Page 2 of Little Girl Vanished
“So tell me how you’re doing,” he asked.
“I’ve had my good days and my bad days,” I said softly with a small smile. I tucked my shoulder-length hair behind my right ear, making myself look slightly vulnerable. Soft, but not too soft.
This wasn’t my first therapist rodeo over the past four months, but I planned for it to be my last.
“And how do you handle the bad days?” he asked, a fake smile matching the fake concern in his eyes.
I wasn’t about to tell him that I handled it with booze. Lots of booze, preferably Jack Daniel’s, usually mixed with Coke. The Coke wasn’t absolutely necessary, but he definitely didn’t want to hear that.
“I journal,” I said. “And take walks. Fresh air usually helps.”
Lately, the only fresh air I got was on my way from my house to my car, and then from my car into a store and back again. And the only journaling I’d done was the occasional texts I exchanged with my friend Louise, one of the only people I’d kept in touch with from my Little Rock life. She was the police officer who’d responded to the last of my home invasions in Little Rock. Although she’d been a stranger at the time, she’d become a friend, partly because she’d believed me. She’d left the Little Rock PD too because, according to her, something was rotten there. I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe the something rotten wasn’t me.
As far as actual journaling went? I hadn’t journaled since I was a teenager, when my sister was murdered.
But he didn’t want to hear about that.
I’d made the mistake of spilling my guts early in the process, and I’d discovered the hard way that the court- or work-appointed counselors were just there to sign paperwork and make sure psychopaths hiding behind a badge weren’t running around on the streets. Everything else was considered normal.
“Good, that’s good,” he said, jotting something down off screen. “And your move to your parents’ place in…” He rifled through some papers then looked up triumphantly. “In Jackson, Kansas. How’s that going? It’s not always easy to go home after living apart from your parents for so long.”
“That’s Jackson Creek, Arkansas,” I said, trying not to let my irritation show or he’d mark me down for anger issues. “There’ve been some bumpy parts, but over all, it’s been okay.”
By bumpy parts, I meant that my mother had barely spoken to me since I’d moved into their garage apartment two weeks ago, and that I had hardly left the four-hundred-square-foot studio since I’d moved in. “I’m actually going out tonight when we’re done with this call.” A genuine smile curved my lips. “I’m meeting a friend.”
That was probably the first true thing I’d said in the past twenty minutes. I was meeting Louise, actually. She was now working for our county’s sheriff’s department.
“That’s great, great,” he said, writing something down again. “Socializing is important.”
“It makes everything feel more normal.”
“Normal is subjective, Harper,” he chided, then looked up at me. “What do you plan on doing with your life since you’re no longer with the Little Rock Police Department?”
“That’s a good question,” I said in all sincerity, but struggled hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “I’m taking some time to explore my options.”
AKA I had no fucking clue.
“Good. Good.” His head bobbed as he smiled, probably thinking we were close to ending this call and he could shut down his laptop and get a beer. “Any more nightmares?”
I swallowed hard, my smile falling slightly. “They seem to be gone, thankfully.”
Since I’d come home, my memories of shooting the kid had been replaced with memories of my sister’s kidnapping. I wasn’t sure which were worse.
“Don’t be surprised if they resurface,” he said, studying my face. “Change can bring them back. If you feel the need for any medication—”
“Then I’ll contact a psychiatrist,” I said adamantly. “So far, I’m good.”
He glanced down again to take some notes, then looked up at me. “Well, unless there’s anything else you wish to discuss, I think this concludes your appointed therapy.”
“Thank you, Dr. Abalone. I’m eager to move on to a new chapter in my life.”
We ended the call and I shut the laptop screen, every nerve ending in my body on fire. Without giving it another thought, I grabbed the open bottle of Jack Daniel’s under my sink and didn’t bother with a glass, drinking a gulp straight from the bottle. Who needed Prozac when I could self-medicate?
I screwed the lid back on the bottle, then closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Other than my trips to the liquor store up in Wolford, this would be my first time out in public since I’d come back to my hometown. In Little Rock, people either saw me as a poster child for the Thin Blue Line or a pariah. I had no idea what to expect here, but at least Louise and I were meeting at a bar.
Chapter 2
“You look like shit.”