I move to the stove, pushing the thoughts aside. There is absolutely no reason to go there. No reason to let my brain wander down paranoid paths.
Shoveling one omelet onto a plate, I sit down at the table. With a deep breath, I pick up my fork and begin to eat alone.
Chapter 11
CONFESSIONAL 722.5
Judson, Marilyn, PsyD (Psychologist: Juniper Ridge)
That moment when someone stops hiding. When they let down their guard and show their truest self to another person. It’s the most amazing thing to witness as a therapist, and I never get tired of it. Seeing someone open up and reveal all their secrets is such a gift, I—
Well. Yes. There are some secrets that need to be kept. Some you can’t talk about. Not ever.
“I’m so sorry, Gabrielle.” I clutch the sheet to my chest and pray no one sees me out here on my dark back deck wearing bed linens. “I’ve tried for weeks to reach you.”
“It’s Elle now, Dr. Judson.” My former patient sniffs on the other end of the line. “Elle Julia. My manager suggested the change for my career.”
“Right, yes, of course.” I suspect this isn’t the only life change her manager encouraged, but I bite my tongue. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. “Elle suits you. Congratulations on making a go of it in Hollywood. It must feel wonderful to achieve your dreams.”
“Yes, well. ‘Hustlers and Housewives’ is just a starting point. We’re filming the final episode of the season this week.”
“You must be very proud.” I’m doing my best to make small talk, and also to use open-ended statements so she can correct me as needed.
Gabrielle—er, Elle—doesn’t waste time doing that. “I’m capable of so much more. It was you who told me that, actually.”
I close my eyes, hoping like hell that wasn’t the advice she used to justify walking away from her husband and child. “Look, Elle—there’s something I need to talk with you about.”
Her voice brightens almost imperceptibly. “That’s right, your TV show. My manager said you’re still casting actors.”
“Community members,” I say automatically, not loving where this is going. “That’s actually not why I was trying to reach you. I’ve been—”
“What are the odds my ex-husband would end up on a hit show before me?” The cheer in her voice wears thin, revealing a steelier edge. “That’s irony for you.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to defend Griff, but I need to tread carefully. “They’re doing well here. Griffin and Soph? They’re settling in, making friends and all that.”
Elle falls silent. For a moment I think the call has been dropped. Then, “Sophia is all right?”
The pain in her voice takes me back to those early therapy sessions. She never mentioned a daughter, but her anguish over staying in her marriage was unmistakable.
“I just can’t do this anymore,” she sobbed, mopping her eyes with a tissue. “Be the happy little housewife when there’s so much more I could be doing.”
That seems like a lifetime ago. Back when I pictured her husband as an overbearing control-freak instead of the kind, sweet, generous—
“Sophia is flourishing,” I tell her, since that’s who she asked about. “Her grades are good and she’s making friends. She’s been learning to crochet.”
I don’t say I’m the one teaching her. This is awkward enough without awakening Elle’s inner mama bear. Besides, I feel protective of Soph. Guarded with what I share. If the two of them connect at some point, that’s up to them. For now, I keep my focus on the present.
“Good.” Elle lets out a long breath on the other end of the line. “Look, I know I’m a bitch for not telling you about my kid. And I know I’m a bigger bitch for leaving like I did.”
“You know I don’t like judgment words.” That’s what I say out loud, but inside my brain shrieks “bitch” at maximum decibels. “But that is a good segue into what I wanted to ask you.”
“About Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge you mean?”
I grip the sheet tighter and fight to keep the strain from my voice. “No. It’s about Griffin.” I say his name too loudly, and glance back at the house in case he heard. He’s not in the window anymore, and I cross my fingers he won’t come looking for me. I hope I’d hear the door, but every moment I’m out here runs a bigger risk of someone catching this conversation. “Look, I’ll just say it. I’ve gotten close with your ex-husband.”
There’s another long silence. “What, like you’re treating him as a patient? Isn’t that unethical or something?”
I force myself to take a few calming breaths. “I’m not seeing Griffin as a patient.” God, how much do I reveal? Our families don’t know we’re dating, so I hardly want his ex-wife to hear it first. “Community members at Juniper Ridge interact closely by nature of our physical proximity and the boundaries of the social experiment we’ve established here. The research I’m conducting.”
There, that sounded good. Professional and no-nonsense and—
“You’re sleeping with him.” Elle’s voice is flat and calculating. “Oh my God. Griffin’s banging my shrink?”
I close my eyes and pray for a re-do on this conversation. Maybe I wouldn’t have answered the call at all.
But then I’d be no closer to getting Elle’s permission to share our history, which means I still couldn’t give myself to this relationship with Griff. I owe it to all of us to clear the air.
“We have a close and personal relationship,” I say, expertly dodging specifics. “So what I need from you is permission to share our history.”
“You have a history with my ex-husband?”
“What? No.” God help me with my pronouns. “HIPAA prevents me from telling anyone you’re a former patient of mine. That means I’m not able to come clean with Griffin about the fact that we—you and I, that is—have a connection.”
“I see.” She’s quiet for another long stretch. “And you need me to sign something so you can tell him everything you and I discussed?”
“Absolutely not. Your conversations with me, those are sacred. I’ll take those to the grave. But divulging the fact that you and I have a history together—”
“Send the paperwork to my manager.”
I blink. “What?”
“Unless you want me to talk to him now?” She laughs, but it’s a bitter, calculating sound. “Thought I heard his voice a minute ago.”
I consider what she’s offering. Maybe it could be that simple.
But the thought of springing it on Griffin like that is too much. His ex-wife shouldn’t be the one to drop another big bombshell in his life. It needs to come from me, and besides—I won’t feel safe until I see signed documents.
“I really need you to sign a consent form,” I say carefully. “It’s how we make sure everything’s legal and ethical.”
There’s a long pause. Then, “Sure. I’ll look it over.”