Page 16 of In Death, Love Survives
“Yes. It helps, even in the darkest of hours.”
A truth from the doctor.
“Were you close?”
“Yes. We were.”
A small smile appears as she waits for me to go next. A few awkward seconds go by.
“Your turn.”
As she waits for me to speak, I realize I want to give her a truth of mine. Something small after what she just freely shared.
“My motorcycle.”
The smile grows wider as she writes it down on a yellow notepad.
“What about it?”
“It’s still at my home in the northern part of Montana. I love taking it out for long rides. A lot of my favorite memories are on my bike.”
“Tell me more,” she asks.
I settle back in the chair as best as I can, letting my longer hair flow around the side of my face.
“Back home, as soon as the snow is gone, I uncover her and take her out for a ride along the main highways.”
“Never the mountains?” she asks teasingly.
I chuckle at the idea.
“Sometimes, but nothing too wild. I don’t have a death wish.”
Her smile tightens as she writes that down.
Right. Doctor of psychiatry or some shit. She’s going to write down anything to do with death.
“Go on, please,” she says.
Fine, I’ll give her what she wants while I’m in here today.
“It’s my home away from all the shit.”
She stops writing and peers up.
“All the shit?” she asks.
“Like this.”
Dr. Fletcher waits for me to explain what I mean.
“I don’t belong here.”
She tilts her head to the side, trying to decipher what I’m getting at.
“I’m not guilty. But I don’t have the kind of time to try and convince you of that.”
“I’m not here to tell you if you’re innocent or guilty. I’m here to evaluate, diagnose, and, most importantly,helpyou.”
