Mr. Monk Goes to Germany by Lee Goldberg (general ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“This is totally inappropriate,” Dr. Kroger said tightly. “You can’t just follow me to Germany and expect me to treat you.”

“That’s why I’m so lucky to have Natalie,” Monk said, tipping his head towards me. “I couldn’t have done it without her.”

“Really?” Dr. Kroger turned to look at me and I felt my bowels seize up. I waved meekly.

“It’s nice to see you,” I said. “You’re looking very rested.”

Dr. Kroger stood up, grabbed me firmly by the arm, and led me into the lobby.

Monk stayed in his seat.

“I am shocked, Natalie,” he said.

“I bet you are,” I said.

“What Adrian has done today is a serious breach of the doctor-patient relationship and you enabled him to do it,” he said, thrusting his finger at me like a weapon.

“No more than you enabled him to follow me to Hawaii,” I said.

“I thought you were an intelligent and responsible woman, that you were a positive influence on Adrian’s emotional and psychological well-being. Obviously I was wrong. You are a deeply disturbed woman.”

“My job is to look out for Mr. Monk’s best interests and that’s exactly what I am doing.”

“By helping him to stalk me and invade my private life?” Dr. Kroger declared. “What he has done is a crime and you were his accomplice.”

“I don’t begrudge you a private life or a vacation. God knows, I’d like to have them, too,” I said. “But don’t play dumb. You had to know Mr. Monk was going to completely fall apart without you and that there was no way he would ever see a one-armed psychiatrist. But you didn’t care. You dumped the problem in my lap and went on your way, leaving me to deal with it.”

“And this is your idea of a solution?”

“Take a look at him. Adrian Monk is here, in Germany, a world apart from his own. Imagine the crippling fears he had to overcome just so he could be here in that chair right now. That’s how much he needs you. All he asks in return is one hour of your time. One hour of patience, understanding, and advice. Is that so damn hard for you to give?”

Dr. Kroger looked back at Monk, who was sitting peacefully in his chair, then back at me.

“I should call the police and have him removed,” Dr. Kroger said.

“And create an embarrassing scene in front of your colleagues from around the world?” I said. “I don’t think so.”

Dr. Kroger grimaced with frustration. He was in a no-win situation and we both knew it.

“He’s not going to be satisfied with just a session,” he said. “Adrian will want to cling to me every second that I’m here.”

“He’ll leave,” I said.

“In my professional opinion, you’re wrong,” Dr. Kroger said. “I know Adrian a lot better than you do.”

“Then you should have expected this, shouldn’t you?” I said as cuttingly as I could. “You just have your session with him and let me handle the rest.”

“What he’s done today is very wrong,” he said. “I don’t know if I can continue seeing him as a patient after this.”

“We’ll worry about that when we get back to San Francisco, ” I said. “Right now, you have an appointment and Mr. Monk is waiting. I’ll see you in an hour.”

And with that, I turned my back on Dr. Kroger and walked away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mr. Monk Returns

I picked one of the hiking trails at random and just started walking uphill. I wandered past the covered patio and into the woods.

Once I was enveloped by the forest, I might as well have been in my hometown of Monterey, California. The only difference was the sunlight. It was as if there was a filter over the sun. It wasn’t as bright or as harsh as I was used to. If I lived in Lohr, I’d save money on sunglasses.

It was also surprisingly quiet. I couldn’t hear any cars and it was easy to forget I was only thirty or forty yards from a hotel full of people.

The quiet was really nice. You don’t realize just how loud your world is until the volume is suddenly turned down. I became aware of sounds I don’t usually hear in my hectic urban life. The breeze rustling through the leaves. Birds chirping. The buzz of insects. The trickle of water washing over rocks in a creek. The crackle of dry brush under my feet. The gentle background noise was like soft music.

I wandered a bit farther and came upon what first appeared to be a tree house. But as I got closer, I could see that it was actually a hunter’s blind made of branches and wood and enshrouded with vines. If not for the corrugated metal roof, it would have melded perfectly with the trees.

I climbed up the ladder into the blind and sat on the bench inside for a few minutes. I tried to imagine what it would be like sitting there for hours with my rifle, waiting for a defenseless animal to wander by for me to shoot.

I didn’t see the pleasure or the sport in that. But sitting in that blind, I was overwhelmed with childhood memories of playing in the tree house that I’d built with my friends from scrap wood we’d scavenged from a construction site.

They were memories I hadn’t tapped in years. It was like channel surfing and stumbling unexpectedly onto a favorite movie that you’d forgotten.

I got so lost in my reverie that forty minutes seemed to pass in a matter of seconds. When I realized the time, I