Page 36 of From the Courtroom to the Court
"Great," Emma notes again. "When will you see Aaron next?"
"This weekend. I pick him up Friday and take him back Sunday afternoon."
"Would you mind if I join you when you pick him up?" Emma asks, surprising Mia. "We're going to see each other quite a few times, and I'd like to meet him outside of here or the courthouse, so it's not all so formal and he sees me as a more approachable and trustworthy figure."
Mia stares, mouth agape.
"Uh, yes, but I prefer to go get him alone, that moment is very special for us."
"Of course," Emma clears her throat, "sorry."
"We can meet later at the club if that works for you. I always go there when I pick him up, so he can see Leah and her mothers."
"Great, I'll see you at the club then. For my part, I have everything. I'll review all you've brought me and if I need anything else, I'll call you."
They both stand up at the same time, and Emma, despite intuiting she'll get electrocuted again, extends her hand to Mia, unable to understand why she feels so attracted to a ball collector who even has a criminal record.
Chapter 18
Emily's hands sweat so much that she has had to get up twice to go to the bathroom, once to dry them with paper towels and once to wash them with soap and water. For a couple of days now, she's been experiencing a feeling she can't quite name. After Leah Walker told her she had a partner, Emily revived feelings she thought she had left in the past.
Now she sits in Dr. Eveline Mitchell's office, waiting for her turn. She's been turning the idea over in her mind for some time, especially after her mother recommended talking to someone else if she didn't feel strong enough to open up to her. Emily Harris has that problem: she's kept the most intense situations she's experienced locked inside herself, and that has ended up taking its toll.
The lobby has warm lighting, though in the back there's a large window that lets in natural light. The furniture seems carefully selected to avoid the coldness of a traditional clinic. A pair of armchairs upholstered in neutral tones rest next to a dark wooden coffee table, decorated with psychology and art magazines. A discreet aromatic diffuser spreads a soft lavender scent, creating a feeling of calm.
"Emily," calls a woman who appears to be about sixty years old. She wears gray linen pants and a white and red Japanese-style shirt. "Come in, please."
Immediately, Emily feels a little more relaxed. The woman makes calculated movements; her tone of voice is low and measured. All rehearsed to exude tranquility and make her patients feel comfortable.
"I'm Dr. Eveline Mitchell, but please call me Eveline," she says with a smile when they both enter the consultation room. "The title is hanging on the wall; I don't need it attached to my name. Sit wherever you like."
The lawyer stretches her lips and observes a two-seater sofa, a chaise lounge, and an armchair. She chooses the latter; she doesn't yet feel comfortable enough to use either of the other two.
Dr. Mitchell moves her chair—strategically located among the seats mentioned before—and positions herself at a prudent distance from Emily. She opens her notebook, writes something on one of the pages, and looks up.
"How are you, Emily?" she asks in a jovial tone. "What brings you to my office?"
Emily Harris loses all the confidence she had gained. She begins to scan the room without focusing on any specific point. Eveline, a woman seasoned in her profession, grants her a few seconds. She gets up and walks to a table installed in the back and takes out a couple of cups.
"Let's start with coffee. Or would you prefer tea?" asks the older woman.
Emily readjusts herself in the armchair.
"Coffee would be nice."
"With milk?"
"Please," Emily requests.
The psychiatrist inserts some capsules into the coffee machine. After a minute, the machine releases all kinds of sounds, and a delicious smell fills the space.
"This is one of my favorites," Eveline points out. "I admit these encapsulated coffees are more sugar and chemicals than actual coffee, but these blends—" the doctor sniffs her cup and closes her eyes to sigh, "—are a delight."
Emily feels comfortable again. She blows on her drink and takes a short sip. How right this woman is; it's a vanilla blend with a touch of cinnamon. Emily regrets not bringing a can of whipped cream with her.
"What do you do for a living?" the psychiatrist changes strategy.
Emily takes another sip of her coffee and looks at Eveline.
