Tonight, there was no wait for therapy. Dr. Rosetti ushered me into her office straightaway. After last night’s text exchange, she was probably going to want to discuss my diet. Me, I was hoping she could help me uncover my past. Instead of her usual cable-knit sweater, Dr. Rosetti was wearing an outfit that could transition from day to night seamlessly. All she had to do was take off her stuffy cardigan, shake her hair out, and work on her accessories game.
“As your friend,” I said, “I think a brooch would look nice with that blouse.” Especially if she was going out. Rosetti on the town—I could see it. “Does anyone ever call you Rosé?” It was the perfect nickname.
“Tiffany,” she said, ignoring my suggestion, “before we begin, have you eaten anything since you texted?”
“Yes, I gave up on the juice cleanse.”
“Excellent.” She nodded with approval. “Do you feel better now?”
“I’m sorry I bothered you with that. I’m fine.”
“You were upset enough to text. We should talk about it. Why were you on the juice cleanse?”
“Because I don’t want to hurt someone every time I’m thirsty. I’m trying to be normal. I’m trying to fit in.”
She leaned forward with intensity and focus, like she was about to uncover my core trauma. “Whodo you think you’re hurting?”
I rubbed my temple in frustration. She wanted me to realize I was hurting myself with my diet. This was not going to be a breakthrough moment.
“Dr. R, you remember that I’m a vampire?”
“Yes, I heard you.”
“You understand how vampires eat, correct? Me going on a diet isgood for everyone’s health but mine.” When she didn’t answer, I asked, “Did you see or readTwilight?”
“Team Jacob,” she answered without thinking.
“Really, the werewolf?” But I got it. Jacob was hot. “Anyway, Stephenie Meyer got the feeding part right. It’s just that vampires don’t all have mansions and sparkly skin, which is too bad. Also, I’ve never met a Jacob.” The closest thing was that fake coyote, which really was giving me hell. I’d take a werewolf over being trapped in a cage of my own lies any day.
Dr. Rosetti made a note.
“I know you only have fifty minutes, so I’m going to get right to it.” I needed to see if I could get any information about Jeff from her. “I want to run a hypothetical by you.”
“Go on,” she said, setting her pen on her notebook and folding her hands in her lap.
“So let’s say there’s a woman with a dead husband.”
“Okay. Remember our discussion of privilege.” She looked over her glasses at me and cautioned, “Doctor-patient privilege ends if you tell me you are about to harm yourself or others.”
“I remember. This already happened.” I smiled to set her worries at ease. “So anyway, shortly after the woman’s husband dies, she sells her identity on the black market and disappears.” I let her process the basic scenario and then asked, “What does that say to you?”
“Tiffany.” She shook her head. “This is a small town. I know how Jeff died.” She gave me a look like she was staring into my soul. “Are you asking about yourself, about whyyoudisappeared? Did you watch Jeff die?”
“No. I don’t remember. How did he die?” Dr. Rosetti might not be able to tell me much, but she was the only person I could be fully honest with, besides Vlad.
She exhaled, clearly frustrated. “It is my understanding that Jeff died in a freak accident on the ice. He crashed through. I think he might have been ice fishing. I don’t remember that part.”
A drowning. That seemed like a normal sort of tragedy, not the kindof death that would make Tiffany leave town forever.
Her face etched with sympathy, she asked, “You don’t remember his death?”
“Nothing. It’s a blank.”
She jotted down a note.
I asked, “Do you remember why Tiffany left town after?”
“I can’t say whyyouleft town,” she answered, making uncomfortably direct eye contact.
