I wasn’t about to tell him about running into Dr. Cerny. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be thrilled about me sharing a bottle of wine with the guy he was about to spend a week of intensive therapy with. Anyway, I was tired of whispering. So there was another secret. I guessed I could add it to the one I was keeping about reaching out to his ex-girlfriend.
A sharp knock startled me. When I opened our door, there was no one there, just an intricately scrolled silver tray at my feet, laid with an elaborate collection of china, crystal, and silver. The sharp scent of coffee and fresh-baked somethings that rose from it made my mouth water. I must’ve just missed Luca, the phantom, non-English-speaking cook.
A note sat to one corner, heavy cream stationery. I popped on my glasses and read it aloud to Heath while he laid out the meal.
8 a.m. Breakfast (room)
9 a.m.–9:50 a.m. Heath Beck session (sunroom) 10 a.m.–10:50 a.m. Heath Beck reading assignment (Dr. Cerny In Session) 11 a.m.–11:50 a.m. Heath Beck assessments (Dr. Cerny In Session) 12:30 p.m. Lunch (room)
1:30 p.m.–2:30 p.m. Free block (cameras off) 3 p.m.–3:50 p.m. Heath Beck session with Dr. Cerny (sunroom) 4 p.m.–4:50 p.m. Heath Beck writing assignment (Dr. Cerny In Session) 5 p.m.–5:50 p.m. Heath Beck meditation (Dr. Cerny In Session) 6 p.m.–7 p.m. Free block (cameras on)
7 p.m. Dinner (room)
8 p.m.–10 p.m. Free block (cameras on)
10 p.m.–12 a.m. Free block (cameras off) I tossed the note on the bed. “According to this, you’ve essentially signed up for six hours of daily therapy.”
“It’s not all therapy.” He tucked into the scrambled eggs. “There are personality tests. Reading and journaling. Meditating.”
“Free blocks,” I couldn’t resist adding.
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” he said mildly, cutting a sausage in half.
“You’ve never meditated a second in your life.”
“That you know of.”
I sat opposite him and poured a cup of coffee. There was nothing to say in response to that. He was right. There were probably a thousand details I didn’t know about him, a wealth of information that I had chosen to give up in exchange for peace of mind.
He put down his fork. “Come on, Daph, it’s not like I’m looking forward to this. But I’m doing what I have to do to get my head straight. So we can have a normal life.”
“We did have a normal life,” I said.
We bought overpriced organic goat cheese and Jerusalem artichokes and weird-colored olives with the lofty intention of trying new recipes but let them all go bad in the fridge in favor of takeout pizza. We watched terrible movies on Sunday afternoons and actually enjoyed them. We made love almost every night.
We had a normal life—until you flipped out.
After we finished, he went into the bathroom. I followed him, leaned against the door frame while he turned on the shower and peeled off his underwear.
“I just wish we could’ve stayed home and taken care of this in Atlanta,” I said.
“There’s no one like Dr. Cerny in Atlanta. He’s going to help me, Daph, I really have a feeling. He’s going to help me figure out my past—and we’re going to be better for it.”
He turned to face the stream of water. Ran his fingers through his dark hair. He looked fantastic. Delicious. I wished we could skip the morning’s schedule. No, I wished we could get in the Nissan and drive back down the mountain. Get a cabin of our own—one without big, dark, cobwebby furniture and velvet-fringed draperies. We could open a couple of bottles of wine and sit in a hot tub staring at the mountains and wearing each other out all week long.
Solve our problems the old-fashioned way. With sex.
Downstairs we met Dr. Cerny, who, in tweed pants and an expensive-looking black cashmere sweater, looked a little bit like an old duke hanging out at his genteel, slightly tattered countryside castle. When he entered the foyer at the same time we did, I couldn’t help but wonder if there were also cameras that tracked our movement through the house. The sensation of being watched never seemed to leave me.
“Daphne Amos,” I blurted, my hand shooting out at Dr. Cerny like an arrow. “Nice to meet you.”
He clasped my hand, his eyebrows raised. “Nice to meet you too, Ms. Amos. Matthew Cerny.”
His eyes twinkled, our secret obviously giving him some mischievous delight. I appreciated his playing along with my charade, but something about it unsettled me. Like the way he’d noticed the band on my wrist last night, picked up on my snack foraging. The odd toast that seemed directed at me.
That old saying ran through my head: He’s got your number.
“Thank you for having us on such short notice,” Heath said.
“I wholeheartedly approve of an emergency relationship intervention. Not to be glib about marriage, of course.” Cerny smiled at me. “I’m impressed with people as young as you who take their transition to the institution with such sobriety.” He turned to Heath. “Mr. Beck. A pleasure, at last.”
“Likewise,” Heath said in an even voice. He seemed tense—or coiled for attack, I couldn’t tell which.
Cerny rubbed his hands together. “Business first. Dr. Teague has gone down to Dunfree. Family issues, nothing to worry about. So, unfortunately, there’s no one who can show you around the property. Or pull up the correct papers for you to sign. Seems I’m helpless without my assistant.”
“Well, it’s not like we’re going anywhere,” I said. “And I can show myself around.”
And find where Reggie Teague had stashed our car.
“Excellent,” Cerny said. “Then Heath and I will have our first session. Meanwhile, I’d encourage you to find a spot outside where you can meditate or journal.”
I saw one corner of Heath’s mouth twitch.
“Will do,” I said.
“Mr. Beck? Ready?” Dr. Cerny gestured toward the hall that led to his office, then looked back at me. “I believe the rain has stopped. You know, Daphne, you ought to go outside and visit the bird garden. Watching the birds, I find, is quite a peaceful pursuit. For most.”
His dimples appeared, and I couldn’t help it—I flashed to Mr. Al. Then I glanced at Heath, but he’d already turned toward the doctor’s office, like he couldn’t wait to get started.
Chapter Seven
It hadn’t quit raining completely, but I wasn’t about to stay inside jotting my thoughts in a journal or go swanning around some bird garden. I needed to get out of this house. Pull off the tentacles of claustrophobia that had started to curl around me and do something proactive.
For starters, I needed to track down a knife. That morning in the shower, I’d suddenly remembered Heath kept a spare set of keys under the car, secured with a zip tie. There was no way the flimsy cuticle scissors in my makeup bag were going to slice through the zip tie, but a kitchen knife should do the trick. Once I got the key, I’d be able to hide in the car and check the iPad to see if Annalise Beard had come up with any answers for me.
What I would do after that, I was less sure of.
Maybe I’d just lay it all out on the table. Tell Heath that he didn’t need Dr. Cerny, because I knew what had really happened to him. Maybe it had been an abusive boyfriend of his mom’s, some guy who had tormented him physically or, God forbid, sexually. Whatever it was, I’d reassure him that it didn’t have to ruin his life, that we could handle anything together, privately, without interference from a therapist.
After we talked, after the truth was out, we’d get the hell off this mountain. Go home, back to the safety of our little house and our orderly lives. Back to the way things used to be.