Page 112 of Perfect Composition

“And sociology. Dual degrees.” Alice appears unaffected by my reaction, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. She chews, swallows, and reiterates her offer. “The offer still stands. I don’t have another patient for a few hours.”

Overwhelmed, I find myself nodding. I can’t handle another night of lying wide-awake any longer, seeing that picture splashed across my iPad. “Please.”

Alice begins to rewrap her sandwich. “Why don’t we eat in my office?”

“I don’t feel much like eating,” I admit.

“Then let’s start there. Some friendly advice? Don’t get the hot meal; the subs are much better.”

And for the first time in days, a smile curves my lips. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s why I haven’t been able to eat.”

“Then we’ll talk about it.”

I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth before I confess as we gather our things, “I have to be able to move forward beyond what I’m feeling. If I can’t, I know my judgment will likely be impaired.”

Alice’s only reply is “I have stress balls and chocolate. Which one do you want first?”

I whisper, “Lead on. I’ll decide along the way.”

And for the first time since the picture of Beckett and Erzulie hit the media, I don’t feel weighed down with each step. I feel like there might be a chance I can move on.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

PAIGE

March

Erzulie was spotted coming out of the Met. This genre-diverse singer may have been visiting for inspiration, but whatever she saw obviously spoke to her emotionally. We can’t wait for her next album to drop so we can critique the song about it.

— Moore You Want

I pace back and forth in the tiny home I’m renting on the edge of Collyer. Working with Alice has given me a sense of self I’ve been missing since I was seventeen.

I spent the first session just verbally vomiting to Alice, who wasn’t kidding about either the stress balls or the chocolate. By the time I was done, I was throwing one and voraciously consuming another. Beginning with our next session, we started to get into the whys.

Her words yesterday stuck with me. “Both you and Beckett had expectations as children which were blown to hell. It’s unsurprising to me such a close bond formed between you both, nor that it lasted through decades.”

“What was that?”

She tossed me a pack of M&Ms, which I eagerly accepted. “Parental neglect. Children are born into this world with an expectation of being nurtured and cared for. Some do this by raising that child, some do it by giving that child up—it’s often less cruel. But there are needs to be met as children. Your bond is incredibly strong because both of your childhoods occurred in a small town where you had no one else but each other that holds bittersweet memories.”

I froze. “Are you saying that’s the sole reason he claims he loves me? Why the emotions were so strong back in Kensington?”

“Don’t be an ass, Paige. Do you only treat one symptom of a child?”

I couldn’t help but grin. “No.”

“There’s your answer, then. What I’m saying is that bond is what brought you both together, and it’s so incredibly powerful that being back where it started amplified it.”

I relaxed before tearing open the chocolate. “That makes sense.”

“But I think your father did a number on your issues of trust long before Beckett ever came back into your life. You’re holding on to your anger with Beckett longer because—and I’m just speculating—you’re still so angry at your father.”

Her words shocked me to my core. Could it be possible?

“Did Beckett try to get you to listen to him? To explain?” she probes.

“So many times, I can’t begin to count,” I admitted.