The Good Girls by Sara Shepard Page A

loud—I was just trying to fill in the blanks for you. With pictures.”
    Parker squinted. “Uh, that sounds like stalking to me.”
    Fielder pressed his palms over his eyes. “I know. But I’m telling you the truth. I wasn’t trying to do anything . . . inappropriate.” He paused for a moment, as if deciding whether to continue, then took a breath. “Look, Parker, I have a confession to make. Technically, I shouldn’t tell you this as your therapist, but my mother had a lot of . . . problems when I was growing up.” He stopped again, swallowed. “She was an amazing, brilliant woman, but she had a lot of memory gaps, too. Like yours. I wasn’t able to help her, and then . . . then it was too late.”
    He shut his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they were filled with tears that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks. Parker was astonished. “You remindme of her,” he said quietly. “The strong and amazing parts of her. And I guess I just want to do for you what I wasn’t able to do for her. But I crossed the line, and I realize that. I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”
    Parker’s chest throbbed, and she realized she was holding her breath. She exhaled sharply. No one besides Julie ever talked to her like this anymore. She had felt invisible for so long. But she mattered to Fielder—that was clear. And that felt good.
    â€œWhat was she like?” she asked quietly. “Your mom, I mean.”
    Fielder seemed surprised. He squinted, as if he were seeing his mother again in his memory. “She was sweet, loving. Really fun. She had her issues,” he chuckled. “But she was a great mom. She could make even the most boring things, like homework and grocery shopping, into a game. And she was so, so smart. The smartest person I’ve ever known.” He smiled wistfully.
    â€œThen what would happen? How would she just . . . lose time?”
    His face darkened. “She would go out for an errand, and then we wouldn’t hear from her for a day or so. Sometimes more.” He stared at his lap. “I would hold my breath, wondering each time if this would be the time she didn’t come back. But eventually, she would walk in the front door. She could never tell us where she’d been, because she couldn’tremember—and she seemed frustrated by the questions. So eventually my dad and I stopped asking. We were just happy she came back at all.”
    Parker hugged a throw pillow from the couch. That sounded a lot like her experience. “Did she ever get help?”
    â€œNo. Things were different back then. And she was so strong—she never complained or told us how scared she was. When I got a little older, I tried to talk to my dad and our doctor about it, but we didn’t know what to do. And then, one day, she didn’t come home.”
    They were silent as Parker absorbed his words. “Did you ever find her?” He nodded. “Where?” she pressed, suddenly desperate to know.
    Fielder flinched. “It doesn’t matter. The point is . . .” He trailed off. “I’m sorry, Parker. This has nothing to do with you. We should be discussing your problems right now.”
    â€œNo, I’m glad you told me.” Parker leaned forward, staring into Fielder’s eyes.
    Fielder shook his head. “You know what? I’m glad I told you, too.” He coughed awkwardly. “So maybe this means you’ll start coming back for more regular sessions?”
    His steady gaze sent a jolt through her, and she looked away quickly. The glint in his eye felt familiar, but she had trouble putting her finger on what it meant. Then, it hit her: It was the way guys used to look at her when she walked through a party. His face had that lit-up, hopefullook even the school’s hottest football players got when she agreed to go on a date with them. Attraction .
    It was something she