“Good. Now, let’s find this infamous journal.” I hook my arm around her neck and walk her back to the lobby where Mrs. Hill quickly grabs a magazine that she’s reading upside down. She was eavesdropping without a doubt. “Mrs. Hill, Rowan will be checking out.” I pull my wallet out of my pocket and slide my credit card across the counter. “I’ll pay for her room for the night.” I look at Rowan and hold up my hand before she can try and stop me. “Go grab your things and meet me back at the house. I think I know where to start looking first.”
Chapter Seven
Rowan
When I checked in at the B&B, I hated Nash Whitmore. When I checked out, I felt like we hit a breaking point. I shared something with him I haven’t shared with anyone. Not even my so-called friends. It’s likely because I dropped them all. They were never my friends to begin with. We were just a group of people enabling one another. While I was at the treatment facility, I learned a lot. One of the most important things I learned is how to distance myself from people who trigger irrational thoughts. Nash’s comments didn’t take me back to that place, but his actions made me want to escape. Escaping would take me back to where I started and I’m feeling positive about the progress I’ve made. I know I’m going to be fine. Maybe not today, but one day, as long as I stay on this path.
“Where are we exactly?” I ask from the passenger seat of his pickup truck.
“Dr. Harris’s office. She was the therapist Gemma has been seeing since she moved to Sunnyville.”
“And you think she has Gemma’s journal?”
Turning the ignition off and retrieving the key, he stuffs it into the pocket of his sweatpants. “I’m ninety percent sure she does. She has to. Who else would have it? Gemma didn’t have many friends here.”
“All right then. Doesn’t hurt to find out.” I glance at my phone in my hand. “It’s almost five o’clock. Think they’re still open?”
“She’s here.” He points at a black BMW in front of us. “That’s her car.”
The building sits in the center of a row with other medical offices. All cobblestone with crimson fire bushes lining the front. Dr. Harris’s name is engraved on a metal slab on front of the office. Nash pulls open the door and makes way for me as I walk inside. It’s quaint and smells of apricots and lemons. A glass window separates us from the receptionist on the other side. She slides the glass window open and Nash asks if Dr. Harris has a minute to talk. She holds up a finger, shuts the glass, and we both wait until she slides the glass back open again.
“She’ll be out in a moment. You can both have a seat.”
Before we can even sit down, the door opens and a beautiful young woman with sleek black hair and bright red lipstick walks out. I was expecting someone older, but Dr. Harris can’t be older than thirty.
As soon as her eyes land on Nash, they all but pop out of their sockets. “Nash.” She gasps. “I’m so happy to see you.” She comes to our side quickly and throws her arms around Nash, who reciprocates the gesture and hugs her back.
I’ve been seeing the wrong therapists in my lifetime. Seventy-year-old Gladys Knight never even stood up from her chair that was imprinted with the shape of her ass.
“You must be Rowan.” She beams. Throwing me completely off guard and out of my comfort zone, she pulls me in for a hug next.
Forcing a smile, I pat her on the back with both hands. “How’d you guess?”
Pulling away, she puts her hands gently on both of my shoulders. “The eyes. You have your sister’s eyes.” There is a sense of compassion and sadness in her tone. As if she lost someone very close to her, too. “Come on back to my office. We have a lot to talk about.”
It’s almost as if she was expecting us. Which is odd, because I didn’t even know that Gemma was seeing a therapist before coming to Sunnyville. I’m glad she was. I know firsthand how deeply Gemma battled her inner demons. When our parents passed away, Gemma took the loss so hard that I wasn’t sure she’d be able to get by. Over the years, she took care of us both, but she never smiled the same after that day.
The office offers a very homely feel. A black suede couch with a couple throw pillows and a blanket draped over the top. A couple of chairs line one wall, and a desk on the other side that overlooks a wide-open field. I bet she catches the most beautiful sunsets out that picture window.
“Thanks for taking the time to see us. I’m gonna cut right to the chase. We’re here because we have reason to believe Gemma left behind some sort of journal,” Nash says with puzzlement in his tone.
Dr. Harris waves her hands over to the couch. “Have a seat.” She then proceeds to her desk where she sits down and unlocks a drawer. “You’re much later than planned, but you are here, so I’m going to handle this the way I see fit.” She spins around to face us as Nash and I exchange a look.
What is this lady even talking about? Much later than planned?
As if Nash read my mind, he asks, “Late for what?”
Rubbing her red lips together, she pulls a piece of paper from a manila folder that sits on her lap. “Three months ago Gemma was in my office for her last appointment. She wasn’t doing the best, but there is no reason to dredge that up. She left and went home with a promise to call me if she needed to talk. Three days later there was a package delivered to my door. Gemma didn’t take her life on a whim, Nash. It was very carefully executed.”
Nash stands up and digs his hands into his pockets. “What was in the package? Her journal?”
“Amongst other things. She left me a note with instructions on how she wanted her last wishes carried out. It involves the both of you.” She glances side-eyed between Nash and me.
I speak up, “Okay. I’m confused. So Gemma left you a note to give me the journal?”
“You will get the journal, but there are some things I need first. The number one thing being time. The second is a death certificate, and the third is that Gemma has requested that you stay in Sunnyville until all legal matters have been resolved and I’m able to give it to you.”
“Wait a minute,” Nash scoffs. “How did you even know we would come here? What the hell is going on?”
Looking over at Nash, I sense the same confusion. How did she know we were coming? This is all too strange.
Dr. Harris directs her attention to me. “You got the note I sent, didn’t you?”
Chills cascade down my back. “You sent the note?”
“Mmmhmm.” She nods.
“I don’t get it. How? Why?”
“Like I said, Gemma had a plan and she asked me to help her execute it. I actually expected you all much sooner. We knew you would go to Nash for the journal. We also knew Nash would come to me.”
“Stop saying we,” Nash snaps. “Stop talking like she’s here. Like you’ve been in contact with her.” His fingers run through his hair as he spins around, hiding his face. Attempting to mask his pain.
“I’m sorry. I am deeply sorry for the loss you have both faced. Gemma was an amazing woman.”
Speaking for us both, I dig deeper, “Can I read the note that she left for you? I think both Nash and I would like to know what her plan is.”