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Patients lie. All the fucking time, one of Holly’s early mentors used to love to tell her. It’s a lesson that has been reinforced over the years.
But Holly has never viewed her role as one of fact-checker. If a client chooses to lie, they have their reason. God knows they lie enough to themselves. Consequently, Holly has never before looked for objective sources to corroborate what a client told her. Until today. Now Holly is desperate to learn as much as she can about Liisa. And as she studies the Google page in front of her, she can only think: How could I have been so naïve?
Liisa’s practice in Huntington Beach is closed. As best as Holly can tell, it has been shuttered for over a year. There are oblique mentions of disciplinary actions against Liisa, along with some scathing reviews from clients who felt abandoned by her in mid-therapy.
Tanya knocks at her open door. “She’s on the phone again.”
Holly closes her browser. “Who is?”
“Katy Armstrong.”
In light of all that has transpired in the past week, the reporter had slipped her mind. Holly could only imagine how quickly she would jump all over the deaths associated with her ketamine practice and, for a fleeting moment, wonders if she should just tell Katy. To see if the dogged reporter could sniff out how it was all interconnected. But she dismisses the thought almost as quickly as it forms. “Not now, Tanya.”
Her assistant nods. “That’s what I thought. Also, Liisa is here for her appointment.”
“OK.” Holly’s neck tightens. “Please bring her in.”
A minute or two later, Tanya leads Liisa into the room. Rising from her desk, Holly wills herself calm as she greets the psychologist.
Liisa looks confused as she settles into the interview chair across from Holly. “I don’t understand. No ketamine today?”
“Later.” Holly forces a smile. “I thought we’d talk first.”
Liisa accepts it with a shrug. “All right.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about your group lately,” Holly says. “Did I ever tell you how I chose its membership?”
“Not explicitly, but it always seemed obvious.”
“Oh? How so?”
“All of us high-functioning professionals, artists, or influencers who excelled in our spheres despite having what could be considered crippling addictions.”
“Exactly. But apart from that, you couldn’t be much less alike.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
Holly interlocks her fingers and leans forward in her seat, keeping her body language as neutral as her tone. “Tell me more.”
“Even putting aside education, wealth, and entitlement, there are parallels,” Liisa says. “Simon and Salvador are both artists with predictably histrionic and narcissistic traits. Baljit and Reese are two driven, ultra-competitive corporate types. The textbook definition of alpha females. And of course, Reese and JJ are—was, in JJ’s case—both childless alcoholics who became fast friends.”
“True enough. What about you, Liisa? Who are you most like?”
She thinks about it for a second or two. “You, I suppose.”
“Maybe so.” Holly swallows her disgust. “Do you recognize the other common thread among the members?”
“No. What’s that?”
“There are actually two of them. First, like most people with addiction, all of you have suffered major traumas in your pasts. And the second is the secrets you keep.”
Liisa crosses her legs. “Everyone harbors secrets.”
“Maybe. But it’s a matter of scale. By necessity, high-functioning addicts have to hide massive secrets to survive in their worlds.”
Liisa tilts her head from side to side.
“Take you, for example, Liisa,” Holly says. “A therapist who has to deal with addiction and trauma every day while hiding a benzodiazepine dependence of her own. That can’t be easy.”
