The Reality of Everything - Rebecca Yarros Page 0,13

viciously at my chest, right where my set of aviation wings should have hung—would have hung if he’d lived. “I don’t want to move forward. I want Will! I want our shot!” I swiped angrily at my face, batting away the tears that had escaped during my tirade.

God, how long had it been since I’d lost it like that?

“I can’t bring him back,” Dr. Circe said gently. “I’m so very sorry for the loss you’ve suffered. But I know I can help you if you’ll let me. It’s four months of some pretty intense therapy, but I know we can lessen some of the pain you’re in.”

“You know?” I snapped. Nothing lessened the pain. Nothing but sleep took it away, and even then, I eventually had to wake up.

“I honestly think we have a good chance of not only lessening your pain but helping you truly move forward. This program has a seventy percent success rate.”

“And what happens when I’m one of the thirty?”

“I don’t think you are. This isn’t something you have to decide today, Morgan. I’ll call in your prescription to the local pharmacy. We definitely want to keep the anxiety attacks under control, but I’d also like to treat the underlying cause, not just the symptoms.” She rose to her feet.

“No amount of therapy will make me miss him any less.”

She walked me to her door. “Give me four months. Just think about it. You meet with me once a week. You do the homework. You’ll feel the results. But you would need someone to help support you through it.”

“I’m all alone.” I shrugged, shutting the door on the possibility.

A corner of her mouth lifted. “Well, like I said, just give it some thought. And while you’re over there telling yourself that therapy isn’t going to help you, I want you to think about the fact that you just told me what happened to Will without having an anxiety attack.”

She opened her door, and I walked into her small, comfortable lobby, where another patient was already waiting.

Maybe she’d help him through whatever he was going through, because there wasn’t a through it for me.

…

“Give it to me straight,” I said to the fourth contractor Joey had brought out to look at my property in the last two days. At least this guy was closer to our age and didn’t look at me like I’d lost my mind or suggest a complete teardown.

He scratched his well-trimmed beard and looked back at the house from where we stood on the driveway. “Well, how much money do you have?”

“Come on, Steve,” Joey snapped, folding her arms across her chest. Grayson’s older sister had cut her dark tresses to a bob in the years since I’d seen her, but there was no mistaking her for cute when she arched that eyebrow.

“Don’t be like that, Joey. You asked me for my opinion, and I’m giving it. That house is a wreck. You need a new deck on both levels—hell, I’m surprised they’re still standing, honestly—new siding, new staircases.”

I left out the tidbit where I’d already fallen through the landing.

“Okay, but structurally?” I prodded, hoping the inspector had told the truth on the report I’d seen before closing.

“In that, you lucked out. The foundations around the boathouse and pillars are sound, but they both need better drainage and waterproofing. The bones are good, shape is great for deflecting wind, but it could use a dose of storm-proofing—or you’re probably going down in the next cat three. I’m surprised she made it through this last one, and she took some damage for it. Definitely needs a new roof, and that weathervane looks like it’s about to break off any minute.” He pointed up to the heavy brass arrow that spun circles on my roof when the wind changed.

“It stays,” I said. “Reinstall it or whatever, but I like it.” Arrows were supposed to be meaningful, right? Getting pulled back to release farther and faster, or something. Besides, if it had survived the storms for this long, who was I to yank it down?

He sighed. “Ms. Bartley, the weathervane is the least of your problems. Your electrical system needs to be completely overhauled. I don’t know who thought it was a great idea to put a secondary panel in a room that’s literally built to flood.”

And it just keeps getting better. By grace, the house was just as much of a mess as I was.

A long shadow came up parallel with mine, and I knew