“Then something happened to impair that?”

“She received a threatening note. It disturbed her to the extent that a lot of the advancements that she had made were eradicated.”

He rocks in his big leather chair, the ancient brass ball bearings squeaking with each rotation. “And you want to know what? How to help her? I’ll certainly see her, if that’s what you’re asking. Although my schedule is full, I would make the exception for you.”

“She already sees someone her family trusts, but I don’t have a good vibe about him.”

Isaiah sighs and sits up. He folds his hands on his desk and peers at me over his glasses. “A patient’s relationship with their doctor is a unique one. Particularly when you’re talking about psychotherapy. Many people believe the type of therapy I do for soldiers is inappropriate and that in the long term, even if I solve some of their problems, they will suffer. And I’m sure that some of them would rather go back to the front line than enter my office.”

“She wants to get better and he’s holding her back,” I state plainly.

“How so?”

“Yesterday she told me she wanted to try some of her aversion therapy again and slowly start the process of going outside, but her doctor refuses and has told her to take a bunch of drugs that numb her out. His advice to her is to avoid new people and stay inside.”

“New people like yourself?”

I make an impatient noise and push away from the bookcase to stand near Isaiah’s desk. “He doesn’t know I exist. But her circle of acquaintances and friends is otherwise quite small. It’s two people—one she works for and one who is a family member. He’s tightening the bonds around her, corralling her into a spot where she only has a few contacts vetted by him. I don’t like that.”

The good doctor replies with an evenhanded tone, “Being patient has always been difficult for you. You wanted to be walking before you had the prosthetic on.”

“I did walk before I had the prosthetic.”

He laughs. “I remember you hobbling around the halls with your one crutch, nearly taking out nurses and aides with your recklessness.”

I felt my cheeks heat slightly. “It was one time. I almost ran into a nurse once.”

“Sit down, Jake. You’re looming.” He gestures toward one of the big leather chairs and I drop into it. “You care for this woman, which is wonderful, but I cannot tell you whether this other therapist is doing right or wrong without knowing more about your friend, without talking to her. It may be that she won’t respond well to aversion therapy at this point. My best advice to you is to listen to her. Be encouraging. Don’t force the issue. Everyone has their own timetable for healing.”

“That’s it?”

He stares at me and I stare back. I’m far better at this than Crist. He’s been out of the army too long. “Distractions are good. She can’t focus on two things at one time. If you distract her, completely, then she won’t be able to focus on her anxieties.”

I can do distractions.

“Thanks, Isaiah.” I stand and hold out my hand.

He rises, takes my hand but delivers a slow, disbelieving laugh. “I don’t think you heard anything I said but the last part.”

“You’d be wrong,” I reply cheerfully. “I heard it all.”

I just planned only to follow the last part. Once back in the car and armed with new information, I shoot off a message to Natalie.

Me: What would you like for dinner tonight? Rice or noodles?

Her: Noodles.

She answered immediately. I let out a long breath that I didn’t even realize I was holding.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

NATALIE

Good, I’ll be there with the food at six.

I’m having a date? Oh crap, I’m having a date. The first one in years. Although to say that Adam, the gaming software developer I’d slept with before my subway attack, and I had dated was a stretch. We were two individuals who spent a lot of time with one another who ended up in bed and decided it felt about as good as pizza and a beer after a long day at work.

But my stomach never filled with butterflies at the thought of eating with Adam. I never thought about Adam when I wasn’t with him. I never fantasized what it would feel like to run my hands over his chest or tangle my fingers in his hair.

I didn’t touch myself at night wishing it were him. I spent last night with my old vibrator, which had run out of batteries. I was too embarrassed to ask the doorman to run and get me new ones because it felt tantamount to asking him for tampons. I couldn’t ask Oliver because he would wonder what I needed the batteries for. I ordered a bunch off the Internet, so last night I had a dead vibrator but an active imagination.

And imaginary Jake did things to me that I’m sure are illegal in several states, and if they aren’t, they should be. He licked me and sucked me and spent hours running his hand all over my body. He took me hard and then gentle and then hard again.

I went to sleep excited and woke up hungry for him.

I still wasn’t convinced when I got up that yesterday wasn’t a mirage, that I hadn’t dreamed up the whole conversation, the flirting, the mere existence of Jake. But then he texted me and I couldn’t type my reply fast enough.

The only problem remains whether I can open the door. As I stand here looking at it, I think I can. I’ve spent hours looking at it and psyching myself up to open it. As I walk toward the white metal rectangle, I remind myself that the hallway is empty. I haven’t heard an elevator ding since this morning when everyone on my floor left for work. There’s no one out there. Not a clown. Not a faceless tormenter. Not even Jake.

You can do it. I tell myself. Just a step. Just one. Take just one!

But I’m frozen, three feet from the door as if there’s an invisible shield.

I steel myself to make a mental push, to break through that wall, when my phone dings, alerting me to another message.

I rush to read it, thankful for the reprieve.

Don’t open the door, it says. Or the curtains.

Me: Why?

Him: I’m going to install sensors on your balcony and after I’m done, I’m going to sit there and have dinner.

Me: On the balcony?

Him: Affirmative.

Me: Where will I be?

Him: Inside. Eating the food I bought you.