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Dr. Alexander’s eyes dart back and forth between mine. “If you’ve never met, how did you know who Mr. Wright was when you ran into him yesterday?”
“I’ve seen him before. The night of the accident, I was in the hall at the hospital when the doctor told him his wife and child had died. He crumpled to the floor, sobbing. The memory of his face isn’t something I could ever forget. Though last night when I followed him home, I also checked the names on the mailboxes inside the lobby of his building just to be sure. It was him.”
“Okay. So yesterday you saw Mr. Wright by chance and recognized him. You followed him because you were curious after seeing him smile. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And what about today? How did you come to follow him again?”
“I went back to his apartment early this morning and waited for him to come out.”
“How early?”
“Does that matter?”
“No.” Dr. Alexander smiles. “It’s not important if you don’t remember. But if you can recall, I’d like to know. That is, if you’re comfortable sharing.”
I take a deep breath in and blow it out. “I left my house at four a.m. and stopped for some coffee. It was probably about four thirty when I arrived at his building to wait.”
He scribbles some more on his notepad. “So yesterday you followed him because you had witnessed Mr. Wright showing signs of happiness. You wanted to know if that was something fleeting or not, and you seemed to have gotten that answer. What did you hope to learn when you followed him today?”
“I’m not sure.” I shake my head. “I guess I just can’t believe he’s really moved on. So I went back to look for cracks in the mask he wears.”
“There isn’t a specific timeline on healing. I’m sure you know that from your own patients. Coping with loss is a unique experience for every person. We all grieve differently.”
“I know that, but…”
Dr. Alexander waits for me to continue, but I don’t. I can’t argue with what he’s said because he’s right. In theory, at least. It’s what the textbooks all say. Every person heals on their own timeline. Yet I know in my heart of hearts that Gabriel Wright can’t have moved on. Part of the process of healing from a tragedy is acceptance, and acceptance requires forgiveness. But some things in life are just unforgivable. Dr. Alexander can’t understand that, even though he thinks he does. You need to live it to truly understand it. And I don’t have the energy for that type of argument today.
So I force a smile. “You’re right. We’re all different.”
“Do you think you’ve gotten whatever compelled you to follow him out of your system?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
But a person who doesn’t plan to follow someone anymore doesn’t stop and buy a dark hoodie and baseball cap right before going to meet their therapist. They probably also don’t pick up a set of mini binoculars.
“Dr. McCall?”
I hear him call my name but I’m staring out the window again, mesmerized by the sway of the trees. They’re so peaceful to watch. My office is too high up for trees.
He smiles warmly when I eventually shift my gaze to him. There’s no sign of judgment on his face. “Is it okay if I call you Meredith, rather than Dr. McCall?”
“Of course.”
“Great.” He nods. “Anyway, Meredith, I think if you’re still curious about Mr. Wright, we should discuss that here, rather than you following him again. Aside from the obvious, that stalking someone is illegal and you’re already in trouble with the medical board, I think you’re playing with fire by becoming emotionally invested in the happiness of the survivor of your husband’s victims.”
“Gabriel Wright is not only one of my husband’s victims.”
Dr. Alexander’s brows puckered. “Who is he, then?”
“He’s the husband of my victims, too.”
CHAPTER 4 Then
Hey, Irina.” I took my usual seat, two rows behind the Plexiglas barrier, and unraveled the scarf hugging my neck while I searched the ice for Connor. When I saw him skating in one piece, I breathed a little easier.
My friend looked over and squinted. “You okay?”
