“How are you adjusting, Edwin?” Dr. Driscall asks, smiling from her armchair. Her blonde hair is in a tight ponytail, showing a few gray’s lingering within. The rim of her glasses are red while the rest is black, making her small brown eyes appear rounder. Her lips are accentuated by red lipstick giving her a serious expression until she smiles.

The office is warm with soothing pastel yellows and greenery. There are wide and bright windows that she opened upon my request showing off the small town of Whisper Woods outside. There are no honking horns or sounds of traffic, just the soft murmur of car engines when they go by and birds chirping on old, rusted street lamps.

“Great, better than I expected to be perfectly honest,” I answer from the couch across from her. This is our first official meeting. We spoke on the phone multiple times before my move but never in person. She’s the only therapist in town. There’s only one of anything around here. I thought I’d hate it, but the longer I’m here the more I like it.

Jerry’s is across the street; a small family owned diner styled like a biker’s pitstop with old license plates on the wall and rusted farm wheels. Then there’s Lily’s Hardware store, which is self explanatory, but the owner sure as hell ain’t. Lily looks more like America’s Next Top Model until she dives right under a truck or crawls under a house filled with spiderwebs. There’s a baseball field encircled with a rusted fence and an old gas station with only one pump. A quaint place with quaint people that smile regardless of whether or not they know you and ask you how your day has been, much different than the city life I’ve had the last fifteen years.

“Better than expected?” Dr. Driscall hums. “Did you think things wouldn’t go well?”

“Not well per say, just, I haven’t been here since the—” I pause, unsure of how to phrase it. “Since the accident.”

“Yes, you said you were eleven the last time you were in Whisper Woods, correct?”

I nod.

“But your previous therapist suggested you visit before. Can I ask why you haven’t? What changed?”

“The house,” I answer without hesitation, which Dr. Driscall seems a bit shocked by, but happy nonetheless. I’m sure she has a few clients unwilling to open up so easily but I’ve been doing this for a long time. At this point, I typically spit out the truth with ease.

“The house was left to my mom in my grandparent’s will. They built it themselves. I visited every summer, and any other chance I could. It was more a home than anywhere else, but Mom put it up for sale immediately after they died. Took five years to sell because of the history. Then there were the Welmore’s that lived there for only two years and the Guritza’s that I bought it off of.” I’m picking at the stray strings on the arm of the couch. My hands can’t seem to sit still. Mom went ballistic when she found out I rebought the house. Even more so when I said I was moving. A whole week she didn’t talk to me and, once she did, we argued like crazy. It was tough, but I wouldn’t change anything.

“And you moved in immediately rather than come up for a visit, why?” She asks, which is what I’ve heard from a multitude of people, my manager mostly though. William wasn’t too pleased that I moved to the middle of nowhere nor the request for a year of silence. Apparently, plenty of galleries wish to show off my work as well as have me come in for interviews. Request to visit classrooms and college campuses, maybe even teach a class or two, so much that I’ve lost count, I said no. I’m going to keep saying no. I need a break.

“Do you think it’s a dumb idea? Moving here immediately?” I ask.

“I am worried it may be too much for you to handle. Staying there may be uncomfortable so I want you to admit it if it comes to be that way, go to a friend's house or a hotel if you feel too pressured. What happened there, what you aren’t remembering, it can’t be forced. It has to happen safely, so, to start, have you met with anyone in town?”

I bite the inside of my cheeks, shyly glancing at Dr. Driscall who can tell immediately what my answer is.

What? I’ve been busy! This place is an inspirational gold mine. I’ve been painting like a mad man. Such beautiful scenery, so different from what I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. And all the fond memories flooding back—my paint brush has hardly left my hand.

Sighing, she says, “You need to get out of the house, Edwin.”

“I’m out right now.”

“For a therapy session that happens once a week. You’ve been here a total of two weeks and you haven’t met with anyone?” The concern is obvious in her tone. Her red lips purse. “You knew other kids from Whisper Woods, surely they’ve contacted you?”

“They have.”

“And you said?”

“I’ve been busy.” Which isn’t a total lie. I did just move into a new house, a house that I haven’t been to in over a decade. I also used to live in an apartment so I’m getting used to managing a three bedroom home. It’s massive, took me hours to clean it yesterday. “Besides, the first week Mom and Tabby were with me! We had to clean up the place and paint so, technically, I’ve been on my own for only seven days.”

I sense Dr. Driscall wants to roll her eyes but refuses to do so. Ok, so I know she’s right, but that’s easier said than done. I haven’t kept in close contact with anyone here. I spoke with the owners of the house on the regular but that’s it.