Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Dr. Harris was handsome in a Mitt Romney kind of way, with a square jaw, furrowed brow, and skin the color of a boiled chicken breast. It was easy to imagine him as a pastor with six kids who all wore matching sweaters in the family Christmas card photo. But, as uncharitable and snarky as I could be in my personal assessment of him, he’d helped Neil, and would continue to help him. So, Dr. Harris was one of my favorite people on the planet, at the moment.
“Neil, good to see you.” Harris put out his hand, and as Neil shook it, the therapist turned to me. “And this must be your wife.”
“Yes, this is Sophie,” Neil introduced us. “Sophie, this is Dr. Harris.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” I told him then frowned at my own words. “That was probably your line.”
“No, doctor-patient confidentiality prohibits that kind of remark,” he said with such seriousness that I almost apologized for offending him. Then, he smiled. “I’m joking. Trying to lighten the mood.”
Neil’s gaze darted nervously toward the door across the waiting room. “Is he…”
“Yes. Mr. Stern has arrived. Take all the time you need. If you decide you don’t want to do this, you know I support that decision.” The way he said it seemed to imply that he would rather Neil change his mind; I had a feeling he wasn’t as convinced of the efficacy of this meeting as Neil was.
Dr. Harris went on, “Remember, if you are uncomfortable at any time, you can ask him to leave or ask for my intervention. I want this to go as well for you as it can, but I have to warn you again that these scenarios aren’t always as cathartic as patients expect. Are you absolutely certain this is something you’re comfortable doing?”
“I am.” He nodded toward the door. “I’m ready.”
Despite his cool, decisive exterior, Neil’s hand trembled when he took mine. Dr. Harris led us to the door and opened it. The room beyond was decorated similarly to the waiting room, down to the structured leather chair and black leather sofa. And sitting in the chair was the man responsible for all the anguish Neil was reeling from.
In person, Stephen looked even more like his sister. Beyond their matching hazel eyes and auburn hair, his expressions, his body language mimicked Valerie’s to a T. It was eerie. I’d never thought to ask if they were twins, but it seemed like a possibility. Was that why Neil had loved them both? Because they were so similar?
Maybe I’d been expecting Stephen to look like the monster I knew he was, but he was just a guy. He wore a gray jacket over a white shirt with blue pinstripes and dark indigo jeans. The smattering of brown freckles over his tanned nose gave him a boyish look. So did, I assumed, a healthy amount of Botox or surgical tune-ups; for a man in his fifties, there was nary a line on his face.
“Neil,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has.” He didn’t take Stephen’s hand, forcing him to withdraw it awkwardly.
Stephen turned to me. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I said nothing. There wouldn’t be anything constructive to say.
“This is my wife, Sophie,” Neil said coolly. He sat on the couch, and I sat beside him.
Dr. Harris had positioned his desk chair at one end of the oval table, putting himself between Neil and Stephen. “Mr. Stern, Neil has asked you to meet him here today to discuss some…discrepancies in your book.”
“Valerie mentioned that you were angry over what I wrote about you,” Steven said, already apologetic. Too apologetic, I thought. “I tried to contact you, Neil. You never took my calls.”
Of course he didn’t take your calls. You’re a rapist.
“I was never made aware of any calls.” Neil’s voice was even and detached. “And you could have contacted me through Valerie.”
Stephen seemed like the kind of person who was surprised when his routine lies didn’t work. He was a reasonable facsimile of a human, but he seemed like a predatory lizard who’d just realized that his camouflage wasn’t as good as he thought it was.
“I don’t want to argue over whether or not you tried to contact me,” Neil went on. “The fact is that you lied.”
With a sympathetic look that I was sure he’d practiced in the car on the way over, Stephen leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Neil, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, over what happened to us that night.”
“Nothing happened to us,” Neil interrupted. “You did something to me. We weren’t both victims.”
“I have to respectfully disagree,” Stephen said gently, as though he were talking to some irrational, overemotional child. “When I realized what I’d put you through, even though it was an accident, I felt horrible. Imagine if our roles had been reversed. I’m sure you would have felt the same—”