Sisters in Love (Snow Sisters, Book One: Love in Bloom Series #1) (7 page)

Michelle broke off pieces of the
apple-cinnamon muffin before her, dropping the fingertip-sized
pieces onto her tongue.

“So, what’s new? How’s Nola?” Michelle had
lived with her grandmother Nola since her mother had gone into the
rehab facility. Danica tried to ignore her pounding hangover.

Michelle shrugged, her eyes still trained on
the muffin.

“Is her health okay?”

Michelle pursed her lips and nodded.

It usually took a few minutes for Michelle to
open up each week, but today she appeared more sullen than usual.
She wore her signature black jeans and baggy, black T-shirt.

“So, what else is new with you? Is school
okay?” Danica pushed.

Michelle looked up at Danica quickly, then
back down at the table.

Bingo!
“Anything you want to talk
about?” Danica asked.

Michelle shook her head.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several
minutes, until Michelle lifted her eyes, staring up at Danica from
behind her thick, dark bangs.

“School sucks.” She dropped her eyes.

Success!
“Yeah, it does suck. I
remember high school. Everyone wants to be invisible, and those who
don’t are so obnoxious that you wish you could just tell them
off—which, of course, would be social suicide.”

Michelle smiled.

Danica knew she was finally getting through.
She gained a different type of satisfaction when dealing with
Michelle than when she dealt with her paying clients. It was so
difficult to be a teenager, with what could feel like
insurmountable peer pressures and hormones driving them in new and
different directions. Sometimes she rued her decision to follow her
parents’ guidance and take the financially safe route of being a
therapist. But that was water under the bridge, so she’d focus on
helping Michelle as best as she could. “I remember wanting to wear
the right clothes, say the right thing, date the right guys.”

Michelle’s smile faded.

“But I never could—date the right guys, I
mean. The ones who were popular were assholes, and I wasn’t really
attracted to the ones who weren’t. Gosh, that sounds bad. It’s not
like I had many choices. I was even nerdier then than I am now.”
Danica took a sip of her coffee. “If that was even possible.” She
thought of those painful years, remembering how Kaylie sailed
through high school in a sea of happiness, with too many friends to
count.

“You probably had tons of boyfriends,”
Michelle said.

“Nope. They called me Danica Manica because I
was flat as a board with no hips and awful hair.”

Michelle sat back in her seat. “You’re so
pretty. I can’t imagine that.”

Danica shook her head. “Thank you, but
believe me, I was queen nerd and wasn’t at the top of anyone’s
dating list.”

They both laughed.

“What about you? You must have guys who are
interested?” Danica wished she could brush Michelle’s hair out of
her sad, hazel eyes.

Michelle shook her head. “I’m a pariah. I’m
known as
that girl whose mother is an alchie
.”

Hurt pierced Danica’s heart. No kid should
have to go through that. “They can’t blame you for your mother’s
illness.”

“Illness?”

“Well, yeah, alcoholism is like a disease.
Your mom can’t really help it. She’s struggling with addiction. But
I guess that’s a bit much for high school kids to understand. Your
mom’s out of rehab, so at least you know she
wants
to stop
drinking.” This was the second time Michelle’s mother had been in
rehab, which didn’t necessarily equate to a permanent pattern.
Danica didn’t have all of the details of Nancy’s recent stint in
rehab, but she did know that Nancy had signed herself in. She
hadn’t been forced to go. A permanent change was never easy, but
Danica was hopeful.

“How can I not blame her? It was her choice
to drink in the first place.” Michelle tapped her foot.

Danica watched Michelle scanning the bakery
for an escape. The last thing she wanted was for her to feel
trapped. “Let’s get out of here.”

They walked side by side down the busy
sidewalk, and Danica found herself scanning the passersby for
Blake. Then she chided herself for doing so. Sometimes Danica
wished they didn’t live in a tourist trap, where people meandered
rather than walked with a purpose. That was one of the main reasons
she usually stuck to non-touristy spots. The other reason was that
she worked so much that she rarely had time to spend at trendier
locations.

