Unfortunately, Helen had all but forgotten about her suspicions when Dahlia opened the passenger side door of Pat's SUV and said aloud, "Hm. Not the ugliest I've seen; are you single?"
Thankfully, before Helen could even begin to think of interjecting her own opinion, Pat shook his head and said, "I'm happily taken, actually." His eyes shot to Helen over Dahlia's shoulder then, and he smiled crookedly. "Good morning, Helena. How are you?"
Knowing they'd seen one another less than four hours ago made Helen's own smile widen. "Not bad, Patterson—you?"
"Oh, pretty good, pretty good." He shifted his attention back to Dahlia. "Sorry, but that's Helen's seat."
Dahlia made a dramatic show of climbing into the backseat, but Helen ignored her as she hopped into her usual spot. "Is that mine?" she gestured her chin at the to-go cup nestled in the middle console, and Pat nodded.
"Of course." Dropping his voice so their companions couldn't hear, he murmured, "Something sweet for my sweetheart."
Helen's nose wrinkled, but she plucked up the drink nonetheless. "Ugh. Cliché."
Pat laughed brightly, shaking his head with obvious amusement. "Ah, Helena, you make me smile."
Helen didn't even have time to blush with embarrassment before her boyfriend turned to face the pair in the backseat. "You are . . .?" he asked Dahlia, though not unkindly. His smile, however, was strictly polite, and Helen wondered briefly if that was how he acted with most of the people he picked up. They probably only used him once or twice, after all; Helen was one of the only folks she knew who had a specific driver she called upon constantly.
"Dahlia," the woman introduced herself coolly. "A pleasure."
"Sure," Pat replied blithely, before turning to Ivan, who was huddled in the corner of his seat as though the action would make him invisible. "Sup, kid?" Pat's voice was gruffer than normal, and Helen could barely contain a laugh.
Poor Ivan was blind to the joke. "I, uh, nothing, sir. Nothing at all. Ever. Nothing." His cheeks flushed and he sank down in his seat, his mortified eyes trained on Helen's headrest.
"Sounds suspicious," Pat started, only for Helen to interrupt with a scolding, "Patterson, please."
Holding a hand off the steering wheel, Pat smothered a grin and said, "Sorry, sorry. Where to?"
Dahlia jumped in, rattling off the address and everything else about their interviewee, and Helen held back a sigh as she got comfortable with her hot chocolate.
It's going to be a long day.
***
It was, as it turned out, a long day.
Between Dahlia's shiftiness—which Helen firmly believed was related to the constant texting the woman was doing—Ivan's jitters that came from Pat's gruff farewell of, "I'm watching you, boy," and a long, drawn-out interview, Helen was more than pleased when she checked the time on her desk clock and saw the numbers 4:00.
Standing and stretching her arms above her head, she passed a "Bye; have a good night," to Tonya and Ivan before waving towards Crosby and ducking into the elevator.
Pat had shot her a text earlier to warn her that he would be a bit later than normal, since he was taking a client across the city, but Helen didn't mind.
She had a call to make, anyway.
Pacing by the back wall of the lobby, she bit nervously at her thumbnail while the dialing tone sounded in her ear. The phone rang twice before Addy's voice came through: "Hey, Nell. You alright?"
No.
"Um, I'm not sure." Her breaths were kind of choppy, and she felt her stomach twisting itself into knots. "I scheduled an appointment this morning with Pat's therapist; last night was rough."
Addy blew out a sad breath. "Oh, Nell, I'm so sorry. Were you alone? You can call me, you know; just because I'm not there doesn't mean I'm not there—do you hear me?"
Helen let a smile touch her lips. "Thanks, Ad. It's okay, though. Pat stayed with me."
At once, Addy's countenance changed, until she sounded quite smug. "Oh, ho, ho! Really? Well, how interesting! Tell me, how did that go?"
"Fine," was all Helen confessed, even though the words Really, really well, flitted through her mind. "But, um, he's coming to take me to the therapist, and, uh," she swallowed down a sudden bout of tears. "Addy, I'm scared."
There was a beat of silence, and then Addy murmured gently, "Nell, it's alright to be scared."
She couldn't stop a snort from escaping, even though the noise was strangled with the tears building up in her throat. "You sound like Pat."
"Then I know he's a smart man. Look, Nell," Addy sucked in a breath, as if preparing for a long-winded speech, "it's terrifying, but I think you and I both know that this has to happen if you want to truly get better. Plus, Pat, Isaiah, and I will be here if you need anything; I know you'll get through it, but a little help doesn't hurt—remember that."
