Part 7 (1/2)

”I don't need this,” she said, then patted her stomach.

”Please.” He laughed. ”Carb load. You'll need it today, to pick up the pieces of Dave's-of the work we need to get done.” His heart ached as the spark in Alyssa's eyes dimmed.

”Right,” she said, and walked away, bagel in hand. The door closed behind her, leaving Blake alone in the office he and Dave had shared, alone with his thoughts, memories, and fears. He sat in the chair and stared at the desk. There were signs of Dave everywhere, from the picture of his family to the scribblings on the calendar and the sticky notes placed haphazardly on the wall.

Blake leaned forward and put his forehead to his hands. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Focus. What would Dave do? That was the problem. He'd known Dave for years, and yet he had no idea what he might do in this situation. Rusty's voice picked at his mind. ”My dad didn't give a f.u.c.k about me or anyone else besides himself.”

”Dave, what the h.e.l.l was going on?” he said to the empty room.

There was a feeling of submissiveness that went along with seeing a female therapist, and being submissive was not something Blake was comfortable with. He sat across from Danica, reminding himself that it was his choice to be there. It didn't help. He still felt like a high school kid in the princ.i.p.al's office. A beautiful princ.i.p.al's office.

”What would you like to talk about today, Blake? Do you feel ready to talk about Dave?”

Blake ran his eyes over Danica's crazy hair, down her s.h.i.+rt and slacks, trying to figure out what looked different.

”Are you done?” she asked, glaring at him, her eyebrows lifted.

”I'm sorry. I wasn't looking at you like that.” Blake wiped his face with his hand, wondering if he was looking at her like that.

”Like what?” she asked.

”You know, like guys look at women. You look different today, and I was trying to figure out what it was.”

Danica smiled. ”Okay, thanks for noticing.”

”Ha!” he said loudly. ”I knew something was different. But, honestly, I have no clue what it is.”

Danica shook her head. ”That's okay. We're not here to talk about my clothing. Dave, remember?”

Blake took a deep breath and crossed his arms. ”Dave. Right.” Where do I begin? ”I took Dave's son, Rusty-he's fifteen-to his basketball practice the other day. Well, I thought I was taking him to basketball practice, but he snuck out with his friends and I caught him.”

”That's not so strange for a teenager.” Danica wrote something on her notepad.

”No, but...where do I start?” Just tell her. Lay it all out on the line. ”Okay, here's the thing. Dave used to talk about going to his basketball practices each week and about how great their family life was, but according to Rusty, Dave never went to his practices.”

”Ah, I see. Dave lied to you. How does that make you feel?” Danica sat back and watched Blake, her gaze never wavering from his eyes.

Blake's nerves tightened in his chest. ”That's not really what's bothering me. Most people pretend to have much better lives than they really have, I think. Everyone embellishes something.” Blake fidgeted with his hands, then leaned forward, unnerved by Danica's silence. He looked up at her again and realized that it was her jacket that was different. The last time he'd seen her she was perfectly tailored, head to toe. Today she wore a flowing, cotton batik jacket with what looked like a cotton camisole underneath. On someone else it might make them look frumpy. Danica looked anything but frumpy.

Blake sat up and said, ”I think what's bothering me is that this guy was my best friend, but I really didn't know him. I mean, we had the business together-he did his thing and I did mine, and we skied together. But when it came to knowing what he'd do in certain situations, or what he had going on in his life on any deeper level, I have no clue. I mean, Rusty said his dad didn't give a fu-” Blake caught the word before he finished. ”Sorry. He said Dave didn't give a d.a.m.n about him or anyone else, and that's not at all the guy I knew. The Dave I knew adored his family.”

”Sometimes a teenager's perception is skewed by something they're experiencing in their lives. He may have seen his father's attention as prying, a pain in the rear.”

Blake thought about that. ”Yeah, I guess so, but he said Dave didn't go to the practices, either.”

”Well, teenagers are all about the here and now, so maybe Dave had missed the last few practices, or maybe he never went at all. Would that have changed things between you and Dave?”

”No, not between us, but it means he might have lied to me.”

