Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
As the session draws to a close, I give Eli a hug before walking across the room toward his parents.
"I'd like to remind you about the NDA you signed," Jericho says the second I'm within earshot.
"And I'd like to remind you that if there has been a crime that hasn't been reported, as a licensed therapist, I'm also a mandatory reporter," I say, standing a little taller.
"This is the folder you refused to take before," Jericho says, handing me a thick manilla folder. "I assure you that everything has been reported to the proper authorities."
I take the folder because I'm no longer in the position to refuse information on this case. However, his readiness to provide the information makes me believe that he's not lying to me or trying to keep anything from me.
"Thank you," I tell him.
"There are things that aren't in the file. Family things that weren't disclosed to the authorities," Aspen says, her throat working on a swallow as she looks from me to Jericho. "But you're more than welcome to ask us any questions you may have. We just want to make sure Eli is healthy and happy."
"I did want to ask a question," I say, using the segue. "He is incredibly excited about a puppy."
"We haven't decided that he's going to get one," Aspen says, quick to answer before Jericho can open his mouth.
I sense that they have had many conversations about it already.
"I have a dog. Kiva. She's a sweetheart," I assure them as I reach into my bag to pull out some paperwork. "She's certified as a service animal, and I have the paperwork here. I was wondering if it would be okay to bring her to a therapy session with Eli."
"That would be fantastic," Jericho says with a wide smile.
I look to Aspen because I don’t want to step on any toes, but I find her staring up at Jericho like the guy hung every single star in the sky just for her.
"That would be lovely," she eventually says. "Eli would go crazy in the best way."
"I won't bring her every time," I assure them. "I don't want it to interfere with his therapy, but I think my next session after the one he had today would be a treat."
"That would be great," Aspen says, clinging to Jericho's arm as if she's struggling not to go across the room to Eli. "How should we handle this evening?"
"Good question," I tell her. "Don't bring it up with him, but don't shut him down if he wants to talk about it. He's afraid this man he saw die in the pool will come back to life. I assured him that wouldn't happen. You can do the same."
"Okay," Aspen says, relief in her tone.
"You guys are doing great," I assure her. "His regression has been almost non-existent."
"Would be better if he didn't regress at all," she whispers.
"Therapy doesn't work that way. It's never a straight line to healing. If it were, it would not be a true treatment. I'll see you guys soon."
I tuck Kiva's paperwork and the folder they provided into my bag before giving Eli a little wave and walking toward the front door.
I fight the urge to look up at the stairs. Not once since I've been here today, have I felt like someone was watching me like I have before, but I'd be a fool to think I have some superpower sixth sense that knows when the man is near. I also avoided looking all over in case it made Jericho wonder if anything was wrong like the last time.
That sense, the one I didn't think I had, runs up my spine like an electrical current when I step out onto the front patio and see one of the familiar dark SUVs pulling into a parking lot just to the left of the front door.
Instead of making a spectacle of myself, I walk toward my car.
"Hey, Doc," one of the guys says, and I simply lift my hand in acknowledgment and keep walking.
When I chance a second glance in that direction, I watch as Jersey climbs out of the back passenger seat. His eyes lift to mine briefly before he walks away.
I don't know what I expected to happen the next time I saw him after that night on my front porch, but a mask of indifference wasn't even on the list.
His reaction to me wasn't even the equivalent of common courtesy. It's as if I didn't even exist. Maybe that's the best way to act, considering where we are, but it hits me right in the middle of the chest like a boulder that has broken free and rolled down the mountain to cover me unexpectedly.
Feeling vulnerable with the familiar sting of tears behind my eyes, I rush to unlock my car and climb inside, nearly hitting the massive metal box built to house trash for several of the cabins.