Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Hannah felt worry and something else prickling at the back of her neck as she glanced at the clock in the corner of her computer screen. It was now almost two o’clock, and Rachel hadn’t shown up, hadn’t even called to cancel or reschedule. She picked up the phone and dialed the number again.
It was her third attempt that day, and it rolled over to voicemail unanswered, just like each previous call. It wasn’t like Rachel to just not show up. Any time she’d been sick or unable to make it, she’d called to let Hannah know.
They had developed a strong bond over the last several months, and Hannah sometimes saw a bit of herself in the young woman.
Rachel had been subjected to sexual abuse at the hands of her stepfather for years before finally gaining the courage to press charges against him and put the man behind bars.
She had struggled with depression off and on and had started therapy almost three years ago after her attorney suggested it.
After the incident in high school, Hannah had developed serious trust issues, wondering if she’d ever feel normal again.
She thanked God every day that Tommy hadn’t raped her that night, and she couldn’t begin to imagine what Rachel had endured for all those years.
When she stumbled into a psychology course as an elective her freshman year, she had immediately fallen in love.
It had helped her to understand some of her deep-rooted fears, and she wanted to help others like Rachel.
Hannah knew she wasn’t perfect, but she had come a long way in the last ten years.
While she had dated in college, she never quite found anyone who made her feel…
more. Both of her boyfriends had been extremely staid, but she hadn’t been able to open up to either of them.
Without a foundation of trust, the relationships had quickly fizzled out.
After college, she had been too busy first with clinicals, then opening her practice.
With everything going on in her life, dating had fallen by the wayside.
Sometimes she felt like the last single virgin in Florida.
Most of her friends were married, and many had already started families or had babies on the way.
She didn’t want to settle, but she wasn’t quite sure she was ready for more, either.
The phone vibrated in her hand, jolting her from her thoughts, and relief washed over her as she glanced at the screen.
“Rachel, thank goodness.”
A shaky breath exhaled on the other end. “Dr. Whitmore?”
Hannah tensed. The voice was most decidedly not Rachel’s. “This is she.”
The woman faltered. “I… I’m sorry it took so long to return your call.”
“It’s no problem at all,” Hannah assured her. “What can I help with?”
“It’s about Rachel. We would have called sooner, but there were so many things...”
That prickly sensation on the back of Hannah’s neck magnified, and goosebumps raced down her arms. She didn’t recognize the strangled voice coming from her mouth. “Did something happen?”
A choked sob came from the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry, Doctor. Rachel’s… gone.”
“Gone?” Hannah’s mind whirled with possibilities, and a sense of foreboding had her stomach clenching into a tight knot. “I don’t understand…”
The woman on the other end let out a shaky breath. “Rachel took her life last week.”
Hannah’s fingers tightened on the wheel as she pulled into her driveway and parked next to Andrew’s shiny red Porsche. He glanced her way through the window, then stepped out of the sports car and shot her a sympathetic smile over the roof.
Start to finish, that day had just been crappy all around, and the only thing Hannah wanted to do was go inside, take a long, hot bath, and drink a glass of wine…
or maybe the whole bottle. Entertaining really hadn’t been on her agenda, and she couldn’t help the trace of annoyance tinging her voice. “What can I do for you, Andrew?”
“I know it’s been a bad day for you, but I thought you might be hungry.” He held up a brown paper sack with a sweet smile, and she groaned inwardly. It was hard to stay mad at him when he went out of his way to be nice, but sometimes it was all just a little too much.
She had been in shock when she hung up the phone that afternoon.
Rachel’s sister Elizabeth had haltingly relayed the details of Rachel’s overdose last week.
Though they weren’t sure exactly what had transpired, Rachel’s mother had called her on Tuesday afternoon but hadn’t been able to reach her.
They had found her later that evening, but by then it had been too late.
Elizabeth had apologized again for not calling sooner and invited Hannah to both calling hours that evening and the service the following afternoon.
After thanking Elizabeth and hanging up, Hannah had sat frozen until Fiona had come in.
