Read Online Every Fifteen Minutes by Lisa Scottoline - Free Book Online

Michelangelo, Donatello, and whoever the other one was, I forget.
    What I remember is how fast the boyfriend grabbed Porky by the scruff of the neck and cracked him across the face, sending the kid flying backwards.
    I covered my face.
    So nobody could see me smile.
    That’s what I feel like right now.
    Awesome.

 
    Chapter Nine
    The next morning, Eric opened the door to his waiting room to find Max Jakubowski sitting in one of the wooden chairs, hunched over his phone, scrolling the screen with his thumb. “Max? Good morning.”
    â€œOh, hi.” Max looked up, slipped his phone quickly into his back pocket, and jumped to his sneakers, as if he were coming to attention.
    â€œHave trouble finding the office?”
    â€œNo, used GPS.”
    â€œGood. Come on in.” Eric gestured Max through the open door to his office, and as the boy shuffled past, Eric thought he seemed more troubled than he’d been in the hospital. Max hung his head and had darkish circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept much. His forehead was knit under his bangs, and his mood seemed generally depressed.
    â€œThanks for seeing me, Dr. Parrish.” Max stopped in the center of the office, his eyes grateful, if guarded. Up close, Eric could see that his pale, smooth skin had no trace of beginning stubble.
    â€œNo problem. Please sit down.” Eric gestured him to the oversized forest-green chair across from his own.
    â€œThanks.” Max eased onto the chair, bending from the knees sharply, as stiff as a stick figure. He had on loose jeans, another black T-shirt, and worn Converse sneakers. “I didn’t realize you were such a big deal at the hospital. I looked you up online.”
    â€œThat’s me, a very big deal.” Eric smiled, trying to put him at ease.
    â€œSo this is what a psychiatrist’s office looks like.” Max looked around, wheeling his scruffy head.
    â€œDon’t draw too many conclusions. It used to belong to an orthodontist.”
    Max smiled uncomfortably, still looking around, and Eric took a moment to scan the pale green walls, which had four panels of double-hung windows on three sides. On the right was his modern desk of tiger maple, which he kept uncluttered, a green-gray Aeron ergonomic chair, and a low walnut bookcase stuffed with his textbooks, professional journals, and the DSM. Atop the bookcase was a Keurig coffeemaker, next to a few clean mugs and stethoscope and blood-pressure cuff he used to check vitals. Three oversized chairs of a matching green-patterned fabric faced each other in the center of the room. He hadn’t had a chance to hang anything on the walls, but there wasn’t much wall space anyway. He kept his diplomas in his office at the hospital.
    â€œThere’s no couch.”
    â€œThat’s for something called psychoanalysis.” Eric smiled again. It was a common misconception. “We can sit here and talk.”
    â€œOh.” Max gestured outside the window, where butterfly bushes shaded the room from direct sunlight, making shifting shadows. It was quiet outside, except for the chirping of some noisy blue jays and a rumble of a distant leaf blower. “I like the trees and all.”
    â€œI like that, too.”
    â€œIs that your family?” Max’s gaze fell on the bookcase, with its photographs of Caitlin and Hannah.
    â€œYes.” Eric nodded, but didn’t elaborate. He used self-disclosure judiciously, mostly because he didn’t want to waste time. Not all psychiatrists kept personal photos in their offices, but since his private clients were never dangerous, he didn’t worry about his family’s safety.
    â€œSo, what do I call you? Dr. Parrish, like at the hospital?”
    â€œYes, Dr. Parrish is fine.” Eric lifted his computer tablet from the end table, then rested it in his lap. He always picked it up at the beginning of the session, so his clients wouldn’t attribute