“Guys, I have an idea. It’s kind of out there, so ... hear me out, before you form an opinion.”
Intrigued by her mysterious tone, everyone exchanged glances. Finally, Horace clasped his hands and leaned forward.
“All right, Ms. Emerson, let’s hear it.”
“I’m glad you kept your appointment, man,” Beck Gillam was saying as the session drew to a close.
“I told you I was serious,” Alex reiterated, deep chuckles following the statement.
“I wouldn’t mind an introduction to the lady who put this fire under you.”
Again, Alex chuckled. “Well, I realized it was somethin’ I needed to do for a long time.”
“But she was the catalyst?”
“She was.”
Beck nodded, his green eyes narrowing. “Is it definitely over?”
Alex’s expression hardened. “I don’t want to hurt her, B.”
“I understand that, but it may do you a world of good should you decide to confide in her.”
Alex groaned, standing from his chair. “And how would you suggest I do that? How do I tell her somethin’ like that?”
“That I can’t tell you. I do think you’ll know when the time is right and I think you’ll know just what to say,” Beck decided, as he also stood. “In light of that, I want to go on and give you your prescription.”
Alex followed his psychiatrist across the sparsely furnished, spacious, dim office. He didn’t bother masking the dread that darkened his face.
Beck handed Alex the prescription slip but did not release it. “I want you to be careful with these new meds, man,” he warned. “They’re powerful and you may not like the way they make you feel.”
“Can I get a few more details here, Doc?”
Beck focused on the gray carpeting, searching for the best explanation. “You’re a take-charge kind of guy, Xan. This medicine can make you kind of ...”
“Passive?”
“Good guess.”
“Damn,” Alex groaned, tugging the slip from Beck’s hand.
“Fill it, Xan,” Beck advised, waving a hand before Alex turned away. “Just think twice before you take them. You’ll feel a lot better if you try to beat this thing on your own.”
Alex nodded. “Thanks, man,” he whispered, shaking hands with Beck before leaving the office.
Alex’s thoughts were filled with his therapist’s cautions and advice. Still, he acknowledged for the first time he felt slightly hopeful and less doomed. For the first time he felt as though he had a chance of triumphing over the ghosts he’d lived with for so many years. Topaz came to mind then, and he muttered a foul curse at how terribly he’d handled things with her. He remembered her at the party—so open and willing to listen to him in spite of the way he had treated her.
“I can’t believe I let her leave that damned party with Simon Whitley,” he muttered seconds before his steps slowed to a halt. “Damn it,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing as he stormed off.
Topaz relaxed at home that evening. She was lying on her living room sofa-pad, pencil and calculator in hand. Her eyes widened as she scanned the numbers that appeared across the calculator’s display panel.
“This may not be such a crazy idea after all,” she admitted, looking toward the front door when the bell rang. “I could even rebuild the garage ... maybe,” she considered, on her way to answer the ring.
“Sorry for dropping by like this, Topaz.”
“Simon?” Topaz started, watching the man walk inside. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk.”
Topaz smiled. “Well, I’m glad you stopped in,” she said, eager to tell him what was going on, “I can’t wait for you to hear about my meeting with Horace and Stan and—”
“Speaking of which, where do things stand with the shop?”
“The shop?”
“Yeah, Topaz, the shop. Have you made plans about rebuilding yet or what?”
Topaz walked up to him, her hands clasped. “Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you—”
“Because I think you should consider doing it somewhere else—a completely different location,” he decided, his voice turning hoarse as it gained volume
“Simon?” Topaz whispered, tilting her head at the urgency to his words.
“Honey, I think you can agree that too much has gone down on that end of town.”
