Free Little Black Lies by Sandra Block

we give dream rehearsal one more try?” Sam asks. “Before we abandon it completely.”
    The fireman’s ax jumps into my mind. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
    “We could practice it together,” Sam offers.
    “Let me ask you,” I say, ignoring the suggestion. “Have you ever done hypnosis before?”
    Sam clutches the front of his dark, glossy desk, the captain of his ship. “I have carried out hypnosis before,” he says, as if he is admitting he used to inject heroin.
    “And how did it go?” I ask, trying not to betray the excitement bubbling in me.
    “I’ve had cases where it went very well, and others where it was not at all successful. More than not successful, harmful.” So he’s injected more than once. He grips the desk, staring out the window. In a word, deciding.
    “I’m not asking for a miracle,” I say. “If it works, and I remember more about that night, even a glimmer of my mom, I’ll consider it a success. If it doesn’t, and I’m hounded by that nightmare every night of my life, at least I can say we tried.”
    Sam keeps staring, weighing my words. I see him reflected in a mirror on the wall, a large, dark wooden circle that looks vaguely like a ship’s wheel. “I’ve tried dream rehearsal. It didn’t work. And you yourself said there are no good therapies out there,” I continue.
    He nods absentmindedly, then looks down at his notes. “So how is your mom doing?” he asks, changing the subject none too subtly.
    “Not great,” I say. “She called me ‘Tanya’ a couple weeks ago.”
    “Oh? Tell me more.”
    “There’s not much to tell.” I lean back on the most uncomfortable couch ever made. “She’s losing it is all, like Scotty says. But it’s sad, because sometimes she’s so with it.”
    “Who’s Tanya?” he asks.
    “Probably some old friend of hers. I don’t really know any Tanyas. But it’s familiar somehow.”
    “It’s tough,” Sam says, shaking his head. Then he pushes his chair back, which is the sign. The pewter clock has announced my departure. “I need to think about this, Zoe, and you need to think about it. Take some time.”
    I nod vigorously.
    “Think about the fact that if you uncover painful memories of the fire, of your birth mother, you may go back to a very scary, very raw place. A place where you may not be able to function very well, especially during residency.”
    I nod again, more vigorously. I must look like a monkey.
    “If you still want to do it next week, I will consider it.”
    “Okay,” I say, pretending I will contemplate every angle. But I already know my answer, and hope swells in my chest as he pulls out his pad.
    “You seem a little jittery today. Any problems with the Adderall?”
    “Only problem being I forgot it this morning,” I say.
    “Ah,” he answers with a smile. “That explains a lot.”
    I wonder what the hell that means but manage to hold my tongue, even without Adderall.
    “Remember the nonpharmacological things we discussed to help the ADHD,” Sam says.
    “Yeah, I know,” I mumble. “I really have to get back to running.”
    “Yes, you do,” he says as he scribbles off my litany of medications.
    *  *  *
    “That is completely fucked-up,” Scotty says as we enter the nursing home. Scolding elderly glances, murmurs, and tut-tuts are thrown our way. “Hypnosis?”
    “It is not at all fucked-up, actually,” I answer in a whisper to avoid murmurs and tut-tuts. “It’s something I really need to do right now. For the nightmare.”
    He laughs, a scoff more than a laugh. “What does it have to do with the nightmare?” he asks, pulling off his hat and shaking out his hair. “I thought you were into that dream rehearsal shit.”
    “Yeah, it didn’t go so well.” I unbutton my coat, which I just notice is missing the middle black plastic button. “And I’m trying to remember some things about my mother.”
    “Why don’t you just ask Mom? They were best