An Anonymous Girl(74)

“I am glad you were honest with me, Jessica,” Dr. Shields says. “And now I am going to do the same. You are right: Thomas is my husband. The man in the photograph was my mentor when I was in graduate school.”

I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. At last there’s one piece of information that aligns with what Thomas and Dr. Shields have both told me, and with my instincts.

“We’ve been married for seven years,” she continues. “We used to work in the same building. That’s how we met. He’s also a psychiatrist.”

“Oh,” I say, hoping that one word will encourage Dr. Shields.

“You must be wondering why I’ve been pushing you toward him,” she says.

Now I’m the one to remain silent. I don’t want to say anything that could set her off.

“He cheated on me,” Dr. Shields says. I think I catch the sheen of tears in her eyes, but then the glimmer is gone, and I don’t know if it was just a trick of the light. “Only once. But the details of that betrayal made it particularly painful. And he promised he would never do it again. I want to believe him.”

Dr. Shields is so precise and careful with her words; it feels like she’s finally telling me the truth.

I wonder if she saw that intimate photo of Thomas in April’s bed, with the floral comforter exposing his bare shoulders. How painful that must have been.

How much worse things would be for her if she knew what I’d done.

I’m desperate to hear more. Still, I know I can’t let down my guard around her even for a second.

“Of all the questions I’ve asked you, we never covered this one,” Dr. Shields continues. “Have you ever truly been in love, Jessica?”

I don’t know if there’s a right answer. “I don’t think so,” I finally say.

“You would know,” she responds. “The joy—the sense of completeness it can offer a person—is directly proportional to the amount of anguish one experiences when that love is withdrawn.”

It’s the first time she has ever appeared soft and swept up in emotion.

I need to make her believe I’m on her side. I had no idea Thomas was her husband when I took him back to my apartment. Still, if she learns about it, well, I have no idea what she’d do to me.

My mind flashes back again to Subject 5, splayed out on a bench in the gardens on the last night of her life. Surely the police investigated her death before it was ruled a suicide. But was she truly alone when she died?

“I’m so sorry,” I say. My voice trembles a little, but I hope she thinks it’s from compassion instead of fear. “What can I do to help?”

Dr. Shields’s lips curve up in an empty smile. “That is why I picked you,” she says. “You remind me a bit of . . . well, of her.”

I can’t help it; I whip my head around to check behind me. The front door is maybe twenty yards away, but the lock appears complicated.

“What is wrong, Jessica?”

I reluctantly twist my body back around. “Nothing, I just thought I heard a noise.” I pick up my wineglass. Instead of taking a drink, I simply hold it. It may be heavy enough to use as a weapon.

“We are completely alone,” she says. “Do not worry.”

She finally comes back from behind the counter and reclaims her seat next to me. Her knee brushes mine as she arranges herself on the stool. I suppress a flinch.

“The young woman Thomas cheated with . . .” The words want to remain locked away, but I have to ask. “You said she reminded you of me?”

Dr. Shields reaches out and touches my arm with her thin fingers. The blue veins on the tops of her hands stand out sharply against her skin.

“There was a similar essence,” she says. When she smiles, I see it: A few more tiny, sharp lines around her eyes appear, like the cracks in the glass are spreading. “She had dark hair, and she was full of life.”

Her hand is still holding my forearm. Her grip feels imperceptibly tighter. Full of life, I think. What a strange way to describe a young woman who took her own.

I wait for her next words and wonder if she’s going to say April’s name, or if she’ll refer to her as a study subject.

She looks at me. Her eyes sharpen again. And it’s as if the woman I saw just moments ago—the softer one, who was clearly yearning for her husband—has slipped behind a mask. Her words are devoid of emotion again now. She sounds like a professor, lecturing on an abstract subject.

“Although the woman Thomas betrayed me with wasn’t as young as you, she was about ten years older. Closer to my age.”

Ten years older.

I know Dr. Shields sees the shock in my face, because her own expression tightens.

There is no way April, the young woman in all of those Instagram photos, was in her thirties; besides, the obituary reported that she was twenty-three. Dr. Shields isn’t talking about April.

If Dr. Shields is telling me the truth, there’s a second woman Thomas was with during his marriage. There are three, counting me. How many were there, in total?

“I just can’t imagine anyone would do that to you,” I say, taking another tiny sip of wine to cover my surprise.

Her head dips in a nod. “The important thing is to ensure that he won’t do it again. You understand, right?”