On Sunday, Ali spent almost the entire day in her suite doing what she rarely allowed herself time for otherwise.
After sleeping in, she stayed in her pajamas to read a book she'd bought months earlier until her upset stomach would finally allow her to eat. Not wanting to discuss last night's events—or face anyone human for that matter—she took food back to her room before re-watching the last season of The Expanse on Netflix. And in a fit of what must have surely qualified as temporary insanity, she not only willingly called her mother but also didn't mind listening to Grace ramble on about which of her friends was getting divorced next.
Finally feeling relaxed and somewhat caught up with life, Ali was ready for company by the time the nightly bonfire was in full swing. Holding a steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, she sat around the burning logs shoulder to shoulder with other guests she hadn't yet taken the time to get to know. The experience was eye-opening. Although the faces were the same as those from the lakeside a day earlier, the atmosphere was completely different.
The glowing embers crackled, sending sparks into the starry sky as people talked, laughed, and sometimes even cried. Their stories—whether deep, personal revelations or lighthearted anecdotes too strange to have been true—were universal.
Soft-spoken Lin was a biotech company founder whose recent epiphany regarding the questionable ethics behind his company's research gave him hives every time he went into the office. The much more boisterous Crash, who earned his living as a mixed martial arts fighter, was now taking time off between seasons to resolve his bouts with anxiety-driven insomnia. Malika—who admittedly hid tear-streaked cheeks behind perfectly applied makeup—was a Dallas socialite who needed support for a few weeks each year around the anniversary of her late daughter's tragic murder, while life-of-the-party Lars was still trying to decide whether to fully transition to Lara.
All in all, love and loneliness, success and failure, indulgence and deprivation were common themes uniting the individuals huddled around the open fire pit and reflecting on their reasons for being at Pebble Creek.
Staying silent, Ali wasn't ready to participate so freely, but she showed her support with genuine smiles, sympathetic tears, or enthusiastic pats on the back to those who shared their stories. Emotionally drained in spite of not having done anything physical all day, all she could do was fall into bed by the time she returned to her room.
Sleep, however, eluded her. Perhaps she was over-rested, or her body was getting used to the now properly administered medication, but Ali's mind couldn't shut off. She tossed and turned for hours, picking apart every random thought that entered her consciousness. Whether it was the amount she'd tipped her driver or that she hadn't given her assistant a proper good-bye, the only common thread was the blame she placed on herself for not being good enough.
She seemed to have just drifted off when her alarm rang, signaling her scheduled early-morning yoga class. Not in the mood for a zoo-ful of animal poses, Ali skipped the session, vowing to go at the next available time. When she finally rolled out of bed, she took an awkward shower—she still wasn't comfortable with holding her cast out of the way and washing with one hand—before dutifully sitting at the desk.
This wouldn't do. She'd only been here for a few days and she was already falling out of line. If she was going to get through the next month, she needed to approach her stay in a more organized manner.
Pulling out the complimentary pad of paper and finding a pen, she used the in-room brochure and Liz's prearranged itinerary to plan her time at Pebble Creek. By the time she'd filled three sheets front and back with a detailed schedule ranging from massages and marshmallow roasting to sailing and wild mushroom collecting, Ali felt more like her old self than she had since the accident.
After lunch, which included a bizarre argument between Pete and Harriet about the merits of corsets while Wylda was inexplicably unwilling to look her in the eye, Ali headed to her first therapy session. The door to her designated psychiatrist's office, however, was locked. Instead, it held a note directing her to look for Jane Sacher, MD, PhD, in the stables.
The day was cool and overcast, but a small group had just left on a trail ride. Ali caught enough of a glimpse of the departing horses as they meandered up a narrow path into the mountains to see that Hank wasn't leading the outing. His truck also wasn't in the area, and she wasn't sure whether that made her relieved or disappointed. But judging by the fact that now that she'd thought of him she couldn't stop, it was probably the latter.
Taking a deep breath to help her focus on the reason she was at the stables, she headed inside and found a lone woman who must have been Dr. Sacher brushing down a gray mare.
"You've done your homework." Ali nodded toward the animal, which bore a striking resemblance to her Lippi.
"I wanted you to feel as comfortable as possible," said the lanky woman a she patted the horse's side.
The admission sent an odd chill down Ali's spine. "What else do you know about me? Apart from what horse I've been riding for the past three years. My favorite pizza toppings? Or the name of my high school English teacher, perhaps?" she asked, creeped out—rather than reassured—by the excessively personal touch.
"I can understand your resistance, Ms. Barros. It's quite a natural response to any traumatic incident. Rest assured, when you're ready I will be here to help you," said the therapist as she exited the stall and motioned for Ali to follow. "But for now, I'm going to rely on your expertise to help me saddle Kokomo. Can you do that for me?"
