Chapter Thirteen

Dr. Kirkpatrick sits in her pale green armchair wearing a practiced expression of serenity. She spent years in school training herself to spot signs of deception. I figure my chances of pulling this off without her figuring me out are about one in a billion. But I’m out of options. The only lead I have in this mess is sitting across from me, and I’m not leaving this office until she tells me something.

This time she waits ten minutes before speaking. Maybe she wants me a little nervous today.

“So how did your exercise go?”

Exercise? Oh crap. I rush through our last meeting in my mind, remembering her little assignment. The scrapbooks.

“I think it helped,” I lie. Testing the waters. Given the way her eyes just narrowed a little, I’d say those waters look muddy as hell.

“Would you care to tell me a little about it?”

“Well, to be honest, the details in the old stuff felt more real,” I say, hoping that little nugget of honesty will throw her off enough to buy my next line. “But just looking at the newer pictures gave me better perspective.”

“Perspective?”

“Yeah,” I say, tipping my head back and forth, like I’m searching for the word. “Like I can remember things better.”

“Good,” she says, and she looks strangely relieved by this. “How does it make you feel, remembering these moments more clearly?”

I square my shoulders and look her right in the eyes. “I feel like I miss Julien.”

She flinches.

She hides it fast, sliding on that calm smile. But it’s there. A tiny crack in her smooth facade. I see it. And that little frisson of tension in her face goes through me like a blade of ice. I resist the urge to fidget, holding my fingers steady in my lap.

“You remember Julien, right?” I ask. “From our study group?”

She smiles, but I can tell she’s uneasy. Maybe even sad. Apparently even trained clinical therapists aren’t immune to the clenched jaw and tight smiles that give the rest of us away.

“I believe I remember Julien,” she says softly. “As you remember, my time with your study group was very limited. Just a few minutes here and there. I sadly didn’t have the opportunity to know you very well as individuals.”

Is she making excuses? It sounds like excuses. And the way she’s playing with her pen looks like guilt.

Oh God, Maggie was right. Something happened to Julien, and Dr. Kirkpatrick knows what it is.

“I don’t think Julien wanted to move to California.” I say it before I can stop myself.

“Sometimes families make decisions that will upset some of the parts of the whole.”

“Maybe. Or maybe none of them wanted to go.”

This time there’s no mistaking the way her cheeks go pale. She is nervous. Maybe even scared.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” I say, chewing my lip before the accusation I’m feeling shows. “The Millers have been here forever. Mr. Miller was on the Chamber of Commerce. And Julien loved it here. They all did. And now, she’s just gone.”

She uncrosses and recrosses her legs and glances down at her notebook. “You know, Chloe, I believe our lives should be examined and explored until some sort of understanding is reached.”

“Well, you are a therapist. Wouldn’t it be weird if you didn’t think that?”

She smiles then, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “That’s probably true. But despite believing that, I also know that some things in life don’t have answers. Some things must just be accepted.”

“Are you telling me it’s not important for me to understand why she’s gone?”

I’m hoping it will rattle her, but it doesn’t. Her smile softens with her eyes, telling me that I’m playing right into her hand.

“What I think is most important here is that you miss her,” Dr. Kirkpatrick says. Her ultracalm mask has descended, the little notepad she uses held easily in her palm. “I think the real lesson to be learned is how to deal with that loss.”

I shrug and slouch back in my chair in defeat. The clock ticks by and I let it. I need a minute to get myself together. I should have known I wasn’t going to lead this whole conversation. Her whole job is to take the reins in here.

“Maybe it isn’t just Julien that I miss,” I say at length.

“Is there something else you’re missing, Chloe?”

“Nothing obvious. I mean, I have the perfect life right now, like every little thing has been laid out exactly like it should be.”

“You don’t sound pleased by that.”

I glance up at her, letting a bit of the accusation I’m feeling show. “Well, maybe I didn’t want the perfect life. Maybe I liked the life I had just fine.”

