Always Watching

felt myself drawing back in my chair, wanting to put some space between us.
    I read his opening letter, about how he’d formed the center because he believed it was more important than ever, with the current global-warming crisis, to awaken people to the earth’s plight. They commanded large fees for workshops and intensives, ranging from a weekend to a month—if you were accepted into the program. They would only take so many at a time. Members had to apply to stay on and live permanently at the commune. I wondered what that was evaluated on. I also wondered what had happened to Joseph. I tried to calculate his age, and if he was eighteen when I knew him, he’d be almost sixty now. Aaron, twenty-two, would be in his early sixties.
    I looked again at Aaron’s photo, his tranquil smile making me suddenly angry when I thought about Heather in the hospital, her wrists bandaged, blaming herself for the loss of her child. I turned my computer off.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    The next morning, I woke late and groggy. Though I had no appetite, I made myself eat a muffin on the way to the hospital, washing it down with a tea that I grabbed at the corner coffee shop. I was hoping to talk to one of my colleagues before my rounds. I’d decided it was probably better for Heather if she had a doctor who had no previous involvement with the commune, but I wanted to discuss it with someone first. As I headed down the hallway toward the unit, I ran into Michelle. She smiled and said, “Good morning, Dr. Lavoie.”
    I smiled back. “Morning.”
    She stopped and looked at my scarf. “I love that. What a pretty color.”
    I glanced down at the lavender scarf. I’d been distracted that morning and barely remembered putting it on. “Thanks. I’ve had it forever.”
    “You always dress so nice. Well, have a good day.”
    “You too.”
    She continued on her way, leaving me feeling lighter in spirit than when I’d first come through the doors. Michelle was a lovely person, always positive and complimentary. A few days earlier in the break room, I’d told her I was turning fifty-five this month. She’d paused with her mug halfway to her mouth, and said, “You’re kidding me. I thought we were around the same age.”
    Michelle was probably only in her mid-forties. I laughed. “I wish.”
    She said, “Well, you look amazing.”
    “That’s very kind.” I know that I look young for my age—I’ve taken care of my skin and eat healthy, though I struggle with an addiction to popcorn and peanut M&Ms. I balance it out with bike rides and yoga. Since I stopped dyeing my hair in my forties, deciding that it was just too much trouble, I’d come to like the silver, which was now in all different shades, ranging from nearly snow-white around my face to almost black on the underside. I used to wear it in a short, choppy cut, but I’d been letting it grow, and it now fell just past my shoulders.
    To work with my coloring, I wear clothes in shades of gray and steel blues. I favor a bohemian style—long skirts with boots, loose flowing slacks and tunics, chunky silver jewelry, wraps and scarves, which fits with my love of art and traveling. Sometimes I wonder if I was a gypsy in a former life. But there’s another part of me that just loves to be home. Paul used to say, as we bathed together and drank wine straight from the bottle, “You’re a complicated woman, Nadine. I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my life figuring you out.”
    My heart panged, like it did every time my thoughts drifted to my husband, Paul, who’d passed away ten years ago from prostate cancer. I had the love of my life, but now my work and my patients were my relationship.
    *   *   *
    That morning, as I walked down the hallway, I was disappointed that I’d missed Maurice, another psychiatrist who worked in the unit. I’d wanted to talk about Heather with him, but he’d finished his rounds early. Still thinking about what to do, and considering other doctors, I almost bumped into Dr. Kevin Nasser as he stepped out of his office—as the staff psychologist, he had an office on the main ward.
    Kevin reached out to steady me, his hand warm on my arm, then said, “Good morning, Nadine. How are you?”
    Many people just give the standard greetings without any real meaning behind the words, but from the first moment I’d met Kevin, I got the feeling that when we exchanged pleasantries, he was genuinely interested in my answer.
    “I’m well,