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Joe

It doesn’t take long for Jessica to wake up, and she jerks upright with a loud gasp.

“Easy, easy.” I carefully push her back. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

“I had a dream. The nurse was here.” She coughs, and I pick up the bottle of water and pass it to her.

“Drink this.”

She obeys. It’s been a joy to treat this one.

Never rude. Never complains. I’ve had some problem patients in this place.

One smeared her feces all over the wall.

Another stripped down naked and begged me to do disgusting things to her body.

So many hostile moments. So much unappreciation.

So much work, and all for no recognition, save my updates to Dinah.

I think of my wife, now sequestered in Room 4.

Twice, I’ve heard her scream for me. It’s a new sound from her, and one that I don’t like.

I have spent our entire relationship cherishing her.

This is a situation that should have never happened, and all due to her actions.

Sneaking out of our bedroom. Taking my phone.

Endangering the life of my patient—and why?

It’s a question that needs to be answered, both by her and by Jessica.

I smooth the hair off the young woman’s forehead and look into her face. Once again, I’m struck by the similarities in the two women. The same strong jaw. Wide mouth and lips. The same thick, dark hair. Jessica looks into my eyes, and it’s like looking into a mirror of Dinah’s.

“Thanks for the water.” She passes it back to me, and I set it on the table.

“It wasn’t a dream; the nurse was in your room. I need to know what you talked about.” I pull the chair up to the side of her bed so that we’re at eye level with each other.

“Nothing really. She gave me my medicine. I asked her to sit with me and talk, but she didn’t want to.”

“She says that you are in love with me. Is that true?”

She snorts. “No.” She covers her mouth with an awkward laugh. “I mean, not that you aren’t cute. But, uh, I don’t know. You’re kind of old for me. No offense.”

“None taken.” I force a smile and think of all my students—college girls her same age—who trail along after me, blushing and flirting.

I am an attractive man. Always have been.

I spend a lot of time and money in an effort to dress and look well.

I do it because it is my commitment to Dinah and because of her commitment to me.

We both understand that our spouse is an extension and reflection of ourselves.

I pick up her hand and place my fingers on her pulse point, noting the smooth beat. “Are you lying to me, Jessica?”

Her face twists in incredulity, and she starts to giggle, then stops. “What do you mean? About liking you?”

“Yes, for one. Did you say anything to her about being attracted to me?”

She rolls her eyes. “No way. We’ve never even talked prior to this. And like I said, she just gave me the medicine and then tried to leave. The only other thing we talked about was my mom.”

“What about your mom?” I keep my voice light and calm, the way I do in sessions.

“Oh, she knows my mom. I mean, she pretends she doesn’t, but that’s a lie.”

I study her features. I’ve made a career out of reading people, the talent one that requires careful manipulation of my own facial reactions.

Jessica is telling the truth, her pulse slow and steady, her features honest and relaxed.

She has no idea how important her responses are, or how close my wife was to killing her.

If I had been five minutes later, she would be dead.

She knows my mom. She pretends she doesn’t, but that’s a lie.

I know everything there is to know about my wife, but I don’t know this.

I can tell you the dates of her last menstrual cycle.

Her mother’s middle name. The names of her office fish.

The brand of anchovies she prefers. Her favorite author.

Her blood type. When her car’s next oil change is due and her hairdresser’s name.

An hour ago, I would have bet my life that Dinah had no knowledge of Reese Bishop prior to Jessica’s admittance to the clinic.

I didn’t question Dinah’s selection of Reese and Jessica, but maybe I should have. Maybe I should have questioned the history of every one of my patients in the last six years. “How did Dinah know your mom?”

I’m unprepared for what comes next, the brunette delivering the line with the offhanded accuracy of a seasoned sniper.

“Well, they’re sisters.”