said impatiently. “Why is Jacob involved?”
The attendant pulled through the rain and halted beside Elena. She tipped him and nodded her thanks as he held her door. “Jacob Rawlings is . . . a professional associate.”
Jacob heard her hesitation, and offered her a rueful smile as he climbed in and shut his door.
“Whatever or whoever is waiting in Miami is certainly not as important as our meeting tonight!”
“With respect, Rachel, I don’t agree. We have not been told this new patient’s name. Jacob is friends with the psychologist involved. They have spoken. We’ve been assured the patient holds enormous—”
“Do you have any idea how far out on a limb I have gone to include you?” Rachel’s heat was so blistering, the phone felt hot to the touch. “We have got to speak tonight .”
Behind her, a horn beeped politely. Elena put the car in gear and pulled forward. Rain drummed on the roof. “We are talking now, Rachel.”
“What is that noise ?”
“Another thunderstorm. Tell me what is the matter.”
“Can you possibly be asking me that question? You, of all people? This is not the time for clinical analysis . This is time for action. Have you even seen the reports of the London bank run?”
“Yes, I have.” Elena retreated from the rage as she had a thousand times before, stepping back from a patient’s distress and emotional tirade. Refusing to be drawn in. Allowing her the distance required for her to hear beneath the surface. The woman’s anger became just another drumming cadence upon her professional shell, not touching her any more than the rain. “But that is not the issue, is it?”
“What?”
“There is something else at work. Another problem that has wreaked havoc in your day.” Elena paused, then asked, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“In person,” Rachel snapped. “Then it will need to wait until tomorrow.”
“It can’t.”
“Do you want to tell me why?”
Rachel was silent for a long moment, then cut the connection.
• • •
The rain ended with startling suddenness. The turnpike swiftly dried. The heat shimmered above open fields and wild palms and broad ponds and tall emerald grass. Jacob had not spoken since they left the hotel. Abruptly he said, “I have a patient who lost his father three months ago. They were extremely close. Since then he has become obsessed with the Weather Channel. He starts every session by updating me on the hurricane season.”
“He should move to Melbourne,” Elena said. “The local channel updates the weather every ten minutes around the clock. With the hurricane’s approach, the weather reports have grown so long they merge into one another.”
“People feel a desperate need to find some mythical control over their own destinies,” Jacob mused. “In earlier times, it was superstition and charms. Now it’s information. They subconsciously believe this will allow them to influence the outcome. If only they know enough, and far enough in advance.”
Elena glanced over. “You’re not religious, are you?”
“My father was a Presbyterian minister. We relocated eleven times before I left for university. I attended six different high schools. I hated it. At some visceral level, I still resent what my father’s faith put us through.”
“Is that your answer?”
“It is very hard for me to separate my past from any discussion of God.” He drummed his fingernails on the side window. “That was one of the things that most rankled me about your book. How you repeatedly hinted at a connection between dreams and the divine.”
“You have still not answered my question.”
He sighed. “When I was young, I believed because it was expected of me. When I went to university, I left it all behind.”
“I think it is precisely because of the divine connection within some dreams that we will never understand their full scope until this relationship is acknowledged.”
“I have not seen any
The attendant pulled through the rain and halted beside Elena. She tipped him and nodded her thanks as he held her door. “Jacob Rawlings is . . . a professional associate.”
Jacob heard her hesitation, and offered her a rueful smile as he climbed in and shut his door.
“Whatever or whoever is waiting in Miami is certainly not as important as our meeting tonight!”
“With respect, Rachel, I don’t agree. We have not been told this new patient’s name. Jacob is friends with the psychologist involved. They have spoken. We’ve been assured the patient holds enormous—”
“Do you have any idea how far out on a limb I have gone to include you?” Rachel’s heat was so blistering, the phone felt hot to the touch. “We have got to speak tonight .”
Behind her, a horn beeped politely. Elena put the car in gear and pulled forward. Rain drummed on the roof. “We are talking now, Rachel.”
“What is that noise ?”
“Another thunderstorm. Tell me what is the matter.”
“Can you possibly be asking me that question? You, of all people? This is not the time for clinical analysis . This is time for action. Have you even seen the reports of the London bank run?”
“Yes, I have.” Elena retreated from the rage as she had a thousand times before, stepping back from a patient’s distress and emotional tirade. Refusing to be drawn in. Allowing her the distance required for her to hear beneath the surface. The woman’s anger became just another drumming cadence upon her professional shell, not touching her any more than the rain. “But that is not the issue, is it?”
“What?”
“There is something else at work. Another problem that has wreaked havoc in your day.” Elena paused, then asked, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“In person,” Rachel snapped. “Then it will need to wait until tomorrow.”
“It can’t.”
“Do you want to tell me why?”
Rachel was silent for a long moment, then cut the connection.
• • •
The rain ended with startling suddenness. The turnpike swiftly dried. The heat shimmered above open fields and wild palms and broad ponds and tall emerald grass. Jacob had not spoken since they left the hotel. Abruptly he said, “I have a patient who lost his father three months ago. They were extremely close. Since then he has become obsessed with the Weather Channel. He starts every session by updating me on the hurricane season.”
“He should move to Melbourne,” Elena said. “The local channel updates the weather every ten minutes around the clock. With the hurricane’s approach, the weather reports have grown so long they merge into one another.”
“People feel a desperate need to find some mythical control over their own destinies,” Jacob mused. “In earlier times, it was superstition and charms. Now it’s information. They subconsciously believe this will allow them to influence the outcome. If only they know enough, and far enough in advance.”
Elena glanced over. “You’re not religious, are you?”
“My father was a Presbyterian minister. We relocated eleven times before I left for university. I attended six different high schools. I hated it. At some visceral level, I still resent what my father’s faith put us through.”
“Is that your answer?”
“It is very hard for me to separate my past from any discussion of God.” He drummed his fingernails on the side window. “That was one of the things that most rankled me about your book. How you repeatedly hinted at a connection between dreams and the divine.”
“You have still not answered my question.”
He sighed. “When I was young, I believed because it was expected of me. When I went to university, I left it all behind.”
“I think it is precisely because of the divine connection within some dreams that we will never understand their full scope until this relationship is acknowledged.”
“I have not seen any
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