That I was going to dig my feet in and fight for this."
"That's something you're working on?""Yes.
Yes, it is.
And it's not easy.
Because some of the things he does .
I react in ways I've learned to avoid.
For my own sanity! At some point you have to say you gave it your best shot and it didn't work out.
Right?" Dr.
Petersen's head tilted to the side.
"And if you don't, what's the worst that could happen?" "You're asking me?" "Yes.
Worst-case scenario."
"Well ."
I splayed my fingers on my thighs.
"He keeps drifting away from me, which makes me cling harder and lose all sense of self-worth.
And we end up with him going back to life as he knew it and me going back to therapy trying to get my head on straight again."
He continued to look at me, and something about his patient watchfulness prodded me to keep talking.
"I'm afraid that he won't cut me loose when it's time and that I won't know better.
That I'll keep hanging on to the sinking ship and go down with it.
I just wish I could trust that he'd end it, if it comes to that."
"Do you think that needs to happen?" "I don't know.
Maybe."
I pulled my gaze away from the clock on the wall.
"But considering it's nearly seven and he stood us both up tonight, it seems likely."
* * *
It was crazy to me that I wasn't surprised to find the Bentley waiting outside my apartment at quarter to five in the morning.
The driver who climbed out from behind the wheel when I stepped outside wasn't familiar to me.
He was much younger than Angus; early thirties was my guess.
He looked Latino, with rich caramel-hued skin, and dark hair and eyes.
"Thanks," I told him, when he rounded the front of the vehicle, "but I'll just grab a cab."
Hearing that, the night doorman to my building stepped out to the street to flag one down for me.