Chapter 25I drive with the windows down. The heaviness in my lungs makes it difficult to breathe. The air is humid, which doesn’t help.
When I pull down Felton Street a mile from the hospital in a residential area, I parallel park into a spot next to an apartment complex and an inconspicuous business office on either side of me. I shut the car off, sit back and stare out onto a stretch of woods and circular driveway surrounded by a six-foot wrought-iron fence.
I take a few deep breaths before getting out and standing in the middle of the one-way street. I lock the car and amble to the front gate of the white clapboard office building.
As I approach the fence, my gut clenches. I look up at the white-painted sign hanging on the main door: Family psychologist and singles counselor: Sherry
