by Lisa Harris
He quickly took in the details of the office. Gracie had done all the things therapists did to try to create a sense of safety for their clients. There were a few plants, calming artwork, neutral wall colors, and several throw pillows with inspirational sayings on a comfy-looking leather couch.
But what once was a clearly organized, cozy room now looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. Books lay in a pile beneath a row of shelves. A plant lay dumped onto the floor, its dirt scattered across the beige carpet. A lamp was broken, next to a couple abstract paintings that had fallen off the wall. Whoever had broken in had done a thorough job of trashing the place.
Gracie stepped into the office and drew in a slow, deep breath. “This is unbelievable. Why would someone do this?”
“I don’t know.” Anne stepped up to Gracie and gave her a big hug. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure. I just feel . . . numb.”
“That’s pretty much how I felt when I first walked in here, but how did you know to bring the police? I hadn’t even called 911 yet.”
Gracie’s gaze swept the floor, surveying the damage before she turned back to her friend. “There was a robbery at my house. We decided to come check things here—”
“What? Did they do this there too?”
“Thankfully, no.”
Anne looked to Nate. “Do you believe this is connected?”
“I believe we have to consider the possibility.”
Anne shook her head. “But why would someone break into your house and here? They must have been searching for something.”
“That’s what we think. I’m just not sure what, at this point.”
“Were any of the other offices broken into?” Nate asked.
“Not that I know of. Grace is usually the first one in, but I can double-check—”
“I’ll need you to wait and not touch anything. I’m going to call in our crime scene unit and see what they can find.”
“Well, I’m here to help in any way I can.”
Nate put in a quick call to his precinct, then turned back to Gracie. “I know this isn’t convenient, but I need you to cancel your appointments, at least for the morning.”
“Of course,” Gracie said. “Anne, go ahead and cancel all my appointments for today.”
Anne raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Including Mrs. Fitzgerald?”
“Tell her I’ll work her in first thing tomorrow, and I’ll bring maple bars. That should appease her.”
She caught Nate’s gaze and shook her head as Anne headed to her own desk to start making calls. “Long story.”
“What about security in the building?” he asked.
“It’s minimal. This is a counseling center, not a bank. We do have an alarm system, though I found out recently that most of the time it’s not even set when the last person leaves.”
“What about cameras?”
“None. But then again, security has never been an issue. There’s nothing of value here to steal.” Gracie walked to the middle of the room. “I’ve put a lot of time into this space, but every piece of furniture is secondhand. There are no electronics, and certainly nothing of value. Nothing really but a few shelves of books and my files. But even in the files, there’s nothing incriminating there.”
“Can you tell from an initial look if anything seems to be missing?”
“Not really. Like I said, the only thing beyond the furniture are my files. It’s going to take time to figure out if any of those are missing.”
She started turning in a slow circle, assessing the damage, and he tried to see the room through her eyes.
“Gracie?”
“I’m sorry. You’re going to think I’m some big blubbering baby. Do you remember our plans back in college?”
He smiled at the memory. “You were going to start your own counseling service and Kevin had visions of being a partner in a law firm before he was thirty.”
“We thought we could save the world.” She picked up a pillow off the floor and tossed it back onto the couch. “I might not own my own practice, but I never totally lost that dream. Even when I found out you can’t save everyone. And maybe I am still nothing more than a dreamer. But this place . . . for me it was a brand-new start. A place where I could make a difference again.”
He’d always been impressed by her compassion. Her draw to those who were hurting. That was the Gracie he’d known back in college. And clearly the same Gracie that stood before him today.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“Yes. I just don’t typically have my life threatened and office ransacked all in one day.” She let out a low chuckle, breaking down some of the awkwardness between them. “I’ve been wishing for a bit more adventure in my life, but I’m thinking I might have to reevaluate that wish.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “You always were able to look at the positive side of things.”
“The bottom line is this has to be connected to whoever broke into my house. There is something that strikes me as odd.”
“What’s that?”
“They broke in here and trashed the place looking for the key they were after. But at my house, they didn’t disturb anything.”
“Was there anything in Stephen’s file that someone might have been able to use against him?”
“Stephen was paranoid. He was worried about the chance of his medical records being subpoenaed in a legal battle one day. He would always tell me not to write down anything personal, so I kept my notes of each session as bare bones as possible. Nothing more than brief updates and any new symptoms he was exhibiting that needed to be addressed in the next session. My observations on how he was doing along with my clinical assessment of the situation for that week. Never anything personal.”
“Is there any way the intruder could have gained access to information in those notes?”
“No. I use my own brand of shorthand for all of my notes. But even if they figured it out, I don’t think there’s anything in them that someone could use.”
“Wait a minute.” Gracie stared at the red betta fish in the corner of the room that swam undisturbed in the chaos. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier, but I had a client who named my betta fish Oscar. Stephen always told me that was a dumb name for a fish.”
