“Is that how you see it?”
“You’re trying to intimidate me into refusing to see you as a patient.”
“And you’re trying to keep that bell jar securely in place despite your…”
He made a gesture with both hands that seemed to indicate her dishevelment. She didn’t respond.
Again, he tipped his head inquisitively. “Not going to refute that?” When she still didn’t speak, he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I think I know why you never let your guard down.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“But see, I want to, Dylan.” He took another look through the blinds, turning his head this way and that to take in the whole street below, then went over to the patient sofa, sat down, and stretched his arms across the back of it. “Pretend I’ve lifted off that bell jar. Tell me something about Dylan Reede.”
“I don’t discuss my personal life with patients.”
“Well now, that’s not fair. You want to poke around in my head, my heart, my psyche, but I don’t get to know anything about you?”
She remained silent and impassive.
“Tell you what. I’ll go first and reveal something about me.” He lowered his arms from the back of the sofa and sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. He met her gaze directly.
“I love my son Andrew so much that when I watch him sleep, my heart hurts from the strain of loving him. Sometimes it’s so overwhelming, I’m moved to tears. I lie there, looking at him, listening to him breathe, and cry over the… the marvel… of having made this awesome little person.”
She searched his eyes, took in his body language andexpression, and didn’t believe that this was another manipulation. Whether it was or not, she wanted to explore it. She sat down on the edge of the sofa behind her. “How old is Andrew?”
“Almost three. He lives with my in-laws. John probably told you that.”
“He did. He also told me that it was your decision, not a court mandate.”
“No, there was no legal hassle. Nothing official. I just thought it would be best for Andrew. He was only nine months old when Angela… when we lost her. I had to work, and, even if I could have afforded child care that met my standards, I didn’t want his formative years to be guided and overseen by strangers. Angela would have hated that, too.”
“Is it a good living arrangement?”
“No, it fucking sucks,” he said shortly. Then with more introspection, he added, “It’s just the best I can do right now.” A look of torment crossed his features, but it was quickly gone. “Okay, doc. Your turn.”
“I don’t take a turn.”
“Come on. Be a sport.”
“These sessions are for you, Mitch. You exclusively.”
“Hmm.” He sat up straight. Stroking his lower lip with his index finger, he stared at her with acute intensity. Ponderous seconds ticked by. She reasoned that he was weighing either to disclose something that was difficult for him to address or to keep it to himself for now. She didn’t nudge him in either direction.
Finally, he said, “Did you have any idea what you were getting into when you married a martyr?”
He’d posed the question quietly, but it rent the silence like crashing cymbals. Or breaking glass. Like a bell jar shattering.Her breath leaked out slowly through her lips, taking all her strength with it. She sank against the back cushion of the sofa, staring at him with dismay and asking herself how he—?
But of course. He was a detective by trade. He had resources that were available only to law enforcement officers. He was multi-skilled. Canny and quick was how John Bowie had described him.
“I looked you up,” he said, still speaking in a voice with the texture of velvet. “I had to do some digging because you don’t go by your married name. Why not?”
She had to swallow before attempting to say something, and she was relieved to discover that she could speak at all. “Not in order to conceal it.”
“No?”
“No. A lot of women use their maiden name for their profession.”
“Where did you meet your husband?”