She looked at their reflections in the
windows of the restaurants and shops as they passed. Michelle
walked with her shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into her
pockets. Danica looked like she’d come directly from work, in her
thick, wool blazer and slacks. She looked like she could almost be
Michelle’s mother. She cringed at the thought of looking any older
than she already was.

“What do you want to do today? I thought we
might do a little shopping.” Danica hoped to eventually get
Michelle out of the ninja clothes she hid behind.

Michelle crinkled her nose.

“A movie?”

“Um, do you think we could go to that museum
again?” Michelle asked tentatively.

“Sparks? You liked that?” Danica had taken
her to the little eclectic art museum months ago. Michelle hadn’t
seemed too interested then, and Danica was surprised she’d want to
return. They turned the corner and headed for the museum.

Danica held the door to Sparks open for a
couple to leave and for Michelle to enter. The pungent aroma of
patchouli filled the small lobby. Michelle walked straight through
the lobby and toward the back of the museum. Danica fell in step
behind her as they passed enormous iron and clay sculptures in the
main hall and filed through an adjoining narrow hallway lined with
paintings and smaller sculptures set on tall, black, rectangular
bases. She wondered if Blake liked art. She envisioned him in a
thick ski parka, running his hand through his hair and feeling
right at home surrounded by the smell of patchouli.
Generalizations, much?
She had to get him out of her
mind.

Off of the hallway were several small exhibit
rooms, no larger than a typical bedroom, lined floor to ceiling
with various types of artwork. That was part of the aura of Sparks
that she loved. Entering Sparks was like entering another world,
like convention had yet to be conceived.

Michelle stopped in front of an abstract
painting. She stood with her hands in her oversized, black-canvas
coat pockets, her head cocked at an angle.

Danica mimicked her stance, trying to make
sense of the art. She had trouble understanding abstract things
that weren’t part of a person’s being or emotions, but she knew
that art was a great way to express feelings, and she’d been right
to hope Michelle might enjoy it. Kaylie had gotten the artistic
genes in the family. That’s why Danica loved working with people
who could relay what they were thinking—even if they didn’t realize
that what they said wasn’t exactly what troubled them. People were
easy for Danica. She could tell when someone was twisted in knots
and needed help finding the way to straighten their spine. Art, not
so much.

“What do you think it represents?” Danica
asked.

Michelle shrugged. “I just like looking at
it.”

Danica was glad that Michelle was taking
interest in something. Now, if she could only get her talking.
“Does it remind you of anything?” She looked at the picture,
turning her head one way, then the other. There were two eyes, but
they were floating amidst what looked like a child’s painting of
fish gone wrong and uneven streaks, with splotches of colors and
what looked like two mouths eking out of the corners of the canvas.
Something that looked strangely like a three-fingered hand reached
down from the top edge.

Michelle glanced over with a wrinkled brow.
“I’m not sure. I just remember it from last time, and I like
it.”

Danica walked around the little room,
secretly watching Michelle. Michelle crossed her arms, then
uncrossed them. She put her hands on her hips, then dropped them,
as if her arms were some sort of strange appendages that she wasn’t
used to. She obviously felt out of place in school, hadn’t had a
boyfriend the entire time Danica had known her, and wasn’t about to
open up today. Come to think of it, Danica hadn’t had a boyfriend
in an even longer time.
No time for one
, she reminded
herself, and thought about the files she’d review later in the
afternoon. Her professional life had seeped into every spare moment
she had. Maybe it was time for a change, she mused.

Danica had to find a way to break through to
Michelle. She sidled up next to her. “Maybe it reminds you of your
life? You know, all the pieces are there, but you can’t really make
sense of them right now?”

“Whatever,” Michelle said, and walked out of
the room with Danica on her heels.

Danica’s cell phone buzzed, indicating a new
message had been left on her office voicemail. She’d be sure to
check it as soon as she was done spending time with Michelle.

