Ali's second therapy session with Dr. Sacher was scheduled for Friday morning. Exactly one week had passed since her arrival at the lodge, but so far her streak of failures continued. While she didn't wish to repeat Monday's incident in the corral, Ali also didn't feel like spending the next hour being psychoanalyzed. After knocking on the therapist's office door and hearing the invitation to enter, she momentarily forgot her worries.

She had expected a typical office: a wooden desk, lots of bookshelves, comfy chairs, and maybe even a couch. Instead, Ali found herself in something straight out of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. The walls were all white, as were the stems of the four crystal-trimmed chandeliers hanging from various points on the ceiling. Black and white tiles in a checkerboard pattern decorated the floor, but that was where the subtlety in design ended.

An orange, L-shaped sofa stood in one corner, flanked by two striped high-back chairs. Several floral-patterned, oversized pillows in coordinating reds and yellows were strewn on the floor, while a half dozen circular clocks had been placed at various heights on three walls. Each showed a different time, and Ali automatically checked her wristwatch. That was different as well.

She smiled. It seemed Dr. Jane Sacher was not the stodgy professional that first impressions made her out to be. And now Pete's Alice analogy the first time they met actually make sense!

"Good morning, Ms. Barros," said the therapist as she greeted her from next to a small but exquisitely set table. The round top was covered with a silver tablecloth and topped by a tiered display of mini cupcakes and iced cookies. Dr. Sacher was holding a blue and white porcelain pot. "Tea?"

Ali had learned to always accept such an offer, even if she didn't really want it. The gesture not only put the host at ease but also made the guest appear more amenable. "Yes, please."

Dr. Sacher poured two servings before handing a cup and matching saucer to Ali. "Have a seat anywhere you find comfortable."

Ali sat in one of the armchairs and the therapist took a seat in the other.

"We seemed to have gotten off on the wrong foot last time," Dr. Sacher said as she peered over the rim of her cup before taking a small sip of the steaming beverage.

Ali cradled the saucer in her palm. "I'm not very good at introspection, I'm afraid."

The therapist smiled. "Then let me ask you a quick question and we'll move on." She paused before turning more serious. "Tell me. Do you consider yourself a perfectionist?"

She hated that word and Ali cringed. "I was always taught to do my best, but no, I wouldn't call myself a perfectionist," she said.

Dr. Sacher pursed her lips and looked her up and down. "Very good. Now, how about we back up and talk about your environment."

"My environment?" The china rattled in her hand as Ali shifted in her seat.

"That's right. Your influences and triggers. The things around you. More specifically, your interpersonal relationships," Dr. Sacher explained.

Ali hooked her index and middle fingers into the cup's handle and lifted the object to her lips. She took two sips of the bitter tea before answering. "All right."

"Let's talk about your parents first," Dr. Sacher said, setting her cup down on a side table. "Were they equally part of your childhood and are they both still alive?"

"Yes on both counts." In spite of preferring her tea with honey and lemon, Ali drank again.

"And how would you describe your relationship with them?"

Ali sighed. Did she really have to suffer through fifty-five more minutes of this Psychiatry 101 nonsense? Leaning forward, she attempted to put her tea down but fumbled and nearly dropped the whole thing on the checkered floor. "Average, I suppose," she answered once the porcelain was safely on the table. "My mother has always had extremely high expectations of me, but she means well. My father, on the other hand, uses a much more subtle method of silent guilt to make his point."

"Interesting." The therapist crossed her legs and momentarily stared into space, as if trying to commit the note to memory. "We'll definitely revisit that, but for now let's stay on topic. How about friends?"

Ali shrugged. "I don't have much time for socializing, but when I do, it's mainly with a core group I've known since college and a few back from high school," she said.

"I'm assuming all of these friends are at similar places in their lives, personally and professionally, to you?"

She pulled herself straight. "I don't think it would be fair to generalize. One is a preschool teacher, another acts off-Broadway, and even several of those who are in jobs comparable to mine are either married or engaged. So, no. I'd say we're all in quite different situations."

"And what do you think of that?"

"Think of what?" Ali asked back.

The therapist steepled her fingers. "Well, for starters, do you find yourself envious of any of them? For their choice of career or perhaps for already settling down with a partner?"

Ali laughed and relaxed her posture. "Not at all."

"You didn't hesitate," Dr. Sacher said with an approving nod. "Does that mean you've thought about this already?"

"I had a lunch date with a friend from college a few weeks before coming here," Ali said, recalling the brief visit with her former sorority sister days after her accident. "She works in publishing, and while she makes peanuts, that girl absolutely loves what she's doing."

