Jefferson had stopped accepting couples several years ago. He found them too confrontational, sometimes violent on occasion, and they always asked him to take sides which he never wanted to do. After one couple had only what he could describe as an epic meltdown, Doctor Jefferson walked away from that field of therapy. Jefferson found couple’s therapy very exhausting, both physically and mentally, and it was no longer his cup of tea. He preferred to work one on one with his patients and had stopped seeing couples completely for what he thought was a very sound reason. Yet this time Jefferson was going to have to make an exception, as this couple was another contribution from the passing of his colleague, Doctor Stevens. While another therapist had volunteered to take them on, the couple didn’t want that person as they preferred to work with a male therapist. This was why they liked withing with Doctor Stevens so much, but all Jefferson could see was an outspoken, demanding couple that was going to cause trouble. This unfortunate circumstance meant that Jefferson was going to have to tackle the wild world of couple’s therapy again at least one more time Jefferson was being asked to do the heavy lifting as the more difficult clients appeared to be dumped onto him rather disproportionately. Rather than complain or try to pass the buck like the previous therapist asked to take on this couple, Jefferson decided use this as an opportunity. He wanted to see if it was possible to get back into this branch of his field and see if it could work out with couples or was really something he never wanted to do again. Trial by fire as he never got to pick the couple as they fell onto his lap. Rather the gripe, Jefferson prepared himself like a gladiator that was walking back into the arena for the first time in a while. When the hour came, Jefferson believed that he was ready but still braced for impact.

Tom was the first to show up, which wasn’t exactly a good sign. Usually, it was better if the couple arrived together rather than separately. Now it could mean they work in different parts of town and came from opposite directions, but it also could mean they were poor at synchronizing their schedules and working a plan to meet up. Neither red flag was ideal, but Jefferson planned not to emphasize on it and let the couple lead the direction of their first session. To make matters worse when the hour finally started, the lady still hadn’t arrived, and the husband was left there holding his dick like a chump. Jefferson opened the door and let the man in so that he would not be punished for his spouse’s punctuality or lack there of. As Tom walked into the room, his presence made quite an impression. He was well dressed, wearing a sharp suit that looked to be custom made as looked as tight as a wetsuit. It was jet black with white lines, and his tie was a bright red that stuck out like a naked guy in a crowd with his hair on fire. His hair was slicked back, and his beard was trimmed that day, no doubt by a professional. He looked like a million bucks, but he also looked like he was ready for a fight. Jefferson could tell that he was frustrated as Tom walked in and offered a hand for him to shake.

“Good afternoon, doctor.” Tom started, “I’m Thomas Fletcher, but you can call me Tom.”

“Hello, Tom,” Jefferson said, taking his hand and shaking it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked.

“I mean because of the passing of your therapist,” Jefferson reminded him, “No one likes to change therapists if they can help it, but sometimes life isn’t very cooperative and I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

“Shit happens,” Tom said, as he didn’t appear sad about it. “The man was fat and smelt like a box of Cubans. It was only a matter of time because that fucker’s heart was like a ticking bomb.”

“I see,” Jefferson said, as the response told him a lot about the man he was speaking with. He was blunt, honest, and fearless. Often that could be a rather terrifying combination.

“I’m sorry about Vicky,” Tom added, “She’s always late.”

“Is she?” Jefferson asked.

“Every damn time it seems,” Tom confirmed, “How long we’re kept waiting varies, but she usually has a pantheon of excuses on hand to explain them all away. A client was keeping her in the office, traffic was hell, and many, many more. Today my money is on traffic. That’s one of her go to excuses to explain away her tardiness.”

“I don’t endorse gambling in here,” Jefferson said, “But I understand your frustration. Do you want to wait for her?”

“Not really to be honest,” Tom said as he walked over to the couch. “I already left a few messages with no reply. Time is money so we might as well get started since we’re already on the clock.”

“Time appears to be very important to you,” Jefferson observed. “Is time important in your line of work as well?”

“In my line of work, my time is very expensive,” Tom answered, “I charge five hundred dollars an hour for my time.”

“Wow,” Jefferson said, as it was a little more than what he was charging for his hourly rate.

“I’m an attorney,” Tom added, “And as you can surmise by what I charge, I happen to be one of the best.”

“I surmised as much,” Jefferson said, as he gestured to the couch. Tom took the hint and plopped himself down on the left-hand side.

“She’s always late,” Tom said, almost grumbling. “It’s so disrespectful.”

“Did this happen a lot with Doctor Stevens?” Jefferson asked.

“Oh yeah, big time.” Tom said, “I can count on one hand how many times she actually showed up early or on time. Stevens actually threatened to stop letting her attend if she couldn’t show up on time.”

