Acceptable Risk

by Lynette Eason

  “I know, Gavin, we’ve already been over this on the way here, remember?”

  “I know.”

  He was nervous for her. Great.

  “I can do this,” she said, her voice as low as his. “I have to, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not right. I shouldn’t be taking up her time when—”

  “Sarah Denning?”

  A nurse with a clipboard stood at the door at the opposite end of the waiting room.

  Sarah stood. Gavin reached up and squeezed her hand. “You’ve got this,” he said.

  “I can’t lie to her, Gavin.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Look at this like a journalist. You’re here to do a job and get the facts on your brother. Period. Who knows? You may write his story one day.”

  She pulled in her bottom lip. “Right.”

  “Sarah?”

  “I’m coming.”

  Heart thundering, conscience nagging, she nevertheless followed the woman into the back, then down the carpeted hallway to a door that had Dr. McCandless’s name on the nameplate. The woman twisted the knob and pushed the door open. “Have a seat. The doctor will be with you in just a moment.”

  “Thank you.” Sarah walked in and settled herself in one of the comfortable chairs facing the window. Had Dustin sat in this very seat? Had he looked at the same view? Had he felt the same trepidation now pounding through her?

  She stood to pace.

  Four times to the window and back. Why did doctors always do that? Why make you wait in their office? Why weren’t they ever seated in the room to welcome you when you walked in the door?

  Maybe it was so the client would be so anxious, they’d just spill everything? Or maybe it was so the client would have time to gather their thoughts before being required to voice them?

  Or maybe it was because the doctor simply needed a restroom break between sessions.

  Whatever the reason, Sarah just wanted to get this over with.

  Gavin’s phone rang and he snatched it, his eyes still on the double metal doors Sarah had passed through. “Hello, Son.”

  “Dad, hey, how are you doing?”

  “Doing well. I got your message and thought I’d call to make sure I understood exactly what you needed.”

  Gavin rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “You know I’ll do whatever I can to help you out. Lay it on me.”

  “I have a friend. She was wounded in Afghanistan and is home to recuperate. She’s been discharged.”

  “I see.”

  “She loves what she does and she’s good at it. Google the bombing of the orphanage six months ago in Kabul and you’ll see the piece she wrote. She also helped bring down an organ trafficking ring at one of the orphanages in Kabul and received national recognition for it. Anyone who hired her would be getting a prime investigative reporter. Her name is Rochelle Denning, but she goes by Sarah.”

  “Sounds interesting. I’ll look her up.”

  “So, here’s the favor. Once she’s recovered, she’s going to need a job. She’d be an asset to any paper or television station. I know you have contacts in this area.”

  “Of course.” His dad blew out a sigh. “I take it this young woman is someone you care about?”

  The man could always read him easier than a large-print book. “Something like that.”

  A pause. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Dad. How’s Mom?”

  “Busy. Doing her thing. Cooking a lot.”

  Cooking? His mother? “What’s up with that?”

  “I think it’s stress.”

  “Spill it, Dad. It’s not like you to hem and haw around something.”

  His father cleared his throat. “Right, well, it’s your sister.”

  Gavin refrained from releasing an audible sigh. “I haven’t called her. I’m sorry. I’ve just been caught up in this . . . thing . . .” Trying to keep Sarah alive. “. . . and I just—”

  “Stop. I get it.”

  No doubt about that. If anyone understood, it would be his father.

  “But something’s going on with her, and your mother and I are at a loss to figure out what. I need you to talk to her, meet with her. Something.”

  “Okay, I can do that.” He paused. “Can I have a few more details?”

  “She’s . . . I don’t know. Being reclusive. She goes to school, then comes home and locks herself in her room. Comes out for dinner occasionally, says three words, eats even less, then heads back to her room for the night. Often she’s gone before I’m even up in the morning.”

  Gavin frowned. “She’s always been reserved and an introvert, but that seems a bit extreme even for her.”

