Page 25 of Bitter Truth
“And supposedly he lost his temper with an intern, which is completely out of character for him.”
“Anything else?”
“He spoke with his father.”
Dr. Evangeline’s expression makes it clear that she doesn’t understand why that would be an issue. And telling her feels like a betrayal of Jake’s trust. But he’s betrayed my trust. Besides, it’s not like she can share anything I tell her with anyone else.
Just to be sure, I ask, “Everything we say stays in this room, just between us, right?”
“With the exception of you telling me something that made me believe you intend to harm yourself orsomeone else, yes, you’re correct.”
I make a mental note where to draw the line on what I confess to her, then say, “Jake’s dad is an alcoholic. A rather abusive one. After his mom abandoned them, it got… really bad. He still has scars from the beatings he took as a child.”
My gaze drifts out the window to where a blue jay hops across a patch of grass, looking for food.
“And he was never removed from his home? DCF never intervened?”
“No.”
She makes a sound of disapproval. I ignore it and forge ahead.
“I, um, spoke with his father, not long ago. While I was there, he asked me to tell Jake that he’d like the opportunity to apologize. He wanted the chance to try to repair their relationship.”
“And you told Jake that?”
“Yes.”
“How’d he take it?”
“Not well.”
“And your concern is…”
“If he has no interest in repairing his relationship with his father, why did he go talk to him? And then not tell me about it?”
“I do see how that could be frustrating.”
“But considering the context, everything else that’s been going on, don’t you think I should be worried?”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“No.”
“You probably should.”
“I know. It’s just… why didn’t he tell me? It’s not like I would have been upset. Certainly not like finding out secondhand. Every time I open my mouth to say something—about any of it—I think that if he wanted me to know, he’d have told me himself.”
“It’s likely that’s true.”
My mouth goes dry, my tongue like sandpaper as I ask, “So then youdon’tthink I should talk to him?”
“I didn’t say that, either.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. Keep my hands away from my hair so I don’t pull it out. Watch as she shifts in her seat, not meeting my gaze as she fidgets with the pen lying on the table beside her.
“Sometimes, the most important things we have to say are hardest to discuss with the people we love. It could be because we don’t want them to think we’re weak, or don’t want to disappoint them, or an endless variety of other reasons. But something of this magnitude?”
She leans forward and touches my hand. I’m shocked by the gesture, a lump of emotion forming in my throat.
