InSight

about the spooky incident in her building, admitting the possibility that her imagination had played tricks.
    “Anyone you want to call?”
    Abby thought about her choices. “My mother would cancel her life if she knew about this. I have a cleaning lady who knows where everything belongs. I’ll call her.”
    Pete brought her the phone and she called Bertie, who promised to come first thing in the morning. When the crime scene unit arrived, Abby heard Luke suggest in an authoritative manner they examine this or that detail.
    “Luke’s making all the right suggestions,” Pete Valkonis said, “but while he’s being evaluated, he’s not supposed to be in the field, and he’s certainly shouldn’t direct the CSU. Have you eaten, Dr. Gallant?”
    “I’m not hungry.” In fact, her stomach kicked back at the thought.
    “Well, get hungry. I want him out of here before someone gets pissed off.”
    “Why did you bring him if he shouldn’t be here?”
    Valkonis leaned close to her ear. “You don’t know him very well, do you? He insisted, and he’s not an easy man to dissuade.” Valkonis must have done something to get Luke’s attention. “Why don’t you take Dr. Gallant for a bite to eat? The crew will be here for a while.”
    “Good idea. Come on, Doctor, I’ll buy you a drink before dinner.”
    Abby understood Detective Valkonis’s tactic and figured Luke McCallister did too. The ruse was meant to save everyone’s face.
    She followed the sound of McCallister’s voice. “Well, Detective, I think messing up my house to get me to go out to dinner with you is a little extreme, don’t you?”
    “Actually, I thought it was a brilliant idea,” he said.
    She heard lightness in his words, as if he were smiling. The banter relieved some of the tension, and she laughed. She liked his husky voice and wondered what his smile looked like. Smiles and eyes—the visual preview into a person’s character. Now she used other senses, but nothing made up for a great smile.
    Valkonis said he’d watch Daisy while the arriving forensics crew did their job. Abby thanked him and took Luke’s arm, breathing in once again the subtle scent of sandalwood. He thoughtfully announced the terrain: a step, a curb, a door. She knew the way out of her house as if she were sighted but let him lead anyway. He suggested Billy D’s for hamburgers and she agreed, rating theirs the best in town. When they were seated, they both ordered a beer and slipped into easy conversation, avoiding the upsetting incident at her house. He asked questions about her practice and seemed genuinely interested in her answers, which she kept short.
    Abby felt around the table, her hands low, until she located the napkin, silverware, and water glass. It had taken a long time to feel comfortable eating in front of anyone but Lucy. So simple, she thought. She’d done it three times a day for thirty years. But when you can’t see what’s in front of you or where it is without touching it, making people around you uncomfortable, your tendency is to eat in private. With instruction in the proper way to navigate a plate of food and practice three times a day, she learned. Occasionally, she asked for help.
    She faced Luke. As she had during their first meeting, she enunciated her words carefully. “Will you do something for me?”
    “Um, sure.”
    She felt for the side of her plate. “Would you mind pouring some ketchup here? Glass bottles are a bitch.” She knew Billy D’s had glass bottles from her last visit. “First they clog, then one good hit and my fries are swimming in ketchup.”
    Luke obliged, then related the placement of her food according to the clock. How did he know to do that? she wondered, but didn’t ask. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
    He ordered two more beers. “You impress me, Dr. Abigael Gallant, and I’m not easily impressed.”
    “Thank you.” She picked up a fry, dipped the end in ketchup, and scraped the excess on the side of the plate before putting it in her mouth, hoping it didn’t drip all over her. She blotted her lips with the napkin to be sure. “I hope it’s because I’m a good therapist and not because I’m blind and a good therapist. There’s a difference, you know.”
    “A little of both, I guess. Frankly, I don’t know how you do it.”
    She’d heard the sentiment before, mainly from new patients beginning their long, hard climb back. “Same way you are. One step at a