The Golden Couple(25)

“So, give me an update on the houses you’re building. They’re in Bethesda, right? Has construction started yet?”

“It’s good. Permitting took forever, but we break ground in two weeks. We’ve presold forty percent of them, so I’m happy. What about you? Any interesting new clients?”

Since I’m not a therapist, I’m not bound by the rules of confidentiality. Still, I’m circumspect in discussing the people who come to see me. Never using names or identifying details is one of my hard-and-fast rules.

“A few. I’m wrapping up with a young woman who kept getting her heart broken. She’s in a better place now.”

“Yeah?” Skip takes a big sip of wine. “You know, I was wondering—” He cuts himself off.

“C’mon,” I prompt.

“I don’t know, maybe you can give me a little advice, too?”

I shrug. “I can try. What’s going on?”

“It’s my sister. She’s been dating this guy for a while now. I think he’s bad news.”

“How so?”

“I’ve been picking up signs that he’s not the great person everyone thinks he is … and I’m worried about her.”

“Anything specific?”

“I’ve got my suspicions, but nothing I can verify. Do you think I should say anything to her?”

“That’s tricky. Shoot the messenger is a popular expression for a reason. She might resent you, even if you’re pointing out what she subconsciously knows already. On the flip side, if what you’re saying is accurate, something inside her will recognize it as truth. She won’t be able to unhear your words.”

Skip leans toward me, his expression intent, his half-eaten spring roll seemingly forgotten on his plate.

“It’s a risk,” I continue. “Your relationship might never be the same. Or you two might become closer.”

He nods slowly. “Thanks. You’re right, it is complicated.”

He looks down at his plate, then back up at me. “Have you ever treated patients like that?”

“Like what? Your sister and her boyfriend?”

“I guess I’m grasping at straws.” He gives a little laugh. “I was just wondering if you’d seen that dynamic before and how it played out.”

I shrug. “Sure. Power struggles are common in relationships, but attempts at control raise that dynamic to a whole new level. Remember that woman I told you about who was living with a controlling husband?”

It wasn’t a woman—it was Cameron. I’d shared the broad outlines of his case with Skip one night when we’d been trading stories about our lives. We’d also talked about my marriage to Paul, and Skip told me his real name was Steven, and that he’d earned his nickname as a boy because he’d been obsessed with sailing—Skip for “skipper.”

Skip nods and takes a sip of wine. “Right, she’s the one who was in IT?”

I’m impressed by his memory for detail. Skip’s a smart guy, I think, watching his strong-looking fingers set down my delicate wineglass. I recall his telling me he’d gone to Dartmouth on a full academic scholarship after a friend’s father had urged him to apply. Without him I might not even have gone to college, Skip had said modestly. We’d argued about whose college was better—Northwestern or Dartmouth—until I threw a cocktail napkin at him and he leaned in to silence me with a kiss.

I’d enjoyed kissing Skip.

“You said after ten sessions she was living on her own and was going to hire a divorce lawyer?” Skip prompts me.

“Yes. So even if your sister has been with this guy for a while, it’s never too late to break free.”

Skip nods and a faraway look comes into his eyes. We finish up our meals, but there’s a shift in the air. Maybe he’s more worried about his sister than he let on, because Skip isn’t making as much eye contact as he was earlier, and he seems lost in thought.

I’m taking my last bite of panang when Skip begins to rub his temples.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just a headache. Sometimes it happens when I drink red wine.”

“Oh? That’s a bummer. I remember you always preferred red over white?”

“It’s recent. I’m hoping it’s just a phase.”

I get up to refill his water. “Want some Advil?”

“Uh, sure, that would be great. Then I should probably get going. I have a ridiculously early meeting.”

“Be right back.” I head upstairs, feeling a tinge of disappointment with Romeo trotting behind me.

I can’t help imagining what would have happened if Skip didn’t have a headache and an early appointment, and the bottle of wine had turned into two, and we’d moved our conversation to the couch. I grab the bottle of painkillers out of my medicine cabinet and peek in the mirror, running my hand through my hair to smooth it. As I walk down the stairs, I wonder if I should invite Skip back in a week or two to see Romeo again. I wasn’t ready for a relationship when Skip and I first connected, and he didn’t seem to be either, but maybe things could be different now.

I reach the landing of the staircase, which affords me a full view of the entryway of my home, including my office.

Skip is no longer sitting at the banquet. He’s stepping out of my office and closing the door behind him.