“I don’t know,” I say, getting up.

“I’m open this time next week.”

“Let me check my schedule and I’ll call you, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, and stands up and comes from around her desk. Damn. She must be about six feet tall. No wonder she ain’t got no husband. I shake her hand and tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her next week, but as soon as I get outside, I take that little business card she gave me and throw it in the first trash can I come to.

Well, this is a switch. First of all, Dr. Cecily Greene’s office ain’t even in no office building. It’s in a brownstone. When I walk in, there’s a little rock fountain in the hallway with water trickling through it. It’s pretty. I smell incense burning. Whatever kind it is, I like it. And is that jazz I hear playing in the background? Before I get a chance to sit down, a handsome woman in her early forties with a short curly afro and great makeup application opens the door and smiles at me.

“Hello, Charlotte. I’m Dr. Greene, but please feel free to call me Cecily.”

“Okay,” I say. She smells good, too. What is that she’s wearing? If I get a little closer, maybe it’ll hit me. When she turns around, I’m almost staring her in the face. I feel like a damn fool. “What’s that perfume you wearing?”

“It’s a combination of essential oils.”

“What kinda oils?”

“Jasmine, ylang-ylang, and geranium.”

“Never heard of ’em.”

“I’ve got an extra little bottle I keep here in my office you can have.”

“No, I wouldn’t want you to do that.”

“I mix them myself. It’s no problem.”

“Thanks.”

“So—sit anywhere you like,” she says, pointing to two big thick oversized velour chairs. Purple with orange piping. Nice. Across from them is a loveseat, and this is a deep-tangerine color with purple piping. I sit in one of the chairs. She got a few books and what looks like medical journals stacked on one side of her desk, which looks like a antique. I see a Essence magazine and Black Enterprise and a crossword puzzle and a coffee cup with a teabag hanging over it that’s sitting on one of them little cup-warmers. There’s a purple glass dish sitting on the corner of the desk and it’s full of hard candy and mints. I want one, but I ain’t gon’ take one.

“Can I get you something to drink? Water, juice?”

“Nope. I’m fine.”

She walks over and turns the music off and then comes and sits across from me. I don’t know why I ain’t nervous.

“So—Lela referred you to me.”

“Yep.”

“Good. She’s nice. A very smart sister. So, tell me, Charlotte, what can I do for you?”

She used the term “sister”? I can’t believe a doctor would say that, but I like it. “I don’t know, Cecily,” I say. “Where’s your questionnaire?”

“I don’t use one.”