Angela Taylor, both because of her age and the serenity of her manner. Although, now that he examined her more closely, he could see she was younger than the nimbus of soft white curls indicated. “Why don’t we begin with you telling me why you’re seeking therapy at this time,” Angela said, sitting back, her hands resting quietly in her lap. A reasonable question. Just not one he was prepared to answer fully quite yet. How to say straight out, I’m here because I couldn’t save my wife, and now I can’t let her go. He shut off the thought and searched for a less direct approach. “My way of coping isn’t working. I decided to give my sister’s a try.” “And your way is?” “Keeping busy. Trying not to think.” “What made you decide it wasn’t working?” He remembered Charles talking about Kathy, and a sick, helpless feeling took over his gut. He’d blown it with Kathy and, suddenly and surprisingly, it was too late to do anything about it. He shifted, trying to blank out the memory of the happy shine in Charles’s eyes and focus on where he was, sitting in a room with a woman he barely knew to whom he’d given permission to ask him the most personal questions.
