“You sure about that? Your instincts saved my life back there.”
“They did?”
“Shoving me away from that cliff, before the rifle went off?”
“Oh, yeah. That already feels like it happened several death-defying moments ago.”
“Every situation is different. You did what you needed to do.” He narrowed his eyes, looking at her eyebrow. “Let me quickly clean that cut while we’re here.” He leaned past her to grab a paper towel from a roll on the counter. “When you say you freak out, you’re talking about the robbery?”
“Yeah.”
He dampened the paper towel in the sink. “No one can judge you for that, and you certainly shouldn’t judge yourself.”
“I know, but…”
“But?”
She fiercely blinked her stinging eyes. “Thing is, my freak-out almost got us both killed—me and Rory. That’s the thing I can’t shake.”
He dabbed the wound. She felt the cold of the water, but no pain. “What do you mean?”
“They warned me that if I made any noise at all, they would hurt Rory.” She swallowed, though her mouth was desert-dry. “They told him the same. But I panicked, I wailed. I couldn’t help it, it was instinctive, I didn’t even comprehend I’d done it. There was this thud, from the other room, and a muffled scream. They’d hit Rory—kicked him in the ribs, I discovered later. Broke a couple.”
“That was absolutely not your fault.”
“I know that, in theory, but it’s like you with your grandfather. You can’t help but think…”
“Yeah, I know.” He balled up the paper towel and tossed it into a garbage can. “The cut’s not bad,” he said, looking at it. “It’s stopped bleeding.” He refocused on her eyes. “The men who robbed you—they haven’t been caught?”
“Not a single lead. Of course, I see them all the time.”
“Hang on, you do?”
“It’s never them, of course. Well, I mean, how would I know? I never saw their faces, so whenever someone looks at me strangely, or just a beat too long…” She shuddered. “If I’m out walking anywhere and I hear footsteps behind me, I’ll pull over and let whoever it is pass, and of course it’ll be someone hurrying to the subway, or out for a walk with their miniature poodle. Completely harmless but I get these constant peaks of adrenaline. I stopped wearing a smart watch because I was sick of getting alerts that my heart rate was dangerously high. It only really came down when I was locked away in the conservation studio at work. We have good security—to protect the collections, of course.”
“An escape from the real world.”
“Exactly. When I was concentrating on the tiniest threads, I felt calm again. I would put headphones on and listen to audiobooks—Jane Austen, of course—and the world vanished. Replaced with an alternate universe with firm rules, in which the villains are rakes and narcissists and snobs, not masked assailants, and the deserving live happily ever after. It might sound crazy, but Jane Austen saved me.”
“That does not sound at all crazy.”
“She filled my head with something that wasn’t fear. She got me through the hardest moments. Because the worst thing is not that they invade your home, but your head. They were in the apartment for less than thirty minutes, but it feels like they’ll be in my head for the rest of my life. And I hate that I can’t get rid of them.” She shook herself, involuntarily. “Anyway, I’d prefer to be doing something to get us out of this, not standing here falling apart. Shall we have a look in Duncan’s study, see if there are any clues?” She scoffed. “And now I sound like Miss Marple.”
He assessed her with sharp eyes and a gentle grin, and gave a quick nod. “His keys could be in the study. When this is over, I’m getting you the best counseling money can buy. Well, the best counseling what’s left of my money can buy.”
“First, I might have to finish the therapy I’m already doing.Supposed to bedoing.”
“Supposed to be?”
“I did a bunch of sessions, but then my health insurance ran out and… The thing with therapy… Have you ever done it?” His posture seemed to stiffen. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”
“I have.” It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about it, so she didn’t press it. Something to do with his brother’s crash? Or his military service? “Mind if we walk and talk?” He started for the stairs.
“It turns out it’s you who has to do all the work,” she said, following him to the stairs. “I thought the therapist would tell me what was wrong and have some magic spell that would fix me—some mantra or something, I don’t know—but she wanted me to relive everything, and … just the thought of that was… And I don’t think my therapist really ‘got’ me. Like, when we were talking through the robbery, she suggested I replace the word ‘horrible’ with ‘unfortunate’! But what I went through wasn’t unfortunate! It was horrible! Also, I would cry in every session. Completely bawl. And I’d leave feeling worse than when I went in.”
As he reached the stairs, he glanced back and took her hand. Gestures like that seemed to come naturally to him, though he couldn’t possibly know the effect they had on her.
“I didn’t want to process those feelings,” she continued. “I just wanted them to go away. Sometimes it’s easier just to let them swish in and out and wait for them to pass. Because it’s exhausting to keep the barrier up, it’s exhausting to let it slip and take the hit, it’s exhausting to work through it. It’s like, take your pick—which variety of exhaustion do you want? So, yeah, I failed therapy. I know I should go back, but… Well, I decided on a vacation instead.”
