'What were you frightened of?'
This was Dr London's only comment after I'd recounted everything.
'I never said that I was frightened.'
'But you ran off.'
'Look, it became as clear as day that Marcie was a not so nice girl on the make.'
'You mean seducing you?'
He was naive.
' "On the make",' I then explained as patiently as possible, 'because my name is Barrett, and it doesn't take much research to discover that I come from money.'
There. I'd made my point. Now there was silence in the court.
'You don't believe that,' Dr London said at last. His certainty that I was not convinced forced me to think again.
'I guess I don't,' I said.
There was another silence.
'All right, you're the doctor. What exactly did I feel?'
'Oliver,' said London. 'You are here precisely to improve communications with yourself.' He asked again, 'How did you feel?'
'A little vulnerable.'
'And …?'
'A little scared.'
'Of what?'
I couldn't answer right away. In fact, I was incapable of answering out loud. I was afraid. But not because I thought she'd tell me: 'Yeah, I'm living with an all-star fullback who's a Ph.D. in astrophysics and who turns me on.'
No. I rather think that I was scared of hearing:
'Oliver, I like you.'
Which would shake me up much more.
Granted Marcie was a mystery. But she was neither Mata Hari nor the whore of Babylon. Indeed, her single fault was that she didn't have an obvious, convenient fault. (I'd had to find her one!) And Marcie's lies, whatever may have prompted them, did not excuse the falsehood that I told myself.
That I was not … involved.
Because I nearly was. I very nearly was.
That's why I panicked and I fled. Because in almost liking someone else I felt disloyal to the only girl I ever loved.
But how much longer could I live this way, forever on my guard lest human feelings catch me unaware? In point of fact, my turmoil now was multiplied. And I was torn by two dilemmas.
One: How could I deal with memories of Jenny?
Two: How could I find Marcie Nash?