The Deer Effect by Susan Wingate

The Deer Effect - Chapter Twenty-six

TWENTY-SIX

“YOU SAID YOU'VE SEEN HER since she died.” Dr. Strick repeated, not as a question, but as a statement of clarification.

“Yes.”

Strick scribbled something down into his notes.

“I hate that.” Rod lifted his nose and looked at the notepad Strick was scribbling onto.

“Yes. I know. Everyone feels the same way.” He smiled at Rod. “Has to be done. Would you rather I tape the sessions?”

“Lord. No.”

“Not many people do.” He put down the notes and folded his hands onto his desk, a plain-looking maple laminate. Nothing fancy. Nothing overdone in this office. “Now. Let me explain. I must take notes so that I can review them and make some determinations about you. Some of the questions I will ask are the standards: What was your mother like? Your father? Who do you most identify with? What about siblings? These sorts of questions are so that I can get a handle on who you are, how you were raised and in what type of social environment it was.”

He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “Some of the questions will feel more organic, like we're talking, but believe me, they're all used to determine any issues you might have, that need to be resolved.” His arms came back down and settled into his lap. “Like, you seeing”— he extended the word—”your late wife.”

He smiled at Rod, who simply nodded.

“Great.” He rolled his chair under the desk and placed his hands back onto the clipboard but before picking it up again, he asked Rod, “. So, do you understand why I need to take notes?”

“Of course. I'm sorry. I'm fine. I'll be fine. With. The notes.” He offered his hand as if asking someone to sit down in front of him.

“Great.” The doctor chimed again. “We have forty-five more minutes. What say we dig in?”

“Sure. Let's do this.”

“Well. First. Let's talk about your problem at hand.”

“Yes. That would be nice.”

“You say you saw your wife?”

“Yes.”

“When.”

“Um. Two nights—wait, three nights ago.”

“Where?”

“I was in bed.”

“Were you sleeping or had you been awake for a while?”

“I was sleeping.”

“I see.” Dr. Strick jotted some notes.

Rod rubbed a hand across his hair.

When he finished writing, he looked up at Rod and smiled. “You okay?”

Rod nodded.

“Need some water?”

“Sure. That would be wonderful.”

Strick dragged open a heavy drawer in his desk. “Here ya go.” He tossed the bottle, making Rod reach forward and catch it in both hands.

“Thanks, doctor.”

“You can call me Tom.”

“Tom.” Rod unscrewed the plastic cap and slugged back five long gulps. He breathed out audibly.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded breathy.

“Okay. So, you saw her three nights ago.” He looked down at the notes. “And, tell me. Were you asleep?”

Rod frowned at the question he'd already thought he'd answered.

“I had just woken up.”

“Do you think you might've been dreaming?”

The question bit hard. He wasn't sure. He didn't want to be crazy. Rod looked down to his hands and wiped them on his pant legs, then folded them on his lap. He couldn't have prevented what happened next. It seemed like someone opening up the gates to a horse race.

His hands lifted, almost in slow motion, and covered his face but he couldn't stop crying.