Better Left Buried by Belinda Frisch Read Free Book Online Page A

to office space that housed most of the county’s programs—and parked at the far end of the lot. He flipped down the visor for her to get a good look at herself. Her clothes were torn, her skin scraped, and her hair a mess. “How are you going to explain this to Bennett? Don’t make this worse on yourself than it has to be. Change your clothes and clean up in the bathroom.”
    “Fine.”
    There was no other choice.
    She changed, cleaning up the best she could with what was in the glove compartment, and eased out of the truck wearing a pair of faded jeans and a pink t-shirt with glitter lettering that read “Tough Girl”.
    “Where did you even get this ridiculous outfit?”
    “Goodwill,” he said. “You needed something in your wardrobe that didn’t come from Hot Topic.”
    “I really hate you right now.”
    He ste pped in front of her and kissed her. “I know, but I still love you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    Adam stood behind Harmony in the doorway of the overfull waiting room, his arms wrapped around her , their fingers knitted together at her waist. There were pieces of napkin stuck in his now clotted wound and his hands were stained grease black.
    No matter how often he washed them, they never came clean.
    A white noise generator hissed under the chair next to them, masking the behind closed doors conversations. The phone rang nearly non-stop and a red-headed girl with Down’s syndrome pleaded with her elderly mother to go home.
    “Pease,” she begged. “I wanna l-e-a-v-e. Pretty pease.”
    Harmony understood the sentiment. Nervous sweat dripped down her sides and back, filling her nose with the scent of lavender deodorant.
    “I should ha ve cancelled.”
    Adam shook his head. “It’s going to be fine. You’re cleaned up. You look the part. Just go in there and act the shit out of this thing. Whatever he says, you do.”
    “Harmony Wolcott?” Dr. Bennett stood in his office doorway, his wrinkled khakis an inch too short and the tails of his button-down shirt hanging beneath the waistband of a food-stained sweater vest.
    She walked toward him with her head down. Her eyes burned and were no doubt still red, despite her rinsing them. She could smell and taste the pepper spray and refused to make eye contact.
    “Good to see you again,” he said.
    “Thanks.” She collapsed on the lumpy couch, still warm from the previous patient, and coughed.
    Therapy wasn’t like in the movies—no high-end leather or panoramic views from the forty-sixth floor of a high rise—at least, not at the kind of places Social Services refers you to. The flattened, red-on-blue plaid cushion sucked her in and she tucked her leg underneath her for balance.
    “Are you all right? Would you like a glass of water?” He leaned his head to get a better look at her.
    “No, thank you . Let’s just get this over with.” Adam’s voice in the back of her head told her to be nice. “I’m sorry. I just mean I’m not feeling that well.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.” Bennett lingered in the doorway.
    “You can close the door,” she said. “My mother’s not coming.”
    “Oh?” He closed the door, took a seat behind his laminate oak desk, and opened her voluminous chart. “I thought I was clear when I said that her attendance was mandatory.”
    His close-set eyes reminded her of a pig’s and were magnified by the coke bottle horn rimmed glasses perpetually sliding down his narrow nose. His thinning salt and pepper hair was tied back in a low ponytail and his breath reeked of onions.
    “You were, but she had a job interview she couldn’t miss. She asked me to tell you. I’m sure Sylvie has already told you about the power situation.” Sylvie Herr had been Harmony’s social worker for the past two years. “It’s back on now, but my mother has to work for it to stay that way.” The admission about the power situation was her attempt at looking cooperative.
    “I see.” Bennett scribbled down the excuse, but she could