Page 61 of Heart Me Up
Craig
“And how doesDrew creating the non-profit and naming it after Lucy make you feel?”
Lisa regarded me calmly, as if she wasn’t asking me to rip my guts out and show them to her.
I made a face, but she waited for me to answer. I’d been seeing her for over two years; I knew she wouldn’t let me off the hook.
“Ugghhh,” I whined and rubbed my face with my hands. “I mean, I feel a few different things. Like, originally I was pissed about him using Lucy’s name. But then I realized it’ll make him think about what he did every time he sees it, so I’m mostly okay about it now.” I crossed my arms. “And the whole thing reminds me he’s not some one-dimensional evil cartoon villain who was pretending to date me so he’d have a chance to kick my dog. He’s a human being with good parts and bad parts like anyone, and there weren’t any red flags I missed to warn me he was going to hurt Lucy.”
“And what else?”
I wrinkled my nose at her. I didn’t even get an acknowledgement that I’d at long last freely admitted I wasn’t responsible for what happened to Lucy? Wasn’t this what we’d been working on for two years?
Fine.
I huffed. “The other thing I feel ishmmm… I’m not sure what the feeling is called exactly. But I look at Drew, and he took his guilt over what happened and hedidsomething with it. He used it to create a fund to benefit lots of animals and their owners.” I spread out my hands. “And what did I do? I’ve had this guilt for two years, and I just… wallowed in it.”
“What is it you think you should have done?” Damn, did they teach the zero expression face in therapist school?
“I don’t know. At the very least I guess I could’ve given another dog a home. It’s not like what happened to Lucy would happen to my next dog.” I folded my arms across my chest and slouched down in the chair.
“Fear and guilt are pretty powerful emotions, and it takes a while to work through them,” she said. Sure, sure, I’d gotten this lecture before. She smiled. “You’ve reached some excellent milestones, Craig. I’m pleased with your progress.” Well, that was more like it. “And we’re out of time for today. I’ll see you back here in two weeks.”
I sat up in my chair. “Two weeks? Are you sure?”
She stood up. “Like I said, I’m pleased with your progress. I think we should see how you do with two weeks between sessions instead of only one.”
Fuck, yeah!
I was walking on air when I reached the waiting room. “Hey, I’m done. Are you ready to go?”
Malcolm grunted, then put his phone in his pocket and picked up his crutches. He didn’t speak on the way to the car and he continued his silence as he buckled himself in and I pulled out of the parking lot.
Malcolm had told me he wanted to find a therapist, so I’d gotten him an appointment with Lisa. He’d scheduled it right before mine so we could carpool.
“What did you think of Lisa?”
He grunted.
I rubbed my ear as if I was having trouble hearing. “I’m still working on my Malcolm translator app. Was that anI liked her and I want to go backgrunt, or was that aShe was okay but I’ll keep looking for a better fit for megrunt?”
I didn’t look away from the road, but I was pretty sure Malcolm was rolling his eyes at me.
He let out a tremendous sigh. “Fuck off.” In a softer voice, he said, “The first one.” I grinned and he grudgingly added, “Thanks for referring her. And the ride.”
“Any time.”
We fell back into silence. Malcolm leaned forward and rubbed at the scuff mark Ballcap Guy—sorry, Randolph Mancuso—had left on his cast. Artie and Carlos had dropped by Foster’s house over the weekend to let the three of us know what they’d discovered. Mancuso was a senior-level operator in the crime syndicate Malcolm had been investigating. His job had been fully remote, traveling around to visit suppliers and make deals with purchasers of whatever illegal things it was the syndicate had dealt in. No one would tell us those details. At any rate, Malcolm didn’t know who Mancuso was, and because of some guy being found dead—I wasn’t clear on who he’d been—the raid had to be planned on the fly, so Mancuso had slipped through the cracks.
And the car he wanted? Turned out there was a stash of diamonds and a key to a storage locker hidden in one of the seats. Once again we didn’t get any details, but Carlos and Artie made it sound like whatever was in the locker had been pretty damn valuable, and the FBI was over the moon to have it. I wasn’t clear on how Mancuso had known the key and the diamonds were in the car, but that wasn’t my problem.
My problem was Malcolm. Or at least his living situation.Ourliving situation, really.
“Hey,” I said, interrupting his meditative glare at the car in front of us. “I wanted to let you know I’ve decided to move back into my house tomorrow. You’re welcome to the guest room if you still want it.”
Not that I didn’t enjoy staying with Foster, but I wasn’t quite ready to move in with him permanently. He’d understood, or at least he said he did. There might have been a little pouting.
On Saturday, Carlos and Artie told us they’d finished processing my house and I could go back whenever I wanted to. So yesterday afternoon Foster and Greg came over to help me patch and paint the living room wall where the bullet had hit and to clean up the debris the crime scene people had left.
