I said, “But you don’t think it was Olivia.”
“I wasn’t there in the dream. I didn’t see what you saw. But your mother just told you about Olivia’s death yesterday. The fact that you would have a dream so vivid so quickly . . . maybe your friend’s suicide triggered something you’d been keeping hidden for a long time.”
I shook my head, ran my fingers through my hair.
“No, this isn’t about Grace. We’ve been through all of that. I told you everything. There’s nothing I would have kept hidden.”
“Maybe. Or maybe there’s something that you didn’t tell me unconsciously. Maybe in your mind you told me everything, but there’s still something there.”
“Like what?”
“You tell me, Emily. You became a therapist because of that girl. Your entire life was redirected because of your guilt. That’s not small.”
“I know it’s not.”
“You never did track her down.”
“I tried.”
“Maybe you didn’t try hard enough.”
“Are you kidding me? I hired a private investigator. I wasted three hundred dollars. When she and her mom moved away, she essentially disappeared.”
I inwardly cringed at the desperation in my voice.
“Nobody disappears,” Lisa said. “Have you tried looking her up online? Maybe she’s on Facebook.”
“I don’t use Facebook.”
“Good for you. But maybe Grace does.”
“I don’t think Grace is the reason I had the nightmare.”
Lisa glanced back at the clock.
“We’re running out of time, so let’s make this quick. Emily, be honest with me. How frustrating is it for you when you know exactly what your client needs to do to help herself, but she refuses to see it?”
I didn’t answer.
“I think that’s what’s happening here. As therapists, we can see what’s going on with other people, but when it comes to ourselves, we can be very obtuse.”
“So what do you think I need to do?”
“You know exactly what you need to do.”
I let that sink in, then shook my head. “It would be awkward. I haven’t seen or talked to Olivia in years. Showing up out of nowhere . . .”
“Let me be blunt.” Lisa leveled her ocean-gray eyes straight at me. “This isn’t about Olivia. This isn’t about Olivia’s family, though I’m sure they’d appreciate it if you showed up. This is about you getting closure.”
“What kind of closure would I possibly gain from going to Olivia’s funeral?”
“You tell me. You’re the one dreaming about a girl whose wrists keep bleeding.”
I sat up straight on the couch again, so suddenly that it startled Lisa.
“Shit, I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots.”
“What dots?”
“A new client of mine. Her name’s Chloe. I saw her just yesterday, right before I met with my mom and she told me about Olivia. She’s a thirteen-year-old cutter.”
Lisa said nothing.
“Don’t you see? Chloe cut her wrists. Maybe . . . maybe having met with her right before I learned about Olivia’s suicide caused me to have that dream.”
Lisa didn’t speak, just uncrossed her legs and stood up from the chair. She smoothed out the creases in her skirt, then started toward the door.
“Don’t you think I’m right?”
Lisa paused, turned back to me. “I guess that depends. Have you ever had a nightmare about any of your clients before?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. I shook my head.
Lisa made a knowing smile.
“I’ll see you next week, Emily.”
5
Whoever had called from the unknown number had left a voice mail. I played it as I crossed the parking lot toward my car, the phone against my ear.
“Hey, Emily, it’s Courtney. Been a while. Your mom reached out and told me about Olivia. So crazy, right? She said the funeral is tomorrow up in Harrisburg, and I wondered if you planned to go? I thought maybe we could ride together. Call me when you get a chance.”
I slid behind the steering wheel and stared at my phone. I almost wanted to listen to the voice mail again—Courtney’s voice, so familiar yet so strange—because surely I’d misheard the part about my mom contacting her.
Ignore it. That’s what I decided to do. And have a word with my mother the next time I saw her about giving my number out to people I hadn’t talked to in years.
It was five miles from Lisa’s office to Safe Haven Behavioral Health. The drive typically took ten minutes, fifteen if traffic was heavy. I always made sure to keep my schedule open the first hour after my lunch break on the days I saw Lisa. Which meant when I did arrive back at work, I had time to kill. I usually finished up paperwork, but today I couldn’t concentrate.
When I got to the office, a woman was already in the lobby with her son, who played with the block toys in the corner. I didn’t know them—the boy wasn’t one of my clients—but I smiled at the woman and continued on to the door, which led back to the offices and was locked by a panel code.
Claire, the receptionist / office assistant, sat behind a glass partition. When I opened the door and stepped inside, she hit me with her bright smile.
“Have a good lunch?”
I nodded, smiled back, and was about to start down the hallway toward my office when Claire called, “I posted a new picture of Teddy on Facebook in case you missed it.”
Teddy, from what I could remember, was Claire’s grandson. Or grandnephew. Grandsomething. She’d shown me a picture on her phone, and she’d mentioned Facebook then, but I’d stopped reminding my coworkers that I wasn’t on social media. They’d either frown at me or ask if I was kidding. So I’d just nod and smile and say I’d check it out.
Which I did now—“Thanks, Claire!”—and continued down the hallway.
Cocooned in the quiet safety of my office, I slipped my phone from my bag and placed it on the desk. I knew what I needed to do, but I refused to do it. I’d worked too hard to block out my early life. In less than twenty-four hours, a lot of that hard work had started to come undone.
First the news of Olivia’s death; now a voice mail from Courtney. Two of my very best friends in middle school. Two people who shared the same burden as me.
I turned over my left hand. Stared down at the scar on my palm.
“Shit.”
I picked up the phone and hit “Redial.” It rang three times, and with each ring I thought I should disconnect, turn the phone off, and never turn it back on. I could buy a new phone with a new number. A new number that I wouldn’t even share with my mother, because apparently she couldn’t be trusted.
After the fourth ring, it went to voice mail. Courtney’s voice saying she wasn’t available right now but please leave a name and number and she’d get back to me.
Before the beep sounded, I disconnected the call and cradled my head in my hands.
What the hell was I doing? Olivia was dead, yes, and that was terrible, but what did it matter to me? I hadn’t seen or talked to her in years. We used to be best friends, but that was a completely different life. I was sorry about what had happened, but I didn’t have to go to her funeral. Doing that wouldn’t change anything.