Creep - Jennifer Hillier [66]
“Yes.” The woman paused. “I received the note about the cancellation your assistant sent.”
“If you’re her therapist, you must know what happened. She called off the wedding. Over voice mail. I haven’t heard from her since Sunday.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Finally Dr. Chang spoke. “What else can you tell me?”
Morris shrugged even though he was alone in the room. “Well, she’s taken leave from her job. She said she was going to some treatment center for two months, and she might not come back to Seattle.” He stopped. “But shouldn’t you know this already?”
Dr. Chang didn’t respond.
“Listen, I think . . .” His voice finally cracked. “I think I’m the reason she left. She finally told me about her sex addiction. I reacted badly.”
“I see.” Dr. Chang’s voice was carefully neutral.
He stood up and started pacing. “I’m probably not supposed to ask, but did she give you any indication she was planning to do this?” He sounded desperate and hated it, but he couldn’t help himself.
“I can’t speak about what Sheila and I discussed, Morris. I’m sorry.”
“Can you at least tell me what rehab facility she went to?”
Dr. Chang’s voice remained professional. “Again, I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”
“Please. Just tell me where she went. I need to tell her . . .” He took a breath. “She needs to know I love her.”
The therapist was quiet. Finally she sighed. “Morris, listen. We both know Sheila’s a smart woman. We have to trust she’s made the best decision for herself. Please don’t worry. I’m sure she’s fine.”
It was a twenty-five-minute drive to the Harvard-Belmont district in the historical Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle.
Morris drove slowly down Sheila’s street, parking his fat Cadillac in her skinny driveway. He looked up at the three-story home for the third time that week, breathing in the chilly night air. A few lights were on inside, but they were the same lights that had been on all week. A thick wad of mail was sticking out of her mailbox.
“Can I help you?” a voice behind him said.
Morris was startled. A spritely woman in her early seventies was standing behind him, holding a leash attached to a small, hairy dog. The dog eyed him suspiciously under a mop of rusty bangs.
“Hi,” he said, feeling foolish. “I’m Morris Gardener. I—”
“Oh, you’re Sheila’s fiancé.” Recognition lit the woman’s wrinkled face. “We met once, last summer, at Sheila’s barbecue. Julia Shelby.”
“Hello again.”
The woman was only vaguely familiar, but Sheila had spoken of her often.
“Sheila with you?” Mrs. Shelby said, peering into the Cadillac’s tinted windows. “I haven’t seen her around for a few days.”
“Neither have I.”
The woman blinked.
Morris softened his tone. “Sorry, I guess you haven’t heard. The wedding was canceled and Sheila’s . . . left town.” He was beginning to sound like a broken record. If he had to explain what happened one more time, his head might explode.
“Yes, I got the note. I was sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to seeing you two get married.” Mrs. Shelby frowned and the dog at her heels barked. She bent down to pick it up, scratching its auburn hair thoughtfully. “So she’s away? Where’d she go?”
“I’m not sure.” He couldn’t meet Mrs. Shelby’s eyes. “She didn’t tell me.”
“I thought maybe the two of you decided to elope at the last minute. I was wondering if I should bring in her mail.” She spoke openly, no trace of awkwardness. “Guess not, huh?”
He held up his left hand and wiggled his bare ring finger. “No such luck. Still single.”
“Well, I’m very sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Shelby said again, her kind eyes filled with concern. “I didn’t realize you two were having problems.”
Morris stuffed his hands into his pockets. “We were working on it.”
“When will she be back?”
“Seven weeks.” Morris hesitated. “Maybe longer.”
“So I suppose you’re coming by to feed the fish and water the plants.” Mrs. Shelby put her dog back down on the lawn. It barked and nipped at his pants. “She should have asked me—it must have been terribly inconvenient