Dr. Pratz cuts me off, “Time.” I realize that Emma got to me. I’m not even sure how she did it, but she did. Allowing people to pick at mental sore spots is insane. None of those places have healed. I feel stupid.
Dr. Pratz continues, “Emma, very good, but you should never go through someone’s mind randomly pressing buttons to see what happens. When you encounter a sore spot like the one you just found, it could be anything from a day-old ego bruise, to a decades-old abuse scar. If you press a button that’s still raw, it turns into a landmine. You’ll lose control of the session and your client.
“That’s enough for today. Class dismissed.” Dr. Pratz turns to Emma and me, “Please grab your things and follow me back to the counseling center.”
Emma protests, “I have a class after this.”
“Then go, I’ll show you another time. Avery, come with me.” Dr. Pratz is out the door before I have my books. I chase after him. He’s so damn tall that it takes forever to catch up. When I fall in step with him, he looks over at me. “I can see it, you know.”
I already know what he means. He knows I’m messed up. There’s no guessing for guys like him. It’s communicated without saying a word. “I know.”
“Do you want help?”
I stare straight ahead and clutch my books to my chest. “No one can help me.”
“Mmmm. A word of caution then—ghosts will haunt us unless we confront them. Until then, they have a way of invading every aspect of our lives and ripping it apart at the seams.”
“Like a poltergeist.”
“Exactly.” We approach a door and he pulls it open, allowing me to walk inside first. It’s the school’s counseling center.
This is where I want to do my graduate work. If I continue to work for Black, I can start this summer. I’m excited and nervous to be here. I want to help people, but I need so much help myself. It really makes me wonder if I can do it. For a while, I thought all that pain would make me better at this job, but now I’m not so sure. Sometimes pain just hurts.
Dr. Pratz walks to the front desk, grabs his messages, and I follow him back to his office. “Sit.”
I’m not sure what he wants, but I take a seat. “Avery, I know you want to be admitted to the grad school next year. It’s a very rigorous program and I honestly have concerns about you being able to carry the course load.”
This is news to me. Panic sparks to life in the pit of my stomach. “I can do it. I know I can. I maintained my GPA for undergrad. I had a bump, but I recovered.”
He presses his palms together and looks at me for a moment. His dark eyes show nothing but concern, but it still makes my stomach dip. “You’re right. Earlier this year, your grades were lacking. They improved, but I feel like you have some issues distracting you from your course work. Is it something you want to talk about?” I shake my head and give him an awkward smile. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here. I want to see you excel, Avery.”
“I’ve found a way to begin grad school this summer. I can take a lighter course load, but attend year round, if you think that I should. Dr. Pratz, I really need this. I’ve worked so hard to get here. I promise that I’ll give it my undivided attention.”
“Avery, I like the idea of you spreading out your course load over the summer. Maybe that would allow you to lighten your work schedule. Your graduate scholarship is still being determined. The next few months are important. Attending this summer might be a very good option for you. One of the things you need to learn is to set reasonable expectations for yourself. If you constantly stretch yourself thinner and thinner, you’ll snap.”
“Yes sir.”
We chat for a few more moments, and by the time I leave his office, I realize that my future plans may be beyond my reach. I need to ask Miss Black for fewer appointments and more money.
CHAPTER 7
The weather has turned frigid. Big thick flakes are falling from the sky as I trek across campus. When I finally get back to the room, Amber is cursing, getting ready for her night class. She tugs a sweater over her head and glares at me. “I hate the snow.”
“Then move to Florida.” Amber scowls and hurries out the door.
I sit on my bed for a moment. When I was younger snow made me so excited, so happy. As soon as there was enough snow covering the ground, I do the same thing every single time—built a snowman. I wonder if it’s crazy, if I should do things like that anymore. I walk across the room to the window and look outside. It’s still snowing. A smile slowly spreads across my face. Screw it. I don’t care if people think I’m crazy. I’m going.
Taking my book bag, I dump out the contents on my bed before heading over to my dresser. I grab what I need and make my way down to my car. I still can’t believe Sean repaired it for me. I grin at the old girl and pat the hood like she’s a horse. “I would have missed you.”
I slip inside and turn the key. The car starts right up. The interior is new and shiny even though it’s decades old. I run my fingers along the dashboard, wondering if Sean changed anything else. It looks new. I slide the control across and turn on the heater. I keep my hand on the lever, expecting to get blasted with white smoke, but it never comes. He fixed the heater. I smile to myself. I’m not wearing a jacket. It’s like Sean knew that and had the heater repaired. Normally, all the heat would have gone out the window, but it doesn’t. My window is up. I lean forward and roll it down.
