I’m scaring her right now. And, honestly, that's the most frightening thing yet. Her fear. “Shit, I’m not going to jump.”
“I know,” she says quickly. “I'm no doctor, okay? I struggled with whether to bring this up. But after rereading that file, I had certain suspicions. And I shared them with my advisor, who thought that you and I should have a discussion.”
A discussion sounds so benign. “You think my entire memory loss is psychological.”
“I think it could be. This honestly isn't the first time I've wondered,” she whispers.
“And you never said anything?” Anger surges inside me, and I know she doesn't deserve it. But when will the hits stop coming?
“Rickie, you are the smartest client that I have, perhaps the smartest person I know…”
“You wanted me to figure it out for myself,” I say heavily.
“It was just a suspicion,” she says. “My job is to lessen your trauma, not increase it. And there wasn’t any proof. And let’s not forget my lack of medical experience, and the lack of a decent medical file here. Although I was open to exploring that idea if you ever went there yourself.”
But I never went there myself. Some shrink I’m going to be. “I could get another scan,” I suggest. “Mine came up clear.”
“You could,” she agrees. “There might be a hospital somewhere with a more sensitive machine. We could investigate. But if a new set of scans is clear, then you still don't know anything. It could still be a medical condition that we can't find on an MRI.”
“I’m so tired of not knowing,” I say uselessly. “And I hate this theory of yours.”
“Why?” she asks.
“What do you mean why? I've been so angry about my memory loss and now you're telling me that it's my own fault.”
“Whoa now,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “That is a very bad take on this discussion.”
“I know,” I grunt. “But last year I was a guest speaker at that cognitive psychology course. Remember? Everyone was so impressed that I knew the ins and outs of memory loss diagnoses. It's just that I had mine all wrong.”
“Rickie, I hate to break this news—but if you’re going to become a clinical psychologist, that means a lifetime of interpreting other people’s psychological issues without ever being sure that you’ve got a good grasp on your own. We are all our own worst patients.”
“I realize that,” I grunt.
“One problem at a time,” she says gently. “This changes nothing.”
“How can you say that? My treatment should change. I should be considering hypnosis or some shit.”
“That option has always been open to you. But you told me hypnotism is for suckers. Those were your actual words.”
My laugh is bitter. “It’s true.” I get up out of my chair. “Our time is up, right?”
“Almost,” she admits. “But sit down a sec. I don’t want you to walk out of here feeling angry and confused.”
“I’ve been angry and confused for a couple of years now,” I point out. “Today is no different.”
“It is, though,” she says quietly.
I know she’s right. I just don’t know what to do about it. “What if you call the Academy? It’s been at least a year since anyone bothered them about me. What if you reached the infirmary and asked for another copy of my file?”
She taps her fingers on the desk. “I’m game. But if they weren’t helpful before, they probably won’t be now.”
“Probably,” I admit. “But what if you get someone new on the phone? Somewhere, someone knows what happened to me that night. I mean—lie to them if you have to. Say I’m in crisis. Tell them I’m psychotic. Ask them if I was shot at or blown up. I don’t care how outlandish you make it. If they issue a denial, they might throw you some more details. Do whatever it takes.”
She takes a deep breath. I can tell she’s thinking about it.
“Please,” I whisper. “I know it probably won’t work. But just try.”
“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”
“That’s all I ask.” On that note, I make my exit, leaving Lenore’s worried face behind.
Twenty-Six
Daphne
I’m very frustrated. I suppose that’s nothing new. I’ve spent the whole summer feeling frustrated by my situation.
Except now I’m also sexually frustrated. That’s new. And it’s all Rickie’s fault.
After Violet’s departure—and the promises she extracted from me to tell her absolutely everything about the future developments between Rickie and me—I’d expected to have some free time with him.
But that’s not what happens. Instead, my idiot brother takes Rickie on a