  “This is her senior year of college. I know she’s stressed, but this has been going on since the end of August, and I think it’s more than just school stress.”

  “I’ve only talked to her a handful of times since she started school.” Because he’d been working contract after contract, staying so busy he didn’t have time to think, much less worry about the baby sister who wasn’t interested in hearing from him. Guilt hit. “Have you followed her? Tried to find out what’s going on?”

  Silence. Then a sigh. “Yeah. I think she’s involved with one of her professors.”

  “Kaylynn? Seriously?”

  “She went to his home and was there for several hours before she came out. I tried to get a look in the window, but no luck.”

  Gavin frowned. “Did you ask her about it?”

  “No. I’m still trying to figure out the best way to deal with it. I don’t want to say anything and have it make her mad enough to do something stupid.”

  He could understand that.

  “Can you come to dinner tonight?” his dad asked. “You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I know Kaylynn will be here for sure tonight.”

  “I’ll see what I can work out.”

  “Bring your girl . . . friend.”

  “Dad . . .”

  His father chuckled. “I’ll work on that job for her. I’m thinking Owen Grant could use another reporter on his team. He’s big in competition with Jefferson Wyatt, you know.”

  The two men Gavin had been thinking of when he’d brought up the idea. “I’m assuming you have your weekly lunch with them today?”

  “Of course. I promise I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you.” Gavin hung up the phone and thought about Kaylynn. She was ten years younger than he was. They’d lived in the same household for eight years before he’d gone off to college, then joined the Army, and during that time, they’d never been particularly close, simply because he’d been into teenage guy stuff and she’d been . . . a girl. He loved her, and hated they didn’t have much of a relationship, but that came with the nature of his career path. However, at least they’d spoken to each other regularly. Until a year ago. He’d been home for Christmas break and caught her boyfriend sniffing a line of cocaine in the guest room.

  Gavin had thrown him out and threatened him with great bodily harm if he ever came near his sister or family again. Kaylynn had overheard the entire exchange but hadn’t said a word to him. Just looked at him with her big expressive eyes and slipped into her room. He hadn’t seen her before he’d had to head back to Afghanistan, and they’d barely exchanged two paragraphs’ worth of words since. But that was wrong. It was time to make sure she knew he loved her.

  And just as soon as he made sure Sarah was safe, he vowed to do just that.

  He prayed he wasn’t too late.

  The door opened. Finally. And the doctor stepped inside.

  “Hello, Sarah, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, but I’d had three cups of coffee and simply couldn’t wait a minute longer.” She laughed at herself and Sarah instantly liked the woman. And that was one question answered. “S
o,” the woman held out her hand and Sarah shook it. “I’m Dr. Melissa McCandless. You can call me Mel. How are you doing today?”

  Mel’s bubbly personality went a long way toward putting Sarah at ease—and making her feel even more guilty for lying her way through the door. “I’m doing better today than I was when I called, but thank you for agreeing to see me so quickly.”

  “Of course. Why don’t you have a seat and you can tell me what’s going on.”

  Sarah sat. Crossed her legs. Then uncrossed them. She blew out a breath. “I’m nervous. Sorry.”

  “I could say, ‘Don’t be,’ but have found that doesn’t help much.”

  A laugh slipped out. “I guess not. Okay, first things first, I have to confess. I’m not suicidal. I only alluded to that so I could get a quick appointment. So, I’m sorry. And if you don’t want to talk to me, I understand.”

  The doctor studied her. “I see.”

  Sarah shifted under the woman’s watchful gaze, then stood and backed toward the door. “That was incredibly low of me. I promise, I try to act with integrity in all situations, but I’ve really blown it this time.” Her fingers touched the doorknob. “I started thinking that maybe I’m taking a spot away from someone else who truly needs it, so I’m sorry. This was a mistake. The guilt is killing me. I shouldn’t have gone about seeing you this way.”

