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out the door.
    Courtney stood in the doorway, watching the BMW back down the driveway and trying to get a handle on the weird sense of…something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Chapter Three
     
    Courtney hit the bottom of the stairs and was heading for the door to the attached garage when the phone rang. She set the box down and wiped her dusty hands on her shorts before grabbing the handset.
    “Hello?” She was a tad out of breath.
    “Been jogging?” Peter Manning’s tone was deep and cheerful, laced with a comfort and friendliness that never seemed to go away. Courtney’s breath whooshed from her in a quiet sigh of relief.
    “Never,” she answered good-naturedly. “Jogging is for crazy people.”
    “How have you been, Courtney?” There was an underlying seriousness to the question. “I got your message.”
    The simple sound of Peter’s voice seemed to center Courtney and she inhaled deeply. He’d been her therapist for nearly two years after Theresa’s death and he’d helped her through the most difficult and painful part of her life. She’d missed him terribly when he’d finally pushed her out of his nest and told her she was ready to face the rest of her life on her own, and she asked if she could reserve the right to come back for a mental tune-up every so often. He’d agreed with a grin. She called him periodically just to check in and let him know she was still surviving.
    “I’m doing okay,” she said honestly. “I’m selling the house. Finally.”
    “That’s great. That’s a big step.”
    She could see his smile in her mind just as clearly as if she’d been sitting across from him. “It is. I almost chickened out, but I pulled myself together. It’s just too big for me here. And I feel…stuck. I feel stuck here, Peter.” She lowered her voice. “She’s been gone for two and a half years, and some mornings, I feel like it was yesterday and that I’ve made no progress at all moving forward with my life.”
    “And the other mornings?”
    The smile came when she knew her answer was totally honest. “The other mornings are great. I feel good. I feel like I have a life of my own.”
    “Perfect. That’s what I hoped to hear. You know this stuff is all perfectly normal, right?”
    Courtney nodded into the phone. “Yeah. I do. I really do. It doesn’t keep the weird feelings away, though.”
    “No, it doesn’t.”
    There was a beat of silence. She’d always had trouble with those in her sessions with Peter. He liked to leave the conversation open, knowing she’d fill the silence eventually. An old therapist’s trick, she was sure, designed to get the patient talking, but there were times when it made her want to scream. This time, though, she took the opening, surprising herself. “I was thinking…didn’t you tell me a while back that there was a group for people whose spouses have been gone for a while? That they meet a couple times a month?”
    “I did.”
    “Does that group still exist? And are they open to new members?”
    “I can find out for you, but I’m sure they are. I thought you didn’t like the idea of a group meeting.”
    She knew he was leading her, wanting to make sure she was up to this. He’d suggested she sit in on a bereavement group a few months after Theresa’s death. He thought it would help her to see that she wasn’t alone in her situation, that others were going through the same thing and helping one another cope. She’d agreed reluctantly, had attended the meeting in the basement of a church, wary and uncertain. And she’d left less than halfway through, feeling beaten and bombarded, taken off guard by so much raw grief. She couldn’t stand it, all that pain floating around the room like a big, black cloud of anguish. She ran out of the church and promptly threw up into a nearby shrub. She’d never gone back.
    “I think I’m better able to handle such a thing now,” she said with confidence. “I just need to know that what