The Stone of Sadness (An Olivia Miller Mystery Book 3) by J A Whiting Page A

something. I blew him off. I think about it, Jackie. If I had met him, would he be alive today? I should have tried to help him.”
    “You said he was messed up,” Jackie said. “It would be natural to want to avoid him.”
    “They were all terrible, evil people,” Olivia said. “But he needed someone to be kind to him.”
    “Things look different in retrospect. You did what felt right at the time.”
    “I still think I should have listened to what he had to tell me.”
    “You can’t second guess. It probably wouldn’t have changed anything. Was he involved in your aunt’s death?”
    Olivia nodded. “I can’t forgive him for that.” She took a long sip of water. “But he tried to help me in the end. He tried to help me escape from his father.”
    “Is that how you survived?”
    “No. The father shot him and then attacked me.” She paused and swallowed hard. “And then I slit his throat.” Olivia shifted her gaze out the window. “I’m glad they’re dead and they can’t ever hurt anyone else. But it won’t bring Aggie back to me.”
    “I’m sorry,” Jackie said.
    Olivia nodded. “It’s all a long story. I’ll tell you more of the details some time.”
    “When did you say this happened?”
    “My aunt was killed a year ago May. The whole mess was resolved by August.”
    “The facts and details were resolved maybe, but not your feelings about it,” Jackie said.
    Olivia let out a long breath. “I was doing really well. I started law school last fall, worked really hard. But over the past few months I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Getting headaches. Feeling moments of terror. Flashes of what happened pop into my mind.”
    “When those things aren’t happening, do you feel yourself?” Jackie asked.
    “Mostly.”
    “Sometime feel down? Get short-tempered?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “Tired?”
    “I’m exhausted.”
    Jackie leaned forward. “Did you get counseling, Olivia?”
    “I went for a while, but stopped going.”
    “Why?” Jackie asked.
    “It didn’t seem like I needed it. I didn’t like yapping about it with a stranger. I didn’t want to go over it and over it…I wanted to be done with it all. But I guess I’m not.” Olivia sipped her water. “You have your PhD in counseling, Jackie. What’s wrong with me?”
    “It’s like post-traumatic stress,” Jackie said.
    Olivia made a face.
    “It’s anxiety. It affects your ability to cope. At times you might feel numb, distracted. You might have distressing flashes of memories of the event, avoiding people or places that evoke the memories, problems with concentration, problems with anger, trouble sleeping.”
    “Yes, that’s me.” Olivia’s eyes filled with tears again. “I haven’t been home in a year. Brad and Joe, they…Brad’s my boyfriend and Joe is like my dad…they come down to Cambridge to visit me. At Christmas, we went to California. When I think of going back to my house in Ogunquit, I feel sick. I’ve been renting the house out for the past year. I haven’t told Brad or Joe the truth about why I never make it home. I just say I’m drowning in work.” Olivia lifted her eyes to Jackie. “Am I crazy?”
    Jackie shook her head vigorously. “No, not at all. It’s a normal reaction to what you experienced. You should talk to someone.”
    “I’m talking to you,” Olivia said.
    “You should talk to someone who’s practicing.”
    Olivia took a deep breath. “What good would it do?”
    “Well, for one thing, you can work on identifying the thoughts and sensations that upset you or make you afraid. Then practice replacing those thoughts with something less distressing.” Jackie paused. “And talk about your grief.”
    “I don’t know.”
    Grief. Wrapping itself around her heart when she least expected it. Choking her. Hot tears behind her eyes.
    “Olivia, do you think it’s a good idea looking into your cousins’ murders right now?”
    “Why, not?” Olivia asked.
    “Come on. You know why.