“Are you sure this is right? These are mansions.”
“Apparently this doc’s office is on his property.” Frank put his hand over Margaret’s as he turned into the long, tree-lined drive. “I know you’re nervous. I am too. But some guys from my unit saw him at Emeraldine and said he was the best.”
Past the hibernating trees, Margaret stared at the sweeping snow-covered lawn, slowly sloping down to the gray water of the sound. The drive circled past a grand Tudor mansion the likes of which Margaret had never seen, and then on to a carriage house.
Frank turned off the car and they sat for a moment, taking in this unexpected setting.
She wasn’t sure how any man who lived here could possibly make her feel better about herself. Rather, she felt even smaller and more insignificant in the face of such opulence.
“Take a breath, Mags. This is going to help. It will be good.” Frank touched her cheek gently and smiled at her as Margaret’s eyes welled with tears. At least she was able to cry in front of him now; she didn’t have to hide it anymore.
Trying to look better than she felt, she had dressed for the appointment in a fashionable full skirt and coordinating jacket. Now that she saw where they were, where he lived, she was relieved she had made the effort. She smoothed her skirt and reapplied lipstick. “What time are we due for the appointment?”
“You,” Frank corrected her, “are due at noon.”
“So, what do we do for the next ten minutes? Do we sit here and wait? How does he know we’ve arrived?”
“If you like, I can go and knock.”
“Well, didn’t he tell you what we’re supposed to do?”
“He didn’t, baby.” Frank smiled. “I’ll just go and check. Stay here where it’s a little warmer and try to relax.”
As Frank walked along the bluestone slabs toward the small building, his breath making a cloud of smoke in front of him, she saw him slip and catch himself. “Frank, watch out!” she cried, too vehemently, she knew. But if he fell, how would she help him? What would she do? She was wearing pumps—what if she slipped too?
She knew she needed to get control of her thoughts. Apparently, this “therapy” would help her understand herself so she could get better. Feel what she was supposed to feel instead of always being so overcome.
Frank returned down the path, giving her a thumbs-up. How was he always so calm, so even, so patient? She wanted desperately to feel that way. Instead of being a constantly agitated wreck.
“He’s ready.” Frank opened her car door and extended his hand to help her out. She looped her arm in his and they walked side by side until they reached the copper-roofed carriage house. Inside the open door, she saw what looked like a pleasant-enough sitting room with a modern, amoeba-shaped coffee table, a reclining chaise, a love seat, and a leather chair. At the sound of their footsteps, the man inside turned and walked to the door. He wasn’t tall. Compared with Frank, he was, in fact, quite small. But something about the way he carried himself gave him an air of authority. Like a school principal. She immediately wanted him to like her.
“You must be Margaret.” He smiled, extending his hand as he took her in with his gaze. His hands were soft and warm, and she immediately felt a bit more at ease. “I’m Dr. Apter. Why don’t you come sit down, and we can get started?” He waved her in with a rather grand gesture, almost a bow, and then turned to Frank. “We’ll be finished in fifty minutes.”
He shut the door and told Margaret to sit wherever she liked. She chose the end of the sofa, farthest from his leather chair. And then, just like that, her whole life began to change.
Chapter Thirty
Ruth made her way nervously up First Avenue toward the restaurant. In spite of the bitter cold, she decided to walk, both to calm her nerves and to ensure that she wasn’t early. Normally she took great pride in her tendency to be punctual, but today, she decidedly did not want to arrive first. They had chosen the bistro on Fiftieth both because it was rumored to have excellent food and because it was well out of the radius of the hospital—she wanted this meeting to be discreet.