My smile slides away as I pull off the curb, headed home. If I wanna be right for her, it’s time I let a ten-year-old secret free.
seventeen
goldie
But I deserve that fucking letter, damn it
This isthe first time there’s been another patient at Dr. Longo’s. I’ve been seeing him for four weeks, twice a week, and never before has another person been waiting.
I stare at him, trying to work out what’s wrong with him. He looks back at me, and I think he’s likely doing the same thing.
Holding out one arm, he taps the inside of his forearm, which is covered in a flannel. Oakcreek loves flannel, apparently, but he doesn't look bad in it. Hell, he kind of reminds me of Atticus, with greasy hair and black jeans weathered from work.
“Recovering from self-harm,” he says quietly before resting his arm on the armrest. “I saw your wheels turning.” He smiles softly, and I do, too.
“Guilty. I know it’s messed up, but you–”
“Look so normal,” he finishes, and I nod. “You too, though, right?”
I nod. “I guess so.” Then I realize I haven’t told him my thing. But what is my thing? It feels as if my things are varied and many, but wanting to answer him easily, I make it simple. And it’s then I realize… Itissimple.
“I’m recovering from emotional trauma.” Whether it’s Constance or Reynold, a sandwich or a bagel, emotional trauma is the best blanket definition. And not a single ounce of me wanes from my words, I don’t cringe, and I certainly don’t feel embarrassed.
He nods his head as if what I’ve just said is as basic as the weather.
“Maverick,” he says with a smile. “My name is Maverick Wilde.”
“Goldie,” I return his smile. “Goldie Berry.”
His forehead fills with strain. “Berry. I don’t remember that name. You’re not from here, are you?”
I snort. “Man, thisisa small town.”
He shrugs. “You look close to my age. With one middle school and one high school, it's safe to say even if we were a few years apart; I’d remember that name.”
I nod. “You’re right. I moved here about six months ago.”
“Ahh,” he says with a knowing nod. The door to the office swings open, and a beautiful blonde with shoulder-length hair and perfect skin pops her head in.
“Sorry, babe,” she smiles at Maverick, her cheeks pink. He nods my way, and she turns, surprise on her face. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know there was anyone else here. There never is.”
“That’s what I thought when I saw him,” I say of Maverick. “I’ve never seen anyone else here.”
She comes in the door, and when she does, I see she’s round, looking close to popping. Maverick rises and drapes his arm around her, looking down at her like she hangs the moon.
“Goldie, this is my wife, Anna,” he announces proudly, and I jump up to shake her hand.
“Hi, Anna,” I say.
“Hi, Goldie. Are you new to Oakcreek?”
I smile a little. “Yeah.
“Where are you living?” Anna asks.
I wrinkle my nose. “Well, for now, I have just a small space. It’s really tiny, but it works for me.”
“Yeah?” Anna asks, batting her thick lashes. “Where?”