One We Love, The (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

A
typical Monday.
This one came with a trifecta of unpleasantness. Bob had astonished us all by
arriving at the clinic well before his usual I’m-in-charge-and-nobody-better-report-me
10:00 a.m. start time. The early appearance coupled with his jittery behavior started
a swirl of rumors, the most likely of which was that somebody from
administration was descending on us for a “surprise” inspection. This, in turn,
set off a whirlwind of paperwork straightening and frantic filing in the front
office.

Surprise visits were rarely a true surprise since there
wasn’t a supervisor in existence who could make a move without his secretary or
office manager knowing where he was going and when he was due back. And of
course they’d call Lisa, our office manager, and sound the alert. We might not
get a lot of notice, but there was usually enough to make ourselves
presentable.

Today, however, the normally reliable network of support
staff snitches had seemingly failed, and Lisa hadn’t heard anything. However, when
Bob had come in early, she’d called the main office and learned that Dr.
Felding—the big boss—hadn’t come in yet. Another highly unusual occurrence.
There were just enough discrepancies to the usual routine that Lisa had become
convinced that Felding was making a sneak attack. The dreaded words “audit”
were spoken, and the front office was in a tizzy.

I wasn’t completely convinced since it would be highly
unusual for an administrator to choose a Monday morning to venture forth into
the field. Monday mornings were for drinking coffee and mourning the demise of
the weekend. Besides, human nature almost guaranteed that visits be scheduled
on bright, sunny afternoons when the boss could take his motorcycle out for a
spin to the outlying sites and call it work.

I was the only one not freaking out. Since I’d been spending
the last couple of weeks immersed in files, I knew that both mine and Regina’s
were in tip-top shape. Felt quite smug until Bob trudged up front clutching a
mug of coffee and asked me to meet with him.

Actually what he said was, “Letty. My office.” Then, he clomped
back to his office, leaving a trail of dribbled coffee in his wake.

 “So, what’s going on with that group?” he asked after I sat
down.

“We’ve held two sessions. Two people showed up for the
first, and one for the second. Most of Regina’s clients who decided to continue
in therapy preferred individual sessions. Hannah and I decided we’ll offer one
more session tomorrow evening and see if anyone shows up, but it’s doubtful.”

“Well, no one can say we didn’t do what we were supposed to.
How many of her clients dropped out? Any way we can make some calls and get
them back in?”

I wasn’t about to start telemarketing former clients, but I
had planned to do follow-up calls in a month or so with those who had
terminated therapy prematurely. I told Bob this, but he still seemed antsy.

In fact, Bob really didn’t look well, and I was doubly
surprised that he’d shown up today. For once, he looked like if he’d called in
sick, he wouldn’t be lying. Since he
had
come in, I figured it was
nerves. Maybe admin had caught on to the lackadaisical approach embraced by their
newest temporary director or there really was a surprise inspection in the
offing.

A new thought occurred to me. Maybe his unease had to do
with the licensing board issue that Regina had been involved in. Whatever that
was.

“Do you know whether Regina was involved in an investigation
with the state?” I worded my question so that it wouldn’t matter if Regina had
been the subject or the initiator of an investigation, although I highly
doubted the former. Still, I’d been finding out lately that I didn’t know
Regina as well as I’d thought. Bob, however, had been fairly close to her, at
least until he’d taken up the director position.

He looked like my question had given him instant heartburn.
“What? What are you talking about?”

“I found Regina’s calendar and she—”

“You what? Her calendar is on our computer.”

“Yes, but she had a separate one for the shelter. Remember,
I asked you about it? And she had the number for the licensing board written in
it. I’m trying to find out why she was in contact with them.”

“If it’s for the shelter, then I don’t care. That’s not my
problem.”

“I don’t know for certain that it involved the shelter. Did
she ever talk to you about it? Or maybe to Marshall before he left?”

“Oh, I get it. This is about Marshall, huh? I heard he was
back in town. Is he trying to stir up trouble for me again?”

“What?” My turn to feel sick. “Marshall’s back? When did
he—”

 “Listen, Letty, I don’t know what shenanigans you and
Marshall got up to back then and I don’t want to know. You’re both adults and
if you like to take a shot at the boss, well, you wouldn’t be the first gal, ya
know? But you can’t come running to me if he takes off on you. Of course,
leaving the state is a little extreme, but that’s his business. If you’re
trying to track him down you should be talking to one of your girlfriends. I
hear they had quite the blowout Saturday night.”

I left the office in a daze.
Marshall was back?
 I
made straight for Hannah’s office.

Sweet, serene Hannah knew what I was about to ask before I’d
even opened my mouth. She pulled me into her office and sat me in one of the
comfy armchairs. I pulled a plush pillow into my lap and began kneading the
velvety fabric.

“Is he back for good?” I asked.

