?Do you want to tell me why you?re here??

Light filled the elegantly appointed treatment room through unshielded windows. The sky was overcast, but bright. Lucy looked out at the damp back garden, birds beginning to emerge after the morning rain, the stone pavers just beginning to dry.

?I don?t really know where to start.?

?What made you make the appointment??

?Another doctor---my friend?s doctor---suggested I might--that I should see someone.?

?Why did the doctor think you needed to see a therapist??

Lucy watched the pencil move as the therapist took notes on a lined yellow pad of paper. ?My friend hasn?t been well.?

?And you?ve been having difficulty with that??

?Yes.?

?What sort of difficulty??

?It?s just--it?s hard. It feels hard.?

?What is it about your friend?s condition that is difficult for you??

Lucy looked out the window again. ?It--? she sighed, ?--it?s hard to see someone you love suffering.?

?Is it a physical condition??

?Mental.?

?I see. Do you feel responsible??

?For his--his situation??

?Yes.?

?No.?

?But it makes you sad to see him.?

?Yes.?

?How often do you see him??

?Every day.?

?Every day??

?Yes.?

?I see.? The pencil moved across the page. ?Can you tell me more about his condition??

Lucy watched. Yellow pencil. Yellow pad. Then she looked out the window.

?Ms. Mitford this might be more effective, more useful to you, if you opened up a bit more. Can you--?

?No, listen. I?m sorry.? Lucy rose. ?I?ll--I?ll pay you for the whole session. Thank you for your time.?

?Hey, Lucy, right??

?Yeah, hi.?

?Come on, have a seat.?

Lucy hesitated before stepping inside the small room. There was no desk. A couch, a couple armchairs. A bay window that looked out on Yarrow?s Green---one of New Haven?s small parks. The bookshelves were packed, double-stacked, but for the section dedicated to a sizeable record collection. ?I appreciate you seeing me.?

?Well, Artie and I go back some days.? Pushing up the sleeves of his sweater, Martin James moved to a dry bar set against the wall and began to fix himself a drink.

?Artie?? Lucy watched the older man with a raised brow before she settled at one end of the couch.

?Dr. Leister.?

?Oh, right, of course.? Her eyes drifted back to the record collection a moment before returning to him.

He sank into the armchair across from her, setting his glass down on a side table next to a pair of reading glasses.

?Yeah, I?ve um--I?ve had some trouble finding someone.? Lucy smiled faintly. ?And--and I haven?t quite found the right fit.?

?Fit is important.? He nodded, leaning back. ?And some therapists are pricks.?

Lucy sniffed a surprised laugh. He took a sip of his drink.

?Did Dr. Leister--did he tell you anything? About me?? She twisted her fingers together.

?He told me he thought you needed someone to talk to.?

?Okay.?

?Do you??

?I mean--? Her eyes drifted past him to the collection of records on his shelf. ?Probably.?

?Okay.? He followed her attention. ?You want to pick some music for us??

?Won?t that be--won?t it be a little distracting??

?Distracting from what?? He smirked, lifting a hand to scratch at his scruffy white beard. ?You think we?re going to be doing nano-engineering here??

She smiled faintly, watching him a moment. ?No. I guess not.?

?Okay then.?

She rose and moved towards the albums. ?Are these alphabetized??

?Somewhat.? He watched her, resting his glass of scotch on his knee. ?You?re from Earth then.?

?Yeah. New York.? Lucy slid an album out to look---Billie Holiday, Lady in Satin---before returning it. ?You??

Martin nodded. ?Been here a while.?

Lucy looked at him over her shoulder then back at the albums. She pulled one out and raised a brow in surprise. ?Dead Kennedys??

?Hey, hey.? He pointed at her around his glass. ?Don?t go judging a book by its sweater vest, okay??

She laughed and returned the album. ?Alright.?

?I was young once.?

?So was I.?

He snorted. ?You know how absurd it sounds when someone your age says something like that??

She pulled an album out and then turned it over in her hands. ?Is this--this is--do you know how hard this is to find here?? She carried the album to the record player. ?May I??

?You may.? He smiled.

?I haven?t heard this since I got here.? She lined up the needle with the cut she wanted and set it down. Nick Cave?s voice filled the small space, covering Helpless by Neil Young. Lucy smiled.

?You like Neil Young or Nick Cave??

Lucy smiled. ?Am I allowed to say both?? She drifted back towards the couch. ?I like music--almost--almost everything.? She scrunched her nose as she settled. ?You?re not going to read into this song choice are you??