I watch her closely now, but her face is remarkably still. I see her hands though, her knuckles going white in her lap. It’s more than enough proof for me.

She knows things. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be on edge like this, her face as smooth and hard as stone.

Her eyes flick up to the clock and her jaw unclenches. “I’m afraid we’re running short on time today. I’d like to talk more about your feelings on this next week. Can you prepare for that?”

“I’ll be ready,” I say, knowing my smile is bordering on predatory.

Which is exactly how I want it to be. I’m not some mute seventeen-year-old who’s going to be terrified into silence because this woman’s got a few degrees on her wall. I have every right to know what’s happened to me, whether or not she wants to tell me.

I let the door close behind me, leaving Dr. Kirkpatrick alone. The lobby is empty, which is typical since I’m the last appointment of the day. I pull on my coat and look at the empty receptionist’s desk.

I look at it for a long time.

No. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a snoop.

Still, no matter how many times I say it in my head, I still frown at the motion sensor above the main door as I push it open. The door chimes, indicating my exit. Except I’m not exiting. I’m wedging my purse in the door and walking back toward Dr. Kirkpatrick’s office.

Not my proudest moment.

My cheeks are burning with shame as I lean closer to her door.

It’s totally silent. Okay, not totally, but the paper shuffling and the soft tap of keys are the only things I’m hearing. And it’s not exactly a sinister sound track.

Any minute now, she’s going to come out here with her lipstick refreshed and her briefcase in hand and I’m going to be standing here, looking obvious and creepy.

Still, it’s a little concerning how easily I can hear through this door. Normally, there’s some soft elevator music out here, but apparently the receptionist turned that off on her way out.

Ugh, I need to go. This is just too slimy.

“It’s me.”

My head perks up at the sound of Dr. Kirkpatrick’s voice. This is not her therapy voice. This voice is tired, a little wary maybe.

“I know you don’t want to talk, Daniel, but my career is on the line here,” she says.

Great. I’m stalking my own therapist so I can listen to her fight with her husband? Clearly, I do need therapy. Probably for the rest of my life if I don’t get my crap together and get out of here.

“Well, if everything’s so fine, why is Chloe Spinnaker asking me about Julien?”

Everything goes cold and still, inside and out. I don’t blink or breathe. I stand there, legs turning to jelly, wishing I could hear whatever’s being said on the other end of the line.

She’s talking quieter now, or maybe she’s turned so that she’s facing the other way.

The phone rattles into the cradle, and I bolt like a horse out of the gate. I dance sideways through the waiting room, trying not to knock into the magazine stand between the chairs.

My heart is drumming so loud I can feel it behind my ears. I slink over to my purse, tugging it free of the door as I step outside.

***

The light from my front door looks like heaven. I feel myself deflate like a balloon as I turn off the car, my shoulders finally relaxing.

I still know nothing. Tomorrow I’ll still wake up with a gaping hole in my memory and a best friend who won’t speak to me. Plus, I have no idea who the hell this Daniel person is or how he fits into all of this.

But I’m one piece closer, and that’s something.

Outside, the air is frigid, and I find myself cursing my missed summer again. I climb the steps to my porch with visions of a hot shower and fleece pajama pants in my future.

I toss my keys on the end table and chuck my coat on the hook by the door. And then I hear someone laughing in the kitchen. No, not someone. Someones.

“Chloe?”

It’s my mom who calls out, and I’m about to answer when another figure appears in the kitchen doorway. Blake. Blake is standing in my kitchen, sock-footed and holding a mug of something steamy.

I see my mom and my dad and everyone’s smiling and this is supposed to be normal, but my teeth are starting to chatter again and then he’s kissing me. Right in front of my parents. He just leans in and kisses me, letting it linger just long enough so that it feels like he’s proving a point.

“Hey, babe,” he says.

I return his embrace like a puppet, invisible strings lifting my arms and placing them around his middle. Over his shoulder I can see my delighted parents. Or my delighted mother at least. My dad’s smile looks just a little too tight around the edges to totally convince me.

