The Collide. Kimberly McCreight

“She lived with her grandmother? Small with big glasses. She even talked about your red chair.”

      “I’m sorry, Wylie. But I’ve never had a patient named Teresa. And I would remember. That’s my mother’s name.”

      “So you never sent your patients to take my dad’s tests?” That’s what I’d been assuming.

      “My patients?” She looked shocked by the suggestion. “That would be unethical, at least potentially. Not to mention that using a sample of only people already in therapy for a psychological experiment would certainly affect your dad’s results.”

      It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how much I had made up. So many false connections, so many blanks filled in based on one wrong assumption. No, not assumption. Teresa had brought up Dr. Shepard. I wasn’t inventing that.

      “Oh,” I said, trying not to let my mind spin out into even more troubling explanations.

      “I’m sorry, Wylie,” Dr. Shepard went on. “I feel as though I’ve let you down.”

      “That’s okay,” I said. “I was pretty let down already.”

      WHEN THE DOORBELL rings a second time, Gideon and I both flinch. Rachel coming back so soon doesn’t feel like a good thing, not at all.

      “It could be Jasper,” Gideon offers hopefully.

      “I don’t think so,” I say as I head over to look out the window alongside the door.

      I blink once, hard. But unfortunately, when I open my eyes, it is still definitely Jasper’s mom standing there on our front porch. Still looking pissed. I take a breath, my hand on the knob. When I finally yank open the door, it’s like I’m pulling off a Band-Aid.