve parsecs. Even though that famous line doesn’t make any sense because parsecs are a unit of distance not time, but it’s the best I’ve got. I’d count myself lucky to have Chewbacca at my back, too, but no Wookiees in sight. It’s all up to me.

“I will, uh, be right there. Give me a minute?”

Doctor Gendron regards me as though I’m a specimen she thought she was intimately familiar with, but instead of what she was expecting, she got something entirely different, perhaps a whole new species.

“Sure,” she metes out, and then walks deliberately back to her office and over the threshold. I’m not fortunate enough to have her close the door, but this will have to do.

It’s only a few steps for me to get to Lowry’s door. I know it’s his because I’ve seen the nameplate every time I’ve come and gone from Doctor Gendron’s office. This is the closest I’ve gotten, though, and my heart beats harder, faster, knowing he’s on the other side. Also that he’s alone—he wouldn’t have grabbed a coffee if he had a patient scheduled for now.

I hold up a fist to knock and my stomach twists. It feels as though my face twists in a similar fashion and I take a deep breath while I try to smooth it out. No bigs, whatevs, I can totes do this. No problem. At all. Plus, the longer it takes, the more curious Doctor Gendron is going to be, and I don’t need that in my life.

So I do it. Rap my knuckles against the wood and don’t breathe until the door swings open. Shit. I thought he’d say “come in” from behind his desk. Not be standing like a foot away. So much for that whole friends thing because at the first whiff of him—he still smells the same—I want to climb him like a squirrel up an acorn-laden tree. Fuck my life.

“Starla? Everything okay?”

Yes, he looks downright concerned. As well he might since I’m seeking him out when I’ve essentially told him to fuck off. Repeatedly.

“Is Lacey not there? I saw her earlier…” He pokes his head through the doorframe, looking in the direction of Doctor Gendron’s office and he’s even closer to me. I’m going to die.

Everyone thought depression would kill me, but no, it’s lust for my ex-psychiatrist that will do the trick, and I won’t even have to sleep with him to do it, just have his hands brush me and… Oh, Christ, can’t think about that without contributing to the bonfire that’s been set alight on my face.

“No, she’s there. Waiting for me. I—”

His brows go up in the middle, wrinkling his forehead, and I swear if he opens his mouth to say anything, I won’t be able to finish this sentence, so I barrel on before he has the chance.

“I’ve thought further about your invitation. And yes, we could, um, have dinner. Or something. Sometime. Whenever. I don’t care. But you’ll have to call me because I don’t have your number and I don’t want to call you at work because I know everyone here and I…”

I trail off as though I’ve lost my train of thought, but really I’ve lost my nerve and now I want to sink into the rug, never to be seen again. This was a terrible idea. I should’ve allowed my more practical self to reason with my more impulsive self because she’s fucking right. Mortifying.

Except that he’s smiling. A subtle but genuine smile that reaches into my body and squeezes my heart because it’s so very kind and approving. Makes me feel like I have been the very best girl and that he’d like to reward me for it. Thoroughly.

“I’d like that. And yes, I can call you. But you should go see Lacey.” He leans down like he did the first time I met him, and his breath ghosts over my ear as he says in a near whisper, “You know she gets grumpy when she’s kept waiting. And she’s still my boss, might sack me any day.”

Then he’s standing upright again and I’m trying not to collapse or spontaneously combust. I can barely stammer, “Okay,” and then try not to trip over my own feet as I head toward Doctor Gendron’s office.

Chapter 4

Starla

I’m workingon a daily checklist for one of my clients when the phone rings. Nora is a wildly successful comic book artist, but she forgets to do things like take a shower for days at a time. Which is less of a problem than it would be if she had to go into an office every day, but she still needs to brush and floss her teeth so she doesn’t get cavities and have to make an unexpected trip to the dentist because who the hell knows how long it would take her to makethatappointment. Which is another thing I need to add to her checklist.

She’s got a backlog of bills to pay, calls to make, emails to send—all that daily stuff most of us take in stride, but for Nora it’s literally easier to pull an all-nighter to bang out several pages of incredibly detailed and gorgeous work than it is to call to make a grooming appointment for her beloved Shih Tzu, Barney. So we’ll put one thing a day like that on her schedule and then put something she enjoys doing right after it. Like taking Barney for his walk.

While I’m not a fan of the phone either, I’ve learned to think of it as a tool. A tool that is sometimes more expedient than sending a zillion emails back and forth. Unfortunately for me, this call will not be quick, nor will it be easy, likely not even useful. What would be worse is not answering and then having to deal with a fracking voicemail. I hate that shit.

“What do you want, Tad?”

“Good thing your father isn’t alive to hear you talk to me like that.”

Tad is arrogant. Can be obtuse. I would go so far as to say he can be inconsiderate, but I wouldn’t have called him cruel. That statement, however, is going to force me to reconsider.

---