***
Throughout the next week, I made a list of things I needed to do. It included talking to Harris and starting the process of buying out the Shikman’s for Matthew’s share in the properties we owned. I had decided to keep Harris as my lawyer. Matthew trusted him. That was enough for me.
I knew Matthew was really gone. I felt it. Now it was time to move on, so I thought long and hard about closure. My list also included going to our cottage, visiting Matthew’s grave to say a final good-bye, and making an appointment with David.
Now, sitting in the waiting room that had been decorated in browns and blacks the first time I came made me remember how despairing everything had felt that day. I was in the beginning stages of grief the first time I saw David. Denial had been replaced by anger that was fueled by sadness and hopelessness.
Now, the waiting room was re-decorated just like David said he was going to do—in very subtle yellows and greens. Funeral home owners and psychologists seemed to have the same train of thought. Comfort colors. We want our customers and patients to feel calm and at ease. Today, that was how I felt sitting in David’s waiting room: calm, comforted, and more than optimistic that I was on my way to being happy again even though Matthew would never be here to share in that happiness with me.
“Quinn. Come on in.” I looked up to see the tall, lean man standing in the doorway of his office. Everything about him—his posture, smile, and the tone of his voice—was enough to lift the most desperate of hearts. Today, though, my heart was already lightened.
I put down the Psychology Today magazine I was absentmindedly thumbing through while waiting. I smiled as I walked into his inner office.
Looking around, I recalled the first time I stepped into David’s dreary waiting room. I almost turned and bolted, but upon seeing the office with his choice of pastel artwork displaying people in everyday life and the soft and soothing colors of his décor, I chose to stay. Comfort decor. It was one of the best decisions I had made.
Today, I realized it was more David than his décor that convinced me to stay. Because of David, I found the strength and power I needed to get a lawyer of my own (who I recently let go and transferred all my legal issues to Harris Brentworth O’Brian) to keep the Shikmans off my back. His support and advice helped me to follow through with the business card Mr. Princeton handed me the day I heard voices on my answering machine. David helped me to start on a journey I never would have been able to take in my previous state of mind.
I sat on the same couch I did the first time and leaned back, feeling more relaxed and confident than I had in a long time.
“So, how are you Quinn? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
“I’m good. In fact, I’m great.”
David raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly. “That’s good. What’s changed?” I sensed disbelieving in the tone of his voice.
“I did what you told me to do. I got a lawyer. And I grieved.”
“Wow. I wish all my patients were that easy.”
“Isn’t that why people come to see you? What would be the purpose if they didn’t listen and follow through?”
“I always hope that’s the case, so I’m glad to see it was with you.” He leaned forward in his chair and crossed his hands on his knees. “So tell me, how are you feeling?”
I smiled. Typical therapist question—always about the feelings. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m no longer sad. I still am. But I’m not angry and I’m not lost. I have purpose once again and everything is finally falling into place. A good place.”
“Quinn, I’m so happy for you. You do look much better than the last time I saw you.”
“Well, I wanted to tell you in person that I no longer need your services and…” I almost choked on the tears of gratitude I was fighting to keep at bay. “Thank you for everything you did. You helped me, a lot.” I hoped David knew how much I really appreciated everything he did for me.
He studied me for what seemed like an eternity. I suppressed the urge to shift uncomfortably under his stare. “So.” he hesitated. “No more voices?”
There it was. The question I knew would come and I would have to answer. I was ready for it. “No more voices,” I replied as convincingly as I could.
No, no more voices—at least not the ones that would land me in the loony bin. That thought made me smile. Maybe some noises, slamming doors, things moving, and a leftover specter that took up residence in my apartment, but I wasn’t hearing anymore whispers…so far.
Andjela had told me that I might hear from other spirits because, as she continually reminded me, the connection between the spirit world and myself was strong. She promised me that if it did happen, she would be there to help. For me, that just meant that Andjela would stay around for a while.
My smile grew wider.