I’m quiet, not quite sure how to respond to that.
“Thank you,” I say at last. “That means a lot.”
“So, what is it that you’d like me to know?”
She leans back in her chair, and I get the distinct feeling that she’s about to read me like one of her patients. Like she’s inherently wary of what I’m about to divulge and she intends to analyze whatever comes out of my mouth next.
“There’s no easy way to say this,” I start, trying to keep my leg from bouncing. “But I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. With Ben.”
“Okay,” she says. “And what am I getting myself into?”
“Did you know he was married before? Before me, I mean.”
“Allison,” she nods. “Yes, I’ve heard.”
I try not to show my surprise at the mention of her name. For some reason, I assumed Ben would have hidden that from her. Less baggage.
“And did you know she died?”
“Yes. I’ve seen my fair share of suicide in this line of work, unfortunately. It’s tragic.”
“Well, an overdose,” I clarify. “Accidental or … otherwise.”
Valerie looks at me, her eyes squinting as she tries to dissect what I’m saying. “You really think it was an accident?”
“Honestly?” I ask, steeling myself. “I’m not convinced she did it at all.”
She tilts her head to the side, like she’s trying to decide if I’m joking.
“She died right around the time Ben and I started to get involved,” I continue, talking faster. “Did Ben tell you she was pregnant? Did he tell you he never really wanted kids?”
Valerie blinks, expressionless, and I wait for a response, for something, but nothing ever comes.
“In hindsight, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence,” I go on, realizing she isn’t going to budge. “Especially now, with the disappearance of my son … and you, showing up right after … not that I am placing any blame on you, of course. But Ben had motivations for both Allison and Mason to be out of his life. We can’t just ignore that.”
I watch as she lets the information settle over her, absorbing every word.
“I just wanted you to know everything up front,” I finish. “So you can make the right decision for yourself.”
“Wow,” she finally mutters, shaking her head. “That’s … a lot to take in.”
“I know. I know it’s hard to process—”
“Do you understand what you’re saying?” she asks, cutting me off. “Isabelle, listen to what you’re saying. Listen to how it sounds.”
I feel a familiar twist in my stomach, that same stabbing pain that flared up every time Ben or my mother or Detective Dozier looked at me the way Valerie is looking at me right now: with suspicion, distrust. Fear.
“I know how it sounds,” I say. “But Valerie, he’s dangerous.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, this is dangerous, Isabelle. You spinning these insane theories is dangerous. You’re going to hurt someone again.”
I feel a catch in my throat, because I can’t deny that. She’s right. I have hurt someone before. I have already lost myself in the quest to find answers, abandoning reason and logic in an effort to find someone to blame.
But this time isn’t like that. This time, it feels right.
“I was just trying to hear you out, give you a chance, but you need professional help,” she continues. “Real, serious help, Isabelle. And I can’t do that for you. Given our personal ties, it wouldn’t be right. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
Valerie stands up, a silent cue that it’s time for me to leave.
“Ben warned me about this,” she says, almost like an afterthought. “You’re exactly like he said you were.”
“And how did he say I was?” I whisper, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Deeply troubled,” she says at last. “Practically unhinged.”
I squeeze my fingers, feeling the stinging cut in my palm, and finally allow myself to process what I’ve become over these last twelve months: not even human, really, but a nocturnal animal. A shell of a thing crawling through life with hazy eyes and a mind hinging on madness, like I’m one small stumble away from losing it completely. I’ve tried not to spend too much time worrying about how it must look from the outside, but now I let myself see it all through Ben’s eyes: that collage in my dining room and the way I sit there for hours, staring. Imagining. Thinking through scenarios and convincing myself they could be real.