Chapter 7
VICTORIA
At least I got a few hours of sleep, I suppose. Victoria pushed herself to sit upright in her bed and tried to rub the grit out of her tired eyes. That’s actually an improvement.
The nightmares that haunted her—conflated replays of Hilary’s and Daniel’s last moments, blended together into a horrific mélange of guilt, failure, and helplessness—had given her a minor break last night for the first time in months.
Probably helped by the fact that she’d gone to the gym near her condo and attended back-to-back classes in hot yoga and some insane that involved step aerobics and weightlifting.
By the time she’d dragged herself through the gym shower and made it home, she was collapsing into bed.
As a physician, she knew she couldn’t do that every night. As a human being who desperately needed sleep, she was incredibly tempted to try.
Victoria hauled herself out of bed and headed for her bathroom.
As she faced the mirror over the sink while washing her face, she nearly shrieked at the sight of her hair, a veritable bird’s nest atop her head.
She had made a grave mistake going to bed without combing it out and drying it.
And she had no energy at all to get into her shower and wash it again.
That is a later problem, she decided. For now, she did her best to brush the blonde waves smooth and tie it back into her signature low bun.
It was… not her best work. But it would have to do.
Moving slowly, Victoria tied herself into a simple black and blue vintage Diane von Fürstenberg wrap dress and slid a pair of sheer black tights up her legs.
She could already feel the aches and pains from last night’s overwork setting in, so she chose her lowest-heeled pair of boots.
She knew this outfit filed off some of her sharp edges, but she needed comfort, and she still looked good.
It had always been important to Victoria to be as polished and put-together as possible when going into work every day, even if she was going to have to change into scrubs and trainers for most of it.
As long as she was still making an effort, she had nothing to worry about.
She would worry when she succumbed to the urge to go to Oakridge in blue jeans and a t-shirt.
As she was putting together her flask of tea, she remembered she had a session with Anna Monroe and grimaced.
It had taken a lot for Elaine to convince her to go back after that confrontation in the corridor.
How the hell had Anna Monroe learned about Hilary?
What had Victoria said in that last session?
She wanted, no, needed to know, and yet she also needed desperately to put the horrible genie specter of Hilary firmly back into the memory box it had been residing in for six months.
Seeing Anna surely wouldn’t help that, Anna wanted too much to dig deep where she didn’t belong.
But Elaine had been even more insistent, more firm than ever that Victoria must continue to see Anna.
Regularly. And that she must start cooperating in these detestable sessions.
“This is for your own good, Dr. Ellis,” she’d said, words that Victoria associated with a childhood of cod liver oil and ice baths from her mother’s homeopathic phase.
She had shuddered as though she had just swallowed a spoonful of the fishy oil, but the glint in Elaine’s eyes stopped her from further complaint.
Something was afoot. She didn’t like knowing what was going on. But she would cooperate. Frankly, she was too tired not to at this point.
And… she found that suddenly, she actually missed trying to verbally spar with Anna, to get a rise out of her. She missed the woman’s regrettable dress sense, her irritating yet endearing efforts to connect, even the way she tried much too hard, as if she actually gave a single fig about Victoria.
Then there was her aura of… comfort. Sincerity.
It frightened Victoria how drawn she suddenly felt to the softness of Anna Monroe, the shabby coziness of her office.
Today, somehow, no matter how she tried to tell herself she neither needed nor wanted these sessions with Anna, no matter how horrific their last encounter had been, today…
that office felt like it could be a refuge.
That should absolutely frighten her to death. On any normal day, it would.
But today, Victoria was simply tired.
Screwing the lid onto her flask, she dropped it into her tote bag, took a deep breath, and headed to her car for the short drive to the hospital.
Today, Victoria didn’t even pretend that she didn’t want a pastry.
She made a beeline for the open box on Anna’s desk and surveyed the bounty on display.
As a heart surgeon, she knew the bacon and Gruyère tart was a health hazard.
She’d told each and every heart transplant patient she had ever had to avoid food like this, tempting, gooey, warm, flaky with butter in the crust.
As a tired, worn-down, and hungry woman, she plopped it directly onto a plate and sat down on the overstuffed green couch.
