Chapter 42
The therapist's office was on the second floor of Crestwood's east wing, at the end of a corridor that nobody had particular reason to walk unless they were going there specifically. This was, Shae had always assumed, intentional — the private, slightly removed quality of a space designed to be arrived at without being observed arriving. She had been coming here once a month since she started, the condition her uncle had attached to her enrollment, and she had been meeting it with the compliance of someone who understood the exchange and had decided not to fight it. Dr. Anita Reeves was in her mid-forties — a compact woman with natural grey at her temples and the specific, patient quality of a person who had spent decades being professionally still. She had a way of sitting that communica
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