appointment in Burlington that I neglected to mention to Daphne.
It’s time to visit my shrink.
Lenore is a young postdoc in clinical psychology—which is precisely what I hope to be in a few years. Sessions with her are useful in more ways than one. Not only is Lenore helping me with my issues—and there are quite a few of those—I learn things from her as well. She’s smart and she speaks to me like a future colleague as well as a patient.
“My God, you’re so tan!” she shrieks as I walk into her office. “And so healthy I hardly recognize you.”
“So you’re saying I was pale and ghostly before?” I plop myself down in my chair.
“Oh, please. You’re very prompt today, Rickie. I think you missed me.”
“For sure. Nobody has asked me any prying questions in a month.”
“Well let’s fix that. How’ve you been? Tell me everything. Are you milking cows?”
“I mostly shovel their shit. But it’s still a good time.” I tell her all about the Shipley farm, and my aching muscles, and yesterday’s bear sighting.
“Something tells me this bear gets more ferocious every time you tell that story,” she says, playing with the pendant she’s wearing around her neck.
“Are you calling me a liar? Is that good patient interaction?”
“Not a liar,” she says with an eye roll. “An embellisher.”
“Fine. Sure. I cheated death, but you think I’m embellishing it. I see how it is.”
She gives me an indulgent smile. “You seem content, Rick. And it looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” I say softly. And I guess she’s right. These last three years have been hell. Contentment is something I thought I might never find.
“Have you seen your parents?” Lenore asks suddenly.
“Nope.” I feel a stab of guilt over this. They live maybe forty minutes from where I’m staying. But things are so strained between us that I don’t make visiting a priority.
“Could you have lived at home this summer?” she asks, holding me to this uncomfortable subject.
“I guess. Yeah. I would have had to find a summer job, though. At the Shipleys, the job is built in. Plus, the Shipleys aren’t disappointed in me for bombing out of the Academy, and then taking a settlement.”
She doesn’t weigh in, yet. She waits me out, like a smart shrink would do.
“I suppose I should go visit them, just so this shit doesn’t fester, right?”
“That depends,” she says quietly. “There are parents who absolutely deserve to be cut out of one’s life. There are toxic people in the world, and you don’t owe toxic people anything. But if you think your relationship will matter to you in the future, then maybe it’s time to find some common ground.”
Outwardly I’m as calm as ever. But I’ve only been in Lenore’s office for three minutes and she’s already found a sore spot and pressed it. I used to have a great relationship with my parents. I’m their only kid, and we spent my childhood traveling the world together. We were tight.
Then I went off to my father’s alma mater, the US Tactical Services Academy. I wasn’t that excited about choosing it over Middlebury, where I’d also been accepted. I wasn’t a military kind of guy, like my dad. But a few things weighed in its favor. One, the price tag. It’s free. I could’ve graduated with no loans at all.
Two, my dad was proud when I got accepted. So proud. And I drank that shit in.
And, finally, I was interested in military intelligence as a career. Even if marching in formation bored me silly, I liked the idea that I could become a spy someday.
But near the end of my first semester, I went to an off-campus party and got hurt. I was in the hospital for two weeks. And I haven’t been the same since.
That was the end of the USTSA for me. I dropped out. And when the college dragged its feet on giving me credit for the semester, my parents warily helped me force their hand.
“I hate lawyering up against my own college,” my father had said. “But one stern letter will probably do the trick.”
The lawyer had bigger plans. “Credits aren’t the only thing you should be leaving with. Your doctor doesn’t even know when you’ll be able to go back to school. I think you’re due some more party favors.”
“Like what?” I’d asked.
“Like cash.” So, with my permission, he asked them for a million dollars. “They’ll bargain us down,” he’d added.
But that’s not what happened. They’d written me a seven-digit