Walking to a wall containing neatly arranged rows of riding equipment, she removed a saddle blanket before handing it to Ali. For the next ten minutes, the two women worked in silence to prep the animal. When the Thoroughbred had been fitted with the standard riding gear and every buckle had been tightened, Dr. Sacher took the reins. "To answer your earlier question: no, I don't know what you like on your pizza, although since you're from New York, I'm guessing you prefer a thin crust. I would, however, like to talk to you about why you're here."
Ali crossed her arms. "I'm here because my job depends on it."
"You sound like you wouldn't have come willingly," Dr. Sacher said, offering the lead to Ali. "Does that mean you don't think you should be here?"
A day ago, she would have definitely said yes. "No. Not anymore," she said as she accepted the reins.
When the doctor stared in confusion, Ali clarified. "I mean, yes. I think being here was probably the right call."
Dr. Sacher gave her a surprised but approving smirk. "Really? What made you reconsider?"
"I'm not sure," she lied, stroking the animal's nose. Saturday night's drunken epiphany would definitely stay her secret.
"Fair enough." Dr. Sacher turned. "Walk with me."
Ali followed, stepping alongside while leading the horse out of the stables. When they reached the paddock, the therapist spoke again. "So, you had an accident. Is that correct?"
She kept her eyes focused straight ahead as they strolled the inside perimeter of the enclosure. "Yes."
"How did it happen?"
"Does it matter?" she asked, kicking up a cloud of dust from the ground. "The results are the same either way."
"Let me be the judge of that." Dr. Sacher's tone remained unnervingly even, mimicking the cadence of their steps. "How do you feel when things don't go the way you'd like them to?"
Ali shrugged. "The same as others, I suppose."
The therapist continued to prod. "Which is how, exactly?"
"Disappointed," she said, blurting out the first word that came to mind.
"Anything else?"
"It depends on the situation." Ali gripped the reins tighter in her increasingly sweaty hand, remembering that brief but significant moment in Aaron Lassiter's office just days earlier. "I guess I could add angry, as well."
"All right," said the therapist with a nod. "So would you agree that being here is necessary for you to return to work and consequently succeed?"
Ali swallowed before replying. "Yes."
"Then tell me what you think you'll need to achieve during your time here."
Without slowing her steps, she turned her head toward Dr. Sacher. "I just need a bit of time off so my wrist can heal and I can stop taking my meds."
The therapist stroked the horse's mane, glancing at Ali over the animal's nose. "What kind of effect do you think those pills have on you?" she asked.
Ali looked away again and sped up. "Apart from making me really sleepy, they dull my ability to think. But I'm managing better already. I just needed to find the right dosage," she said.
"So what you're saying is that what you need to overcome is purely physical?"
The doctor's intonation was dripping with skepticism, but Ali held her ground. "Absolutely."
Stepping in front of the horse, the therapist grabbed the bridle and steadied the animal. She hardened her expression and looked Ali in the eyes. "Get on," she commanded.
Ali cocked her head. "What?"
Dr. Sacher thumbed at the horse. "If your problems are only physiological and you truly don't have a need for my help, then prove it. Get in the saddle and take a lap around the pen."
"No." Ali stepped back, dropping the leather straps. "I have nothing to prove to you."
"You're already proving a lot, Ms. Barros," Dr. Sacher said as she patted the increasingly agitated horse's snout in reassurance.
"This is absurd." Ali shook her head. "I didn't come here for riding lessons."
"True. You came here to resolve the reasons you can't do your job the same way as you did before your accident," the woman observed. "Facing the cause will let us find the solution."
"I already told you. The solution is for my wrist to heal so I can stop taking the drugs, which keep me from thinking straight." Ali felt her pulse quicken and struggled to keep her voice even. "With all due respect, Dr. Sacher, that's the solution."
"I see." The therapist pursed her lips and looked down on her boots. After thinking for a second, she raised her head and took another approach. "Tell me about the events that led up to you breaking your wrist."
Ali pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. "No," she said as she looked up. "I'm going on a run." She turned on her heel and began to walk away.
"But I'm not done here," called the therapist after her.
She didn't break her stride. "Too bad, because I am." Ali bent at the waist to slip through the corral's horizontal beams. Breaking into a jog halfway past the stables, she rounded the building before nearly running into two people standing on the other side.
"Whoops! Sorry," she called out to Liz, squeezing between the startled lodge owner and a bearded cowboy who—with his worn hat and bushy beard—could have easily passed for an old-timey gold prospector.
"It's not a good idea to be heading into the mountains right about now, ma'am," called the man after her.
The warning made Ali turn, but she kept jogging in place. "Why's that?"
Liz nodded toward the sky while pulling a walkie-talkie out of her windbreaker's pocket. "Winston is right. We're expecting a storm. I'm actually considering calling back the group that recently rode out with Jules because the weather could turn anytime," she said, eyeing the gray clouds gathering in the distance.
"I won't go far," Ali said as she shook her head. "I'll be fine. Promise."
Turning away, she ran up the hill toward the tree line. "Just stay on the path, and get back as soon as there's even a hint of rain," she heard Liz call from behind.
Ali put up her hand in acknowledgment and kept running.