Chartan Rebuffs Dr. Kodor

DSC_0484(Last week: After Chartan drives Minerva to her appointment with Dr. Kodor, she finagles a meeting between Chartan and the famous therapist who provided counseling to Chartan after he was shot.)

Dr. Kodor motioned to Minerva with the flip of his hand. She smiled and left.

“Chartan, please sit.” The former guru turned limo driver nodded and took the oversized leather chair he had occupied eight months ago while  Kodor sat in the thicker leather chair–their knees almost touched..

“There won’t be any fees attached to our talk,” said Kodor. “I simply want to explore why you stopped coming here.”

Chartan’s face tightened. His dislike for the therapist was back in full force.

“I don’t recall a specific reason. I simply fell in line with a series of events that involved two women and a combat vet. Now I’m married and driving a limo for a living. And that’s my life in 30-seconds.”

“It sounds to me that you don’t care, that, perhaps, you’ve given up.”

Kodor’s assessment was a punch to the stomach that hurt briefly. Chartan straightened up in the chair and exhaled with the willpower that had abandoned him months ago.

His first words were spoken slowly. “I’ve fallen in love…her name is Gina and I want to be with her now. It’s true that I don’t care about things I once thought important, but I haven’t given up. And this may be beyond your understanding.”

His statement cleared the fog that had followed him from the limo. He detested Kodor’s brand of psychotherapy. He stood up and left, imagining that the world famous therapist’s jaw had dropped, but he didn’t care to confirm the effect of his sudden departure.

He returned to the limo, not surprised that Minerva was on the phone in the back seat.

“That was quick,” she said, lowering the phone to her lap.

“There wasn’t much to say. Home?”


The two didn’t speak again until the limo stopped in front of her mansion. He opened the door for her.

“My dear, Chartan, I apologize for sleeping on the way home. She handed him a wad of rolled up bills which he stuffed into his pocket as he walked by her side to the front door. He bit his lip–I still take her money.

Twenty minutes later he opened the apartment door. Gina was seated at the kitchen table.

“We have to talk,” she said.

His heart pounded. Her voice sounded as if she were in pain.

To be continued next Sunday…


Published by 67steffen

My labels: grandfather, father, veteran, writer, poet, photographer and dreamer in pursuit of the meaning of life. Getting close, although I'm running out of time--probably why I'm so close.

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