Free The New Patient (Dr. Epstein's Couch: Criminal Minds Series) by Ann Black

Week One
     
     
     
    Monday July 25th, 9:45am
     
    Parking at my consulting rooms I glance at my mobile and realise I’ve forgotten to take it off silent...I’ve missed seven calls from Phyllis. Wincing against the sun I step reluctantly out of the car, which causes my head to start throbbing.
    I’m foggy from last night’s self-medication; a full bodied Shiraz...the whole bottle, enjoyed with a thick porterhouse steak and a body dysmorphic brunette—pretty, great boob job and the scarring was almost negligible.
    Distantly, I hope she calls the specialist I recommended. In full lighting it’s clear the progressive surgeries are leaving their mark. Without intervention I suspect she’ll become a patchwork of strained skin, puffy lips and even bigger boobs—crossing that line between the centerfold she is now, into a plastic surgeon’s freakish masterpiece.
    But by the time I gather my briefcase and open the front door to face Phyllis and the teary gaze of my 9am, Rachel’s forgotten.
    Phyllis stands and hands me my first appointment folder, “Mrs. Lyons,” she clips out, parental disapproval in her normally compassionate eyes. I hired a mother, I remind myself, this is the down side. Crushing the impulse to apologise I walk into my office.
     

     
    9:50am
    Evelyn Lyons sits anxiously on the edge of my two thousand dollar leather couch. She’s immaculately dressed, in her mid sixties; today her cleverly coloured roots conceal the grey that occasionally manages to crawl back. Her make-up is a little runny but she dabs excessively at her eyes, clearly terrified of ruining her perfectly painted face.
    “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Dr. Epstein,” she gushes, “I just really needed to talk to you.”
    I sit forward in an effort to reassure her. “How can I help?” I ask softly, ignoring the pressure building in my temples.
    “It’s Alfred. He is having an affair—and he’s told me to vacate the house within seven days, I think... she’s moving in ,” her efforts to remain contained are overwhelmed as she bursts into a fresh wave of tears.
    She’s grieving but I know she’s also afraid. She met Alfred when they were both at University. It’d been agreed after they’d married, that Evelyn would take care of the home, her husband and their four children. My observations of Evelyn over these past two years told me her emotional attachments ranked in that order as well.
    Despite her chronic dissatisfaction, together they’d enjoyed a life of holidays abroad and society prestige. But now, without her husband’s accomplishments to lean on, she is dispossessed of both her status and financial security. She’s an aging woman who’s never worked. Her understanding of the world is as naïve as it is inflexible—making her poorly equipped to rise to the demands of her current situation.
    We sit for the next 30 minutes while I reassure and comfort her, working to stabilise her emotional lability. By the time we finish she’s tucked the number of a ruthless divorce lawyer, Sonia, into her handbag and the tears have stopped flowing.
    Although Sonia’s also a patient, I’m confident she’s a good choice—Evelyn will need a bull terrier in her corner. And Sonia’s overcompensation ran deep. Abandoned by her father, then raised by her single mother in poverty while he married his twenty-something secretary and lived like a king, Sonia had spent five years in therapy working out how to direct her rage against men in more pro-social ways. It was either that or risk losing her rights to practice...and she had made good progress.
    Evelyn was going to need Sonia’s skills, and by the time Sonia finishes with him, Alfred will be fortunate to keep 40% of everything he owns.
     

     
    10.30 am
    Phyllis is pleased with me as I begin to make up time on my schedule. I down two paracetamol and walk out to greet my 10am.
    Khia Morrison. My temples beat hard.
    Khia is an angry mass of tattoos, piercings,