”And how does that make you feel? How do you think you could have changed that? Could you have done anything so he wouldn't have lied to you?”

”I don't know. I could have asked him questions, talked to him more.”

”Probably, but was that who you were in the relations.h.i.+p? You see, Blake, I think we all serve a role in every relations.h.i.+p. Sometimes we're the aggressor, sometimes the center of attention; sometimes we're there for show, like a trophy wife, if you will. Other times, though, we might be the person who builds others up, or the one who needs building up. We can't be everything in every relations.h.i.+p.” Danica set her notepad down on the desk. ”You know, sometimes friends.h.i.+ps are not the kind to share the more difficult aspects of our lives; but that more superficial friends.h.i.+p-or, just sharing the happier moments-doesn't mean it was any less valuable. I think sometimes it makes them more valuable. Maybe that's the type of friends.h.i.+p the two of you shared. Maybe he felt like he could be this other person with you, the one with no trouble brewing.”

”But I think most people are a little bit of all those things.” Blake leaned forward, paying close attention to what she said.

”Sometimes people can be, yes, but if all those aspects of their personality are not already present, they can't really fake it very well. So you have to ask yourself, who were you in your relations.h.i.+p with Dave?”

Blake sat back again and crossed his arms. I was the guy he egged on, the one he envied. I was the guy who made jokes and banged women. ”I don't think I was a very good friend.”

”That's a pretty harsh judgment. Were you the friend Dave needed? Was he the friend you needed?”

She was looking at him again in that way that tied his stomach into knots, like she expected an insightful answer that Blake didn't know how to give. ”How can I know that?” he asked.

”Well, did you feel as though your friends.h.i.+p was lacking something when Dave was alive, or are you just feeling that way now? Grief can manifest in many ways, and it can skew our memories.”

d.a.m.n, you're good. Was he skewing his memories of their relations.h.i.+p? ”I think we had a good relations.h.i.+p. We enjoyed our time together-I enjoyed our time together. I can't really know if Dave did.”

”No, you can't, and you can't change the type of friend you were to Dave, though I'd imagine you weren't a bad friend. Most people don't hang around with people they don't enjoy.” Danica lifted her pen to her lips. Oh, those lips. ”Blake, is there a chance that Dave's death is making you question what kind of a friend you are in general? I mean to others, not just Dave?”

He crossed his arms.

Danica set her pen on the desk and leaned back in her chair. ”You look like a bundle of hot wires ready to short out. What are you thinking right this second? What are you not saying?”

Anger squeezed his muscles tighter.

”I'm prying, and I realize that. But, Blake, I'm not sure this is about not knowing Dave as much as it might be about something bigger, like maybe not knowing yourself very well.”

Blake let out a breath and said, ”Okay, yeah. I don't have other friends. There, okay? That's it. I'm not a guy who people hang out with. I'm a guy women sleep with and who guys have a random beer with, or ski with, or look at like I'm some kind of magical creature because I can sleep with as many women as I want.” His cheeks felt like they were on fire. He was a caged lion in need of escape. He stood and paced next to the window, p.i.s.sed off that she could sit so calmly while his insides were fuming. ”Is that what you want to hear?” b.i.t.c.h.

”This isn't about me.” She sounded like a teacher, a princ.i.p.al, a parole officer.

”Right. Maybe I made a mistake coming here.” He ran his hand through his hair, then crossed his arms, staring out the window.

”That's completely up to you.”

”You sit there like you're high and mighty, like you don't ever do s.h.i.+t that makes you feel like a bad person.” He spun around and looked at Danica, sitting with her legs crossed, leaning against the back of the chair. She looked calm, cool, and collected, while his anger simmered to a boil.

”I'm sorry you feel that way. We all do things that make us feel inadequate, and it's totally normal to get mad when we realize things we'd rather not see in ourselves.”

”Oh, so now I'm inadequate?” he seethed.

”No.” She smiled, but her eyes betrayed her. They said something akin to, Of course you are.

Blake crossed his arms and stared at her, this time waiting for her to finish speaking. Putting her on the spot.