Adam’s lips felt dry and sticky. He picked up the glass of water Martin always lef
t for him on the table – next to a box of tissues in case of client tears – and swallowed a mouthful. ‘I’m reacting to something that’s not there.’ He put the glass down and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. Somewhere in the past ten minutes he’d allowed himself to engage in the therapy. It didn’t feel quite as bad as he’d expected.
‘It’s there,’ Martin told him. ‘But it’s not in the physical world. It’s in your mind, or in your memories. It’s like those guys who came back from Vietnam in the seventies: you’re fighting a war that’s long since over.’
‘You think this is just a reaction to what happened in LA?’
Martin shook his head emphatically. ‘No, that’s too simplistic. There are a lot more layers to it than that. We have to peel them back one by one, until you start to recognise them for what they are.’
Adam was interested now. Enough to lean forward, a frown playing at his lips. ‘And if I recognise them, what then? Does it magically make everything better? Will I fall at Everett’s knees and forgive him everything?’ His chest tightened at the thought.
‘Again, that’s too simplistic. The aim of our sessions has never been to make everything feel like a fairy tale. It’s been to help you recognise what’s happening to you, allow you to take control of your reactions. To stop something like LA from ever happening again.’ Martin crossed his legs, one knee over the other. ‘And soon we’ll need to talk about what happened in Colombia.’
Within a second, Adam sat up straight, flinching as though somebody had hit him.
‘Not right now,’ Martin said, putting his hand up. ‘But we have a few sessions left, and before we finish I’d like to explore what happened there.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’re coming toward the end of our time. I’d like to give you a little homework before our next one.’ He turned in his chair, pulling a small notebook from the table beside him. ‘I want you to keep a diary every time you react like you did today. I want you to write down what you’re feeling, where you are, and what you think triggered it. Then next time we can discuss what you’ve done.’
‘Sure.’ Adam took the blue book from Martin’s hands.
‘Are you going to do it?’
Adam couldn’t hide the smirk that played on his lips. ‘Probably not.’
Martin sighed, his frustration obvious. ‘You know, this would be so much easier if you just met me halfway.’
Adam could feel his muscles relax, his spine loosening at this return to more familiar territory. ‘But it wouldn’t be as much fun, either.’
‘Fun for who?’ Martin murmured, in a voice that didn’t invite a reply. ‘OK, Adam, you’re free to go. I’ll see you at our next session.’
Adam lifted his hand in a goodbye wave. In the strangest way, he was looking forward to that.
When Adam stepped out of the tall office building on Main Street, the snow was still falling, forming a fresh blanket of white on the ground. It was the first winter storm for the valley – though in Cutler’s Gap, where Adam lived in his cabin, they’d had snow for weeks.
He had a few jobs to do while he was here in the town – letters to mail out and some supplies to buy. Things he couldn’t buy in Cutler’s Gap, with their single convenience store and run-down old bar. Though he liked the isolation, the lack of amenities could sometimes be a pain in the ass.
All the shops were decorated for the season, their white wooden windows framed with twinkling lights, to highlight the displays inside. The street was decorated, too – the lamp-posts were spiralled with red tinsel from the ground to the top, with lights strung between them. And in the centre square, next to the bandstand, was a huge Christmas tree, standing proudly with a large star affixed to the top.
It was all ready for the Christmas parade, due to take place the following week. It drew visitors from throughout the state, and sometimes beyond, people desperate to enjoy the old-fashioned Christmas they rarely saw anywhere except on their television screens. Adam could remember the parade from his younger years – the intense excitement they’d felt as the band started to play, the way the firemen would throw candy out of the truck, while all the kids gathered around with their hands cupped out. It was a relic from a more innocent time.
Ironic, really, that he’d tried to escape LA and the nostalgia for small-town Christmases, and somehow he was back in the real thing.
It was nearly five by the time he’d finished his errands and bought a coffee to go from the Blue Bear café. The sky was already darkening behind the layer of snow clouds, the sun having given up her fight against the encroaching grey. Adam balanced his Styrofoam cup on the roof of his dark red Chevy truck, and slid his keys into the lock, releasing the door. He threw his bags on the passenger seat and then slid inside, gingerly starting the engine up.
He’d had this truck for years. It had spent most of the last decade in his parents’ garage, surrounded by sleeker, shinier models. But there was something about its familiarity, its solidness, which stopped him from upgrading. Plus it was reliable on the old mountain roads, like a Sherman tank on the slippery ice. That counted for something when a short drive could mean taking your life in your hands.
Of course, short was a relative term. In this case it meant little over an hour for him to ascend the mountains and drive back to Cutler’s Gap. Everything was spread out in West Virginia – it wasn’t unheard of for somebody to drive two or three hours for a fresh loaf of bread.
He pressed his foot on the gas, revving the engine up, then slid the gear into drive. It was time to go home. And as he pulled out of his parking space and into the main road, Adam realised that’s exactly what his cabin in the woods had come to mean to him.
3
This cold night will turn us all
to fools and madmen
– King Lear
Kitty leaned forward, her nose only inches away from the windscreen as she switched the wipers on to top speed. This had seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago, as she stepped onto the aeroplane at LAX, and was directed by an over-fawning flight attendant to the first-class cabin.