Daniel thought of this moment as they discussed his wife. She had slept like a baby that night. And the next morning she rose early to make him breakfast and it had been the same ever since; the same until recently, when she rose in the middle of the night and slept in late.
“That’s not true at all. She’s been sleep walking every night for the last three nights,” Daniel blurted out. “The other day she woke up with a pain in her shoulder. And this morning she was out in the back yard.”
His nostrils flared with frustration. If Lucy would not hear him out, this Doctor woman would. It was the woman’s job, after all. Lucy remained calm. Quietly she crossed and uncrossed her legs. She kept silent on the matter. Although her shoulder did still hurt slightly she tried to keep her hand from going up to it to massage at the sore tendons.
“If I’m still happy, what does it matter to you?” Lucy asked.
“Why does it matter to me?” Daniel shouted, “Cause you’re my fucking wife!”
At this point Dr. McMorrow raised her hands up, palms out in a sign to halt the conversation before bringing her hands down slowly in front of her. before
“I think there’s a communication problem happening here,” she stated, her voice heavy with authority as she steepled her fingers in front of her mouth.
Lucy sniffed and tried to hold back her smirk wondering how much Daniel was paying the woman. Dr. McMorrow narrowed her eyes at Lucy.
“What do you do?” Dr. McMorrow directed at Lucy.
“I’m sorry?” Lucy asked.
“For work, I mean,” Dr. McMorrow said.
“I don’t,” Lucy replied.
“Well, then what do you do when Daniel goes to work?”
“I usually tidy up and I cook all the meals,” Lucy began.
“Except for the last few nights when you couldn’t be bothered,” Daniel interrupted.
“Now, now,” Dr. McMorrow chided. Her eyes drifted back onto Lucy.
“I used to work at a coffee shop, and I also write,” Lucy mumbled.
“Oh, you are a writer!” McMorrow exclaimed with overenthusiasm. “How lovely! What do you write about?” She waited expectantly with a smile glued to her face.
“Well, I haven’t been really writing too much lately.” She tried to back out of the uncomfortable attention of the psychologist’s gaze, but was unsuccessful. The woman kept looking her directly in the eyes. It became unnerving. Each time Lucy looked up from the hands in her lap, McMorrow was gazing at her under furrowed brows. Finally Lucy stood up.
“I’m sorry, Dr. McMorrow, but I really don’t feel I want to continue with this. My husband called you. If the two of you would like continue for the remainder of the time he’s paying you for, please, by all means, go ahead without me.”
Lucy rose from her corner of the couch and walked upstairs to the bedroom to take another nap. The meeting had exhausted her.