Page 43 of Swerve
In the kitchen, I set him in front of his food bowl, reach for the jar where we keep his kibble, and fill it halfway. He concedes to my peace offering and crunches in semi-contentment. I stand at the sink, my hands clenching the tiled edge and stare out the window, where cars continue to pass on the street in front of the house, the postal worker continues to deliver the mail, and the grass continues to grow.
How can everything go on as if Mia has not disappeared, as if she will arrive home at any moment with some logical explanation for where she’s been and why she’s had me so worried?
I don’t want to believe that the world is this indifferent, but how can I deny the evidence? I think of the patients I’ve worked with whose life no longer makes sense. Of how I’ve believed that it could make sense again, despite my own evidence to the contrary.
My cell buzzes on the countertop next to the sink. I glance at the screen. Not recognizing the number, a jolt of hope stabs through me, and I stab the answer button. “Hello?”
“Dr. Benson.”
The voice startles me. “Dr. Maverick. Hello.”
“I hope I’m not getting you at a bad time. I just got word of what’s happened with your sister. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“I received your message about taking some time off. You do what you need to do. Your spot will be waiting.”
This surprises me, I have to admit. “I appreciate that. I would understand if it wasn’t possible.”
“Don’t worry about it, okay?”
Not knowing what else to say, I again manage, “Thank you.”
“Would you like some company?”
The question surprises me, and I say, “I’m sorry?”
“I’m actually in your area. I have some time if you’d like to talk.”
I’m not sure how to take the offer. A psychiatrist offering help to a colleague who’s experiencing something horrible? Or maybe I hadn’t imagined the spark in the coffee lounge the night Mia had disappeared? Regardless of the reason behind it, I don’t want to sound unappreciative. “Dr. Maverick, you don’t have to—”
“I’d like to,” he says, and I can hear in his voice that he really would.
“Okay,” I say, and then I realize I’ve forgotten about Detective Helmer. “When—”
“Be there in ten minutes,” he says and clicks off.
I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling, trying to imagine myself in the living room having a session with Dr. Maverick while Detective Helmer inadvertently listens from behind the closed door of my office.
Pounce winds himself between my calves. I reach down and run a hand across his spine. “This should be interesting,” I say.
I walk back to the office, stick my head inside and say, “Anything you need?”
Detective Helmer responds without looking up from the computer screen. “No. Thanks. All good.”
I close the door and hope he’ll remain this focused until Dr. Maverick leaves. I’m not even sure why, but the thought of the two of them meeting makes me uncomfortable.
The doorbell rings, redefining “ten minutes.” I run a hand across my hair, remembering that I hadn’t put on makeup this morning. Just as well. I would have already cried it all off by now anyway.
I open the door to find the very tall, very handsome Dr. Maverick looking down at me with sympathetic eyes. “Hello,” he says.
“Hi.” I step back, waving him inside. “You’re kind to come.”
I lead the way to the living room where we take opposite ends of the sofa. “Have you learned anything?”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “She and her best friend Grace were supposed to come home after a music festival they went to. They’ve just disappeared.”
My voice breaks on the last word, and, despite every intention I’d had of being strong, the tears start up again. All of a sudden, he’s sliding across the sofa and pulling me into his arms. I know I should pull away, that a line is being crossed here. It’s the second time today that I’ve been given comfort from a member of the opposite sex, and I’d like to say I’m above needing it, but I’m not.
