The Secret Room by Sandra Block

Author:Sandra Block
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2017-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

“Did you have a good holidays?” Sam asks politely.

“Yes,” I answer politely, mentally editing out the less than rosy parts. The vomiting, the screaming three-year-old. And, of course, the cranberry bean. I fiddle with the squeaky knobs on the liquid motion toy.

“You seem a bit out of sorts today.”

“Not really.” My foot is drumming the floor of its own accord, which belies my denial of any problems. So I focus back on the toy. “Maybe a little. A lot of stress.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Just life,” I say, which is rather lame and a thing I hate when my patients say, leaving me to guess at what might be ailing them.

“I got some weird texts,” I offer, remembering I haven’t told him yet. After I explain about the riddle and the burner phone, he looks concerned.

“What did Detective Adams say?” he asks.

“They’ve tried to track it down, but they can’t. And Sofia is denying any involvement, for what that’s worth.”

“Anything new on that front, with Sofia?”

“We’re still communicating a bit.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Okay, I guess. She keeps insisting she’s changed, but I keep thinking she’s up to something. Jack thinks I’m nuts to even talk to her.”

He adjusts his yellow pad. “I understand his concerns. But you’re not beholden to Jack.”

“I know. And I think he’s got a blind spot when it comes to her.” I glance up from my toy. “Oy, that’s terrible. Really, that pun was not intended.” Sam betrays a glimmer of a smile. “Anyway, she might actually be genuine about this conversion thing. I’m still not sure.”

“Nor is it your burden to decide.”

“That’s true.” I try to hold off a yawn, and find my foot jittery again.

“How are you feeling about your medications?”

“I think they’re okay.”

As he turns his head, the bright-red temple of his glasses flashes in the sun. “If you aren’t noticing any problems, we’ll keep everything the same for now, but let’s watch it, okay? I want to see you back in a week.”

“A week?” We’ve been monthly now or even less, unless some crisis pops up.

“You’re obviously under a great deal of stress.” He takes off his glasses, holding them between two fingers. “And I can sense something isn’t quite right.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam has a keen nose for this. But he might not be able to guess what isn’t quite right. Or that I flushed all my pills down the toilet. What isn’t quite right is that I’m pregnant, and I haven’t told Mike. That I’m pregnant and have no idea what to do about it.

But I don’t say any of this.

We spend the remaining minutes wrapping up, he pushing issues and I avoiding them in an uncomfortable tango until finally I am released.

I sit in the car a moment, enjoying the enveloping heat of the sun through the windshield. Then I turn on the engine and dig out of my satchel the paper with Andre’s aunt’s number on it. I sit through about eight rings and am about to hang up when a voice mail message comes on.

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