"Do you find that unusual? To enjoy an endeavor without the financial reward, I mean."

"No, of course not. I consider myself very lucky to have both, but I certainly don't judge others for doing something purely out of passion or for money," she said, pausing to consider whether to even mention why she'd thought of her old friend in this context. Recalling how Ryan Weeks had attended a series of Zen Buddhist classes because his wife considered taking up the religion or how he gave up meat for a whole year when she became a vegetarian prompted Ali to add, "Shelby may not have a fancy title or a high salary, but she married her college sweetheart, who would do anything for her."

"Ah." Dr. Sacher drew out the all-knowing syllable. "Then it's that relationship you covet?"

Ali shook her head. "That's the thing. Shelby loves her job and has an amazing husband, yet she spent most of our lunch hour talking about her boss, Nick." She paused to clear her throat, now hating herself for painting her friend in a bad light. "I don't think she'd ever act on it, but the fact that she has everything she ever wanted and yet she's still fantasizing about someone else . . . Well, no. That isn't something I want."

"You want things in your life to be foolproof," suggested the therapist. "You want your actions and decisions to be impervious to error or mistakes?"

"Yes, but don't we all?"

She raised her brow. "Do you know what a synonym of foolproof is, Ms. Barros?"

Ali scoffed. "Infallible? Reliable?"

Dr. Sacher nodded. "And not least of all, perfect."

* * *

She had agreed on a whim, but by the time fair day arrived, Ali was having second thoughts.

"Maybe I shouldn't go," she suggested from the comfort of a padded chair in the lodge's expansive living area.

"Bollocks." Wylda swung her legs over the adjacent sofa's armrest, dangling her feet like a child. "It'll do ya some good to get away from this lot."

Ali sighed and looked out the wall of glass behind her friend. "I suppose," she whispered.

While he was on both their minds, she didn't explicitly want to talk about Pete. After the fiasco in Denver, his stay had been extended by at least two weeks, so there'd be plenty more opportunities to make amends. Especially considering he'd been avoiding everyone since.

"But isn't it weird? To go off-site with the person who runs the rehab place that's supposed to be making you better? You'd think she'd want some time with her family instead of dragging work along," Ali said, while looking at Wylda for reassurance. She, however, bolted upright and, with a shocked expression, attempted to silently signal someone across the room.

Peeking over her shoulder, Ali saw the mid-forties broker in the worn Cubs cap grin in their direction and she gasped in a burst of realization. "You're the soccer mom!" she exclaimed, putting two and two together. She knew the woman Dave had been talking to on the trail ride had looked familiar. "You . . . you and Dave?" Ali pointed behind her as Wylda frantically gestured for him to leave.

Leaning closer, Wylda whispered, "I'm so sorry. I know you were kind of into him—"

"Oh, god no," Ali interrupted, suppressing a giggle that was surely inappropriate considering her friend's earnestness. "It's totally fine. But are you two together now?"

Wylda blushed. "Yeah. Kind of. He was really glum when you disappeared that night, and we just started talking, ya know? He's not a bad fella, actually."

"I am so happy for you," Ali said as she gave her a reassuring hug. "Wow. How are you going to manage when it's time to go home?"

Fluffing up her platinum bob, Wylda looked puzzled. "I'm not sure if it'll get that serious, but we live less than two hours away from each other."

"What? I thought you were from England," Ali squeaked in surprise.

Wylda laughed. "Oh? The accent? No, it's not real. I'm actually from Kenosha."

Ali looked on, dumbfounded, as her friend slipped out of her distinct pronunciation. "Why the pretense?" she finally managed to ask.

"Life's too short to take it seriously. And who wants to flaunt they're from Wisconsin? The English are so exotic, ya know?" She picked up a nearby book and leaned back. "Now, go to your little country fair, and eat some fried butter or whatever they have at this thing."

Checking her watch, Ali jumped to her feet. She was supposed to meet Liz out front three minutes earlier. After waving good-bye to Wylda and running through reception, she bounded out the door and came to a stop on the front porch. Liz—who'd been on a call and pacing back and forth—put away her phone and frowned. "I really hate to do this, but I'm afraid I need to stay behind."

Hallelujah! Her wishes had been answered about scrapping the outing, and Ali didn't even have to go back on her word. "Oh, no. That's too bad," she said with feigned disappointment. "I guess your kids are bummed."

Liz's eyes lit up as she swept her long brown tresses away from her face. "Not at all. They're actually quite excited about spending the afternoon with their uncle," she said, nodding toward the driveway with the black pickup at the end. "I hope you don't mind my brother going in my place."