“Is that so?” Jefferson said, as he found that rather interesting. Stevens was never the kind to make such threats, so it seemed to back up Tom’s story about how often his wife was late.

“It’s fucking bullshit,” Tom cussed, his frustration evident. “She is never late for her family doctor, or her damn Gyno, but she’s always late to see you guys. Contrary to popular belief, you guys are real doctors and should be respected as such.”

“Thank you,” Jefferson said, “Your reverence for my profession is very unique.”

“Well, I deal with a lot of you actually.” Tom confessed, “I work with a lot of psychiatrists during trials to testify as experts. Some cases I had hinged on what your colleagues had to say, so I have a lot of respect for the work and what your reputations can do when I’m trying to win a case.”

“That’s makes sense.” Jefferson observed, “Is that how you became acquainted with Doctor Stevens?”

“No, not that way,” Tom corrected him, “He was recommended by someone that I work with, but he never was one of my experts.”

“I see,” Jefferson said, sitting down into his chair. “And in your personal opinion, how did you think therapy was going with Doctor Stevens?”

“It didn’t feel like it was going well,” Tom answered, “It felt like we were crawling through mud, and moving too slow.”

“And you don’t like to move slow?” Jefferson asked.

“No, not really.” Tom replied, “But I’m not a naïve fool; I realize that there are no quick fixes, but there is such a thing as moving too slow. I’d like to see a decent progress to feel like we’re going somewhere.”

“That doesn’t sound unreasonable,” Jefferson said, “But I can assure you, slow progress is still progress. As long as you’re consistent, all of those steps will eventually add up.”

“Fair enough,” Tom conceded, “I do like that approach. Journey of a thousand miles starts with and is taken one step at a time.”

“One of my favorite sayings,” Jefferson said, as he could sense a connection with the client that bothered to show up.

“A bit of a paraphrase,” Tom added, “but it still manages to deliver the vital message.”

“And what about your journey, Tom?” Jefferson asked, “How fast is the pace where your marriage is concerned?”

“Obviously it’s stagnant,” Tom answered, “Like a broken-down car that had to pull over to the side of the road. It’s not going anywhere. Zero progress.”

“I see,” Jefferson said, as he started to take notes, “How did your marriage break down, since we’re using this metaphor.”

“Trust,” Tom answered, “Or the lack there of.”

“I’m not going to lie,” Jefferson started, “Once something that crucial is lost, it’s very hard to get back. For some people it’s impossible.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Tom said, as he sat back and huffed.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Jefferson said, “Whose trust was broken?”

“It was mine,” Tom answered, “I’ve spent the better part of eleven years been loyal to a person that doesn’t deserve my loyalty.”

“That’s a hard thing to admit,” Jefferson said, “I read from your file that was given to me by Doctor Stevens’ office that there was infidelity.”

“Pretty much,” Tom confirmed, “Once again on her part. I’ve managed to keep it in my pants, and that’s how my devotion is repaid.”

“That’s interesting,” Jefferson said, noticing something. “So, you’ve been tempted, haven’t you? Someone has propositioned you at one point in your marriage.”

“Yes, but I did nothing.” Tom replied, “I shut that shit down and never let it go anywhere. I’m not that kind of guy. I keep getting told that my wife will never know, it will be okay. Well, I would know and that’s worse than her knowing. There’s such a thing as self respect, and when I make promises or oaths before god, I fucking keep them.”

“That is admirable,” Jefferson said, as he tried his best not to appear too impressed with what he just heard. Tom was a man with faults, like all men, but infidelity wasn’t one of them. He loved his wife, and apparently himself, far too much to ever risk stepping out on the woman he committed himself to.

“It doesn’t make me feel good,” Tom admitted, “All that work, and it feels like it was for nothing.”

“But it wasn’t,” Jefferson disagreed, “you said it yourself, that how you view of yourself is just as important as how others do. It reminds me of something profound one of my professors said. He told us that the only respect that matters is self respect, and everything else was just bullshit. If you can look at that man in the mirror and respect the man looking back, then in his books you were doing alright.”

“Fair enough,” Tom said, as he even smiled a bit. “That sounds like a pretty stand-up professor to me.”

“He was tough, but fair.” Jefferson said, smiling back. “When we wrote our finals, he would take them all back to his office and mark them all that night while nursing a bottle of scotch. Our final grades were always posted on his office door by ten the next morning.”

“Wow,” Tom said, impressed. “That is unheard of. I never had a prof that was that dedicated to his craft. To pull all nighters just like his students.”

“You pulled a few of those?” Jefferson asked.

“More than I’d like to admit,” Tom said, thinking back. “I work better when there’s an impending deadline. The closer I am to it, the harder and more dedicated I get. Usually before a trial starts, you find me the previous night in my office going over my opening repeatedly. It’s just the way I’m programmed.”

