Thursday, 3 July 2014
2:22 P.M.
“. . . and the world just carried on as if nothing had happened,” said Lucas, lost in his own thoughts. “I have nothing left. I go home to an empty house, a mausoleum of everything they were, every night. I can’t throw any of it away. It’s all I have left of them, but I feel like I’m drowning in memories every time I step inside . . . I can still smell my wife’s perfume . . . Are you all right?”
Green quickly got up from his seat to pour himself a glass of water.
“Yes. Fine . . . fine,” he said, but then his face scrunched up as he began to cry. “I am so sorry. This is so unprofessional. I just need a moment.”
“Was it something I said?” asked Lucas in concern, watching Green compose himself.
Outside, it started to rain harder. It must have rained all day.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” said Lucas, getting to his feet. “All I seem to do is upset everyone.”
“It’s not you, Lucas,” Green said quickly. “It’s me and my own issues.”
“Why?” Lucas asked innocently. “Did . . . did you lose somebody too?”
“Let’s just focus on you, shall we?”
“You can tell me.”
“No, I can’t,” said Green firmly.
Lucas got up and started heading for the door.
“Lucas!”
“Everything you say is bullshit! I pour my heart out to you twice a week, but there’s no trust here,” he told the psychiatrist, hurt.
“Lucas, wait! OK. OK. Yes!” said Green. “You’re right. I apologize. We do have a trust, and yes, I did lose somebody very, very special to me.”
Keaton closed his eyes, exhaled in victorious relief, and let his flicker of a smile fade before slowly returning to the sofa. He lingered, pausing to stand over Green as the cool and collected psychiatrist finally broke down.
He leaned down to address the troubled man, passing him a handful of the “man-sized” tissues he kept on his desk:
“Please . . . tell me about her.”
Blake urgently flicked through the pages to find the final entry—Alexei Green and Lucas Keaton’s eleventh session together.