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who followed. He looked away from their retreating backs. He ’d known what the doctor was going to say, had been dead on about the shape of his knee. So why did it feel so shitty to be right?
    “ Fuck.”
    He felt a small, warm hand gently touch his arm. “Want me to go get Lizzie?”
    “ No.” He paused and shook his head slowly. “She’ll care too much. So will my parents. They’ll all be really upset.”
    “ As opposed to me, who could give a shit?” she said with just a touch of sarcastic bitch in her voice. What had he called it? A dash. Yes, just a dash of bitch on that one. The hand stayed on his arm, though. And damn but he liked it.
    “ Exactly,” he answered, not heeding her sarcasm. “That’s exactly what I need right now. Somebody objective. Removed. Pretend I’m one of your patients or something.”
    “ And when did you first know you wanted to sleep with your mother?” she said in a mock, low, smooth, therapist-y voice.
    “ Fuck,” he growled. “Fine. Go get Lizzie. And my parents. Your shift is over. You’ve done your duty.”
    As always when they scrapped—which was pretty much whenever they were together—one of them went just a step too far and the other one quit. It was pretty much a running tie on who quit first.
    Not that he kept score or anything.
    She looked like she wanted to defuse the situation, to put the pin back in the grenade. He silently willed her to—to distract him, to stay with him. And it looked like she was going to. Her hand slid down his arm and, took his huge hand in her tiny one. He turned his over so her palm fit in his, gave hers a small squeeze and looked into her eyes.
    And for a moment—just one, tiny moment—all their bullshit fell away and she smiled at him. Really smiled at him. And for just that moment, there was no pain.
    And then she looked at their surroundings. A hospital bed. Holding hands. Fear. Pain. He saw the moment her mind went back there. Then something old, and familiar, flashed in her eyes and she stepped away from him. Slipped her hand from his. Removed the soft look from her eyes.
    “Good luck tomorrow,” she said. Then she gathered her things and walked away from him.
     

Four
     
    Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy.
    ~ Sigmund Freud
     
    “And you know how much I hate it when my mother calls.”
    Alison nodded agreement with her patient, prompting her to go on.
    Denise Casparich looked at Alison for only a moment then dove in to her weekly tirade about her mother. “Well, it’s just that she never listens….”
    She went on, but Alison ’s mind wandered. That never happened with a patient—something in which she took great pride. Because lord knew, sometimes it wasn’t easy.
    But today, her mind was elsewhere. About two miles elsewhere. Across the bridge and at the hospital where Petey was probably just coming out of surgery.
    Alison could easily be there soon—be there when he woke up. She’d be leaving for the hospital as soon as her session with Denise was over. She’d taken this semester off from teaching Intro to Psych at Tech to be able to deal more with her parents’ situations. She only saw patients in the morning three days a week. It was the lightest schedule she’d ever had, but she was grateful to have the time now that she was shuttling from the hospital, to her mother’s home, to her own, back to the hospital, and now to her mother’s for the night.
    Although she wouldn ’t need to be doing that much longer. Her sister Sherry had called just this morning and said she was able to come and stay with their mother for a few weeks. The absolute relief Alison felt also made her feel like crap.
    And even though she may shortly be in the same building as a recovering Petey, she knew she wouldn ’t go to his room. Wouldn’t be amongst the ones wishing him well, arranging his pillows, or making sure he had some ice chips nearby.
    No. That was for his parents and Lizzie to do. Friends