“The migraine pain actually subsides?”
“It doesn’t just ‘subside.’ It diminishes completely. Not even a subtle throbbing remains. Only…blissful reprieve.”
“Fascinating. I wonder what could be the cause. Have you noticed a specific trigger that leads to these pain-free instances?”
“Mm-hmm. It took me a while to connect the dots, but—yes.”
“Well? Don’t keep me in suspense!”
My brows furrow. “It’s the girl.”
“The witness? The one you left alive after she gave you a cookie? Have you two…been seeing each other?”
“Definitely not. We have barely exchanged a handful of sentences since we met. However, it seems that only her proximity is needed to facilitate my relief.”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
“Can you guess how many meetings with the Cosa Nostra leaders I have attended in the past two decades?” I ask.
“Uh… I don’t know. A hundred? Your people seem to enjoy discussing internal matters until you’re blue in the face.”
“Fewer than a dozen. I detest the hours-long rambling about shit that could be resolved with a couple of emails. Now, guess how many I showed up for in the past two months?” I pause, giving him an opportunity to answer, but he merely shrugs. “Thirteen.”
“Because of your cookie girl?”
“Yes. Out of all those times, I only suffered a migraine once.”
“Was she there?”
“No. She unexpectedly changed her shift that day. Her mom was sick. If I had found that out in time, I would not have bothered to go to the blasted breakfast meeting. That is when I became completely convinced that being near her somehow stops my migraines.” I slip my glasses off, pinching the bridge of my nose as the memory from earlier in the week assails me. “A few nights ago, the pounding in my temple was driving me insane. I could not sleep. Was seconds away from ripping my own head off. So I got in the car. Drove to her place and parked across the street. At four in the fucking morning.”
“And? The pain stopped?”
“I fell asleep, head slumped on the steering wheel, less than five minutes later.” I glance at my shrink, clocking his stunned expression. “So, tell me, Barty, what the hell is going on? How come, for years, nothing has worked on my migraines? But now, all of a sudden, they seem to be miraculously cured by the presence of one specific woman? Because—let me tell you—this kind of pisses me off.”
“Your migraines are clearly psychosomatic. Neurologically, there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with you. As youknow, migraines do not have a single cause. Stress, anxiety, depression can all act as triggers. What brings them on—especially in your case—is anyone’s guess. Likewise, in terms of their abatement. I cannot fathom a single reason why you’d have such a profound reaction to this woman. That’s something only you may be able to uncover, and only if you’d be willing to dig into that psyche of yours. I can help you, of course, if you would allow me. Maybe if we look deep enough, the answers will come. But we both know you’ll never go for that, don’t we?”
“There’s nothing todig for.I’m not here for therapy, doc. I only come around ’cause I like shooting the breeze with you.”
“Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear.” He sticks the end of his pen into his mouth and chews on it thoughtfully. “Why don’t you ask her out? If this girl has such a significant impact on you, don’t you want to get to know her better?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She’s a nobody. At best, I somehow convinced myself that her presence stops the pain. The same way I apparently manifest these damn migraines. If that’s the case, she’s nothing more than a walking dose of Aspirin. Why the hell would I date her?”
“You like her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Have you noticed you’ve started to cuss? And you’re using actual contractions.”
“Goddamnit, Barty. What does that have to do with any of this shit?”
“Maybe nothing. Just an observation.”
“So what? Your professional assessment is that I’m interested in the girl because I’ve thrown out an odd swear?”
