Hunter had the answer, though, as he faked briefly in one direction and then spun around to Yevgeny’s back, wrapping both arms around his waist.
The larger man looked confused for a moment. Hunter grunted and bent his knees before leaning back and picking Yevgeny up off the ground with a loud cry. The two came down to the mat with a thud, Hunter on top. The impact was so forceful I felt the floor shake.
“Holy shit!” one of the fighters gathered round the mat yelled.
Clint whistled. “That’s all I need to see. Son, you want a job, let me know.”
My heart leapt. I watched Hunter’s expression on the mat. He looked as happy as I had ever seen him. We spent another hour at the gym and Hunter gave a few more tips to some of the guys. I watched from the sidelines, enjoying my view of him working up a sweat.
Hunter was still in a great mood on the drive home. As I sat in the car looking out the window, I finally understood why he had held onto fighting as long as he had. He loved it, and he was very good at it. I was just glad that coaching could be a step toward him finding a productive use for that passion.
Chapter Seventeen
PROGRESS
The next day, I found myself in the waiting room outside of Dr. Schwartz’ office. It had been two weeks since our last session. So much had happened. I wondered what she would make of it.
Dr. Schwartz interrupted my thoughts when she came into the waiting area. She waved at me and I got up, following her through the heavy mahogany doors to her inner office. Even though I couldn’t quite place it, something felt different. The light coming through the window shades was brighter and the clock on her desk didn’t seem nearly as menacing as it had before.
We settled down, me on the tan couch and Dr. Schwartz beside her desk. She looked at me, her face neutral, waiting for me to begin.
I settled back into the couch and thought about how to start. The last time I had spoken to Dr. Schwartz, I had barely been able to get out of bed. My relationship with Hunter was in shambles and it seemed like we were both doomed to be lost forever. Now things were different.
“I don’t even know where to start . . .” I said, trailing off.
How could I even begin to tell Dr. Schwartz everything that had happened since the last time I was here? I felt like a completely different person. It was probably best to start with the most important change. “Hunter and I had a chance to talk.”
She raised an eyebrow and wrote on her pad. “What did you talk about?”
For the next few minutes, I gave her a rundown of Hunter showing up at my aunt’s place and how we agreed to work things out. I told her about Hunter’s MS, how he promised to stop hiding things from me and his test results.
When I was done, she finished up writing some notes on her pad and looked at me over her glasses. “So it appears you’re recovering well.”
That phrase. Again. I shuddered as I went back to the first letter I’d received from Marco when I was still at Arrowhart.
My therapist seemed to notice my reaction. “Is something wrong?”
“That phrase,” I said, shaking my head. “Marco used it in the letter he sent me at Arrowhart.”
“What phrase?”
“‘I hope you’re recovering well,’” I quoted. “For some reason that stuck with me. Like of course I’m not. How could I be? What does that even mean?”
Dr. Schwartz wrote furiously on her pad. “This phrase,” she started. “Does it occur to you in other places? Dreams, maybe?”
I considered this for a moment. “I guess I notice when people say it . . . but it hasn’t been showing up in any of my nightmares, no.”
Her eyebrows arched up. “Nightmares?”
“Dreams. I don’t know.”
“Does Marco appear in these dreams?”
I pursed my lips. “Sometimes.”
“And how does he appear?”
“I don’t know. Usually he just pops up out of nowhere.” I said, looking around the room instead of at her.
“What does he do?”
I shook my head slowly. “He attacks me. Tries to hurt me.”
“Are you afraid of him hurting you?”
“In the dream? Yeah, definitely. In real life? No. I know he’s in a maximum security prison. He’s not getting out of that.”
She clicked her pen a few times. “Do you have any theories about why Marco has shown up in your dreams? Did you ever write him a letter?”
“I did, actually. Write him, I mean. I don’t know why he would show up in my dreams so much lately. I guess it’s just been bothering me, wondering why he did it.”
“Did you ask him?”
“Yes.”
She noted this on her pad and then sat silent, listening for me to speak again. Eventually I continued on.
“I hope he answers. It feels like that’s the missing piece for me to recover. Finding out why.”
I fell silent and waited for her to be the one to talk next. As far as I was concerned, I’d said all I needed to.
It took a while, but eventually she relented. “How do you feel about the way you’ve handled the death of your parents since the last time we met?”
That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. “I don’t know, pretty good I guess. I think sending that letter to Marco was a good idea. Thank you for the suggestion.”
I’d expected her to smile at that, but she kept her face neutral. “You’re welcome. What are you expecting from that letter?”
“An answer, I hope.”
“And if you don’t get the answer you’re hoping for?”
I shrugged. “Back to the drawing board. I don’t know yet how I’m going to recover if I don’t know why it happened. Honestly I’m not sure I can. It’s just such a mystery.”
She nodded and wrote some more before putting her pen down. “What does recovery mean to you, Lorrie?”
“What do you mean?”
“Earlier we talked about how Marco used that word and how it’s stuck with you.”
“Right,” I said, squinting as I tried to understand what she was getting at.
“So what does that word mean to you? It might seem obvious but I just want to know what you think.”
It felt like she was trying to trick me. I fell back deeper into the couch and considered what she was asking. I’d been told since my mom died that I was supposed to be trying to recover. Now she was asking me what that meant?
“I don’t know,” I said carefully. “What do you think?”