Mike slowly walks across the office floor, sets the drawing on the couch so that Cuther and I have no choice but to get up and view it from a standing position. What I see not only takes me aback, it makes me feel as if the floor were turning to mush. Dizziness sets in, and for a brief moment, I feel like I need to return to my chair, sit down.
Dr. Cuther takes notice and holds out his hand, which I take with mine. But as soon as I grab it, I let it go. The hand is cold and hard with calluses. His fingernails are yellowed and far too long. But then, they are the fingernails of an old man who seems to be growing older not by the day, but by the minute.
“Are you okay, Ms. Underhill?” he asks. “Would you like to sit back down? Would you like a glass of water maybe?”
I shake my head, sw
