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“I have two boys.” Darrel puffs out his chest as if he wants to show me his tattoos of them. “Micheal and Bailey.”
Huh.
I’m not used to Hastings smiling so much. He used to be the kind of man who spoke in one word sentences, if that much. It’s one of the reasons we got along. Both of us had a low tolerance for time-wasting.
“I’d heard you’d gotten married, but not that you had kids.”
He nods and then smoothly changes the subject. “Is there a reason you wanted to do the brain scan rather than traditional therapy?”
“I don’t need to talk anything out,” I tell him, getting into the chair when he points to it. “I have a… personal situation and need proof that I’m of a sound mind. Since I heard you do brain counseling—”
“Neuropsychology.”
I glare at him for interrupting.
He scowls right back.
“I thought this method would be best.”
Darrel attaches wires to my head. “Neuropsychology doesn’t mean taking a picture of your brain and getting a report card. Wewillhave to talk.”
“Sure. Sure. But pictures are worth a thousand words. We can keep the talking to a minimum.”
Darrel pulls his lips into his mouth, but he doesn’t argue.
A moment later, there’s a knock on the door. Dina pokes her head in, gives me a bright smile and waddles to the machine. Darrel takes a seat in the chair against the wall.
His voice is soft. “Okay, Bolton. Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”
I do.
“Dina?”
“Heart rate, normal. Brain frequency baseline pending.”
The room goes silent.
I get antsy. “How long do you think this will take, Hastings?”
“Relax, Bolton.” Darrel’s voice has a hint of iron to it. “Just like you’re the leader in your business, I’m the leader in mine. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”
I release a breath.
Darrel speaks again. “Let’s start with something easy. What’s your name?”
“Clay Henry Bolton.”
“Can you think of the last time you were happy, Clay?”
I nod.
“Go ahead and picture it.”
At once, I see an image of Regan, Abe and Anya on our last family trip before we shipped off. Regan was smiling and giggling. Abe was holding his mom’s hand. We were jumping on trampolines beneath a wide, open sky.
The brain machine beeps.
“Good,” Darrel says, “now think of the last time you were at peace.”