And she stuffed it right into her mouth, tearing off a massive and satisfying bite.
The heavenly smoky bacon, the nutty cheese melting on her tongue, the buttery flakiness of the crust…
Victoria couldn’t stop herself from actually moaning with the pleasure of it all.
Just before she closed her eyes to fully savor the bite, she saw Anna’s eyes go wide, but the therapist said nothing. Wise choice, Victoria thought, chewing her delectable mouthful.
She usually found Anna’s silence manipulative and oppressive, a tactic to get her to spill her guts no matter what the therapist said to the contrary.
Today it was almost companionable, a gift, even.
This sort of silence didn’t exist between the surgeons on the Cardio team.
There was always something to discuss, some case, some article in a journal.
The conversation was always professional, with the occasional jibe between colleagues.
But even with Ashley, it was never a truly close conversation, and their rare silences were simply pauses that they typically rushed to fill.
Here, the scent of Anna’s spicy rose perfume and her charity shop mug of that beautiful oolong mingled to fill the air.
It was another somewhat clammy autumn day in Los Angeles, but the office was warm and cozy.
And the silence felt friendly, broken only by the surgeon and the psychologist quietly, companionably having breakfast together.
This was… dangerously pleasant.
Victoria chose to focus on the pleasantness. “You’ve lulled me into complacency today, Dr. Monroe,” she announced, taking a somewhat more dainty bite of her pastry. “This is an excellent pastry. And have I told you how much I like your perfume?”
Anna blinked. “Oh. Thank you…?”
“I’ve had to let it grow on me a bit. It’s unusual.” Victoria set her plate aside and picked up her tea flask. “What is it?”
“Rozu, by Aesop.” Anna rubbed at her wrist, looking a bit self-conscious as the nervous gesture released a heady cloud of the scent into the air. “It’s a bit of an indulgence for me, but I fell in love with it at first sniff a few years ago.”
“It suits you. A bit of flower, a bit of heat.” Victoria sipped her tea, enjoying how off-balance simple friendliness and courtesy seemed to be setting Anna Monroe.
Anna looked thoughtful as she nibbled on a croissant from the box on her desk. After a moment, she asked, “What is it that you wear?”
“Me?” Victoria was surprised that her scent, too, had been noticed. “Penhaligon’s Luna.”
Clearly, Anna knew her perfumes, because her eyebrows went right up. “Damn. I knew it smelled expensive, I wasn’t expecting it to be on that level.”
Victoria chuckled. “My salary is nothing to sneeze at, but I do confess that it’s an indulgence for me as well.
I don’t buy a lot of scent, it seems such an…
” She waved her hand while she searched for the word.
“…ephemeral thing to spend a great deal of money on. I don’t collect it the way I do clothing.
I find something I like and I stick to it.
Keep it simple.” She shrugged. “Until they discontinue it, of course.”
“Of course,” Anna echoed. “Yours suits you as well. Clean, fresh, very expensive. It’s truly a lovely scent.”
“Thank you.” There really was something very nice about not being so combative with the therapist she still didn’t really believe she needed.
Or perhaps she did, a tiny bit. She had no desire to dig deep into her psyche, to let Anna any further under the surface than a discussion of perfume, but she could admit that it was nice and relaxing to be here, and perhaps that was something that Victoria could acknowledge was beneficial.
Too bad Anna had to go right on ahead and ruin it all. “I would like to ask you about Hilary Jensen,” she ventured, her voice low and soft, deceptively gentle.
Victoria froze, ice forming a lump in her stomach. “No,” she blurted out automatically.
Anna swallowed, but soldiered detestably onward. “I understand it’s quite a, hm. Touchy subject for you.”
“It is in fact an off-limits subject for me,” Victoria snapped, all cozy comfort gone. Damn it, you snoopy little pest. And we were having such a nice morning.
“You mentioned her first, in our previous session,” Anna said, sitting up very straight and setting aside her tea mug. “I don’t think you meant to. I feel like you don’t actually remember that you did.”
I didn’t. Don’t. Panic began to squeeze her throat. “I would appreciate it if you stopped, Dr. Monroe.”