“So, why not try something different,” Karen asked.
“You mean like acupuncture?” Rocky knew it wasn’t what she meant, but he preferred the prospect of someone sticking dozens of needles into his skin over talking through his problems.
“I know a practitioner if it’s something you’re interested in trying. I’ve never done it myself, but I have clients who swear by the practice. Would you like a referral?”
Rocky shook his head. “Not yet. It feels so extreme.”
“What have you tried before?”
“Herbal teas.” Prior to therapy, Rocky had done his own research and tried melatonin supplements, but they’d left him feeling hungover the next morning. “Oh, and essential oils,” he added, turning his head to smile at her. “I took a lot of shit for the last one. I showed up at a recording session smelling like a field of lavender two nights ago. I’ll never live it down with my podcast partners.”
“You don’t sound upset,” Karen remarked.
Rocky chuckled. “I’m not. My smart mouth is always getting me in trouble with my friends.”
“I can’t imagine,” Karen said drolly.
“I may not trust you yet, but I do like you, Karen.”
She smiled. “High praise, indeed. Thank you.”
“Isn’t this the point where you admit that you like me too?” Rocky asked.
She shrugged. “It’s not relevant to my ability to help you.”
“Fair enough.”
Karen tilted her head to the side. “Your entire demeanor changes when you mention your friends. You seem calmer and more at peace.”
“They just get me,” Rocky said. “Jonah knows what it’s like to survive a traumatic event, Felix has a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas, and I’m like a hybrid of the two. We just mesh. We don’t question it. There’s no need for pretenses. When I’m with them, I feel at peace.” Rocky took a deep breath. “If I could just fix this sleeping thing, I’d be on my way to recovering.”
Karen smiled. “Have you tried CBD oil?”
“Not yet, but it’s something to consider.”
“Let’s circle back to the reasons why you’re not sleeping well,” Karen said. “Is it triggered by recent events?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything you’d like to talk about?”
“We’re not there yet, Karen.” He couldn’t just casually discuss Asher’s reappearance in his life. Rocky was afraid to consider what kind of impact today’s interaction would have.
“Okay, Rocky.” She smiled warmly, and he was glad to see she wasn’t upset by his reticence. Then again, she’d probably dealt with more complicated patients than him. They probably weren’t as cute as him, but they couldn’t help it. “Do you mind telling me why you decided to become a private detective?”
The topic felt safe enough. “I come from a long line of avid mystery readers. My father’s favorite character is Sherlock Holmes, and my grandmother favors Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple. I cut my teeth on Encyclopedia Brown, Nancy Drew, and the Hardy Boys as a kid, but my obsession didn’t truly kick in until I bought a copy of The Maltese Falcon at a yard sale. I’d had my heart set on spending my allowance on baseball cards until my dad picked up the battered paperback and said, ‘Oh my goodness. This was your mom’s favorite book. I think she might’ve loved Sam Spade more than she loved me.’” Rocky smiled up at the ceiling, reliving the twenty-year-old memory. “Dad had smiled fondly at the book in his hands, and I needed to know why my mother had loved it so much.”
“Did you?”
Rocky turned and met Karen’s serene gaze. “Did I what?”
“Figure out what drew her to Sam Spade?”
“I think so,” Rocky replied. “It’s impossible to know unless you have a direct line to heaven.”
Karen shook her head. “I’d charge a whole lot more.”
Rocky chuckled. “I felt connected to my mom when I read the story and even convinced myself that the book I found had belonged to her. Then I started imitating Sam Spade. I thought if I could be like him, it would make my mom proud.”
“How did that manifest itself?”
Rocky chuckled. “I solved my first mystery when I was twelve. My grandmother had erroneously put my beloved book in her yard sale. When I realized what happened, I scoured the neighborhood, interviewing people who were there that day to find out what they bought and who they saw. I drew charts and graphs for crying out loud.”
Karen smiled. “I can picture you doing that. I bet you solved the case?”
“Sure did. I tracked the book to a lady who lived a few streets over. I explained to her why The Maltese Falcon meant so much to me. I offered to buy the book back for double what she paid for it.”
“I bet she was touched.”
Rocky nodded. “She gave me back the book, told me to keep my money, and even handed me a pie she’d just baked. From there, my investigations moved on to stolen skateboards and bikes and ended with me figuring out who slashed the prom queen’s tires. Making a career out of investigating seemed like the next step, but it didn’t happen right away.”
“Why not?”
“I went to college first because my maternal grandmother convinced me it was what my mother would’ve wanted. I decided to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps and got a degree in finance and accounting. After graduation, I landed a lucrative job at my grandfather’s firm, but I was miserable.”
“You were living the life they expected and not the one you wanted.”
“Yep,” Rocky agreed. “One day, I was feeling low, so I decided to read my favorite book. That’s when I knew I needed to make big changes. How could I make anyone proud if I was living a lie?”
“Do you think your mother would be proud that you pursued your own dreams?”
The question hit him with the same velocity as a bullet from a gun, knocking the air from his lungs.
“Take a deep breath in through your nose while counting to four,” Karen coached, her voice calm but firm. “Hold it for seven seconds, then exhale through your mouth over eight.”
He could only hold his breath for four seconds on the first attempt but hit the four-seven-eight ratio on the second try. Rocky kept repeating the process until his ears quit ringing and the pressure in his chest eased.
“I’m sorry, Rocky,” Karen said.
He shook his head. “Don’t be. We talked about my mom’s death last visit. She’s not off-limits.”
“Until I connected her to your career,” Karen said, jotting down notes.
Rocky considered the question Karen had asked before he freaked out. “I want to think my mother would be proud of me, even though I’ve made mistakes.” Mistakes. It seemed like such an insignificant word to describe the error in judgment he’d made that had ruined so many lives. Rocky rubbed a hand over his sternum, focusing on the up-and-down motion of his rib cage as he breathed. “I’m trying to atone for them,” he whispered. “On most days, I think it’s the most any of us can do.”