Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
And she’d achieved that, the inspector who tried so hard to be unaffected by the suffering of others and twisted herself in knots because she never could get there and believed she should. “Maybe both,” he finally answered.
“Does she know about your connection to the case?” Finch asked. “Does she know about Jett?”
“No. I haven’t told her a word about that.”
“Well tell me what she’s like,” Finch said. “This Lennon Gray.”
This Lennon Gray. Named for a peacemaker. Her name even sounded like something he could fall into.
He sighed, and he let himself talk about her even though he shouldn’t, because it just felt so damn good. “She’s smart,” he told Finch. “But she’s even more intuitive. She doesn’t like her job much, though. She doubts herself.” She’s beautiful. But he didn’t say that. It felt personal. If Finch ever met her—which was unlikely—he’d see that for himself. Ambrose liked her shape and her skin and her hair. He was drawn to her features and her expressions. But even so, all those things felt like the least of what she was. “She’s been hurt, but it didn’t make her jaded. And she comes from this great family.” He thought back to the evening he’d spent with the Grays, how it’d felt both surreal and like the truest thing he’d ever experienced. It knocked him for a loop. People lived that way, whole lives surrounded by love and laughter. He’d known it, of course, and he even considered himself to have that now. He had support, he had a large group of people who would give him the shirt off their back, and he’d do the same. But they were family by way of a circumstance that had brought them together later in life. None of them had had that as children or teens; none of them had been guided through the confusing time of early adulthood. Not even close. “Yeah,” he said. “They’re great and so is she.”
“Family,” Finch said. “You’ve got that, too, you know.”
“I know. Yeah, I do.” And he’d made it far beyond any self-pity he might have stepped toward in his younger years. He hadn’t had a support system when he was a kid, but he did now. And damn, but he appreciated it.
“So what’s the plan?”
“Inspector Gray’s out for at least a few more days,” he said. “I didn’t make an appearance at the station either,” he added. “But my informant there assures me everything’s cool. I’m playing it by ear.” What he was really doing was playing it by ear with another element thrown in that hadn’t been a factor when he’d arrived here. He’d hated saying goodbye to Lennon earlier and wondered if she’d picked up on the solemnity of his farewell, his fear that the goodbye was final. Was there a way he could arrange things so that he didn’t have to part ways permanently with Lennon Gray? Because it was the last thing he wanted to do.
Finch stood. “I better take off. I just couldn’t resist stopping by to see you, man. Keep me updated. And hey, we have a session in two weeks. Can you be there? At least at the end?”
“Yeah, I can be there.”
Ambrose walked Finch to the door, where he gave him one more hug. “Stay safe.” And with that, Finch was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The best way out is always through.
—Robert Frost
Seventeen Years Ago
Patient Number 0022
“There you go, take a step. You can do it. I won’t let you fall.”
Jett blinked. He was in a forest. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there. He didn’t know when or where or how or why. He took in a big breath. The air felt cooler, and several somethings met his nose. Pine. Dirt. Wet leaves.
Fear. He made a sound in his throat, pulling back.
“You’re fine. I’m here. I won’t let you fall,” she repeated. “This place is safe. Those smells are safe. I’m here to keep you safe. Do you feel my hand in yours?”
Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Just like the back and the forth, it soothed him and calmed his fear.
In the distance, he heard the thud, thud, thud. Very soft. A drumbeat. His breath came easier.
“Step forward,” she instructed. “Put your feet on the dirt.”
He took a step, the scratchy solid beneath his feet becoming softer ground. Earth. He looked down, bare toes coming into focus. They were his toes. He wiggled them in the dirt.
“That’s it. You are you, and your feet are anchored to the ground.” He felt her squeeze his hand. That was an anchor too. “Do you feel your feet touching the earth? What does that feel like?”
He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel bad, especially not with her hand gripping his, keeping him safe. He wiggled his toes again and took a step. He was movement and skin on ground. He was separate but also not. He was him. He wiggled his fingers and heard her mouth turn into a smile. He felt warm on his face and turned it toward the source. The sun. He felt sunshine and breeze and dirt beneath his feet. He was inside his body, but he was also outside, feeling the world around him. He could touch it and smell it and feel it on his skin.