Nate crossed the room. “Maybe Oscar really does hold the key then, literally speaking.”
Gracie grabbed a small net and started digging around the blue gravel, then pulled out a key with a bronze ID tag. “Take a look at this. I certainly didn’t drop this here.”
Nate grabbed a tissue from a box on the floor and wiped the key off. “There’s the name of the bank and the box number.” He held it up for her to look at.
“That bank isn’t too far from here,” she said.
Nate ran through their options. There were a number of laws surrounding a safe-deposit box, which included the death of a renter. Something that might delay their access to the box.
“I know this has been a rough few hours for you, but I’d like for you to go to the bank with me and see if we can find out what Stephen left you. We could get a warrant, but it will be quicker this way.”
“Of course.”
He was surprised at her quick response. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. I have no idea why he left this for me, but he had a reason. I owe him that much.”
“No. You don’t owe him anything.”
“I’m okay. Really. I want to.”
He was still second-guessing his request, but from the look on her face, she was determined to follow through.
Nate pulled up the bank’s website on his smartphone. “The bank lobby opens at nine, so that gives us another . . . forty-five minutes.”
“That’s fine.”
He turned back to her. “Have you ever had a safe-deposit box?”
“No.”
“Here’s what will happen. We’ll drive to the bank. To open the box, as long as your name is
on the approved list, all you have to do is walk in, sign your name, and then they’ll give you the contents of the box.”
“Sounds simple enough. I can do that.”
“After that, we’ll head to the precinct, where you can give your official statement.”
Gracie started toward the door with him, then paused at the end of her desk. She picked up a five-by-seven framed photo that had fallen next to it. The glass was shattered, and the photo was of the same little girl he’d noticed back at her house.
“Gracie . . .”
“I’m sorry.” She glanced up at him, then fled the room.
5
Grace fought back the tears as she stumbled from her office with the shattered photo pressed against her chest. She shouldn’t be falling apart. She was stronger than this. She’d prepared herself for the emotional barrage she knew would hit her today. But all of this—the break-in, the encounter with the intruder—it was proving to be enough to push her over the edge.
She ducked into the small meeting room in the back of the building, thankfully avoiding Anne’s watchful eye. She was busy on the phone canceling today’s appointments with her clients. Becca had tried to talk Grace into taking the day off, if not the entire week. But she’d convinced herself that staying busy and focused on other people’s problems would prove to be therapeutic for her own emotional well-being.
She sat down on the flowered couch and pulled her legs up beneath her before drawing in a slow breath. She stared at Hannah’s photo. Another wave of emotion swept through her, forcing her to go to a place she didn’t want to go. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t fight the grief and tears.
Back in college, she had her life mapped out, down to how many kids she’d have, where she’d be one day career-wise, even down to what Dallas suburb she would live in. Until the unthinkable had happened and her dreams had shattered like the glass on the photo in front of her, leaving her with memories she had no idea how to deal with.
She heard the click of the door opening and shutting behind her. Nate crossed the tiled floor, then stopped in front of her.
“Hey . . . you’re crying.” He sat down next to her on the couch. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing. Really.” She wiped her cheek and turned away from his probing gaze, wondering if her best approach was to let him believe that this was simply a reaction to the break-ins. Because the last person she wanted involved in all of this was Nate. Involving him meant explaining why she was falling apart and everything she’d lost. Something she had no desire to do.
“Listen, I know we haven’t seen each other in ages,” he said, “but I think I know you better than that. Besides, you always were a bad liar.”
Memories surfaced, but this time they were good. “If you’re referring to my poker-playing skills, or perhaps the plastic cockroach I put in Kevin’s cereal—”
“And then tried to blame me, as I remember.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “For one, that was your idea, so technically you were to blame, and two—”
“You know there’s no way out of this one.” His smile faded. “But this isn’t just about the break-in or Stephen’s death, is it?”
She blew out a sharp breath, wondering when he’d become so perceptive. “No.”
He touched the edge of the frame in her lap. “Who is she?”
“I told you about Kevin and me, but I . . . I didn’t tell you everything.” She wiped her wet face with the back of her hand, then held up the photo. “This is our daughter. Hannah.”
Saying her name out loud brought another barrage of pain with it.
“She’s beautiful,” he said.
She wasn’t sure how much to tell him. She ran her finger across the frame. “Hannah died four years ago this month. And on top of that, her birthday is today. She would have been nine.”
“Oh Gracie . . . I’m so, so sorry. I can’t even imagine what that has to be like for you.”
“It’s made today extra hard. Then between the reminders of her death and everything that’s happened . . . I’m finding it hard to deal.”
“You used to tell me I was a good listener.”
Another memory surfaced. She’d gotten a call from her mom, telling her that her grandfather had passed away. Kevin had to work, so she and Nate had ended up talking at an all-night diner until Kevin got off. Nate had just let her cry and talk. He’d always been that kind of friend.
