Page 18 of The Leaves In Autumn
Being within walking distance to my shrink had something to do with me actually showing up. Christ. My shrink. Guess I will be coming back.
It took all of ten minutes to get to the office, after figuring the shortcut across the park was the way to go. The practice isn’t far from my office. It has been almost two years. Never did think I would be closing shop on such a successful career. The inheritance from Grand-mere came just in time for me to be able to walk away. A realtor is there now. The Lyon Architecture sign has been replaced by something not as understated.
Wonder if Van knows where Dr. Frank’s practice is. He and Nobel are going to be hungry for information. There won’t be any. You can’t tell me my brothers didn’t talk. It’ll drive them nuts not to pump me for details no one will be privy to. This is private. I can’t hardly stand to hear myself tell the story, let alone rehashing it with people I know.
Dr. Elizabeth Frank got the first few layers of details today. The overview of what happened was enough to bring tears. What will I do when the whole experience is told? Self-combust?
I take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. Okay. I’m okay. Hope they are on time. Why they wanted to meet at the nondescript café, I don’t know. Haven’t been there for awhile after the shitty lunch I had the one time Iwasthere. Nobel says it changed hands and the menu has greatly improved.
Another half of a block.
Is that a line outside, waiting to get in? He wasn’t kidding. Must be good. Hope they are here. I don’t see either in line. As I pass the hungry diners and take in the smell of something I want to try, I look through the glass. Tables are full. There they are.
The door swings open accompanied by the sound of a little bell. Nice touch. Kind of old school, but I like it. Van raises his arm and waves me forward. I snake through the tables and catch pieces of conversation. Sounds like a college commissary in here.
“Hey.” Both my brothers look like they are not sure what to say. Or to say anything at all. I’m keeping the glasses on.
“It was fine.”
They visibly relax not to have to ask and go back to their mozzarella sticks.
“Good,” Van says between bites.
“What was she like?”
“She was alright. So this place made a three-sixty, huh?”
There is no follow up or pressing for details from either of them. In a strange way it reminds me of the months after she died. Those closest to me gauged my mood by the hour, sometimes the minute. They learned to back off when needed. I am glad only Nobel and Van know I am seeing a therapist. I couldn’t put people through that again.
“Get the French Dip,” Van says, handing me the menu.
“Maybe. Let me look.”
“Wait. Check it out.”
Nobel cocks his head in the direction of the table next to us. An elegant looking blonde woman is pouring coffee and quietly engaging the two couples seated. Think she’s around forty. Maybe late thirties. Long and lean, understated. Good hair. Nice looking. So what?
When I look back at my brothers, their noncommittal expressions give them away. Feigning innocence never worked for either of them. I know them too well. They always have an opinion. Nobel attempts an innocent expression.
“What?”
“Stop whatever it is you’re doing.”
He takes out a business card.
“What I’m doing is referring an attorney. Dove and I know her casually. The subject came up.”
Van can’t hold what he wants to say. The smile slips out.
“She’s nice looking.”
“Doesn’t she remind you of that girl you dated in high school?” Nobel adds. “What was her name?”
“Carol.”
“Yeah, that one. Whatever happened…”
The woman turns to our table, and we shut the fuck up. Her gaze lands on me.
