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revealed a few ladder-backed chairs and a worn copy of the DSM IV on an elegant coffee table. The reception desk was empty, save for an appointment book and a few pens. No computer or telephone, but since it was the portable digital age, perhaps his assistant carried a laptop and cell phone to lunch with her.
    Useless prattling is my forte and I turned to the psychiatrist. “So Bob—”
    “That’s Dr. Bob,” The marriage counselor chided and pushed his taped glasses further up the bridge of his pointy beak. Sporting a navy sweater-vest over a powder blue button-down shirt, pleated khaki’s and penny loafers, he looked like Fred Rogers’ long lost brother. Though I couldn’t see his socks I would have bet my car that they were paisley.
    “Dr. Bob,” I smiled and stifled the urge to crack my knuckles. If I’d invested the requisite time in earning a PhD I’d probably insist on being called Doctor, too. “Are we ready to start, or what?”
    Neil covered his chuckle with a cough. Waiting doesn’t bother Neil. He’d told me he’d once spent four days still as a statue, waiting for a terrorist guerilla group to move on. He and one of his SEAL teammates had been pinned down and after running out of MRE’s—meals ready to eat -which aren’t exactly gourmet dining, they were forced to live off the native insects that happened to crawl within grabbing reach. They used hand signals to communicate with each other. Neil had the market cornered in patience.
    Dr. Bob scowled at me. “Are you in a hurry, Mrs. Phillips?”
    “No, I just thought—”
    “Highways are not built overnight, Mrs. Phillips. The same is true for thoroughfares of communication. Rushing either is a waste of time and resources.”
    I cringed a bit. Waste is a four letter word to me, something to be avoided at all costs. Still, standing here engaging in a staring contest didn’t seem especially productive either, but no doubt Dr. Bob had already picked me out as the troublemaker so I kept my mouth shut.
    Dr. Bob cleared his throat. “I like to start all my sessions with new couples with some one-on-one time. It’s important for me know you as individuals first before we can begin working on your relationship. After all, a person in a marriage is only as content as the least happy person in the relationship. Since I’ve spoken with Mr. Phillips over the phone, I think we should start with Mrs. Phillips.”
    Yippie. I suppressed my heel clicking and followed Dr. Bob into his inner sanctum.
    “Please close the door, Mrs. Phillips. This is a confidential session.”
    I glanced out into the waiting area but Neil had whipped out his cell phone and settled back on one of the chairs, so he missed my grimace. Sighing softly, I closed the door with a final sounding click.
    “Tell me about yourself, please.” Dr. Bob sat behind his desk, fingers steepled in front of him.
    “Well, Neil and I have been married for ten years—” My voice cut off at his raised hand.
    “You, Mrs. Phillips. I’m sure you have an identity away from your husband.”
    Did he just smirk at me? I studied him intently, but his face was neutral, giving away nothing.
    “Okay, well, I’m thirty-two and I just started up my own business last year—”
    Dr. Bob shook his head and sighed. “You’re going to be a challenge, aren’t you?”
    “I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just that after Neil and the boys and my cleaning business, there isn’t much time for anything else.”
    “So you blame Neil and his children for your lack of identity.” He nodded his head and scribbled something on a yellow legal pad.
    “I didn’t say that!”
    He squinted at me out of one eye and wrote something else, probably having to do with my volatile temper. I took a deep breath and retrenched. “How about you tell me about yourself, Dr. Bob?”
    Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Bob cocked his head to the side. “I’ve been a marriage counselor for fifteen years—”
    “Ah ha!”