Page 12 of Sunkissed Memories
Her first patient that morning was Bernie, an older gentleman who’d started coming to Ada when his wife had passed away. He struggled with loneliness and was having a crisis regarding his own purpose, now that he didn’t have anyone to take care of. Ada adored him, although she was careful never to let it show. For an hour, they talked about Bernie’s progress, about the tactics he’d tried the previous months to dig his way out of his dark spells. He’d even made a friend, apparently, with a guy who also liked watching baseball and drinking light beer. Incidentally, he was also a widower, whichmeant they were there for each other for conversation and the occasional dinner. Ada saw a spark returning to Bernie’s eyes.
She remembered what her mother had said about friendship. Why had Ada dismissed it all these years? When Peter had first brought her to live in Nantucket, she’d been pregnant with Hannah and distracted from her opera failures. She’d felt like all her friends were back in Manhattan, waiting for her to join the party once more. But she never did.
Was she going to regret it?
After Bernie left, Ada took notes about his session and prepared for the next one. Her nine thirty was brand new, a man who’d recently moved to the island from New York City. Nick Willis was forty-four and, like Bernie, a widower. According to his file, his Manhattan-based therapist had recommended Dr. Ada Wagner for the next stage of his talk therapy journey.
Natalie opened the door for Nick and made the introduction. “This is Dr. Ada Wagner,” she said. “And Dr. Wagner, this is Nick Willis.”
The man who walked through the door was slender yet strong, with long, trim legs, perhaps a result of years of running long distances. His cool, middle-aged style spoke of many years in the city: corduroy pants, a button-down shirt, and hair on the shaggier side. He was pale, clean-shaven, and slightly shaky, as though he were nervous. Ada got up to shake his hand and pour him a glass of water.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, sitting back down.
“Thank you for taking me on,” Nick said. “My old doctor said you were the best on the island.”
Ada tried not to blush. “How long were you seeing your old therapist?”
Nick took a sip of water. “Since my wife died. I guess about four years. To be honest, I don’t think we were getting anywhere the past two years, though. I felt like I said the same thing overand over again, and he said the same thing over and over again. But we couldn’t figure out a way to get past it.”
“That can happen,” Ada said, remembering her own experiences with patients who had run into brick walls. “Sometimes it’s good to switch up therapists in that case.”
Nick set down his glass of water and looked at her with his big blue eyes. They were striking and honest in a way that gave Ada pause. She felt as though she could ask him any question, and he’d give her the truth, no matter what. It made her wonder if her other patients were being completely honest with her. Maybe they didn’t know how to be.
Nick explained that he’d moved to Nantucket in January of this year.
“What was the reason for the move?” Ada asked.
“The city was wearing me down,” Nick said. “I had an apartment in the Upper West Side, and my daughter was in a pretty good school and had okay friends, but we were just worn out. We came on vacation to Nantucket Island last summer, and both fell in love with it. It was Carleigh’s idea, actually. She suggested we come for the final semester of her senior year. I never would have sprung for it otherwise. You know, they say never to take a teenager out of their high school. Especially at the end!”
“They do say that.” Ada nodded. “How curious that your daughter wanted to leave.”
“I think there was a friend breakup and maybe a boyfriend breakup,” Nick admitted, scuffing his shoes together. “She was spending a lot more time at home. Her eyes were empty. I felt like those were experiences she wanted to share with her mother. I tried, but she wouldn’t really open up.”
“Does your daughter go to therapy as well?”
“She does, yeah. She’s still with her old therapist. They talk on the phone once a week,” Nick said. “I feel like kids these days don’t need as many face-to-face encounters.”
Ada smiled. She’d thought the same about her own children, who were so much more tech-savvy than she’d ever be.
“She already got into college,” Nick said, a jolt of pride to his voice. “She’s going to Yale.”
“Wow. Yale. That’s incredible,” Ada said, feeling a surge of jealousy that she immediately regretted. But Hannah hadn’t gotten into Yale. (Did that make Ada a worse parent than Nick?) “You must be really proud,” she added.
“I am. So very proud,” Nick said. “I didn’t get to Yale when I was younger, although I really wanted to go. I was at NYU. It was a great experience, obviously. I don’t regret it.”
“So you were in the city a long time.”
Nick nodded. “I moved there when I was eighteen. It’s where everything in my life happened to me, I feel. It’s where I earned my master's degree. It’s where I published my first few poetry collections. It’s where I met my wife and had my daughter.”
Ada’s lips parted with surprise. “You’re a poet.”
“Yes,” Nick said, looking momentarily bashful. “I know it sounds silly, but it’s honestly my only job. I lucked out. I think you can’t just ‘be a poet’ anymore, not in this economy, not if you’re young.”
Nick Willis. Ada furrowed her brow, trying to recall seeing that name at any of the bookstores she frequented. In truth, she hardly ever bought poetry and primarily fixated on fiction when she had time to read.
“It’s quite an accomplishment,” she said.
Nick raised his shoulders and turned his attention to the window. In the beautiful morning light of May, he looked like a catalog model posing as a father. “I should have reached out to you as soon as we got here,” he said. “It hasn’t been easy. Thenew school was more painful for Carleigh than she thought it would be, and I think she’s been really lonely. I’ve been really lonely. However, it doesn’t mean I want to return to the city. I’m able to breathe here.”