“Your hands are freezing,” he says when I pull back, rubbing my fingers between his palms.

“I didn’t know you were coming. I didn’t see your car,” I say stupidly, and then I look to my mom and dad for help because, really, aren’t boys supposed to call first?

Apparently not when the boy is Blake Tanner, because he’s exactly the guy you want your daughter to date. He’s one of the good guys. A Boy Scout. An athlete. Hell, he’s been on the Ridgeview Good Citizens’ list so many times they should practically name it after him.

“I took my dad’s car,” he says, nodding out the window where I can see a shiny, black Audi parked on the street. “Mine’s in the shop for a tune-up.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay. Did you need something?”

He laughs and waggles his chemistry book at me. “Um, chemistry? Midterm’s tomorrow?”

“Right,” I echo, wishing to God I could just warm up enough to keep my chin from trembling.

I imagine the rest of my night studying with Blake. Which makes me think of Adam folded into that narrow space between my window and bed. Which makes me think of slamming my head into the nearest wall—seriously, what am I going to do here?

“I figured you might want to run over the review,” he says. “Like we always do.”

I nod and smile because everyone else seems to be happy about this plan.

“So…” he says, trailing off and jerking his head just a little toward the kitchen. Or my bedroom. It could be either.

Please let it be the kitchen. Please.

I glance around because, hell, I’ve never had a boy come over to study. Not a boy I’m dating at any rate. I have no idea what the parent rules are in this situation.

“Let me go get my book,” I say dumbly, heading for the stairs.

“Or I can come up there,” he says, shifting his own book in his arms. “I actually dropped my stuff in your room earlier.”

He was in my room. Presumably alone. I feel icky all over at this.

“There’s more room in the dining room,” Dad says, and I can tell by his face that he’d prefer us there, a mere ten feet away without a doorway in sight.

But Mom frowns at him pointedly. “We’re getting ready to watch a movie, George. They’ll never be able to focus. Plus, there’s no Internet in there.”

“They need Internet to study?” Dad asks, emphasizing Internet and study as if they’re code names for something much dirtier.

“Don’t be obtuse, George. They always study in Chloe’s room.”

Do we? Or is my dad closer to the truth? Do we do something else? I feel my throat going dry as I realize exactly what we really might do in my room.

“I’m sorry,” Mom says, waving us toward the stairs with a roll of her eyes like she’s completely cool with all of this.

I am not cool with this. My ribs feel tight, and my knees are wobbly.

“The dining room would be fine,” Blake says, but I’m not buying his tone. This has brown-nose-the-parents all over it.

“Don’t be silly,” Mom says, clearly eating right out of his hand. “We’ll be down here if you need anything.”

“Right down here,” my dad adds.

I storm up the stairs, catching a glimpse of my crimson face in a decorative mirror on the wall. None of this seems to bother Blake, who follows me like a Labrador retriever, closing my bedroom door very quietly behind us.

I immediately scan every inch of my bedroom for signs of Adam. Ridiculous, I know. It’s not like he left a trail of clothes or anything. God, don’t think about Adam stripping off clothes. Not when Blake might be expecting me to strip off clothes.

Better yet, maybe I can just not think at all.

“What’s the test on?” I ask, the words squeaky.

Blake just laughs and crosses the floor between us, threading his fingers in the back of my hair. He pulls me in and all I can smell is his cologne. It’s too much, too strong, and all I can think is, Mom would die if she knew how this guy had snowed her over.

I have maybe a half second to process that this is going to happen, and then his lips close over mine.

I’ve been kissed enough to know when someone’s doing it right. And Blake is technically doing it right, tilting my head just a little. Urging my mouth to open for him. And he’s pressing into me just enough to make things interesting, without mashing his kibbles and bits against my thigh or anything.

My heart is hammering for all of the wrong reasons. I fumble under his kisses, feeling like there’s no right speed for my lips, no comfortable perch for my hands. And I really need to stop overthinking this before he starts thinking something is up with me.

