“You bet I am.” He squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “I love you, son.”
“Daddy,” he blubbered.
Hank appeared at Mitch’s side and eased the inevitable severance by inviting Andrew to watch a video with him.
Mitch tried to put some cheer into his tone. “See, told ya. Go with Grandpa, and I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?” He forced a smile. “Where’s my fist bump?” He and Andrew bumped fists, then Mitch handed him over to Hank, who carried him from the room.
About to lose his shit, Mitch thanked Mary for the meal and headed for the front door. She followed. “What happened to your neck?”
He’d almost forgotten about the self-inflicted injury. “I cut myself shaving.”
The see-through, cheeky lie earned him an eye roll. “Always with the wisecrack.” Then, her forehead furrowed. “Are you taking care of yourself out there, Mitch?”
“Always.”
She looked as though she wanted to say more, but changed her mind. Setting her hand on his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze, she said, “Be careful driving back.”
He let himself into his apartment and went about his nightly routine of securing it. Feeling low and lonely, he went into the bedroom, sat down on the side of the bed, and checked his phone. John had indeed texted him the list of psychologists.
It was almost too late to call to make an appointment. Itcouldwait till morning.
But, no. To postpone for one more day wasn’t in his best interest, and dwelling on it further only made him more anxious about this path on which he was about to embark.
He scanned the list of names and quickly punched in one of the phone numbers. He got a recorded menu and tapped in the required digit to schedule an appointment. Another recording instructed him to leave a message.
“Yeah, this is Mitch Haskell. I don’t think an explanation is necessary since John Bowie has alreadyvettedyou. Call or text me with a time for tomorrow.”
He clicked off, dropped his phone on the bed, and began undressing. But he’d only tugged off his boots before a ping notified him of an incoming text. It instructed that if he wanted to confirm an appointment with Dr. Dylan Reede for ten a.m. tomorrow, he was to reply with a capital letter C.
Chapter 4
Mitch was the only person in the waiting room except for the receptionist, who’d introduced herself as Ellie. She had a kindhearted, maternal aspect and was almost apologetic when she’d asked him to fill out the required forms, which were numerous and, to his way of thinking, irrelevant.
Ellie had informed him that Dr. Reede was still with another patient. She’d invited him to take a seat and told him that the doctor would be with him shortly.
But “shortly” wasn’t short enough. He’d arrived fifteen minutes early, but wished he’d breezed in at the last minute, indicating that they were lucky he’d managed to work Dr. Reede into his schedule because he had better and more important things to do.
From behind Ellie’s sliding glass partition, she smiled pleasantly at him, but he tried to avoid making eye contact, because, in the otherwise empty waiting area, he felt conspicuous, as though he were the one behind safety glass, a specimen so erratic that it required close and constant monitoring.
He’d been checking his wristwatch at brief intervals and saw now that he had several more crawling minutes to kill. Ten o’clock couldn’t get here fast enough. On the other hand, he dreaded it like hell.
He sat with his hands on his thighs, his fingers tapping out the rhythm of a classic country song that was playing inside his head. But when Ellie caught him at the mindless drumming, he stopped. She might report it to the shrink, who would attribute his restlessness to a psychic anomaly rather than to plain ol’ impatience.
So now he had nothing to do with his hands except to concentrate on keeping them still.
And why was it so freakin’ hot in here?
The magazines stacked neatly in a vertical rack attached to the wall didn’t interest him. A dish of individually wrapped hard candies was within reach, but what would he do with a piece of it if he were called up the moment he popped it into his mouth? Spit it out or swallow it whole?
Did this old office building even have AC?
Inside his shirt, his torso had turned clammy. He was thinking of removing his sport jacket when Ellie slid open the window. “The doctor is ready to see you now, Mr. Haskell. Right through there.” She indicated a closed door on the opposite side of the waiting room. “She’s waiting for you.”
He was arrested in the motion of standing up.“She?”
Just then the door was pushed open, and a woman emerged. She smiled and came toward him, right hand extended. “Mr. Haskell? Dylan Reede.”
Holy shit. He croaked, “Are you kidding?”
