Underwater(60)

“No.”

“Did he say something that troubled you?”

“He was definitely overly friendly.”

“And that made you uncomfortable.”

“Yes. And if you really cared, you would’ve recognized it. But I guess you don’t care. I guess I’m nothing but a professional duty to you.”

“Are you kidding? You are so much more than a professional duty to me. You are me!” She stops herself, shaking her head, realizing what she said.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s go.”

She grabs her coffee and walks around to the passenger side of my car. I don’t exactly want to spend time with Brenda in a confined space right now, but when the construction workers head back out to their trucks, I scramble into the driver’s seat. The guy who was all over my car gives me a sarcastic military hand salute as he passes me.

“You’re right. He’s kind of creepy,” Brenda mutters.

I turn to look at her. “I told you.”

She shrugs her shoulders, but she still seems peeved because she doesn’t look at me.

“Oh, now you’re annoyed with me?”

“I’m not annoyed, Morgan. You can just be extra challenging sometimes. That’s all.”

I turn to face her. “If I’m so challenging, why do you even bother?”

“Because I’m up for the challenge, dammit!” But just as Brenda always manages to do when she loses it, she instantly mellows out, like an automatic calm-down checklist clicks into place in her head. I guess she has better control over her emotions than I do. When she’s caught up with herself, she lets out a heavy sigh and finally meets my eyes again. “I think it might be useful for me to disclose something about myself. I’d like to explain why I wanted to help you, and this seems like as good a moment as any. Would that be okay?”

I focus on the tattooed vines weaving up her arm and under the sleeve of her shirt, poking back out again from her neckline. “Yes. I’d like that.”

“We have a similar background, you and me. I grew up in an apartment like yours with a family like yours. My dad was in the military. I was in high school when he came back from Iraq. He was not in good shape. He completely checked out from our family.”

“I know the feeling.”

“I know you do.”

“Did he get better?”

“No. He killed himself.”

“Oh, god.”

She looks at me then gently presses her fingers to my wrist. “I’m not saying that is the end result for everybody, Morgan. It most definitely is not. Please don’t worry about this with your own father. You can find comfort in knowing he has chosen to get help.” She sighs. “I wish my dad had done the same. Because what he did hurt me deeply. I blamed myself somehow, thinking I should’ve known he would do it. Thinking I should’ve been able to stop him. The guilt haunted me. I wanted to talk to someone. I asked my mom if we could look into therapy. It took a lot for me to ask for that kind of help. I was embarrassed. None of my friends had therapists that I knew of. And my mom acted like I should just find a way to get through it.” Brenda looks at me, truthful and trusting. “It was like she didn’t hear me.”

“So you never talked to anyone?”

“Not until I was older. In college. It essentially led me to my career.” She smiles at me. “Morgan, when you came to my office and you were so honest with your mom about your fears and why you couldn’t go to school, it felt like you didn’t think you were being heard.” She squeezes my forearm. “I wanted you to know I heard you.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice catching.

“You’re welcome.”

I pick at the edge of the steering wheel. “I’m sorry I said what I said before.”

“It happens.”

“You’re actually really brave.”

“So are you.”

After a few minutes of sitting there, only breathing, Brenda buckles her seat belt.

“Ready?” she says.

I nod and buckle in. I start the engine and back out. We drive along a curved road by the beach. The sand and the ocean are spread out in front of us. I take it all in, I try to enjoy it, as we drive back to Paradise Manor.

I park my car in space 207 out back, and Brenda stands underneath the shade of the overhang as I pull the tarp back over the Bel Air.

“I’d really like it if we could meet at my office from now on,” Brenda says, sounding very matter-of-fact. “And I think we can cut our meetings down to just one time per week. Drop Thursdays, keep Tuesdays. You’re ready.”

“How do you know? I just freaked out in the 7-Eleven parking lot. I don’t think I’m ready.”

She looks at me. “Morgan, you’re ready.”

“But I need you. I can’t do this without you.” I wave my arms around, trying to communicate that the world is still too big and overwhelming.

“You won’t be doing it without me. I’ll still work with you in my office. And I’m only a phone call away if you need me some other time.”

I feel a panic attack coming on. I’m pretty sure Brenda is not supposed to make me feel this way.