Ah! It moves! Oh my God! The window works! This is my car, but he brought it back to life. It doesn’t stall anymore. I don’t have to drive with two feet. It runs, like a real car. I sit there grinning as snowflakes cover the windshield. I’m almost afraid to try it, but I have to. I flick the wipers and they turn on. The wiper blades swoosh up and then down. Then they do it again.
“He fixed everything.” I glance at the passenger seat and figure the seatbelt works too.
I take a deep breath. I can’t stop smiling. I know exactly what I’m going to do. I pull out of the lot and head to the parkway. I drive east as the snow comes down harder and harder. By the time I get there, there’s a blanket of white covering the ground. It’s pristine and perfect.
I turn into the old cemetery. Snow lines the top of the headstones. I drive down the lane to my parents’ plot and shut the engine. I grab my bag and get out. There are a couple of inches of snow on the ground. It isn’t much, but it’s enough. I make a snowball and start rolling it around. It gets bigger and bigger before I roll it over to my parents’ grave.
I talk to them as I do it. I tell them about everything that’s going on, about how my life is getting away from me. I love a man who doesn’t love me back. I’m a call girl. I finally manage to talk about that. “I don’t like it. It’s not what I thought it would be. I don’t think I’m the kind of girl who sleeps around, so it feels really weird. Besides, I hate all the lying. It feels like I’m lying to everyone lately.”
I roll around another snowball as I talk, then bring it over and stack it on the other one. I make a third snowball and roll it around, and then put it on top of the other two when it’s the size of a pumpkin. My snowman is vertically challenged. I pack more snow on his belly and smooth it out. When I’m done, I stand in front of him. The snowman is a little shorter than me. I grab a scarf and the buttons from my bag. I press two hot pink sparkly buttons into his eyes and wrap a pink scarf around his neck. So he’s a transvestite snowman. I like pink. I continue to talk to my parents as I finish decorating my snowman and the flow of words finally dries up.
When I’m done, I straighten, suck in the cold air, and look at their headstone. Memories flicker across my mind. My mom loved the first snowfall. My dad had told me the story of how they meet so many times that I’ll never forget. They were both teenagers and had gone out sledding. Their sleds collided and it was fate. When I was a kid, they’d take me to Cardiac Hill at Sunken Meadow. They’d retell that same story every time. Winter was always filled with warm memories.
I smile to myself. I feel okay right now. I feel like I can bounce back and get on with things. I have to talk to Miss Black later. I wish to God my parents were still alive. I wish I didn’t have to live this way, but wishing never made anything come true. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself. I can do this. I have to. I will.
I glance up and look past the enormous tree. My gaze lands on Amanda Ferro’s grave. There are footprints in front of it. Sean must have been here. I look around for him, but he’s gone. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m walking toward the grave. I stop in front of it and look down at the blanket of white. I don’t know what comes over me, but I make a snowball in my hand. I roll it around and pack the snow together until there’s a snowman next to her headstone.
Sean would have had a family. They would have gone Christmas shopping. His wife would have been making pot roast and wintery foods that fill the house with delicious scents. Instead, she’s here with their only child, and Sean is alone.
I’m alone.
I turn away and walk back to my car. I drive off before Sean can materialize. I wonder how long he watched me or if he noticed me at all.
CHAPTER 8
I’m sitting in Miss Black’s office. It’s late. She’s wearing a slim black suit that accentuates her thin frame. She looks regal. Miss Black has this air about her that’s completely intimidating. The more I get to know her, the more I don’t like her. The first day we met, she seemed nice, but I think that was a mask. The real Miss Black is a savvy business woman and often has a ruthless look in her eye—especially when it comes to me.
I’m dressed in old jeans with a torn knee and an oversized cream-colored sweater. It hides my figure. My hair is swept back into a sloppy ponytail. I cross my legs at the knee and slouch back into my seat.
Miss Black lifts one of her perfectly plucked brows. She’s not happy with me.
I protest calmly. “You said make them want more. I don’t see a problem here. The only two clients I’ve been with are asking for me. How’s that a bad thing?” I’m trying to keep my voice level. This is about Sean, but she hasn’t said that yet.
“Miss Stanz, it’s concerning. The nature of your relationship with Mr. Ferro—”
“I don’t have a relationship with Mr. Ferro.” I can say that because it’s true. We’re barely friends. Half the time it feels like I’m walking on sand with him. The earth keeps shifting under my feet. I never know which version of Sean I’m with. The dark version scares the crap out of me and I know that’s the Sean I’ll have if Black puts us together this weekend. I kind of hope she does. I want all this twisted secret stuff he’s hiding to be forced out in the open, but then again it might be too much.
She stares at me. “You’ve done something to both of these men. I have no idea what’s between you and Mr. Ferro, but don’t you dare tell me that it’s nothing. You’ve been seen together outside of work—”