“Sure, but I can’t stay for long.” It was a Dan night and he’d promised to cook if she bought the ingredients for mushroom risotto.
“Yay!” Holly started stowing their gear into her backpack and Alice’s giant tote.
“Alice!”
She turned and saw Nick standing a yard away, holding his hand up in a stationary wave.
“Have you got a minute?”
It wasn’t the first time her brother-in-law had come and found her, wanting to talk. Usually it was on the one day a week she still worked for him—a job Libby thought she’d given up, but a twin had to eat—but this was the first time Nick had approached her outside of those hours.
The conversation always followed a familiar pattern—she listened to his regrets and then suggested he find an impartial professional to talk to. Although he nodded his agreement, he kept seeking her out and she doubted he’d spoken to anyone. Experienced marriage counselors were thin on the ground in the bay. Ones with expertise in dealing with the complication of a child whose mother was the wife’s best friend were non-existent. Even in Melbourne they weren’t exactly easy to find.
These conversations with Nick tore Alice in half. Her allegiance lay with Libby—most of it anyway—but she loved Nick and it was clear he was floundering. She worried about his mental health and that’s why she always gave him her time. The only person who understood her dilemma was her father. She’d discussed it with him and he’d told her not to tell Karen or Libby, but the advice was unnecessary. Alice’s gut instincts warned her it would be unwise, but she hated that the secret existed. If Libby and Nick’s situation had taught her anything, it was that when secrets came out, it was the betrayal of the hiding that wrought pain and suffering.
Knowing all of that didn’t help—saying no to Nick wasn’t an option in case he went and did something stupid.
“Give me five minutes, Nick. Okay?”
Nick nodded and walked back toward his office.
“Is he okay?” Harry asked, clearly concerned. “He’s got the look.”
“What look?”
“The quiet desperation of someone grieving.” Harry shrugged at her double-take. “I’m familiar with it. Saw it in the mirror every morning for a long time.”
His matter-of-fact tone made her ask, “What about now?”
“It comes and goes.” He cleared his throat and moved them both away from Holly. “So that bloke. Is he the one sending you photos?”
“God, no!” Intense embarrassment crashed through her and she felt the flush rise up her neck and keep going until it hit her hairline. Indignation followed. “And even if he was, it’s none of your business.”
“True. Sorry.” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “It’s just …”
“What?”
“It’s the way he looked at you. Like he was apologizing for something big, like a dick move—or picture.”
Alice smiled. “I’m learning in the war of modern dating, men don’t apologize for random photos of their junk.”
“Sounds tough out there.”
You have no idea. “Hmm.”
“So who is he?”
“My brother-in-law, Nick. He’s married to my twin and things between them aren’t great right now. He says it helps to talk.”
“Are you identical twins?”
“Similar but different,” she said automatically as she’d been saying for years. Her brain suddenly kicked in. “Are you saying you think he wants to talk to me because I look like Libby?”
“I have no idea. But he’s not happy.”
It was an odd comment for a man to make about a stranger to a woman he barely knew. “Are you a counselor?”
Harry’s face broke into a wide and unexpected smile and then he was belly laughing as if she’d cracked the biggest joke. “That’s classic. I wish Helene was here to hear you ask me that. She was a typical Californian, always banging on about me needing to get in touch with my feelings.”
“Sounds like you have.”
He shook his head and his face sobered. “Nah. I’ve just learned to recognize compatriots in the misery trenches.”
Holly appeared at their sides clutching the bags. “Can we go now?”
“Sure.” Harry looked at Alice. “We have to pick up Hunter from soccer practice, so we’ll be home in twenty. Also, we’ve got a greyhound. Please don’t terrify Brutus by ringing the doorbell.”
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely. Even that scarf you’re wearing could push him over the edge.”
Alice fingered the length of her bright blue, pink and green hand-dyed silk tied around her neck, trying to work out if Harry was being his usual serious self or uncharacteristically deadpanning her. She checked with Holly. “He’s kidding, right?”
“No. Brutus is scared of lots of things. He loves cuddles though.”
Alice couldn’t get a picture. “How do you cuddle a greyhound? Aren’t they too big and bony for that?”
Harry laughed. “It’s a skill. Best if you just come round the back.”
“The back of where exactly?”
“Seventeen Seaspray or as the locals say—”
“Two doors down from where Joe’s garage used to be.”
His eyes crinkled in another rare smile. “That’s the one.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was Libby’s half day and, somehow, she’d managed to get away on time, although she had a strong suspicion that Penny and Ramesh were still taking the lion’s share of the workload. She appreciated they were trying to protect her. Or perhaps they were protecting the patients.
For years, Libby had been well versed on the results of published research focused on the effects of grief and trauma on the body. How the brain releases a cocktail of chemicals that make clear thinking not only difficult, but skews normal thought processes. Someone had coined the phrase “magical thinking” to describe it. Libby had experienced it after losing Dom and now it was back, although in some ways this grief was far more catastrophic.
The loss of her son had been devastating, but her emotional house, with Nick at its center, was still standing. Now the house had been washed away in a flood of faithlessness and lies. Some days, it was almost too hard to get out of bed, let alone turn up to work and be the doctor her patients depended
