“Whoa, George, gettin’ all crass on me, girl?” Jessie moved her chair over to bring her right next to George. “Now I’m just dying to hear whatever it is that’s turned George Hadley, Medicine Woman, into a potty mouth!”
George let out a halfhearted laugh-moan and dropped her head into her hands. “I’ve messed up, Jessie. I mean really, really messed up.”
“I believe you mean royally fucked up, George. Come on, if you’re going to go potty mouth on me, please go all the way.”
“Yeah, so. I’ve fucked up. Or I am fucked up. Or something. I’m not sure which, or… Yes, I am. I am fucked up, because I haven’t gone that far yet, but I really, really want to.” One hand still covering her face, George shook her head and groaned.
“Oh. My. God. Is this a patient? Please tell me it’s a patient.”
“It’s a patient.”
“Yes! I mean, I’m so sorry, but…” Jessie sighed, sounding suddenly serious, and George finally looked up. “I want you to be happy, George. You’re a good person. You deserve it.”
“Oh, well, I’m fine. Happy, I mean.”
Jessie raised her brows at her—just that—and George knew she wasn’t tricking anyone.
“Yes, so. All right, I’m not happy. And this…situation isn’t improving that. But…”
“But? But what? Please don’t leave me hanging here! Okay, hold on. More wine. Here. And some for me. Now. Out with it.”
“Okay. Okay.” She took a swig, trying to formulate it in her head. “I have a new patient.”
“New since when?”
“Um…a week, I guess.” George pulled out her phone. “No, that can’t be right. It must be longer, it’s… Oh my God. It’s been exactly one week. Today.”
“Fast worker.”
“I’ve seen a lot of him. Almost every day he comes in for his…treatment. Anyway, he’s…he’s interesting.”
“Oh? How?”
“It’s his…” George waved her hands in the air in front of her but couldn’t say the words—wasn’t allowed to, in fact. “Appearance. Tattoos and…scars. You know, a bad boy.”
“Oh. Mmm-hmm. I’ve got some of those.”
“He showed up last week, when I’d sent everyone home and the A/C was out, and it was just the two of us in the office.”
“You saw him alone?”
“Yes. I’m an idiot, right?”
“Yes. Go on.”
“So, he needed me. My help. Pretty desperately. I couldn’t say no.”
“A dermatological emergency. Okay, I get that… Go on.”
“Anyway, there’s…there’s more to him than his”—she waved again—“skin issues.”
“Right.”
“I mean, I think he has something psychological, and I don’t know how to deal with that kind of thing, but…I did something terrible last night.”
“Wait. Psychological?”
“Like PTSD. Or some kind of trauma.”
