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The clock in Jeanne’s office ticks louder than any other timepiece Peter’s ever heard. He decides if he’s still seeing her during the holidays, he’ll buy her one that’s digital. Maybe one that dings quietly at the top of the hour, but is otherwise silent.
She’s wearing slacks. Peter hopes his attention last week hasn’t turned her off skirts. They suit her.
“So, what’s happened since I saw you last?” Jeanne braids her fingers around her pen and rests it on her chest.
“My dad contacted me.” Peter’s thumb spasms.
Jeanne attempts to maintain a portrait of professionalism, but Peter can see the slight way she perks up. A normal client wouldn’t notice how the arch of her eyebrows twitch, or the way her mouth purses in anticipation. But Peter does.
She leans over her pad of paper, flipping through the pages to check her notes. “Didn’t you say he’s been in jail for an extended period?”
“He’s incarcerated, yes.” Peter presses his hand against his leg, attempting to still the movement of his nervous tic.
“How did he contact you?” Jeanne bats her eyes and Peter’s heart flutters as he realizes she’s hanging on his every word.
“He wrote me a letter,” he lies.
“Did you bring it with you?” Jeanne inches closer. Peter assumes she’s expecting him to hand over a letter dripping with emotional trauma. Peter hates to disappoint, but he hadn’t thought to write one up before his appointment.
“No. But I can tell you what it says,” Peter offers.
The therapist masks any letdown with a practiced smile. She leans back in her chair. “Sure, if you feel comfortable sharing.”
“He says he misses me, and he wants to see me.” Peter keeps going as Jeanne scribbles on her pad. He’s enjoying feeding the excitement he suspects she feels. “He says he knows he was wrong. He hopes I’ll forgive him so we can be a family again.”
Peter hesitates. An image of his father in an orange jumpsuit flashes through his mind. He clears his throat and adds, “You know, when he gets out.”
Jeanne glances up. “Will he be released soon?”
“Oh, yes,” Peter enthuses. “He should go home in the next few weeks, I think.”
“How did the letter make you feel?” Jeanne’s eyes dance from across the room.
“I don’t know.” Peter sifts through his treasure trove of hidden emotions. “On the one hand, I haven’t had a dad in my life since I was a kid, so I guess having him pay attention to me feels nice. On the other hand, I don’t really want to get involved in his shit.”
Jeanne nods. Peter is sure she understands exactly what he’s saying. Trying to fix a jailbird parent is a tough proposition for any man. Especially a dad like Oliver Roberts. Peter smiles at her. It’s only their second session, but he enjoys their conversation. He wishes they could continue it outside her office. He imagines talking with her over dinner. He’d have the chicken-fried steak. She’d enjoy a sensible salad. The lights dim around them until he can almost see the candlelight flicker off her cheeks.
“What does Elsie think you should do?”
Peter’s thrust back to the present moment. He admonishes himself for fantasizing about red wine shimmering on Jeanne’s lips. “I haven’t told her.”
Jeanne writes something and underlines it. Twice. Peter wants to know what she wrote, but he’s sure she’ll never show him. It probably says something akin to doesn’t trust girlfriend. He cringes because if that’s what she wrote, she’s right.
“We don’t talk about my dad,” Peter sputters.
“Are you afraid it’ll stir up uncomfortable memories because your fathers knew each other?” Jeanne’s chin tilts, her expression filled with curiosity.
Peter nods so deep, his chin touches the collar of his button-down. To say Peter’s father might wound Elsie is an understatement. “She doesn’t know much about my dad, other than that he’s gone away.”
Jeanne looks surprised. “Oh? Doesn’t she know your fathers were friends?”
“No. I don’t think it would be good for her to find out how they knew each other.” Peter’s leg bounces twice before his anxiety drives him from his chair. He looks at the wall clock. He’s relieved it announces it’s five minutes to noon. “Damn. Looks like our time is about up, Jeanne.”
The therapist follows Peter’s gaze and frowns. He can tell she feels things were just getting good. “I suppose it is. Well, please stop at the front desk on your way out to book for next week. I look forward to continuing our conversation.”
They lock eyes. When Jeanne smiles, Peter decides he was wrong about not believing in love.