Chapter 3
Driving his red Jaguar down Lincoln Boulevard to Café Tango, Jeff began to relax. The first few dates of a relationship often included some awkwardness, but this had been extreme.
“I’m so embarrassed,” Laura Turner apologized. With a floral dress reaching mid-thighs, brown hair past her shoulders, and simple sandals, she was gorgeous. “Graisse usually isn’t like that. He’s really a well-mannered dog.”
“So, there’s something about me that gets him excited?”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” she quickly corrected. “He’s more mellow. Maybe just … I … I can’t explain.” The flush on her face wouldn’t subside.
“It’s okay.” Trying to lighten the tension, he suggested, “I’m used to dogs humping me.” He suddenly felt like he had said the wrong thing. What had he been thinking? How could he have said that? He ran the words through his head again, trying to figure out what had drove him to make such claims.
“Oh really?” Laura replied smiling. “I better not be a bitch tonight then.”
He was relieved she wasn’t as critical as himself. “You could never be a bitch.” Feeling uneasy again, like he had said the wrong thing once more, he pursed his lips closed. He was out of practice for dating, the last woman he went out with being his ex-wife. When she left him the week after their daughter died, he had lost interest in romance.
“Thank you,” Laura said shyly, looking down, “I think.”
Now he was afraid to open his mouth, lest something abhorrent escape. Focusing his eyes on the road ahead, he turned on the radio. Light jazz softened the air. This was his favorite music, aside from classical.
“So what’s it like being a psychotherapist? It sounds exciting.”
“It can be,” he said slowly, calculating his words.
His thoughts returned to the sweet girl, Ashley Arroyo. He wanted to help her heal. This meant he had to uncover her hurt, but she didn’t trust him yet. He vowed to gain this trust. He would not allow her to slip into a major depression and potential suicide. There was something about the girl which was terribly defenseless, yet strong and important. Realizing his attention left his date, he refocused his thoughts. “It can be troubling, too, sometimes.”
Laura pulled a bottled water out of her purse. “I’ve always wondered what goes on behind those closed doors. What’re some of the things you therapists do?”
He thought for a moment. “I guess I specialize in therapeutic metaphor.”
The traffic signal ahead turned yellow. He slowed the car.
She asked, “What’s that?”
“Using something you’re familiar with as a symbol for something else. Like, I use light and dark to represent good and bad.” He stopped at the red signal and looked at her.
“So tell me how you used it today.” She twisted the cap off the bottle and sipped. Afterwards, she licked the excess water from her lips.
Caught in the allure of her actions, Jeff had difficulty answering. “Umm … well … one boy had problems lying to his mom. So I turned off the lights and told him this is where she is when he lies—in the dark, unable to help.”
She nodded. “That makes sense.”
The signal turned green, and he accelerated the Jaguar. “It’s just a metaphor. But it seems to work.”
She sipped more water, looking out the window. “What if it’s true?”
“Huh?”
“What if the metaphor is true?”
“What do you mean?”
She sounded suddenly nervous. “What if there really is something bad in the dark?”
“You mean, for real?”
She didn’t answer.
He looked around them. The sky was gloomy, most the streets held shadows, and alleyways were blackened. He remembered Ashley’s comment about shadows. Did she and Laura share something that he needed to understand? Impossible. It had to be merely a coincidence. What could they share? They didn’t even know each other. His mind was overreacting. It had been a long day.
He jokingly replied, “We might be in trouble then.”
“I know a secret about the dark.”
He was confused. Was she being playfully seductive or did she really hold a secret? He glanced at her but couldn’t get a read. What secret could she possibly have about the dark though? He decided to play along. Smiling, he encouraged, “I love secrets.”
Laura barely returned the smile, now appearing more troubled than flirtatious. She screwed the cap back on the bottle and stuffed it back into her purse. “You might not like this one.”