Page 38

Dotty’s entire demeanor changes. “I love it! We can have it at the church, invite everybody, and get the story straight from the horse’s mouth!”

The vein in my left temple starts to pound. “This is a terrible idea… Gray doesn’t like big parties.”

I’m grasping at straws. The last thing I need is the entire town being there to witness me breaking down in front of him.

Ruby nods, slowly pacing my office, arms crossed. “You make a point. Gray never was as outgoing as Danny. Something smaller, more intimate is his speed. I’ll talk to Ma and do something at our house.”

The bell on the front door rings, and Dotty hops to my door. “Darlene is here. I’ll check her in then we can start planning.”

“Saved by the bell.” I take out my notepad.

“You know, my daddy was never the same after Vietnam. Back then they called it shell shock…” She continues down the hall discussing Gray, and my brow furrows.

As much as I hate gossip, I’ve lived here long enough to know there’s often a kernel of truth in what they say. Now in addition to my insides stuffed with glass and my stomach in knots, my heart aches at the idea of Gray suffering from trauma.

I don’t have time to dwell on it before Darlene enters my office dressed in ripped black skinny jeans and a tank.

She flops on my couch with a heavy exhale.

“Good morning, Darlene.” I take out my notebook.

“What’s up, doc?”

“I’ve told you, I’m not a doctor.” Scanning her file on my computer, I refresh my memory of our last session—something I should have done before she arrived instead of being pulled down Crazy Lane.

We don’t use that word.

“How was the road trip with your mom? Did you tell her your memory of the neighbor?”

Darlene’s family doesn’t live in Oakville. She was referred to me from the university. “We drove all the way to Burnside listening to sad 80s music.”

I look back a few dates. “That’s where your mother grew up?”

“I guess.” She studies her black fingernails. “We went through a prison area. It had a sign that said ‘Do not pick up hitchhikers.’”

“Okay.” I pick up my pen to make notes—which I transfer to the computer in the evenings.

“After she went to bed, I got up and took the car. I went back and just drove up and down the road, looking for one.”

My brow furrows. “One what?”

Brown eyes snap up to mine. “Hitchhiker. I drove past every night, back and forth, over and over slowly. Watching.”

“You told me the neighbor you believe touched you is in prison now.” I make a note on the legal pad. “Do you think he might be there?”

She blows air through her lips and arches her back. “I don’t know! I don’t care about him. I want to find a young Brad Pitt ex-con and pick him up and see what happens. I watched Thelma and Louise every day while we were there.”

“You didn’t talk to your mother.” It’s not a question. I make another note on my pad.

“What difference will it make? He’s in prison. It’s done.”

My lips press together, and I inhale slowly. “Engaging in risky behavior won’t make the pain go away. We’ve talked about this.”

She flips on her side, tracing a fingernail over the seam of the cushion.

“Darlene?” She doesn’t look up. “Have you been sleeping?”

“I slept last night.”