  “Well, at least we know you have a conscience.”

  A startled laugh slipped from Sarah. “Yes, I still have that.” The woman hadn’t said anything predictable so far. It was . . . disconcerting and . . . interesting. She reminded her of Brooke in that way.

  “Sit down. Please.”

  Sarah stilled. “Really?”

  “Really. I have this half hour blocked out for you. We might as well put it to good use.”

  “Oh, I see,” Sarah said, deflating. “You think I’m just saying that because I’m being a chicken and trying to get out of the session. But that’s not the case.”

  “Sarah, sit. Please.”

  Great. In trying to right her wrong, she’d just convinced the woman she was lying. About being suicidal anyway.

  Sarah sat.

  “If, as you say, you’re not thinking of harming yourself,” Mel said, “why did you want to see me so desperately?”

  Sarah wanted to blurt out questions about Dustin but bit her lip and sighed, trying to figure out the best way to approach the subject. “Okay, so here’s the deal. I’m having some . . . issues . . . and I don’t know how to make them stop.”

  “All right. Tell me about these issues.”

  “Nightmares. And . . . other things. My past won’t stay buried. It keeps popping up to remind me that I’m not . . . good enough.”

  “What are the nightmares about?”

  Sarah paused. Focused. “Several incidents that happened while I was in Kabul. And . . . about my brother’s death. Mostly about him.”

  “I see. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Sarah swallowed. Dr. McCandless sounded like she meant it. “Thank you. But I just keep . . .”

  “Keep what?”

  She could do this. It was all part of finding out what happened to Dustin. She was pretending, right? Then why did it feel so real? Because she wasn’t lying about the nightmares—or the past. “I keep seeing him. I see him jump off the building and I see him land. And I see what happens when he lands.” She choked. Gagged.

  The doctor jumped up and grabbed a bottle of water from her refrigerator. Sarah took it and drank half of it, her heart pounding. Why was she doing this?

  “Just breathe a moment,” Dr. McCandless said. “Take a minute.”

  “Sorry. Thank you.” Sarah met her gaze. “My brother was Dustin Denning.”

  The doctor flinched and deep sadness filled her eyes. “I noticed the last name and wondered if there was a connection there. I’m so sorry.”

  “I know he talked to you. He said you helped him.”

  “Not enough apparently.” Dr. McCandless rose and rubbed her palms down her black slacks. “I was absolutely stunned to hear of his death.”

  “Yeah, that makes two of us.” She paused. “Was he like this? Did he have nightmares and feel helpless to do anything about them?”

  “Sarah, I can’t—”

  “Please. I’m on his HIPAA paperwork. You can tell me about him. I think it would really help settle some things in my mind if I could just understand what he was thinking, feeling . . . please.”

  The doctor took a deep breath and clasped her hands. “Dustin had a good many problems, as you know, but honestly, I thought he was doing better. That we were making some breakthroughs. That’s why his suicide floored me.”

  Exactly what Caden had seen. “Dr. McCandless?”

  “Please, call me Mel.”

  “All right, Mel, I’m not suicidal, I promise. I admit, I probably have some . . . um . . . PTSD issues”—man, that was hard to say—“but I’ve no desire to die.”

  “I’m starting to believe you.”

  Heat swept into Sarah’s cheeks and she looked away. “I’ve had some pretty down moments over the last few weeks, I’ll admit that as well.” Her father’s betrayal came to mind, and she curled her fingers into tight fists. “And when I tried to get in just to talk to you—to ask you about Dustin—I was shut down faster than I could blink. But, yes, I wanted to ask about Dustin as well.”

  “As well?”

  Shame burned a path up Sarah’s neck and into her cheeks. She cleared her throat. Tears gathered and she sniffed. “The nightmares are real,” she whispered. “I only fall asleep when I can’t stay awake any longer or I’m drugged up.” She held up a hand. “Prescription drugs that I haven’t taken in a couple of days. The last thing I need is an addiction.”

