“Where Cox is concerned, I’m a professional.”
“Professionals are human too.”
The timer pinged before either could say more.Catherine moved briskly to the oven, grateful for the interruption.The smell of roast chicken filled the room, rich and comforting.
“Will you mash the potatoes?”she asked, her tone deliberately light.
“Sure.”
They worked in silence again, each retreating into the familiar ritual of food and movement.For all their differences, they were alike in that — both believed that order, in small things, could hold chaos at bay.
After a while, Catherine spoke again.“You know,” she said, “I do think you’re right about one thing.”
“Only one?”
“About Sundays.Keeping them sacred.There’s a lot to be said for boundaries.”
Kate smiled faintly.“Therapist-approved.”
They plated the food, set the table, and opened another bottle of wine.The dining room, with its soft lamplight and framed maps of Europe, felt like an oasis — the sort of place where no danger could intrude.
For a while, it worked.
They talked about Catherine’s students, about the upcoming faculty retreat in Vermont, about Kate’s neighbor’s cat, who had taken to sunbathing on her fire escape.
Only once did the conversation stray back to work, when Catherine asked, “So howisMarcus?”
“Back to his old self, almost.I mean, he’s not, of course, he nearly died in that crash.But he’s dealing with it in his own way.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Kate chuckled, set her knife and fork down.“He’s focussing on getting his fitness back.And so, of course, everyone around him’s saying that he’s avoiding the real healing work that he needs to do, that he needs to see the shrink, yadda-yadda.”
“I’m surprised at you putting it that way.”
“I’m not convinced therapy is for everyone.Marcus is an intelligent guy, and he’s not cut off from his feelings.But he’s focussing on something that he knows hecando.I think that makes him feel in control, and in turn, that’s good for his mental health.It doesn’t matter what Cheryl says.”
“Cheryl’s the girlfriend you don’t like?”
“She’s his fiancée.Again.Now.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Kate frowned.“I don’t dislike her.We talked a lot in the hospital.She’s sweet and she obviously loves him.I just don’t think they make each other happy.It’s always drama.”
“And it would be different with you?”
“Mom.”
Catherine laughed softly.“I’m teasing.”
By dessert, the mood had lifted.Catherine served apple tart with cream, and Kate found herself laughing at mother’s story about a disastrous conference dinner in Oxford.For a little while, the darkness receded.
But later, when the plates were cleared and the wine was gone, Catherine said quietly, “Promise me something.If you ever feel that man—Cox—is getting inside your head again, you’ll tell someone.Your therapist.Marcus.Me.”
Kate’s jaw tightened.“He’s not inside my head.”
“I worry that he is.”
