Her Sister's Keeper. Julia Penney

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СКАЧАТЬ again.” This was real life, and there were no second takes. Her life was a mess. She would never be able to forgive Ariel for her betrayal. She no longer liked her job, because as long as she worked for Victor, she was constantly reminded of her wedding day. She didn’t want to be in this place, this office. She disliked Dr. Mattson for making her relive this nightmare, disliked the muted beige tones of his office, designed, no doubt, to comfort, and she even resented Stephanie for getting her into this situation in the first place.

      Melanie drew a shuddering breath, straightened in her chair and gazed about her with dismay. She glanced at her watch. Exactly ten minutes had passed since she’d taken a seat in Dr. Mattson’s office, and she hadn’t uttered a single word. He was sitting there patiently, waiting for her to spill her guts and cure herself, but she just couldn’t bring herself to tell the story to a stranger. No way she could ever confess to a three-month whirlwind romance with a renowned womanizer that her friends had all quietly warned her against. No way could she ever talk about her sister’s treachery, the same sister she’d worked so hard to protect and support after their parents had died.

      She’d fulfilled her promise to Stephanie by coming here today, but she was done with it. She would pull herself together and keep her secrets buried in the past. If the past haunted her for the rest of her life, running from it was a price she deserved to pay. Fools deserved to suffer.

      Dr. Mattson said nothing when Melanie rose and started for the door. She paused for a moment, as out of breath as if she’d just run a mile in soft beach sand.

      “I’m sorry,” she apologized before leaving his office, fighting for control. “I guess I’m not ready for this, after all.”

      Kent knew he should say something to stop his client from going out that door. Instead, he sat rooted in his chair, unable to move or speak as she swept out of his office, closing the door firmly behind her. He’d been glad that Melanie Harris had remained silent, allowing him to think about this morning’s murder…but by doing so he had failed his client miserably.

      Kent leaned forward on his elbows and ran a hand through his hair with a weary sigh. This conflict of jobs was impossible. He’d just let a client leave without receiving any help from him whatsoever. He had to decide between his job with the police department and his growing affinity for a healthy bank account. A knock roused him, and his receptionist stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but Ms. Harris insists on paying before she leaves.”

      “Tell her that’s not our policy. Get the insurance information from her and…”

      Melanie herself appeared, edging around the receptionist. She had her checkbook in hand and a determined look in her eye. “I prefer to pay as I go, Dr. Mattson. What do I owe you for that session?”

      “I’m afraid your money’s no good here, Ms. Harris. If you couldn’t share this office for thirty minutes with me, then I obviously don’t deserve payment. Should you at any time change your mind, give me a call.” Kent pulled a business card out of the brass holder on his desk, rose to his feet and extended it toward her.

      “You should probably know that I’ve never believed in…therapists. Half the people I work with see one regularly,” she said with a flash of rebellion, but she took the card.

      “And you think they’re being weak for seeing a…shrink?”

      “Yes, as a matter of fact, as well as extremely self- centered,” she replied with a faint flush of embarrassment. “If I stayed for the allotted time, would you accept my payment?”

      “Not for your first visit. The rules are the rules. However, you’re more than welcome to stay. I’ll even fix you a cup of coffee or tea, and you don’t have to say a word. At least that way, if you do come back, you’ll be officially into your second visit and I can charge you an arm and a leg.”

      “I won’t come a second time, Dr. Mattson. I can guarantee you that.”

      Kent walked over to the side table. “Coffee, or tea?”

      She hesitated, and he knew he’d won when her chin dropped fractionally. “I’ll take green tea, please,” she said, and resumed her seat. While Kent fixed her tea and replenished his coffee, she sat gazing at the office walls. “Thank you,” she murmured as he handed her the mug. She rose from her seat and walked to the bookshelf, perusing the leather-bound volumes. She studied the framed photographs on the wall. His diplomas from grad school and the criminal justice academy. She stepped closer to read the assorted plaques, lifting her cup to sip her tea. Her eyebrows raised and she glanced at him.

      “You won a national police pistol-shooting contest?”

      “Three years in a row,” he said. “The fourth year my boss sent me to a symposium on forensic psychology in New York City, so I couldn’t enter.”

      “And did he win, with you out of the picture?”

      Kent grinned and nodded. “She won. My boss at the police department happens to be a woman, and a damned fine shot.”

      “Then, you’re a police officer?”

      “Only part-time, for now,” Kent said. “I divide my time between my office here and the LAPD.”

      “ Interesting,” Melanie said. “This is quite a trophy wall you have here, Doctor. I wouldn’t expect such hobbies from a…psychologist. But then again, this is Beverly Hills.”

      “You betcha. We shrinks gotta get our thrills in while we can.” Kent took a swallow of coffee, kicked back in his chair and glanced at his watch. Five more minutes until she bolted. Five more minutes to make her realize she needed him so he could pad his bank account a little more.

      “Your parents?”

      She’d returned to the photographs. “Yes. That picture was taken ten years ago. They’ve both passed away since.”

      “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to lose your parents. I lost both of mine when I was eighteen. Car accident.” She glanced back at the photograph. “That looks like an old Mexican ranch in the background.”

      “Chimeya. One of the oldest in California. Authentic, right down to the two-foot-thick adobe walls. I was raised there.”

      “That must have been nice,” she said, studying the photograph closely. “Horses, dogs, cattle and lots of wide open space. A good place for children to grow up… I suppose it’s been sold off and developed, like everything else worth preserving in this day and age.”

      Kent was surprised by the bitterness in her voice. “Actually, the ranch is still very much in the Mattson family. I live there.”

      Her eyebrows raised again. “Then the ranch must not be around here, that’s for sure. There’s no smog in that picture.”

      “Nope. Chimeya’s far enough away to escape the smog, in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas.”

      “And you commute?”

      “The ranch has a decent landing strip.”

      She gave him an appraising stare, then turned her attention back to the pictures. СКАЧАТЬ