We sat in silence, Ethan watching me process in much the same way as I’d watched him pace earlier. We knew each other well, which still baffled me. Then, a realization hit home.
“Did you say she changed her will last week?”
“I did.” Ethan grinned, as if he’d been waiting for me to catch up. “Right before she died, she called me here to make one small change. A thirty-day observation period.”
I groaned. The chair in the boardroom, Gumbo’s comment about part of her still here.
“I’m being judged.”
“Agatha doesn’t judge, Simone.” Ethan took a moment to rest his hand on my forearm, giving it an affectionate but brief squeeze. “She would say she assesses.”
I had to smile. From what I remembered, that sounded like her.
It was all so overwhelming. Every time I started to process one piece of it, another piece popped up. I was incomplete and blocked, and it was frustrating.
“Why did she make the change last week?”
“Surely you know why?” Ethan canted his head, and I lifted my shoulders to my ears. Was I always going to feel like I didn’t know things I should? “Because of the meeting you two had.”
“Meeting? I haven’t seen Agatha in thirty years…”
My voice trailed, and two things happened at once. A blinding headache shot through me, stabbing me behind the eyes like a thousand needles. And my stomach twisted into a giant knot that refused to release its grip. I ran from the table, knocking my chair over on my way to the sink, where I lost every bite of that delicious blueberry muffin.
It didn’t taste as good coming back up. I retched until I was empty, dipping my head under the faucet for relief. Then I sank to the floor, water puddling around me.
Last week, a strange woman had rushed into my office seeking emergency counseling. It was a bizarre session that, under normal circumstances, I would have remembered more clearly. I’d made notes on her session. Immediately after, a blinding headache prompted me to leave my office and return home.
Which is when I’d found Jeff in bed with another woman.
“The woman that visited my office last week was Agatha?” My throat was swollen and tender. “It didn’t look like her. Or what I remember of her. It was the strangest session of my life.”
“Why?” Ethan handed me a towel and sat on the floor opposite me. “Can you tell me what it was about?”
“I suppose it’s relevant.” I opened my phone, scrolling to my notes file and pulling up the last session. Scanning it, a million little puzzle pieces fell into place. “Patient is suffering from anxiety due to her certainty that she will die at midnight. She requested assistance determining who to leave her estate to.
“I’d humored her, in a way, walking through scenarios with her using a tool called the miracle question.” I slid my phone toward Ethan, allowing him to read the rest. “Her favorite option was the one where she hung on for thirty days to make sure she felt confident in her choices.”
CHAPTER 9
Ididn’t need Ethan’s suggestion that I take a few days to process before diving in to know it was a good idea. My head was swimming. Given what little I knew about witchcraft, and with a bit of feedback from Gumbo, it seemed like Agatha had used a glamor. The woman who’d rushed into my office one week prior was definitely not the Agatha I’d known.
She’d been more poised, with flame-red hair and piercing eyes and perfect makeup. And, despite her stress at the situation, she’d been remarkably in control of her emotions. I wanted to read through my notes from the session and try to reconcile them with my lapsing memories, but not yet.
As comfortable as the house was, my body longed for movement. I wanted fresh air and to tour the town. It irritated me that there were so many barricades in my head. It was my hope that a jog around Treater’s Way might shake them loose.
Well, not a literal jog. I hadn’t gone running in years, and though I missed it, I didn’t think starting a new exercise regimen at this moment would be a good idea. Although, if I were a soon-to-be divorcee, wasn’t that exactly what I was supposed to do? I went through the mental checklist of things my patients had done once fresh off a divorce. I’d already cut my hair, but I could dye it a different color or get super fit. Or get a tattoo.
As if he knew I was thinking of the D-wordagain, my phone exploded with texts from Jeff. I scanned through them, rolling my eyes at the increased use of caps. He’d started off with gentle words and an insistence that it wasn’t what it looked like. He’d actually tried to convince me he’d been getting a therapeutic massage. You know, the kind where both people end up naked.
Now that over a week had passed and he wasn’t hearing from me, his texts were getting more aggressive.
Why haven’t you come home??
I went by your office, it’s EMPTY!
Simone, YOU’RE being RIDICULOUS!
STOP BEHAVING LIKE A CHILD, WOMAN!!!
