The clicking stopped. “Hey, girl,” Taryn said, a note of concern entering her voice. “What’s up? We missed you at Bitching Brunch yesterday.”
“I missed y’all too. I had that speech thing.”
“Ugh,” Taryn said with dread in her voice. “I’m glad the only talks I have to give are academic ones in front of a class or other researchers. I couldn’t do the inspirational thing. How’d it go?”
“Fine.” Rebecca leaned back in her chair and sighed at her automatic response. “No, that’s not true. It was a disaster. I didn’t do the speech. I had a panic attack or flashback or something onstage. I thought I saw Trevor in the audience.”
“Oh, honey.” The genuine empathy in Taryn’s voice was like a soft blanket around Rebecca’s frazzled nerves. No judgment. No Let’s call for the straitjacket and a handful of pills. Just understanding and an open ear. “That sucks. I’m sorry. Does that happen often?”
She didn’t know if Taryn was asking solely as a friend or as a psychologist, but it didn’t matter. Rebecca could use her input either way. “It’s a pretty new thing. I think the combination of the documentary and the mugging has stirred up some ghosts. But that’s why I was calling. I’m tired of it happening. You still see that therapist friend of yours?”
“Every couple of weeks,” she replied.
“Is she taking new patients?”
Taryn didn’t hesitate. “I’ll text you her number. Even if she isn’t, tell her you’re a friend of mine and she’ll get you in.”
“Thanks.” Something tight loosened in Rebecca’s chest. “That would be great. I hate feeling crazy.”
“No problem. And you’re not crazy. The effects of trauma are like a chronic illness. They can be managed, but there are going to be flare-ups. I’m a psychologist, and I still get blindsided by stuff sometimes. A few weeks ago, I saw some stupid inspirational quote about sisters on a T-shirt when I was shopping. Friends come and go, but sisters are forever. I ended up sobbing in the dressing room like I was at a funeral.”
Rebecca’s stomach dipped. Taryn had lost her younger sister in the Long Acre shooting. Nia had been on a date with an older boy. Taryn had watched her bleed out. “I’m sorry, Taryn.”
“It is what it is. We’re all going to get sucker-punched sometimes. But you’re doing the right thing. Seeing someone and talking it out can help.”
“I hope so.”
“And hey, since we didn’t get a chance to catch up yesterday, you want to grab dinner tonight? I’m helping a grad student monitor a study until six, but I’m free after that. Or we can do it another day this week.”
Rebecca smiled, the knot of tension between her shoulder blades easing a bit. Sometimes she forgot how nice it was to have her friends back in her life. Women she could call and who would be there without hesitation. “I can’t tonight, but later in the week sounds great. Tonight, I have a plans with a dog…and a man.”
“A man?” Taryn said, a playful tone returning to her voice. “Like a real live human with a penis?”
Rebecca grinned. “Yes, there is definitely a penis.”
Taryn gasped. “Wait. You said that with full authority. You’ve already verified the presence of this penis, haven’t you?”
“I said no such thing. We’re only friends.”
“Liar. Rebecca Beatrice Lindt, you’re going to owe me all the details when we have dinner. Is it the hot C student? Please tell me it is. Kincaid told us she met him, and he was like whoa sexy.”
Rebecca laughed. “I have no idea what kind of grades he got, but he is a whoa sexy chef, so there’s that.”
“Hell yeah,” Taryn announced. “Damn, I’m jealous. Hot and will cook for you?”
“Yes. And my middle name is not Beatrice.”
She sniffed. “Of course it’s not. I give random old-lady middle names to people when I want to get their attention. It drives my students crazy.”
“Okay, Taryn Mildred Landry. We’re on for dinner later in the week.”
She laughed. “Deal. And you should send me a photo of this sexy chef so I can drool appropriately. Not his penis, of course. That’s for you. Upper half will do.”
“Mildred, you trollop,” Rebecca teased, putting the proper amount of affront in her voice.
“Hey, Mildred is stuck at a college with overgrown boys who are all too young for her and professors who could apply for Social Security. She needs to live vicariously.”
“You send the number of your shrink. I’ll send you a pic of my friend.”