Two hours later, Danica and Michelle stood on
Nola's front porch. Michelle opened the door, and a familiar smell
that Danica likened to the smell of old people’s houses—a mixture
of mothballs, too-warm air, and floral perfume—wafted out the door
of the small brick rambler. Danica made a mental note to remember
that Michelle was only fourteen and the smell of patchouli was
probably cool and fun to her while Grandma’s house was the epitome
of someplace she wouldn’t want to bring friends to visit. She’d
have to find someplace hip to take her next week. Maybe she’d ask
Kaylie for a suggestion.

At seven o’clock Monday morning, Danica sat
in her office reviewing the file of her first client and ignoring
the flashing red message light on her phone. She always arrived
early to prepare for the day, and most days she had a client come
in before they had to go to their own job. She set the file down on
her neatly organized desk and glanced at the time. Like every
morning, she had just enough time to run down to the local café and
grab a cup of coffee before her client arrived. She stared at the
blinking light. She’d already let it go overnight. Ever since
Saturday night, Danica had been thinking about trying to strike a
balance between work and some sort of social life. Who was she
kidding? She had no social life, and the one time she tried to go
out and pretend to have one, she’d obviously gone way overboard and
drank too much, which she not only regretted, but was terribly
embarrassed about. Not answering her messages over the weekend was
one of the changes she hoped to make. Reclaiming her weekends was a
good start, she decided, but as she noticed the time—7:07—her foot
tapped and her heart raced. It was one thing to leave messages
until after the weekend, but it was officially Monday morning, and
early or not, she was in work mode. She bit her lower lip, fighting
the urge to retrieve the message.

It was Monday. Someone needed something. She
grabbed the phone, pushed the blinking light, and retrieved the
message from a new client. She scribbled down the phone number and
dialed the phone.

“Hello?” a deep voice answered.

“Hi, this is Dr. Snow. Uh, um...” She
realized that there was no name left on the machine and hesitated
to say much more in case the person who called needed discretion.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to fill the gap.

“Oh. Thanks for calling back. I wanted to
make an appointment.”

He sounded tired.
Didn’t they all?
“Sure. Can you please tell me what you’re hoping to get help
with?”

“I…uh…my best friend just died. I think I
need to talk about it.”

She listened to him breathe and knew that he
needed her to take charge. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She flipped
through her calendar. She had time today at two o’clock, but she’d
hoped to get out and buy Michelle a black shirt that wasn’t
so…grungy looking. “I can see you tomorrow at three or Friday at
one thirty.”

“Oh.” Disappointment sifted through the
airwaves. “I was hoping to start sooner.”

“Are you having suicidal thoughts?” Her ears
perked up. Even after all her years of experience, she couldn’t
find a more tactful way to ask the most important questions.

“What? No.” He sighed. “To be honest, I’m
afraid I might back out of the appointment if I think about it too
much. But I know I need it.”

That made sense. She’d had too many
cancellations to count, and she’d worried about each one of them
for days afterward. That was another thing she had to work on,
letting go of the people who didn’t want her help. “Okay.” She
sighed. “Today at two is the only time I have this afternoon. You
should be aware that I don’t take insurance. My address is—”

“I know just where you are. Thank you. I’ll
be there.” He hung up the phone.

Danica stared at the receiver. She hadn’t
even gotten his name. She set the receiver down and scribbled
new client
in her appointment calendar, adding
friend
died,
and then wrote down the phone number next to the
note.

Blake stood in front of Dr. Snow’s office
door. He lifted his hand to knock, then realized he had no idea of
the proper etiquette at a therapist’s office. What if right inside
the door was her desk and a couch that he’d need to sit down on.
Sit down?
What if people really did lie down on the couch?
What was typical? Normal? His chest constricted with
discomfort.

He looked at the stairs behind him and
thought about fleeing. She had his phone number. He could leave a
message and say he was ill, or stand her up and miss the
appointment.
Juvenile
. Sally had called earlier, and his
heart had nearly broken through his chest, he’d been so nervous.
He’d rushed off the phone, claiming he was busy, but the truth was
that he didn’t even know how to act with her. Cheerful? Sad?
Consolatory? He was an emotional idiot.