I may not have much affection in my heart for Dr. Meddling, but I still shriek in horror as I watch him suddenly plummet off the edge of the fire escape toward certain death.

Luckily the doctor has good reflexes and is able to grab onto the railing’s metal bars at the last second thus avoiding a horrible end splattered on the curb below. Shrek ends up dangling from the bottom of this level of the fire escape like a worm on a hook. Not dead, but not too comfortable either.

“Are you okay?” I call.

“Do I look okay to you?”

It’s weirdly comforting that, even when facing a horrible death, he hasn’t lost the will to fight with me.

“Can you climb back up?” I ask hopefully.

“A hand would be nice. I’m a therapist, not a world champion in parkour!”

I push off the windowsill and stare at my pencil skirt. Well, I’m not climbing out wearing this. I pull down the rear zipper and shimmy out, then I remove my jacket, and kick off my shoes. Freed from my constrictive clothing, I climb easily through the window, grateful that my blouse is long enough to reach below my buttocks—barely.

I hurry to the other end of the fire escape, lean my torso out, and offer Shrink Shrek a hand. Lucas grabs it and, holding on to me, he’s able to climb up until our eyes are level again. Well, almost level, since Dr. Keller is a few inches taller than me.

Without another word, Shrek uses the handle of the moving fire stair above ours as a handgrip and climbs further until both his feet are on the railing. From this perching position, he turns around and carefully walks along the ledge toward my open window, regaling me a second peek of white boxer briefs underneath torn pants.

Another step, and he’s able to crawl inside my office through the open window.

A stingy gush of wind prompts me to rush back into Shrek’s office and get dressed. Before I leave, since I have no idea where Lucas keeps his keys, I use one of the blue-cloth psychology tomes covering the shelves of the sidewall to stop the door from locking behind me.

I step on the landing just as Lucas comes out of my office, keeping the door open for me. He doesn’t look happy.

I approach him with caution and say, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s never do this again.”

“Well, none of it would’ve happened if you hadn’t stuck your nose into my affairs.”

He gives me an incredulous, are-you-being-serious-right-now stare. So I backtrack a little. “I’m grateful you helped me with the keys. But I meant what I said: I want you to stay out of my daughter’s life.”