I shiver. No coffee, Elise, don’t you get that? But I guess not. People aren’t going to automatically know my triggers, as Jay used to tell me.

“No, thank you.”

The kitchen is small for such a big place. There’s a little round table covered with a white cloth pushed against the wall. A plate of scones, toast, a coffee carafe, and mugs are set out in an orderly fashion. An open jar of jam sits in the middle, next to a knife and dribbled strawberries that look like blood against the tablecloth. Scott is standing at the sink, rinsing a dish.

“Molly. Good morning. You okay?”

He’s dressed in heavy work clothes. The delicate dish with its band of little blue flowers looks out of place in his rough hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I can run up this weekend and take care of that window.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I want him to leave so I can talk to Elise, and he seems to get the message.

“Just let me know. I’ve got to get to work.” He kisses Elise and heads out the back door.

“Sit, please,” Elise says, and resumes her spot at the table. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m okay.” My eyes sweep over their breakfast and the pleasantness of it all.

“So what brings you by so early?”

Now that I’m here, I’m unsure. Do I get into this with her? Maybe it’ll just open a can of worms that is best left closed. But if Jay told anyone, it would’ve been Elise.

“What do you know about me?”

She swallows her toast, sips her coffee. “What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath, glance at Sadie for support. “Did Jay ever talk to you about me and my past?” It comes out almost angry.

A nervous look drifts over Elise’s face. “Jay told me that you’d had a difficult childhood, traumatic.”

I don’t like this. Why did Jay say anything? I shake my head. “He had no business . . .”

“You were at our practice for treatment, Molly.”

“Well, yeah, okay. Did he say any more than that? Did he give you details?” Tears catch in my throat.

“No. Of course not.” She looks away, and I don’t believe her.

“He had no right to tell you about me.”

She squeezes my hand, then lets go. “He didn’t. He never gave me any specifics.”

I try to ratchet down my feelings, but I’m exhausted as well as angry. I work my right hand over the sleeve of my left arm.

Elise rises from the table and sets a cup of steaming water, tea bag submerged, in front of me. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”