What Happened That Night

I stared at the card. “How do you know her?”

“We used to date.”

I glared at him, and he cracked up. “I’m joking. She’s like eighty years old. I found her on the Psychology Today website years ago and made an appointment. I still see her every now and then.”

“So, you’re one of her patients?”

“That’s right.”

“Does that mean she knows everything already?”

“She knows what I’ve told her.”

“She knows about us? About me? What did you tell her?” I hated the tightness in my voice, but I suddenly felt extremely exposed.

Salvador took one last bite of his pie and pushed the plate away. “Ruthie, that’s how therapy works. Maria has taken a vow of confidentiality, and she’s trained to deal with all sorts of problems. But you don’t have to see her on my account. I won’t be offended. I won’t even know unless you tell me because that’s not something she could ever tell me. I just think it might help to talk to somebody about everything you’re going through. You’ve got a lot on your plate, you know?”

“I know.” I glanced again at the card but didn’t pick it up. “Okay. Thank you for the recommendation. I’ll think about it.”