Chapter 5 #2
Crescent Cove’s main streets are nice. Picturesque, I guess.
Like a stereotypical New England postcard.
The buildings are all painted different colors: pale blue, blush pink, light yellow, sage green.
The one I’m headed to has white storm shutters and fancy white curlicue décor along the eaves.
White steps lead up the side of the building to the office entrance on the second floor.
For folks who can’t climb the stairs, Dr. Ellis will come to their house or workplace for a session.
I trudge up the steps, noting spots where the paint is thinning and peeling. The whole stairway needs to be stripped and re-painted. That would probably be a better use of my time than all the talking I’m about to do.
Anger boils in my chest, and I take a second to feel it, move through it, and let it dissipate. Grief comes right after it like a cold wave, leaving tears at the corners of my eyes.
“God, I’m a mess,” I mutter, wiping the moisture on my sleeve. With a deep breath, I enter the office waiting room.
There’s no receptionist. Just two couches, a coffee table bearing a glass dish of butter mints, and a tiny front desk with an old computer and a sign-in sheet.
As I write my name on the sheet, my eyes skip to the line above, where someone has scrawled, in barely legible cursive, Marlowe Reilly.
My brain clicks the puzzle pieces together just as the office door opens and Marlowe emerges.
She heads straight for the coffee table and plucks a butter mint from the dish with obvious relish.
I bet she’s been looking forward to that mint during her entire session.
She has probably enjoyed a butter mint after every therapy session for months, maybe years.
It’s a ritual. Something that stays the same, which is apparently important to her.
After hesitating a beat, she grabs a second butter mint, then looks around to see if anyone noticed.
That’s when she spots me.
She does a double take and blinks like she doesn’t trust her own eyes. “Did you follow me here?”
“What, like I’m some kind of stalker who’s obsessed with you?” I snort. “No, I did not follow you. I have an appointment.”
“You have an appointment.” She eyes me with suspicion. “At my therapist’s office.”
“Dr. Ellis is the only therapist in town, so I didn’t really have a choice. I didn’t know I needed your permission to work through my grief. Sorry for not submitting the proper paperwork for your approval.”
“That’s not what I meant, I…” She winces apologetically. “You have to admit it’s weird, meeting here after… you know.”
Dr. Ellis appears in the doorway of the office. “Mr. Thane?”
“Yeah, just a second.” I stare at Marlowe for a long moment, and she stares at me.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I forgot that you were grieving Lou. I can be selfish sometimes. Self-absorbed. It’s a thing I’m working on, among many other worse things.
I’m pretty much a total mess, so, you know…
stay far away.” She laughs lightly, nervously, but her eyes are serious. It’s a very real warning.
I don’t know how to respond, so I say, “Okay.”
“Good. Well, have a nice… Have a… Bye.” She hurries out the door.
Despite the effects of the emotive potion, I’m tempted to either laugh out loud or run after her again.
“Mr. Thane,” urges Dr. Ellis.
“Coming.”
I follow the doctor into her office and seat myself in one of the overstuffed leather chairs.
The armrests are worn along the edges, and there are grooves where someone dug their fingernails in.
For some reason those marks bother me. They’re the scars left by pain.
Did Marlowe leave them? Is it possible she hurts that badly?
Why does it pain me to think of her suffering so much?
My eyes are watering, and I brush the tears away hastily. But of course the doctor notices.
“It’s good to see you showing some emotion, Mr. Thane, especially after our last session.” She settles into her own chair.
“Nah, it’s not that, it’s—well, I drank some of this sadness and anger potion I made. Stupid, really. Shouldn’t have done it. I had to do the whole lunch rush while I was swerving back and forth between grief and rage like a drunk guy on a country road at night.”
I chuckle. The doctor doesn’t.
I clear my throat. “I’ll admit, it did feel good, letting those emotions out.
I hadn’t cried since Lou passed, not until today.
Maybe I needed to. So yeah, it seems I’ve processed everything pretty well already.
” I grip the armrests of the chair and push myself to my feet.
“Guess I don’t need to be here after all. ”
“Sit down, Mr. Thane.” Dr. Ellis tilts her chin down and looks at me over the tops of her glasses. It’s the look of a teacher… no, a school principal.
I plop into the chair again.
“Tell me more about this potion you made for yourself,” she says.
“It wasn’t for me. It was for her. That girl with the black hair… I mean, that woman. She didn’t trust me to brew the right thing for her. She kept saying she wanted everything exactly like Lou used to do it. Well, I’m not Lou, am I?”
The doctor watches me, not answering, and I realize that I raised my voice on the last question.
“Sorry,” I say. “I just… I’ll never be Lou. The most I can ever be is myself.”
“And you’re afraid that’s not enough.”
I realize I’m digging my own fingernails into the armrests, and I ease my grip. Slowly I inhale, then let out a long sigh.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I’m afraid it’s not going to be enough. It never is.”