Helen stopped pacing suddenly, grinding one of her boot-clad feet into the wooden floor beneath her. "You're right," she choked after a moment. "You're right." But that didn't make it any less horrifying.
"I wish there was more I could do," Addy lamented, no doubt recognizing Helen's unsaid thoughts, "but therapy is the one thing that you need to do at least once to recognize that it's not as scary as it seems."
"Will it hurt?"
"Emotionally, yes," Addy said honestly, an apology in her tone. "But it's necessary. Is Pat going to wait with you?"
"Yes. He said he'd even come inside with me if I needed it." Helen's racing heart calmed slightly at the reminder.
"Good. Look, I'm sure he'll stay with you tonight, but, even so, call me if you need me, alright?
"Al . . ." Helen's eyes danced to the sheer glass wall of the lobby, her voice dying as she saw Pat's SUV pull to a slow stop in front of the curb. Gulping audibly, she finished, "Alright. I'll try and call you later."
Addy hesitated. "You good, Nell?"
"Yeah, I'm good." No, I'm not. But she hung up before Addy could call her on the lie.
Stepping up to the front door, she dropped her fingers against the handle, letting her digits curl over the smooth metal but not placing any pressure on it. "You can do this," she told herself under her breath, not wanting the few people settled in the nearby lounge area to think she was crazy. "You can do this."
Her gaze, which had dropped to her trembling hand clutched around the metal handle, rose once more, only to widen when she saw Pat standing on the opposite side of the glass with a small, sad smile on his face.
He dipped his chin once, as if to say, Open the door, sweetheart, and Helen did, her knuckles white against the metal. "Patterson," she croaked when the door was open several inches, "am I a coward?" her voice was so soft the she was almost surprised when he replied.
"Of course not, Helena; you're working through a horrible tragedy, but many of us are. Being scared of something new is normal and nothing to be ashamed of." She nodded, but didn't open the door further, and he leaned his head closer to the glass. "Sweetheart," the words were a light whisper, so quiet she almost didn't catch them, "it's just me; open the door, please."
Right. It's just Pat. Pat always knows how to help.
So she pulled open the door the rest of the way, accepting Pat's hug greedily and then letting him tug her to the car, where he held open her door and waited until she was buckled before closing it and climbing in on the driver's side.
The drive to the therapist's office was silent, and Pat didn't object when Helen reached across the console and let her fingers curl in the loose fabric of his jacket sleeve. The feel of the cloth beneath her tight grip gave her something to hold on to, but even that sensation wasn't enough to stop her eyes from watering when the car came to a stop in front of a brick office building.
I don't want to do this.
Helen turned and peered up at Pat through her tear-coated lashes, cursing herself when she felt her lower lip wobble and saw Pat's expression fill with pain.
"Sweetheart," he soothed, turning the car off before gently prying her fingers from his coat and grasping her hand in his. "This will be good; you know this needs to happen."
She did know that, but she couldn't get over the mounting fear in her mind and the horrible knotting of panic forming in her throat.
"They'll make me talk about it," she protested throatily, tugging at his hand like a child on the verge of a tantrum. "Please, Pat, I don't want to—I changed my mind. Please, please can we just go home? I want to go home. I want Ginger. I want to go home. I want—"
"Look at me, Helen," his voice was firm, and Helen's wild eyes swung to his calm ones. "I know it's scary, but you can do this. They won't push you into anything that's unhealthy for you, and I'll be waiting right outside when you're done. You know this needs to happen," he repeated, his fingers dancing over the pale skin of her knuckles, "and I know you can do it."
Addy had said much of the same thing, and Helen reminded herself of her best friend's words: "It's terrifying, Nell, but I think you and I both know that this has to happen if you want to truly get better. Plus, I'll be here if you anything; I know you'll get through it, but a little help doesn't hurt—remember that."
I can do it, she assured herself furiously. I can. I will. For me, for my health, and for Cece, who would never want me to struggle.
Nodding slowly, Helen brought up her free hand and wiped her eyes of tears before managing a weak smile. "Waiting for me outside? I always knew you were a stalker." A terribly pathetic joke, perhaps, but it made Pat's shoulders loosen, so she knew it was good enough.
"It's always good to have a hobby," he defended with a small grin, his eyes crinkled with relief. "Are you ready?"
Helen sucked in a steadying breath, rolled her shoulders twice, and then nodded firmly. "I'm ready."
And, with him by her side and the realization that she was surrounded by friends she could trust, she truly was.
***
A/N: Keep your hands to yourself, Dahlia. /(0.0)/
Thanks for reading!
A.R.