“I didn’t go out with them, but I don’t think so.” She
didn’t bother pretending either. She was kind that way. “I think he had some
business with the cabin to wrap up. He’s having trouble selling it. I think
he’s planning on heading back to Wyoming soon.”

“Who all went out?”

She shrugged and named a few of our co-workers, including
some colleagues from around town. I wasn’t particularly close with any of them,
which explained why I hadn’t heard until now.

We sat in silence for a while as I absorbed the information.
Marshall was back, but not staying. And he obviously didn’t want to see me.

On the other hand, he hadn’t been entirely secretive about
his trip, either. Chippewa Falls was a small town and the mental health
community was a tight one. If he’d wanted to sneak in and sneak out, he
wouldn’t have gone out with people I knew.

“Letty, listen.” Hannah broke into my reverie. “I know that you’ve
been going through a lot, especially with Marshall leaving and then Regina’s
accident. Plus you’ve had a lot of responsibility thrust on you. How are you
doing with all of that?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What do you mean?”

I sighed. “Marshall’s leaving? I’m dealing with that by not
dealing with it. I don’t know how to feel about it, I guess, so I can’t really
pick a response to it. Should I be angry? I guess I am. He left without saying
a word to me. Just fled the state,” I heard myself repeating Bob, and almost
gagged. “But after all that happened and everything he went through? I can’t
blame him either. Besides, he and I weren’t really . . .  I mean, there really
wasn’t anything . . .  It was all a maybe, you know? Maybe we could have had
something together. But maybe not. It doesn’t matter.

“As far as Regina’s death,” I continued, “I
am
dealing
with that. She was such a cranky bitch and so wonderful, too. The more I’m
taking care of her business, the more I’m understanding what her loss means to
me.” I didn’t want to get into my suspicions about the nature of her death,
however. Not yet. “Anyway, the added responsibility is keeping me busy and out
of trouble.”

Ha.

Hannah smiled, understanding. Work disguised as therapy—we
were all prone to it. “Well, if you need anything, if you need to talk . . .”

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Hannah. I’ll
keep that in mind. Promise.”

I felt a little better after talking, not that it lasted. On
top of adding several of Regina’s clients, I’d started seeing all of my own
again. On the one hand, it felt good to get back into my usual routine, and as
I’d mentioned to Hannah, I often used work as a panacea. But it also meant less
time to figure out what was going on at the shelter. There were so many
questions:
What had happened to Regina? What had Mikey seen, and where had
his family fled? And
how
was I going to finagle my way into the shelter
where everyone else was trying to shove me out?
I decided I would skip my AA
meeting tonight and go home and hit the computer, dig deeper into the files.

Back-to-back clients should also have meant less time to
brood about Marshall, but I managed to slip that in at fairly regular
intervals. Like every time I took a breath. Eventually, with enough
distractions, I managed to regain some of my equilibrium.

That lasted until I walked out into the front office and
found Marshall leaning against Lisa’s desk, chatting with several of my
co-workers.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

M
y first thought
was
Damn, he looks good.
My second thought was . . .  Well, I wasn’t
very coherent after that, so I went back to concentrating on my first thought. I’d
forgotten how dark his eyes were and how he’d let his chin get scruffy if he
wasn’t working. His jeans, faded from years of hard, outdoor work, snugged his
butt nicely.
That
I remembered. On top, he wore a black t-shirt with a
silhouette of Jimi Hendrix blazoned across his chest.

He looked startled, too, although he should have expected to
see me. After all, I worked here. Lisa saved us both by taking charge of the
conversation, something she does regularly anyway. After five long minutes of
saying “uh-huh” to things I wasn’t listening to, I made an excuse and fled back
to my office. Unfortunately, it had been the end of the day for me. I wasn’t
expecting any clients, my files were all caught up, and I had nothing to do but
stand with my ear against the crack in the door trying to listen for his voice.

I couldn’t quite make out the words, but I could hear his
deep rumble and frequent bursts of female laughter. I started contemplating
different escape routes, but they all involved crawling through windows or
setting off the alarm system that had recently been put in. Nothing stealthy
about that. Besides, the alarm system would remind Marshall of why he left in
the first place. It was one of the last boss-type things he’d done.

I flopped down at my desk and rummaged through my desk drawer
looking for my stash of emergency Snickers. This situation called for serious chocolate.

Marshall, with that innate sense of timing that he’d always
had, waited until my mouth was stuffed with chocolate, peanuts, and that tasty
nugat stuff before tapping on my door. It swung open, not even giving me a few
extra moments to deal with the candy bar lump that distended my cheeks by at
least an inch.

 Options were limited.

I could spit the wad into a tissue, but I suspected that
maneuver would disclose wide, slurpy tendrils of chocolaty spit, not to mention
what the half-masticated gob would resemble after it was deposited.