“You’re not alone with that line of thinking,” Jefferson said, “There are a lot of professionals that love to work with a clock hanging over them, as it forces them to hustle and bust their asses when necessary.”

“I remember one all nighter I did when getting my under grad,” Tom recalled, “It was an English course in Gothic Fiction.”

“That sounds interesting,” Jefferson noted.

“It was a great class,” Tom said, “At the beginning of the term, the professor told us that there were ten books we would cover during the entire course, and that during our final we could pick which books we wanted to answer. So, we got to chose what books we wanted to talk about and what books we didn’t want to go over. We could select four books we like and answer questions about that in the final.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Jefferson said, “But something happened, didn’t it?”

“You’re very perceptive,” Tom said, “About a week before the final, she changed the format of the final. She said that one section would be how she said they’d be; with options to pick from. Then she told us that the second section would only be about one book, which was Bram Stoker’s Dracula. She changed the rules of the final at the last fucking minute.”

“And that upset you?” Jefferson asked.

“You’re fucking right it did!” Tom said, looking rather heated. “To make matters worse, I hadn’t touched that damn book with a ten-foot pole. I had been studying five other books that whole term, and now I had to pick one up and basically get acquainted with it with less than six days notice.”

“I can tell that upset you,” Jefferson said, “She moved the goalposts and didn’t seem to care how here students felt about it.”

“I still managed to read the book,” Tom answered, “I read it a few times, even using a large print version to help during the later hours.”

“Smart man,” Jefferson noted, “Audio books are also helpful, and even sometimes the movies can offer a break without breaking away too far from the subject in question.”

“Movies cut too much out,” Tom griped.

“That depends on the movie,” Jefferson said, “But getting back on track, this is another example of how your trust was broken. This appears to be a recurring theme for you, Tom.”

“You could say that.” Tom confirmed.

“I am saying that.” Jefferson said, as he noticed something in the corner of his eye. His instincts were confirmed when there was a buzz coming from reception to let him know someone had arrived.

“Well, it’s about time!” Tom said, “She’s only a half hour late.”

“Twenty minutes actually,” Jefferson said, “Excuse me for a moment.”

Jefferson put his notepad down and strolled over to the door. He opened it but blocked the entrance with his body. He stood there and looked at the woman that was before him, the very woman they had been waiting for.

“Vicky Fletcher, I presume?” Jefferson asked.

“Yes,” Vicky said, giving the man at the door a warm smile.

Jefferson took a brief glimpse and saw before him a woman that was very busy and moving from point to point and always in a rush. She was wearing heels, a shirt, and a suit coat that made her look as professional as her husband. The doctor remained standing at the door and glanced at the woman without saying a single word, still blocking her entrance into the room.

“Excuse me,” Vicky said, expecting him to step aside.

“No,” Jefferson replied, “I don’t think I will.”

“I beg your pardon?” Vicky asked, sensing his hostility.

“It’s you who should be begging,” Jefferson retorted, “As your behavior is not only inappropriate but grossly disrespectful.”

“I’m sorry for being late,” Vicky said, as she appeared to be prepping for today’s excuse.

“I’m sure you are,” Jefferson said, as he did believe her, “But by not being here at the scheduled time, you have not only denigrated your husband, but myself as well. If you want to be any part of this process, you have to start by respecting it.”

“I do respect this process,” Vicky insisted.

“You may believe that, but your actions say otherwise.” Jefferson disagreed, “In order to respect the process, you have to be punctual. If you’re not present when the session begins, you will not be allowed to participate.”

“What?” Vicky said, as she couldn’t believe what she was being told.

“Our time is very valuable, Mrs. Fletcher,” Jefferson continued, “So I believe the best way to show you that is to waste some of yours. If if you cannot recognize and accept the rules of this office, then you will not be welcome here. See you next week.”

Before Vicky had a chance to spit out a response, Jefferson slammed the door in her face. Jefferson slowly walked back to his chair, picked up his pad, and then sat back down. He looked back up at Tom who had a stunned look upon his face.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Tom said.

“Believe it,” Jefferson said, “If you do not respect your boundaries, no one else will. I’ve dealt with people who are chronically late, and sometimes you must be tough with them in order to get them to respect the process. She never replied to your messages, never gave us a heads up, and pretty much gave us a no call no show for almost half the session. I do not tolerate this kind of insolence, and neither should you. You know the meaning of being punctual because of your profession. What would happen to you if you showed up a half hour late for court?”

“Shit,” Tom said, almost cringing at the thought, “We’d be deep trouble, and could face sanctions or even jail time. We just don’t do it.”

“This is no different,” Jefferson said, “I’m letting your wife know that if she’s not on time, there are consequences. So, we were talking about gothic fiction and Bram Stoker, weren’t we?”