One More Day Read Online Free PDF Page B

Dr. Kenney’s urgings, she’d started going out in public again. At first, John would take her places—they’d go out and pick up dinner, go to the dry cleaners. He said there would be strength in numbers. But it was really more belief in his own strength, in his own watchdog characteristics. The world might judge Carrie, but they wouldn’t dare do it with him standing nearby.
    One Saturday afternoon, John asked Carrie if she wanted to ride with him—he needed to buy socks. She said yes, knowing it would make him happy, that it would be evidence of her getting better. But when he drove past the running store in Bryn Mawr and kept going, driving farther away, headed for the sports store in Ardmore, she felt her throat starting to constrict. She hadn’t been to that shopping district, so close to the Y, near that Starbucks, since Ben was taken.
    John squeezed her hand as they drove down the main street, looking for a parking space. They passed the Starbucks, and Carrie closed her eyes.
    â€œJohn,” she whispered.
    â€œIt’s okay,” he said. “I’m with you.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œIt can’t happen again, Carrie.”
    â€œI know, but—”
    â€œExposure,” he said. “In small bits and pieces. Dr. Kenney told me all about it. You can’t get better without exposure therapy.”
    â€œGrief is nothing but exposure.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œDon’t you feel like you are missing your skin? Like every breeze, every drop of rain, is just like an assault—”
    He didn’t say what he thought out loud. No.
    He spotted a parallel parking space a few blocks away, across the street, and pulled in.
    Carrie released the breath she’d been holding; the car was facing away from Starbucks, toward the east, almost at the farmers’ market.
    â€œYou ready?”
    â€œI’ll wait here.”
    â€œNo,” he said. “God, no. No, come with me.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œCarrie, what if—”
    â€œWhat if what? Just say it, John. Acknowledge that something bad could still happen.”
    â€œThat’s not it! That’s not it at all. It’s just—”
    â€œJust what?”
    â€œJust…you might get sad or scared or—” He stopped, just in time. Just before he said something that would set her off again. “And what if you’re alone?”
    â€œI’m alone all day,” she said.
    â€œOkay.” He sighed and opened his door. “I’ll hurry,” he added. “No unnecessary sock browsing.”
    â€œYeah, no lingering over the argyles.”
    She managed a small smile, but his smile behind the glass of the door was so wide it was almost magnified. Was that all it took? A little teasing to make him think she was herself again?
    He jogged across the street, jaywalking with his long strides, never even coming close to a car or to anything in his way.
    Carrie breathed in and thought not of John or of Ben but about dinner. She thought if she could think of ordinary things—brushing her teeth, eating Chinese food—that all the extraordinary things could be held at bay.
    She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. She didn’t pick up on the sighing, the click of the pen. When the navy-blue sleeve appeared in the corner of her window, she jumped, the way you do when a leaf lands on your head. A blue arm, a jacket, pants. In motion, heading up the street, away from her, not stopping, but fury rose in her nonetheless.
    She got out of the car. Fifteen minutes still left on her meter, but the next person would not be so lucky. She watched the young parking attendant in the navy-blue uniform with the sensible black shoes walk to a car two spaces ahead and start to write a ticket.
    â€œWait!” Carrie called, and the woman turned. “I’ll pay the meter.”
    â€œThis your car?”
    â€œNo,