“Are you still a little boy in the dream?”
“I think so.”
“If you’d been able to ask her to stay, do you think she would have?”
“Maybe.” This is the hopeful answer, but in reality, the chances of Molly staying, even for one more day, are closer to zero. Molly hated the farm.
“Say she did. Then what?”
“Maybe she would have chosen someone else to run off with.” Not someone with a rap sheet as long as my leg.
“But who’s to say this other option would have been better?”
I know what she’s getting at, and I want to forgive myself. I just haven’t quite gotten there yet.
“What would you say to Bear if he was in your shoes?”
I huff a soft laugh. “That life’s too short to carry guilt for something that’s not his fault.”
Dr. Keats gives me a soft smile. She doesn’t have to sayhow does it feel to extend that same kindness to yourself?because we’ve traveled this road before.
I gulp a sip of tea and smile back. “I’m working on it.”
We talk a little about the recovery community I’m supposed to be tapping into in Finn River. My procrastinating moves me into the yellow category in my relapse prevention plan, so I commit to attending the Sunday afternoon meeting at the Methodist church. The Methodists have the best coffee. I also agree to call my sponsor, Dane.
“Do you like your new boss?” Dr. Keats asks.
I cradle my tea, the mug warming my palms. “Yes. He’s super knowledgeable and experienced. He’s a kind of grumpy, though.”
Her eyes shine with curiosity. “At you?”
“When I talk too much, yeah. But I think it’s just his personality.”
“What’s that like?”
I shrug. “I want him to like me.”
“And you think that because he’s grumpy, he doesn’t?”
I laugh. “No. Well, I guess I don’t know. It’s uncomfortable though.”
“It’s totally normal to seek approval. Especially in this situation. He’s your mentor. And you have made it clear how badly you want to take over his district.”
Now that she spells it out like that, maybe Rowdy is grumpy about that part—retiring. Facing his mortality and all that.
“He’s not grumpy with his daughter.” It comes out in a rush, but that shouldn’t surprise me.
Dr. Keats’s expression turns thoughtful. “Who’s his daughter?”
“Linnea.”
She must pick up on the warmth in my tone, or maybe it’s on my face. “Tell me more.”
“I met her a few weeks ago but I didn’t know she was his daughter. At a bar. We…danced, and…had a good time.” I rub my suddenly damp palms down the tops of my thighs, the broken-in denim warm from my body despite the chilly room. “But she doesn’t want him to know about us.”
A frown creases Dr. Keats’ forehead. “Did she say that?”
“Pretty much.”