“You were a good listener. And I appreciate the offer.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “But we need to go to the bank. I need you to find out what happened to Stephen.”
“We will, but right now we’ve got time.”
She felt the long pause that followed, thankful that he didn’t try to interrupt or push her. She could hear his steady breathing next to her and suddenly felt the urge to let him pull her into his arms and hold her. To reassure her that she wasn’t alone. It had been so long since she’d felt safe and protected. Since anyone had held her. But just like she wasn’t the same person she’d been when they knew each other back in college, neither was he. And just because seeing him again stirred up memories, that didn’t mean she really knew him anymore. But her desire to trust the person she’d known years ago won out, and she took a deep breath.
“I was seven months pregnant with her when Kevin and I moved out east,” she said. “He’d just received a job promotion with his firm, and I had the opportunity to work part-time at a counseling center after Hannah was born. She was born perfect and was the sweetest thing you can imagine. And honestly, she was until the day she died.”
She stared at the photo, working to stave off the engulfing sadness she’d been fighting all week. A sadness that always intensified this time of year.
“This was taken on her third birthday. We went to her grandparents’ farm for the day. She was happy and funny. She always made me laugh.” She handed the photo to Nate. “Her grandma gave her the stuffed elephant. She never went anywhere without it after that.”
“She’s absolutely adorable.” He brushed his hand across her arm. “But you don’t have to talk about it, Gracie. Only if you want to.”
“It’s okay.” Because for some reason, she needed to tell him. While most of her friends were sympathetic, time went on, people moved on with their lives, and she was left trying to put together the shattered pieces of her life. It was part of the reason she’d moved back to Dallas. It was a chance to start over.
While Becca had become the exception, Grace preferred making friends who didn’t know her past. It had ended up being easier than explaining over and over to everyone what had happened. And, she supposed, it had been a way to guard her heart.
“Not long after this photo was taken, she was diagnosed with leukemia, and after that, we pretty much dropped out of sight. I took leave from my practice in order to stay home with her full-time. Between doctors’ visits and treatments, I didn’t have energy for anything else. Including Kevin.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was every parent’s worst nightmare. Having something wrong with your child when there’s nothing you can do. Watching her struggle through treatment after treatment, hospital stays, reactions to the medicine . . . And then things got better. Hannah went into remission for about six months, but then the disease came back more aggressive than before. Three months later, we lost her.”
Nate winced and glanced down at the photo in his hands, then looked back up at her. “And Kevin? How did he handle her death?”
“While I grieved, I made sure I had people to talk to, but he didn’t cope well with losing Hannah. He didn’t talk—really talk—to anyone except his brother every once in a while, and even then, I’m not sure how much he shared. I felt so helpless. Here I was, a psychologist, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get him to open up to me.”
Just like losing a child had never been on her radar, neither was divorce. She believed in “until death do us part” and had done everything she c
ould to work things out between her and Kevin. Not that the collapse of their marriage was all his fault. She couldn’t blame him entirely for what had happened, but things still hadn’t turned out the way she’d planned.
“Tell me about her.”
Her eyes widened at his request. Most people asked what happened, never getting to the more uncomfortable conversation of who she’d lost.
“Well . . .” Grace paused. “She loved tea parties, drawing, roses, and animals—especially horses. In fact, from the time she was four, she decided she wanted to be a cowgirl.” The memories brought a smile to her lips. “I had some friends back East who taught her how to ride. Even when she was sick, there was nothing that made her happier than riding. We spent most weekends there, and when she was too sick to ride, she’d sit out on the porch and simply watch the horses.”
And now she was gone.
She grabbed a tissue from the table beside her, finding it ironic that here she was, sitting on a couch at her practice, crying and needing support instead of being the one giving it. Wishing—not for the first time—it was possible to go back in time and do things over. Start at another place in time to get a different ending. Not that she regretted marrying Kevin. Without Kevin, she wouldn’t have had Hannah. She just regretted what had happened between them and the empty space his leaving had left in her heart. The image of Hannah rose to the surface, and that familiar surge of emotion swept through her.
He handed her back the photo, and she noticed the raised scars on his forearm. She started to say something, but he tugged down his sleeve and covered them. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one with secrets. And secrets, it seemed, he wasn’t willing to share. Which meant that, for the moment, she kept her own questions about him to herself.
“I should have seen it coming and yet, you know what? I didn’t. I guess I was so wrapped up in losing Hannah, I forgot to be there for Kevin. And then one day . . . he just walked out. He set his fork down after a pot roast dinner and told me he couldn’t pretend that things were okay between us anymore. Told me he’d met someone else and that he wanted a divorce. He wanted to completely leave his life behind and start over. Like he could somehow just . . . forget Hannah and me.”