Trouble is, something is up with me.

Namely, I can’t stop thinking about Adam.

This is wrong. Guilt is tearing through me, my every instinct commanding me to pull away from him. I can’t do this. I just can’t.

I pull away, and Blake gazes down on me, eyes dark with hunger. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, forcing myself to touch his shoulders. “School is just…”

“Hm…” he says, cutting me off with another long, slow kiss.

It’s even worse than before. All I can think about is Adam. And God, it’s wrongity-wrong-wrong, but for one second, I close my eyes tight and pretend I’m with him. I think of blue eyes and a low laugh and all the things I should never think of now.

Blake gives me a little appreciative moan, and the sound of his voice is so startling and so foreign, that I pull away, wiping a shaking hand over my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping back to my desk. “I’m really sorry.”

Blake watches me in a very cool, detached way. The same way he looked at me that morning at Trixie’s. As if he’s about to pick me apart and label all the gooey bits he finds.

“You know, I thought we were done with this,” he says.

“Done with what? I’m just tense, Blake.”

“Yeah, I got that memo. You’ve been tense ever since that night at my house.”

I don’t have to ask to know what night he means. The night I hit my head. The night I forgot. Or remembered. Hell, I don’t even know what to call it.

You could tell him.

I toss the idea almost as soon as I think it. Something as deep as the marrow of my bones tells me I can’t tell Blake about this. Not any of it. And I’m definitely a girl who believes in going with her gut.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. A broken record. “I think the pressure of the applications and senior year—it’s a little more intense than I thought.”

“Are you doing your meditations?”

“Yeah,” I lie, turning away so he won’t see the irritation on my face.

But it’s there, burning through me. A strange mix of fear and discomfort. I don’t like him acting like my mother. Trying to fix me.

“You know you should think about coming with me to the gym. It might help you burn off a lot of that anxiety.”

“Thanks, I just don’t…” I trail into silence because it hits me like a ton of bricks. I don’t want to be with Blake. I just don’t. Even if Adam didn’t exist at all, I still wouldn’t.

Despite everything I felt, all the long afternoons I spent gazing at him on the lacrosse field, this isn’t right. Not for me.

“Blake,” I say, but then I pause because I can’t believe I’m about to do this. “I think I might need a little bit of time. A little…time off.”

“Time off,” he repeats, and while it’s crystal clear he knows where I’m going with this, he’s not angry. Not angry or shocked or even particularly hurt.

“A break,” I tell him. “Just to sort out my head.”

I turn back to him, and he’s very still and calm. After a while, he comes forward, touching my face with soft fingers. The touch is tender, but somehow his face isn’t. God, it’s so confusing.

“Do you mean break for now or break forever?” he asks.

I don’t know. I don’t know what I mean or what I’m doing. Walking away from Blake is counter to everything I’ve ever wanted. I keep hearing Maggie’s words in my mind. Am I running away? Is that what this is?

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I just know I need some time to sort it out.”

“Of course, Chloe. Take your time. You know I’ll be here.”

The words are the stuff of movies, but his face is flat. He’s like a very bad actor reciting even worse lines.

And I’d like to know who the hell wrote them.

We file back down the stairs. He is all easy civility as he offers me a sideways hug at the door.

“Leaving already?” Mom asks. Her eyes flick nervously between us. Sensing trouble in paradise? Maybe. Dreading said trouble? Definitely.

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his head. He looks more upset now, and somehow I feel like that’s for show too. Like it’s all for her benefit. “I’m suddenly pretty tired.”

“Well, be careful driving,” she says. “Tell Daniel we said hello.”

My eyes go wide as I turn to her, blood running through me like ice water. “Daniel?”

“His father,” she says. “Honestly, Chloe, where is your head these days?”

Stunned by my slipup, I say nothing. Blake’s slipping too, that thin veneer of sadness sliding away to reveal the first expression I’ve believed all night.

Suspicion.