I could pretend that I didn’t look like a troughing pig,
chew for the next seven minutes methodically breaking down the mass until I
could appropriately ingest it, all the while holding up a polite “just one
moment” finger.

Or I could swallow it down en masse and risk choking to
death.

I didn’t die, but I wished I had. Marshall had entered with
a concerned, we-should-talk look on his face, but my candy bar contretemps
loosened him up. He slumped in the chair laughing helplessly. We were both
close to tears by the time I finished. He from mirth, me from scraping the
inside of my throat raw by ingesting a jumbo size clump of peanut-studded candy.

“Are you finished?” I finally asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“I might believe that if you weren’t laughing so hard. It
ruins the sincerity vibe.”

“I’ll have to work on that.” A residual grin brought his
dimples out.

“Yeah,” I said weakly. I loved those dimples. “You do that.
What, uh . . .  Why are you here?”

“I came back to go over some things with the realtor. It’s
not exactly the best economy for selling a house. I’ve got to decide if I’m
going to wait or take a loss.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there something you ...” I stopped.
I couldn’t ask if there was something he wanted when he so obviously didn’t
want
me
. “Why are you here?” I stabbed my finger at the floor to differentiate
“here in Chippewa Falls” from “here and sitting two feet away looking more
delicious than an Easter basket full of chocolate bunnies.”

He didn’t answer right away. His laughter faded, leaving him
looking sad, maybe a little wistful. Which pissed me off. What right did he
have to be wistful? He was the one who ran away.

“Look, Marshall—”

“I wanted to see you. I just . . .” He sighed, dropping his
eyes and running a hand through his dark brown hair. It ruffled nicely, damn
him. “I’m not proud of myself. Okay? I know I didn’t handle everything very
well.”

“You fled the state. Took off cross-country. You absconded.”

“Yeah, I did.” He smiled ruefully.

“You wouldn’t let me come visit you at the hospital. You put
me on a
list
. No Visitors.” My voice got more strained, ending in a
raspy whisper. “Like I was some kind of
criminal
.”

“Yeah. I did.” No more smile. “I did that. Look, Letty, I’m
sorry. I am. But I’m also . . .

“What?”

“Confused. I know what happened to you wasn’t your fault,
but at the same time, there were things you did that didn’t help the situation,
you know? I mean, come on! You drugged me. You thought I was a killer.”

Okay, yeah.

“I didn’t know what to think, Marshall,” I said. “There was
a lot going on.”

We both grinned at the understatement. Through all of the
terror and craziness in the past, we’d been able to laugh together. It was one
of the things I loved . . . and missed.

“I remember,” he said. Then his smile faded again and his
hand rose to rub at the spot where my stalker had shot him in an effort to
remove any rivals for my affection. “I remember,” he said again.

I felt helpless. How could I fight a memory? What
reassurances could I offer? As crazy as it sounded, I was after a killer again.
I couldn’t tell him he had nothing to worry about. I couldn’t tell him
anything
.
I think he knew I was holding something back. His dark brown eyes—no wonder I
was addicted to chocolate—searched mine looking for an answer to a question I
was forced to evade.

He left soon after and his leaving felt as awful as it had
two months ago.

I changed my mind and went to an AA meeting. By the time I
got to the HP & Me club, I was almost overwhelmed with frustration. I was
being blocked at every turn, denied the things I wanted, obligated to things I
didn’t.

I hadn’t even cleared the doors before Paul bounced up to
me. He’d gotten new glasses, transforming his held-together-with-masking-tape
wire rims into techie-nerd fashionable. Usually his abject adoration bugged me,
but today his sunny smile felt like balm.
He
wasn’t trying to get rid of
me or trying to thwart my every move.
He
wasn’t all conflicted and
angst-y about his feelings for me.

Might be why, when he asked me out for coffee, I said yes.

Mistake.

I watched the joy spread through his body, causing multiple
system failures as it flowed. His mouth and eyes formed perfectly symmetrical
O’s, I could hear his breath hitch, and his Adam’s apple did a fine
Mexican-jumping bean impersonation.

“Paul? Wait. It’s not—”

“No take-backs!” he said. It took him a while because he
stuttered over the consonants in his excitement. “You said yes. I’ll see you
after the meeting.”

He took off, heading for a group of guys in order to rejoice
with the fellas. Publicly, at length, and in great detail.

Sue joined me. “What’s going on?”

I experimented in my mind with various ways to phrase the
situation. They all ended up sounding like “date.”

“It is not a date,” I said.

Sue played along. “Right. Not a date. Of course not.”

“It’s
not.
”

“Right. What’s not a date?”

“It’s just coffee. With a peer. That’s all.”

She followed my petrified gaze to where Paul was practically
yodeling with joy.

“Coffee?” she said. “With
Paul
?”

For once, perhaps for the first time ever, Sue was stricken
silent. I was too dazed to enjoy it.