THERAPY: SESSION 2
I’m sitting in Dr. Rice’s office on the same lovely expensive couch, but someone must’ve replaced the cushions with needles. I get the feeling she suspects something about Ethan and me. I’m the other woman.
What if she’s a wacko and comes at me with a knife or, even worse, a gun? I begin chewing my fingernails. I keep shaking my leg, waiting. I check the clock on the wall. It’s nine minutes after eight. I only have a window of time before I leave. Work starts at nine this morning.
Finally, I hear footfalls. The door opens and in steps the doctor. I’m half relieved, and the other half prefers to be anywhere but here.
She smiles smugly. “Hello, Ann.” There’s that smile that never quite makes it.
“It’s Anna. I go by Anna,” I correct her, forcing down the sarcasm. I don