  The doctor’s hand covered hers. “I’ll work you in if you want to be a patient. For real.”

  Sarah gave a slow nod, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I want the nightmares to stop, but I won’t take medicine, and I know that’s the route you’ll probably want to go.”

  “Meds can be a last resort. Sometimes just talking and me offering some coping skills, strategies for handling the nightmares, can do a lot.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Of course.”

  Sarah nodded again. “I’ll think about it.” She paused. “What did Dustin do? Did he choose to take meds or go the other route?”

  The doctor hesitated. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just need to know.”

  “Everyone is different. Dustin’s choices shouldn’t reflect yours.”

  Sarah sighed. “I’m not saying they will. I’m just trying to understand him.”

  “I know.” She tapped her chin. “He chose medication and it seemed to help him.” She paused and shook her head, then cleared her throat. “So, what did you do over there in Kabul?”

  “I’m an investigative journalist.”

  “Ah. That explains a lot.” Sarah raised a brow and the doctor smiled. “Your inquisitive nature.”

  “Oh right. Yeah.” Other questions surfaced. “Do you know who Dustin was hanging around? Who his friends were? Who he may have confided in?”

  “He talked a lot about your brother, Caden, and he mentioned you quite a bit. He was very concerned about you, but when I tried to press for more information, he shut down.”

  “I see. Anything or anyone else?”

  Mel hesitated, then walked behind her desk and picked up a pen and paper. “There was a woman. Her name was Dr. Helen Craft.” She wrote on the paper and folded it. “Dustin talked about her quite a bit. He said he met her in Afghanistan and said he was surprised that she lived only an hour away from him. He looked her up when he moved home, and they had some group counseling sessions together.”

  “She was a good friend of his?”

  “I’m not sure of the nature of their relationship, but yes, I know he cared about her. She . . . uh . . . killed herself about three weeks before Dustin did.�
��

  “What?” Sarah whispered. She took the paper the doctor held out. Had Dustin mentioned her to Caden?

  Mel hesitated. “Look, I’m not supposed to discuss patients, but Helen was different. One thing she made very clear is that she wanted to get better and she wanted to help people. She told her story to anyone who would listen, anyone who she thought needed to hear what she was experiencing in order to make a difference. So, I know she would be completely fine with me sharing this.”

  “Okay,” Sarah said.

  “Helen was part of the medical team that was there when an orphanage was bombed. Kids were on the playground at the time, and as you can imagine, it was horrific. She operated on as many as she could, but couldn’t save the majority. It was something no one should ever have to see or experience.” The doctor shuddered. “She had PTSD and nightmares for months until she finally requested to be sent home to seek help. Helen’s sister, Lucy, moved in with Helen when she came home to make sure she wasn’t alone at night and got to all of her appointments. I spoke with Lucy and she agreed with me in my assessment that Helen was doing better. Her PTSD was under control and Lucy was getting ready to move back home. So when she walked in the door to see Helen standing in the window of her fourteenth-floor apartment, she was shocked. Lucy called out to her but said Helen didn’t even hesitate. She just jumped.”

  “Oh my. How awful.”

  Sarah knew just how ghastly the bombing had been. She’d covered that incident, had seen the dead bodies. Had held the weeping mothers. A small terrorist organization had taken credit for the attack, but a rumor had leaked that an American soldier had been the instigator. She’d cleared the soldier’s name and passed on intel to the higher-ups. The terrorist cell had been wiped out before it had a chance to expand any farther—or kill any more innocent people.

  A pang hit her. She’d done good work over there. She’d been making a difference. Swift, hot rage consumed her, and she vowed once more not to let her father win.

  “I don’t know what else Lucy can add to that,” Mel was saying, pulling Sarah back into the present, “but I believe she met Dustin several times, so I can’t help but think she might be able to answer some of your questions.”