Page 31 of Deathtoll
He was smiling at her.
Why did that make her want to cry? What was wrong with her?
Kate thrust the bin at him and turned on her heel. “I’ll tackle the fridge.”
She opened the refrigerator and hid behind the door. “Cheese, half-empty milk bottle, a jar of pickles with just three spears left, half a stick of butter, wilted lettuce, various condiments,” she told Linda, breathing easier when she heard the front door close behind Murph. “I suppose everything will have to be thrown out from here.”
The idea was enough to distract her. Shehatedwasting food. It went against her grain. Never would she ever forget the desperate hunger of her childhood years.
Aaand…She was not going to go there either. She was going to leave the past in the past.
They worked until noon, making excellent progress, then everyone went home for lunch and on to their own afternoon plans, which for Kate meant going to work.
Murph should have been there too, but his pickup wasn’t in the parking lot when she pulled in.
As she removed the key from the ignition, her phone rang.
“Mom just called,” Emma said. “She bought the tickets. They’re definitely coming. Early. They’ll be here first thing next Wednesday.”
“That’s great.” Kate got out of the car. “I’ll call Shannon at the B and B. I only reserved Saturday and Sunday.”
“I can take care of it if you want me to.”
“Okay.” Kate had a full schedule. “Sure. But please make sure Shannon knows we’re paying for the extra days.”
“She sounded a little wigged out.”
“Mom?”
“Yeah. She told me she just realized the reason for men living shorter isn’t because they take stupid risks. It’s because women go through menopause. I’m pretty sure the implication was theytake outtheir husbands.”
“She needs a vacation.”
Emma laughed. “Seriously.”
“We’ll make sure they have the best minivacation ever.”
Kate reached the front of the building just as they hung up.
A twenty-something man in army fatigues and a baseball hat waited at the front door, shifting from one foot to the other, drumming his fingers on his leg, his other hand gripping a metallic cell phone. Kate had him pegged as a new patient, nervous to go in, not sure what to expect. Good thing she’d arrived when she had. They could walk in together. She could chat with him a little and allay his fears.
“Hi.” She climbed the front steps. “I’m Kate. I work at this earthly paradise. Are you here to check in?”
“Ian McCall.” Six foot five at least, a hefty chunk of solid muscle, he stopped fidgeting only long enough to look her over. “I need to be here.”
“Murph Dolan handles the intake. Let me walk you to his office.”
“The woman inside said he was running late today. She said I could talk to you instead.”
So, hehadgone in already and even talked to one of the staff. He was having some first-day jitters, but he hadn’t left. He was committed to treatment.Excellent.
Kate smiled. “I used to help Murph with evaluations. I can start the process while we wait for him to arrive. Why don’t we head to my office? I don’t know about you, Ian, but I could use a cup of coffee.”
She walked past him, held the door open for him, noted how he kept twitching, his gaze darting around, his entire body tense. They were close enough for her to notice that his hair wasn’t just messy. It was choppy—as if maybe he’d cut it himself. Possible PTSD, although that wasn’t her diagnosis to make. As the head therapist, Maria would be handling that.
“Where are you from, Ian?”
“Virginia.”
