Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5), стр. 17
But even the nicotine couldn’t help.
I headed back into the kitchen, pulling a chair from the table over to the refrigerator. Then I stood on it so I could reach the cabinet above the fridge. Behind the blender and punch bowl I never used, I found what I was looking for: an old bottle of whiskey I’d kept hidden. I hardly ever drank, especially after all the years I’d worked in a bar, because I’d seen what excessive alcohol did to people, particularly after a lifetime of it.
But I also knew that tonight a good stiff drink might help me relax enough to get to sleep. If the sleepless nights continued, I’d have to consider going to my doctor to explain this newfound anxiety and ask if there was any medication that might help. For now, though, I would self-medicate. As the whiskey made me shudder from the taste before warming my chest and stomach, I poured another small cup and downed it. Then I let out a long sigh before stashing the bottle back in its hiding spot.
When I curled up in bed again, I fell asleep in record time and stayed asleep without dreaming. It was better that way.
Chapter Six
God, I hated waiting rooms. Practicing patience was not a forte, and it was something I never hesitated admitting. Sarah and I had arrived at the psychologist’s office by nine-thirty, and I had the paperwork filled out in ten minutes. When I asked my daughter if she wanted to read a book or magazine, she said no. I even offered her my phone but she wasn’t interested. Then I tried leafing through two of the magazines but couldn’t concentrate. The waiting part had been my own damn fault because we’d arrived so early.
Fortunately, the psychologist was prompt, ushering us into her private office in the back shortly before ten. After indicating a sofa for Sarah and me, she moved to a chair across from us, a small coffee table between. As she sat down, she said, “I’m Dr. Rebecca Hopkins, but you can call me Rebecca if you like. I’m glad you’re here.”
“We’re glad to be here.” I couldn’t really speak for my daughter, but she wasn’t talking. “I’m Randi and this is my daughter Sarah.”
“I reviewed your paperwork, so let’s take a little time to get to know each other. I’ll start. As you know, my practice focuses on children. If you’d like my credentials, references, or testimonials, I’d be happy to share them with you.”
“You were highly recommended by the pediatrician’s office, and I trust Sarah’s doctor.”
“Thank you. I’ve been practicing for about eighteen years, and I’d like to think my experience speaks for itself, but you never know. I’d also like to emphasize that I continue to educate myself. There are always new things to learn, and I try to keep myself abreast of any new discoveries in my field.” Flashing a gentle smile, she picked up a legal pad and pen from the coffee table. “So, Randi, let’s start with you. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Anything you feel comfortable sharing.”
I didn’t feel comfortable sharing anything—but I needed to set a good example for my daughter. “Well, you already know I’m a mother. Sarah is my oldest child, and I also have a son, Devon. He’s seven and in the second grade. Umm…I’m the assistant manager at Play It Again.”
“That’s downtown, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been there once or twice.”
Talking was helping my nerves—a little bit. “And I’m in my second year at WCC.”
“Really? What are you studying?”
“A little bit of everything. I haven’t decided on a major yet.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re bettering yourself. Are you married?”
“No.”
“How involved is Sarah’s dad in her life?”
“As much as he can be. In fact, it’s his insurance that’s covering this visit. He lives out of state, so it’s hard for him, but he always sends presents for occasions when Sarah’s not visiting. He also calls at least twice a month to talk to her, and Sarah spends most of her summers with him.”
“That’s good. Is he Devon’s father as well?”
Ugh. “No. I divorced his father a few years ago.”
Dr. Hopkins made some notes on her pad—and that did not help with my discomfort. “Is he a father figure for Sarah?” She glanced at my daughter, making me wonder what the child was thinking right now.
“A little, I guess, but maybe we should ask her what she thinks of Mike.” I also looked at Sarah and found she’d assumed her usual slumped posture. “I don’t know. I divorced him because he was abusive. That’s not the kind of life I want for me or my kids.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re no longer in a destructive relationship.” She jotted more on the pad, and I tried not to be irritated about that. “Any other men in your life right now or in the past that you think might be significant enough to mention?”
Oh, God. What was this going to look like to her? “I have a…friend who visits on occasion.”
“Do the kids get along with him or her?”
“Him. And yes. They seem to.”
“How long have the two of you been friends?”
“A little over a year. We met when I started school.”
After Dr. Hopkins wrote more on the pad, she then focused on Sarah. I felt relieved, having been this close to telling the therapist we were there for my daughter, not me. “Sarah, you can call me either Dr. Hopkins or Rebecca, whichever you feel more comfortable with. I know you’re probably used to calling adults by titles of respect, so if you feel more comfortable doing that, it’s fine with me. But I happen to be one of those adults who doesn’t mind when younger people call me by my first name. And you and I are going to become good friends. Friends call