Page 16 of The Therapist
‘Thank you,’ I said, knowing that this was the best way to end the conversation. His eyes were already closing when I left the room.
He often falls asleep on the sofa, which suits me because it means I have our marriage bed to myself.
This morning, I didn’t remind him about the appointment. I wanted to see if he remembered.
He took the kids to school without saying anything and then he came back.
‘I told Paul I won’t be in until lunch. I think I should take my own car to this appointment. Can you text me the address?’
‘I think we should go together.’
‘No, I need to get back to work afterwards. Things are getting really tough at the office and I need to be there.’
I waved my hand at him, not wanting to hear any of that.
‘Please, let’s drive in together. We need to talk about what we want to achieve with therapy.’
He sat down at our small kitchen table, picked up half a piece of toast that Felix had left and chewed his way through it, disgusting me.
‘Whatever you want, Sandy,’ he said and I smiled. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.
‘I’ll get dressed,’ I told him.
And now we are on our way through early-morning traffic and I find myself excited and worried at the same time. What will happen in the appointment, and more importantly, who will Lana believe? There are three sides to every story: his, mine and the truth. I need Lana to believe that my story is reality, mine is the one she can trust. That’s what I need.
SEVEN
Lana
‘Thank you for coming in, Mike,’ I say as the man shuffles uncomfortably on my sofa. He doesn’t want to be here at all, and I wonder how Sandy got him to come, what she said to make him turn up here.
Her husband is tall, blond and square, like a well-muscled Ken doll. I cannot help the thought that they make a beautiful couple. I know they have two children and I imagine they are as lovely as their parents are. Whatever is going on in their house, I hope they are safe from it.
‘No problem,’ he says, clearing his throat. He wrings his hands together, forcing me to look at them. He is a lot bigger than his wife. He could do a lot of damage with those hands. But would he? Has he already?
‘Did you come together?’ I ask, choosing an innocuous question so that he relaxes a little. I’m not actually sure what the goal is here but I’m going to let Sandy lead the way.
‘We did,’ Sandy answers for him, ‘and I told Mike that I’m really hoping this can help us. I want us to be better at being married and being parents, being people.’
Mike shoots his wife a look. What was that –disbelief? Disdain?
Sandy is sitting on the opposite end of the small sofa, her fingers pale as she squeezes her hands together in her lap. She seems to be afraid of him, even sitting in this office with me, she is afraid of him. Or that’s what she wants me to think.
He looks around, studying the picture of the ocean on the wall, and then his gaze flicks over to the window, where a bright winter sun shines.
We all sit in silence as I wait for one of them to say something but neither does so eventually, I say, ‘Perhaps you can tell me why you agreed to come.’
‘I want to help Sandy,’ he says, folding his arms across his chest.
‘And I think that Sandy would like to help you,’ I say, and he looks at his wife.
‘Why would I need any help?’ He uncrosses his arms and shuffles some more on the sofa.
‘Please, Mike,’ says Sandy, her voice soft and cajoling, ‘please try, for both of us.’
He takes a deep breath and it’s easy to see that this has an effect on him. She is so soft and quiet that he cannot help but respond to her. There is a meekness about her in this moment.
‘I’m not sure what you want me to say here,’ says Mike, opening his arms wide.
