Page 57 of The Truth You Told

“I’m worried Max is a danger to herself or others.” Shay had been told plenty of times in the past that saying those words would erase a lot of boundaries when it came to mental health privacy. The thing that made it palatable was that Shay really believed it.

Surprise flickered into Tori’s expression, but she skillfully ironed it into blank curiosity. “Did something in particular happen?”

Shay took a breath and spilled out a somewhat disjointed retelling of the serial-killer-box day.

When she petered out to a stop, Tori was hungrily eyeing her notebook like she was dying to write out how crazy she thought Shay was being. But she refrained.

“I see. And the articles are the only reason you’re worried about her hurting herself?” Tori paused delicately. “Or others?”

Because they both knew what Shay was saying, why she was here. She didn’t think Max was suicidal or considering self-harm. She was worried about the second part.

“Her history, too,” Shay said, cautiously. “And what she said after I found the box. How I shouldn’t ask questions because I might not like the answer.”

Tori inhaled, exhaled, and shifted to stare out the large window. The golden light poured into the room, making it cozy without being overly warm.

“There’s a wine bar a couple storefronts over,” Tori said, and Shay had to take a second to make sure she heard her right.

“Okay.”

“I could use a glass, how about you?” Tori asked, eyebrows raised, clearly communicating something.

Shay could pretty much always use a glass of wine. “Okay.”

Ten minutes later they were seated at a back table in a room with dark mood lighting and soft jazz music. The wine was expensive, and so was the cheese board Tori ordered without blinking at the price. All of it was delicious.

It was then that Shay realized she didn’t have any female friends. No one to call when she wanted to hit up a fancy happy hour. All she had were the regulars at the bar, Callum Kilkenny, sometimes, and her family. How pathetic was that?

“Listen, I can’t talk specifics with you,” Tori said after their waiter left. “Hypothetically, though, what you told me doesn’t worry me. I would expect a girl, a teenager, even a young woman, to show interest in a criminal that’s known to be in the vicinity.” She held up a finger to stave off whatever follow-up Shay had. “And I think anything that happened after you found a box like that might be that person trying to unnerve you.”

“Why would she try to unnerve me?” Shay asked, not wanting to play along with hypotheticals.

“To punish you,” Tori said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps it was.

Shay slumped back, the relief a palpable thing on her tongue right beneath the smooth cabernet. “Thank you.”

Tori sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have given you that much, but I do believe you’re worried for no reason. If I thought anyone in my care was capable of harm, I would be obligated to report it.”

“I know,” Shay said. “Logically, I knew that.”

“We’re all a bit shaken up around here,” Tori said. Her insanely beautiful hair was braided back today, but the tail end hung over her shoulder and she toyed with it. “I’ve started carrying bear spray.”

That startled a laugh out of Shay.

“Hey, don’t mock it,” Tori said, with a smile. “That can take down a six-hundred-pound grizzly. I’d like to see a serial killer escape that.”

Shay giggled and then glanced around. There were mostly women in the crowded little wine bar, and she wondered how many of them were having this exact discussion. How many of them had been having this discussion for their whole lives? If it wasn’t the Alphabet Man, it was the rapist next door or the frat guy who couldn’t hear no. Violence was a part of their daily lives—the Alphabet Man was just bringing it to the forefront.

“I feel like I’m burying my head in the sand,” Shay admitted, like it was a shameful secret. “I am definitely not of the collecting-articles mentality.”

Tori tilted her head in that way every psychologist Shay had ever met did when they found something you said interesting but didn’t want to come off as diagnosing you. “Why do you think that is?”

“Noooo,” Shay said on a laugh, tossing a peanut lightly in Tori’s direction. “You’re off the clock.”

“Oh my god, sorry.” Tori buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“I’ll give you one—and only one—of those,” Shay said, and then actually thought about the question. Because maybe it was interesting. “I don’t know. Doesn’t it feel like a slippery slope sometimes? Like you start paying attention to some of, and then all of, the articles. And then you get paranoid. You start triple-checking your locks every night. The next thing you know, you’re carrying a gun or Mace.”

“And that’s bad because . . . ?” Tori prodded.

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