?Helpless? Should I??

?I don?t know.? Lucy shrugged. ?You?re the professional.?

?Professional?? He smirked. ?I?m retired. A friend called me and asked if I would do him a favor. Far as I?m concerned, we?re just having a conversation here.?

?You think that will help me??

?What do you need help with??

?I--I don?t know.? Lucy frowned. ?I thought that?s why I was here.?

?Lucy.? Martin set his drink aside and leaned forward. ?I don?t know what you need help with yet. If anything.? He rubbed his hands together. ?If you?re looking for someone to psychoanalyze you, someone who will ask you a host of rhetorical questions and hope that you eventually arrive at some sort of mentally healthy place, then I?m afraid you?ve hit another wrong fit.?

?Then--then what?s the point??

?That?s up to you.?

?Is it??

?Yeah, I think it is.? He leaned back once more. ?All I can say is that I?ll be here. Every Tuesday and Thursday at three in the afternoon. If you want to talk, I?ll be here. If you want to cry, I?ll be here. If you want to just sit and listen to records. I?ll be here. This is your space to just be. Okay??

Lucy watched him a long moment. ?Okay.?

?Okay then.? He reached for his drink. ?You ever seen Neil Young play live??

?How did you lose the memento you had from your grandmother??

?Hrm?? Lucy set her handbag aside and looked across at Martin.

?Every time you get something from your purse, you mention that you used to have something of your grandmother?s there.?

?Oh.? Lucy smiled softly. ?It was a lighter with her monogram. And a matching cigarette case.?

?What happened to them??

?I don?t know--? she shrugged, ?I must have misplaced them.?

?Was it the only thing you had of hers??

?Um--? Lucy lifted a hand to tug at her left earring, ?--maybe.?

?That must make you sad.?

?I guess.? She turned her head to look out the window, watching the snowfall.

Martin sniffed in amusement. ?You do that a lot, you know.?

Lucy looked back at him. ?What??

?Dismiss your own pain.? He took a sip of his whiskey, then set the glass aside. ?You accuse other people of doing it to you but---Lucy, I have to tell you---you do it more than anyone else.?

?What do you mean??

?Your birthday, for example. You were disappointed, weren?t you??

?Yeah.?

?You had plans. To have a good summer, to embrace life, you said---we?ve talked about that, right??

?Yeah.?

?--to celebrate your thirtieth birthday with your friends, right??

?Yes.? She sighed and tipped her head back. ?But--but it wasn?t anyone?s fault that--that it didn?t turn out that way.?

?No, but we?re not talking about blame. We?re talking about sadness. Regret. Loss.?

She shook her head. ?No, it?s petty.? Brow furrowed, she looked across at him. ?What was I supposed to do? Just--just throw a big party or--or even a small one--some dinner or whatever--with--with everyone--everyone still reeling. With Fin being--? she sighed again.

Martin didn?t respond, just watched her across the space of his study.

?Then once the summer had gone by and--and I mean--I had a nice thing at the holidays. That was nice.?

?It was,? he agreed.

Lucy fiddled with the zipper on her handbag. ?I?d rather just--just focus on the gratitude now. That--that Shae is alive and--and recovering. That everyone survived. I mean--even Fin now--he?s getting better. I think he?s getting better so--so I don?t want to--to hold onto the summer I didn?t have when--when I should just be grateful.?

?Are you grateful? Or should you be grateful??

Lucy shot him a withering look.

He held up a hand in defense. ?I?m just asking about you. What about you? Are you getting better??

She didn?t answer.

?You still have nightmares??

Lucy nodded.

?You haven?t been able to work??

She nodded again.

?You still visit Fin every day??

?Yeah, so what??

?Lucy.?

?What??

?What happened to your grandmother?s lighter??

She dragged in a breath, turning to look out the window again. ?I lost it.?

?When??

?The day we--the day I helped Shae at the warehouse. The lighter and--and the cigarette case were in my handbag. I had to leave it behind when we ran. When we ran from--from--? She exhaled. ?They?re gone.?

?Did you tell anyone? What you lost??

?They?re just--they?re just things.?

?Why didn?t you tell anyone??

?It doesn?t--it doesn?t matter.? She lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek.

Martin watched her.

?I?m just grateful.? She dragged in a breath. ?Just really grateful.?

?Okay, Lucy. Okay.?