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to be difficult.”

      Maria nodded. “Sí. I have been very frightened.” She gripped her hands tightly in front of her.

      “Before we get into a more serious discussion, let’s start with something simple. I have two brief tests I’d like to give you. Just answer each question honestly, yes or no, then we’ll see where we are.”

      She nodded, seemed to brace herself. For the next fifteen minutes, the doctor asked questions from the first sheet of paper he picked up, questions that would reveal symptoms of depression.

      “All right, Maria, here we go. For the past few weeks or months, have you been excessively worried about work, family or finances?”

      Maria shook her head. “No. Miguel is doing very well at his job, and Raul, he is doing very good, too.”

      “Have you lost interest in the things you usually like to do?”

      “No. I am very busy at home getting ready for the baby.”

      “Have you been feeling sad or hopeless?”

      “No.”

      “Have you lost interest in sex?”

      Soft color rose beneath the dark skin over her cheeks. “My husband, he is a very virile man, but with the baby coming…” She glanced away. “Still, I feel desire for him.”

      Elizabeth bit back a smile and Michael looked down at the paper. “Do you cry often?”

      “A few times lately, but only because I am afraid.”

      Michael made notes on the paper. “Are you irritable and out of sorts with other people?”

      “No, I do not think so.”

      “Do you spend time thinking about death or dying?”

      Maria shook her head. “I think mostly about having my baby. The doctor says it is going to be a little boy.”

      Flicking a glance at Elizabeth, Dr. James set the questionnaire aside and picked up a second sheet of paper. “This is a test for Anxiety Disorder. Answer each question just as you did before.”

      Maria nodded, sat up a little straighter in her chair.

      “Do you sometimes feel that things around you are strange, unreal, foggy or detached from you?”

      “Sí…at night…when I am alone.”

      “Do you have a fear that you are dying or that something terrible is about to happen?”

      “Sí, and I am very afraid.”

      “Do you have difficulty breathing? Or feel as if you are smothering?”

      “That has happened to me…yes.”

      He made notes on the paper. “Do you suffer chest pains, light-headedness or dizzy spells, shaking or trembling?”

      “Sí, but only when the fear comes.”

      “Have you experienced the sensation of your legs being rubbery or jellylike?”

      “It was not quite that way. The last time the voices came, I could not move my legs. I could not move from the bed. I could not get away.”

      Dr. James frowned. “Have you experienced a skipping or racing heart?”

      “Oh, sí. My heart, it goes so fast I think it will beat right through my chest.”

      The doctor set the paper aside and pulled off his reading glasses. “From the answers you’ve given, Mrs. Santiago, you have the classic symptoms of anxiety. What you’re feeling isn’t really happening. But stress is making it seem as if it is.”

      “Then the voices, they are not real?”

      “No. But you mustn’t be afraid. Once we discover what is causing the anxiety, the voices will go away.”

      Dr. James glanced at Elizabeth, who took her cue and rose from her chair. “Dr. James is going to help you, Maria. All you have to do is talk to him, tell him your fears, be honest about yourself and your past.” Elizabeth squeezed the young woman’s shoulder. “If you do that, it won’t be long before you’ll start to feel better.”

      Elizabeth left the doctor’s office, closing the door softly behind her. It looked like Maria was definitely suffering from anxiety. Michael James was good. In time, he would discover the cause. Once the problem was out in the open, the symptoms would likely disappear.

      Elizabeth returned to her office, relieved yet wondering what had set off the young woman’s recent attacks.

      Her marriage, perhaps. Miguel Santiago was twenty-nine, ten years older than his wife.

      He wasn’t abusive, just domineering, and up until now, Maria hadn’t seemed to mind. She had been raised to believe the husband was master of the household and it seemed their mutual understanding was working to make a successful marriage.

      Now, based on what Elizabeth had heard in Michael’s office, she was beginning to have her doubts.

      

      “So what do you think I should wear?” The week was over. It was Saturday afternoon, hot, as usual in San Pico, the sun beating down through the bedroom windows in Elizabeth’s Cherry Street apartment.

      “The black cocktail dress,” Gwen Petersen said, plopping down on the edge of the bed in front of the mirrored closet. “Definitely.” The room was simply furnished, with an inexpensive walnut queen-size bedroom set she had purchased right after college, and not much on the walls.

      Elizabeth had never planned to return to San Pico and in the two years she had been back, she’d done little to make the apartment feel like home.

      “Carson’s house is very elegant,” Gwen continued, “and he’ll have the dinner professionally catered. Jim and I attended a function there not too long ago. You’ll definitely need to wear something nice.”

      Gwen studied the dresses laid out on the bed, a red chiffon with a full, flowing skirt, and a light blue silk sheath with a modest neckline and small cap sleeves, and a simple black silk sheath. “The black is perfect, classic yet sexy.”

      “That’s kind of what I was thinking. I’ve always felt good when I wear it. I usually wear my mother’s pearls with it.”

      “Perfect.” Gwen got up from the bed, picking up the hanger with the black sheath on it, holding it up in front of Elizabeth. “It’s a good thing you still fit into the clothes you brought with you from L.A. You sure couldn’t find anything like this in San Pico.”

      The above-the-knee sheath dress was made of black silk crepe, with a draped neckline that dipped down low in back.

      “I don’t suppose you could, but you really don’t need clothes like these very often here, either.”

      “True enough, but if you seriously start dating Carson Harcourt, you’re going to need everything you’ve got and a whole lot more.”

      “I’m not seriously dating Carson. I hardly know the man.”

      “It’d be nice, though, wouldn’t it? If you two got together? Carson has plenty of money and he’s well respected in the community. Around these parts, the man is considered quite a catch.”

      “Well, I’m not trying to catch Carson or any other man. I’ve had one husband. As far as I’m concerned, one was more than enough.”

      Gwen held the dress up in front of her and looked at herself in the mirror. The skirt was too long for Gwen’s petite frame, but the black did wonders for her fair complexion and short red hair. “Not all men are like your ex, you know. Jim’s a terrific husband.”

      “Yes, he is. Jim’s one in ten thousand. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to plough through another nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine to find one like him.”

      Gwen

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