An Anonymous Girl by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen
Authors: Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen
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unattended bags—that I have trouble hearing her clearly. “Anyway, I need to check in; it’s total chaos here.”
I press on: “You never went to her office on Sixty-second Street? Did any of the subjects go there?”
“I don’t know, maybe some people did,” she says. “How cool would that be? I bet it’s totally chic.”
I have more questions, but I know I’m about to lose Amy.
“Could you do me a favor?” I say. “Could you think about it a little more and call me if you remember anything unusual?”
“Sure,” Amy says, but her voice is distracted and I wonder if she has even registered my request.
I hang up and feel something in my chest unclench.
My most important question has been answered, at least.Dr. Shields is a pro; she’s not only a professor, she’s a well-respected one. She wouldn’t have this position if she were doing anything shady.
I’m not sure why I got so worked up. I’m hungry and tired, plus the stress I’ve been feeling about my family might be affecting me. My father’s final day of work was November 30; his buyout is four months’ salary. They’ll run out of money by the timethe Phillies have their first at bat of the season.
I’m exhausted by the time I turn the corner onto my street. My mind is whirling and my body feels simultaneously weighty and restless.
As I pass the Lounge, I look through the big glass windows. I can hear the faint strain of the music, and I see a group of guys playing pool.
I find myself looking for Noah.
I reach for Noah’scard and pull it out. Before I think about it too much, I text him:
Hey, just walked by the Lounge and thought of you. Has that offer for breakfast expired?
He doesn’t respond immediately, so I keep walking.
I think about stopping by another bar. The Atlas is close by and it’s usually packed around this time, even on weeknights. I could go in alone, sit at the bar, order a drink, and seewhat happens, like I’ve done before when the pressure gets to be too much and I need an escape.
Since I can’t afford a spa day and I don’t do drugs, this is the way I find a release. I don’t do it all that often, although the last time I had to tell my doctor how many sexual partners I’ve had, I lied about it, just as Amy did.
I draw closer to the Atlas. I can hear the pulse of music;I can see the crush of bodies near the bar.
But then I picture sitting on the love seat in Dr. Shields’s office, describing my night to her. She knows I do this sometimes; I wrote about it on the computer questionnaire. But having to look at her and reveal the details about a hookup would be mortifying. I bet even before she was married, she never had a one-night stand; I can just tell.
Dr. Shields seems to see something special in me, even though I don’t often feel that way about myself.
So I keep walking.
I don’t want to disappoint her.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Wednesday, December 5
It’s easy to judge other people’s choices. The mother with a grocery cart full of Froot Loops and Double Stuf Oreos who yells at her child. The driver of an expensive convertible who cuts off a slower vehicle. The husband who cheats on his wife . . . and the wife who is considering taking him back.
But what if you knew the husband was makingevery effort to reconcile? What if he swore it was a onetime lapse and that he would never be unfaithful again?
And what if you were the wife, and could not imagine a life without him?
The intellect does not reign supreme in matters of the heart.
Thomas captured mine in a hundred different ways. The inscription we chose for our wedding bands, the one that referenced our first meetingduring the blackout, came close to describing a feeling that is impossible to put into words:
You are my true light.
Since he moved out, his absence is everywhere in the town house: In the living room, where he splayed across the couch with the sports section scattered on the floor beside him. In the kitchen, where he always
I press on: “You never went to her office on Sixty-second Street? Did any of the subjects go there?”
“I don’t know, maybe some people did,” she says. “How cool would that be? I bet it’s totally chic.”
I have more questions, but I know I’m about to lose Amy.
“Could you do me a favor?” I say. “Could you think about it a little more and call me if you remember anything unusual?”
“Sure,” Amy says, but her voice is distracted and I wonder if she has even registered my request.
I hang up and feel something in my chest unclench.
My most important question has been answered, at least.Dr. Shields is a pro; she’s not only a professor, she’s a well-respected one. She wouldn’t have this position if she were doing anything shady.
I’m not sure why I got so worked up. I’m hungry and tired, plus the stress I’ve been feeling about my family might be affecting me. My father’s final day of work was November 30; his buyout is four months’ salary. They’ll run out of money by the timethe Phillies have their first at bat of the season.
I’m exhausted by the time I turn the corner onto my street. My mind is whirling and my body feels simultaneously weighty and restless.
As I pass the Lounge, I look through the big glass windows. I can hear the faint strain of the music, and I see a group of guys playing pool.
I find myself looking for Noah.
I reach for Noah’scard and pull it out. Before I think about it too much, I text him:
Hey, just walked by the Lounge and thought of you. Has that offer for breakfast expired?
He doesn’t respond immediately, so I keep walking.
I think about stopping by another bar. The Atlas is close by and it’s usually packed around this time, even on weeknights. I could go in alone, sit at the bar, order a drink, and seewhat happens, like I’ve done before when the pressure gets to be too much and I need an escape.
Since I can’t afford a spa day and I don’t do drugs, this is the way I find a release. I don’t do it all that often, although the last time I had to tell my doctor how many sexual partners I’ve had, I lied about it, just as Amy did.
I draw closer to the Atlas. I can hear the pulse of music;I can see the crush of bodies near the bar.
But then I picture sitting on the love seat in Dr. Shields’s office, describing my night to her. She knows I do this sometimes; I wrote about it on the computer questionnaire. But having to look at her and reveal the details about a hookup would be mortifying. I bet even before she was married, she never had a one-night stand; I can just tell.
Dr. Shields seems to see something special in me, even though I don’t often feel that way about myself.
So I keep walking.
I don’t want to disappoint her.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Wednesday, December 5
It’s easy to judge other people’s choices. The mother with a grocery cart full of Froot Loops and Double Stuf Oreos who yells at her child. The driver of an expensive convertible who cuts off a slower vehicle. The husband who cheats on his wife . . . and the wife who is considering taking him back.
But what if you knew the husband was makingevery effort to reconcile? What if he swore it was a onetime lapse and that he would never be unfaithful again?
And what if you were the wife, and could not imagine a life without him?
The intellect does not reign supreme in matters of the heart.
Thomas captured mine in a hundred different ways. The inscription we chose for our wedding bands, the one that referenced our first meetingduring the blackout, came close to describing a feeling that is impossible to put into words:
You are my true light.
Since he moved out, his absence is everywhere in the town house: In the living room, where he splayed across the couch with the sports section scattered on the floor beside him. In the kitchen, where he always
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