She vaguely remembered stumbling over the explanation, and Fiona had immediately taken charge, rescheduling the rest of that day’s appointments as well as those lined up for the next day.
Hannah left in a daze, then drove home to prepare for calling hours. She had spent the last three hours at a funeral home on the outskirts of town, speaking with Rachel’s family and friends. The last thing she wanted to do that night was put on a happy face and pretend everything was okay.
With a soft sigh, she locked the car, then made her way past Andrew and up the stairs of the porch, leaving him to follow. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, tossing her keys and purse on the table and kicking off her shoes by the door.
She plodded toward the living room where she curled up in the corner of the couch and closed her eyes. She heard Andrew come in and close the door behind him. His soft footsteps approached the couch, and the paper bag rustled as he set it on the coffee table.
“I’ll grab us plates. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as his footsteps moved away again, Hannah dropped her head back against the couch and rubbed her temples.
Her mind felt like it was full of white noise, a constant buzzing that wouldn’t go away.
She still couldn’t quite believe Rachel was gone.
What had caused the sudden change in attitude?
Could she have stopped it? Her heart twisted with regret.
God, she wished Rachel had given her some sort of indication that something was wrong.
She opened her eyes just as Andrew strode through the large archway separating the living room from the main hallway, his arms full.
He set down the plates, forks, and wine glasses, then pulled the bottle of wine from where it was tucked under his arm.
Digging a corkscrew from his back pocket, he efficiently uncorked the bottle and filled her glass.
With a grateful nod, Hannah swiped it off the table and took a long swallow.
The cushion beside her dipped as Andrew’s weight settled into it. His hand landed on her knee, and she fought the urge to squirm under his touch. She appreciated everything Andrew had done—really, she did—but right now, she just needed some time and space to herself.
“How are you feeling?”
Like crap. Clearing her throat, she sat up and discreetly shifted away from him. “I’m… I don’t know, honestly. Her death was a shock. We had a good session last week, and I still can’t believe she’s gone. I really thought she was improving. I guess it just wasn’t enough.”
Already emotionally exhausted, she had no desire to deal with him that night. She didn’t want to vocalize her thoughts and feelings, even with Andrew. She knew she would need to deal with her errant emotions eventually. But not yet.
“It happens, Hannah. It’s not your fault.”
She sighed. “Her poor family. I just feel so bad.”
“Maybe she should have stayed on her medication. We could have switched it up, found something that worked for her so it would have been better controlled.” As he spoke, he opened the paper bag and began to extract small white boxes, the flavorful aromas permeating the air.
Bristling at his comment, Hannah leveled an irritated glare at his back. “She tried several if you remember. She said she hated the way they made her feel.”
“We can’t fix it tonight,” he said softly as he passed her a plate full of General Tso’s chicken. “Have some of this. You need to eat.”
Half-heartedly, she obediently scooped up a bite of food. Despite the delicious smell, it tasted like cardboard, and what little appetite she’d had fled. She set the plate on the coffee table and picked up the wine glass.
Andrew studied her from the corners of his eyes as he ate, methodically cutting the chicken into precise pieces. “Rachel’s death today got me thinking about something.”
Hannah closed her eyes, wishing she could tune out whatever he was about to say.
She was sure it would be some variation of the argument they’d had many times before.
She had no intention of joining practices with him—ever.
She opened her mouth to stop him, but his next words surprised her into silence.
“I think you should go on a date.”
Her mouth dropped open as she swung around to look at him.
Was he serious? He didn’t know the extent of her past, but he certainly knew enough.
She’d spoken with him once about trust issues, but she couldn’t bring herself to fully open up to Andrew, either.
It was like there was an entire part of her that she refused to let people see, and she didn’t want to let anyone in.
She hated to admit it, but she still struggled with the idea of intimacy.
Except… The moment she laid eyes on the security guard, he’d turned her inside out, warming her blood and sending a frisson of awareness slithering along her nerve endings all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. Never before had a man affected her that way.