“I know. I’m not sure why I asked. Do you have a therapist? I mean, it must be hard to hear everybody’s problems all the time.”

There was humor in Dr. Kirkland’s eyes. Linda for the first time realized that, in the three years since she’d seen her therapist, gray had edged into Dr. Kirkland’s temples and the divots where her glasses rested on her nose were even deeper.

They had both gotten older. I’ve gotten older, she thought, I’m not fourteen anymore.

“Yes,” Dr. Kirkland said. “There’s someone I talk to about how my work affects me and other things in my life. Empathy is very important for me to keep alive but it’s useless if I can’t also maintain enough distance to notice things my clients might not.”

“I get that.” Linda straightened up in the chair. “So when are you going to tell me what you’ve been writing on the left side?”

After her eyes flicked to the clock only she was in a position to see, Dr. Kirkland said, “There’s time. I think it might spur some more discussion.”

“I’m listening. And I promise not to ask how anything made you feel.”

“Thanks so much,” Dr. Kirkland said dryly. “When we first started working together it took us a while to get little Linda to talk, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. She had a lot of feelings she didn’t have words for. She was really angry too.”

“One of the reasons you gave me when you left a few years ago was that you thought little Linda had nothing more to say. I think you were right. You made wonderful, thoughtful progress. Accepting the things that happened to little Linda and dealing with her hurt and anger has left you capable of dealing with the world in a more healthy way. Some compulsive behavior remains but overall you’re well on your way to healing your wounds.”

“I can hear the but coming.”

“You’re back here, talking to me. Little Linda isn’t the one sitting in the chair. Adult Linda has a few things bothering her, I think, but nothing I think she needs me to listen to.”

Linda tipped her head to one side. “Who else is there?”

“I think I’ve been talking to a teenager for a while. She’s angry and confrontational—not with me, but with her mother. Your body language has a touch of defiance. Lots of ‘yeah’ and ‘I mean like.’ I’ve never seen you chew your fingernails before.”

Linda swallowed and her headache got worse.

“You’re getting a headache, aren’t you?”

“Yes. It just got a lot worse.”

“I think teenage Linda is ready to talk to adult Linda. You’re ready to deal with whatever it was that put you over the edge the first time.”

Closing her eyes, Linda flashed on that disturbing, repeating loop of her mother offering her a plate of food. “I don’t think so. I’m not ready.”

“Don’t force it. Do you want to come back day after tomorrow and talk? I can put you at the end of the day.”