10:08. Brenna doesn't utter a word or so much as look at me until we've walked two blocks from Dunning and Brannigan. 

"A trained bicycle-riding bear? Where did that come from?" I ask.

She glances over her shoulder before she speaks.

"So now you have a decision to make and it's not a binary choice."

"Yeah?"

"Two things. One, you have the obvious and probably the safest option of accepting Dunning's job offer."

"I'm afraid that ship has sailed."

"The smart money says his offer is back on the table."

"Hmmmmm."

"Two. We negotiate a settlement. In consideration of our dropping the stalking/harassment suit, Dunning writes us a check to make it all go away."

"How big is the check?"

She shrugs. "Either option means you forget all about Trollamex. You delete all your files, shred your documents, and never mention them again. Ever."

I take a deep breath.

"The fact that you even need to think about this concerns me."

I sigh.

"You didn't tell them that you have Bernie's laptop, did you?"

"No."

"Good. Make them sweat."

A guy in a tight polo shirt with a backpack slung over his shoulder invades Brenna's personal space on his way past. "Hey, gurl. I'd like to make you sweat." 

He's ignored.

Brenna continues. "This is where the line is drawn. At this point, we're talking only about Dunning and Brannigan. Whatever you decide, you compartmentalize and move forward with your life. If you decide to step over that line, now you're inviting the eight-hundred-pound gorilla into the cage. And he's raging."

"Trollamex?"

"They're not going to offer you a job or a check. Their goal will be to eviscerate you. You need to think long and hard about this. Let me know what you decide."

We stand on the street corner waiting for the crosswalk light. While I ponder, backpack guy comes up behind Brenna and says, "Hey, babe. I been lonely too long."

Brenna replies, "Probably because you say things like that."

The light changes and she crosses the street.

                                                                                           #######

10:43. I'm in my car stopped at a traffic light on my way home when I spot a familiar figure amongst the pedestrians crossing the intersection. At first, I'm convinced that the thick chemical residue in my car has triggered a hallucination. The signature argyle sweater catches my eye. It's really him. I watch Doctor George Lindbrutten step onto the curb carrying a brown paper bag. 

It seems a little early for lunch but then again, this is a guy who lives by his own rules. He's a renegade in a V-neck argyle sweater.

I park my car and backtrack. My guess is that Dr. Spit-Pen is headed for the green space less than a quarter-mile away. He's not the type who goes on long hikes at lunchtime. Or any time, for that matter.

While crossing the street, I sidestep to avoid a collision with a tall guy who's locked onto his phone. 

"Excuse me," I snarl.

Without looking up, he flips me off. 

For a moment, I consider confronting him but why waste the energy? Think happy thoughts. Like him being flattened by a skateboarder or lying under the bus he didn't notice.

I make my way toward the little park where a sidewalk winds its way beneath the branches of tall oaks and maple trees, through lush lawns, bunches of wildflowers, and the occasional squirrel looking for a handout. 

Just ahead on my right, the sumptuous figure perches on a park bench, his argyle back to me. Now closer, I watch him unwrap a tuna salad sandwich and lift it to his mouth.

"Hey, Doc. How ya doing?" I startle him with an introduction much louder than he expected.

He does his best to indicate that he is in a state of serenity, although his wide eyes tell a different story. He chews rapidly, struggling to swallow his food. A clump of mayo-covered tuna tumbles out of his mouth and rolls down the front of his v-neck sweater.

"Mr. Robiski. What an unexpected..." He chokes momentarily then continues, "coincidence."

"By definition, aren't coincidences unexpected? I mean, if you see it coming, it's not much of a coincidence, is it?"

"That's an interesting interpretation." His voice trembles.

"So what happened to doctor/patient confidentiality?"

"Huh?" He wipes his mayonnaise-coated lips with a crumpled napkin.

"I have anger issues? You feared for your safety? I was out of my mind with rage?"

"Oh. You saw that interview." His eyes dart back and forth, apparently looking for a police officer to intervene.

"Yeah. I did."

"Listen, Mr. Robiski. Can I call you Phil?"

"Let's stick with Mr. Robiski."

"Fine." He clears his throat. "Mr. Robiski, you may recall that at our first session I explained to you that there are two exceptions to doctor/patient confidentiality."

"Refresh my memory."

"If the patient poses a danger to his or her own life or if the patient is clearly planning to put someone else in danger. Here in Pennsylvania, the law requires me to report on patients whom I deem to present a "serious and imminent" danger to themselves, or to others."

"You're required to report that information to law enforcement, not to my former employer."

"Please control your temper, Mr. Robiski. Uncontrolled anger can be--"

"You wanna see anger issues? I'll show you anger issues."

I snatch his sandwich and throw it into the grass where squirrels and a few pigeons converge.

"That was uncalled for," he squeaks.

"I don't think you know what real anger actually looks like."

I'm stunned when Lindbrutten launches himself over the back of the park bench with surprising agility and jogs away on the sidewalk.

"You'll be hearing from my attorney," I shout after him. "You quack!"

I know Brenna isn't my attorney. But it seemed like the appropriate way to close our conversation.

My phone rings. It's Megs.

I answer with, "Hey, babe."

She's in no mood for "hey babe." She's deadly serious.

"You're not in Harrisburg again, are you?"

"No."

"I'm stuck in a meeting. Can you pick up Jillian from school?"

"Now?"

"As soon as you can."

"Is she sick?"

"She's suspended."

"What happened?"

"Can you just go to the school to pick her up? I can't talk about this now."

"I'm on my way."

                                                                                        #######

11:38. I walk Jillian to the car in the school parking lot.

"What a day," she grumbles as we approach the car. "Like I'm not already embarrassed enough being kicked out of school, now everyone in the whole school sees this crashed-up car with the tied-down trunk."

"It's not the trunk, it's the hood." I open the door for her.

"I'm never coming back here."

"You'll be back next week." I get behind the wheel and start the car. She slides down in her seat.

"Sit up or the seatbelt won't fit right."

She sits up.

"OMG. It stinks in here." She covers her nose.

I roll down the windows.

"So how did you disrupt the class this time?"

"Two words. Current. Events."

"Don't use that tone with me."

She looks out the window.

"What happened?"

"We're supposed to read and summarize a news article."

"About what?"

"About all that stuff in Utah."

Oh no.

She adds, "It wasn't even a news article."

"What do you mean?"

"She's soooooo stupid."

"Ms. Castellano?"

"Who else?"

I let her sarcasm slide this time.

"Why do you say it wasn't a news article?"

"There were made-up sources. It said stuff like "according to experts" and "scientists agree." I said "Who are these experts? And what scientists are they talking about?"

"And then what did she say?"

"She said I was just trying to start an argument. Again. And that the other kids in my class shouldn't miss out on learning stuff just because I'm always arguing with her."

"You didn't call her stupid or any other names. Did you?"

"No."

"Tell me the truth. Mom and I have a meeting at your school tomorrow. We need to know everything you said."

"If she can read minds then she probably heard me call her a whole bunch of names but I didn't say anything like that out loud to her wrinkled old face. I swear."

"That's a relief."

"Well, at least I'll have more time to work on my science project," she says.