Couldn’t think about much else. “Getting started.”

“It’ll be hard for you, won’t it?” She made a sympathetic face.

My stomach curled in on itself. “Well, you know how it is. You want them to grow up, even if it means leaving you.” I sounded as fake as I felt.

“It’s agony,” she said. “Don’t kid yourself. Have a good night, sweetheart.”

I turned and headed back home.

We weren’t going to Connecticut. I wasn’t going to present Genevieve with her great-granddaughter so the old hag could feel better about herself. I wasn’t going to sell my soul for the chance of money for my child. Even if it would make her future easier. Even if part of me wanted to rub Riley’s wonderfulness in Genevieve’s face and say, “See what you missed out on? See this amazing person you abandoned? I did it without you or your help, you old bat.”

“We’re not going,” I reminded myself.

But the night air sat uneasily on my shoulders just the same.

* * *

*

Three days later, I was in my office, the tiny den downstairs, counseling Jim, who was telling me how his life would be complete if only he could find a woman tall enough to satisfy him. He had a fixation on women over six feet tall. “If only the Giantess of Nova Scotia was still alive,” he said.

I had been well educated on Anna Swan. The things they don’t tell you in grad school . . .

“You said in the last session that tall women were kinder, Jim. Do you really think height has anything to do with character?” He himself was five foot six.

“I do,” he said dreamily. “There’s this website . . .”

“How many hours did you spend there?” By his own admission, most of Jim’s free time was spent on porn and chat sites featuring tall women.

“Seven,” he said. “Seven today, that is.”

“And did you see any people this week?”

“Other than Natasha?”

“Natasha from the porn site?”

“Yes. So sweet. And tall! Six four.”

“Or so she said. Jim, all this time on the web hurts your chances of meeting people in real life. Natasha is paid to be sweet to you. She’s paid to tell you she’s tall.”

“Her feet hang off the bed.”

He had me there. “Okay, sure. But it’s interesting that you choose to interact with people you can’t really know. Maybe stipulating that a girlfriend has to be taller than six feet is a way for you to have an excuse for why you don’t have someone.” Jim had social anxiety. His love of tall women wasn’t a bad thing . . . but it did give him a perfect reason to avoid not-tall women.

“Anna Swan,” he said dreamily. “Even her name was beautiful.”

“When was the last time you went outside, Jim?”

“Oh, a week or so ago, I think.”

“Last time, we talked about taking care of yourself, showering, eating good foods, getting some fresh air.” His hair looked pretty greasy, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. “Our time is up, so here’s your homework. Take a shower, go to the grocery store and buy yourself some green veggies, okay? You could use a little sunshine and fresh air.”

He started to stand, and I caught a glimpse of flesh.

“Jim! Do you have pants on?” I barked, covering my eyes.

He sat right back down. “Sorry.”

“You can’t keep flashing me. It’s inappropriate.”

“I know. Sorry again.”

I gave him my therapist smile—kind, wise, not horrified that he’d been pantsless this whole time. “Listen. You’re a nice guy, Jim. You have a good heart. People will like you. Not just women on the Internet. Trust me on this.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Talk to you next week.” He smiled and started to stand again, and I clicked off before I could see his parts.

I should take more clients in person, I knew. It would pay more. But I still felt like an imposter, sitting in that swanky office, nodding wisely. Also, I wanted to be home when Riley got out of school. Once she went to college (gah! next year!), I could do more, earn more, but for now, it was important to be around. Especially when she was going through this dark phase.

I checked my e-mail. Jason.

Hey! How are you? How’s our beautiful girl? Was wondering if you’d be out to visit Hope this summer and if we could see each other. Would also love to have Riley visit the boys.

Also, just to let you know, Jamilah and I are separated right now. The boys are doing okay with it. Lots of love, J.

Time to call Beth, the one person from Stoningham other than Jason that I kept in touch with, the only one of our old group who’d even tried to stay in touch. Then again, we’d all been eighteen, all about to go to college and be fabulous, so I didn’t really blame them (much).

“You calling about Jason?” she said by way of answering the phone.

“I am indeed.”

“It’s true. He’s staying with his parents. Everyone seems to be on Jamilah’s side. Because . . . you know. She’s awesome. Sorry. I wish I didn’t worship her and want to be her, but I do.”

I sighed. “That’s fine. I can say that because I’m a therapist and don’t have petty emotions.”