“That reminds me of my childhood home,” he’d said. As complex as ever, his expression had registered both sadness and pleasure.
How badly she’d wanted to ask why Conyod had such mixed feelings about his past. Not for the first time, she wondered how a man dedicated to healing the pain of others seemed to find no relief from the conflicts he himself bore. She was sure something preyed on the psychologist’s mind. He wore sadness like an almost visible cloak.
Coming Fall/Winter 2012