Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela (29 page)

time. Loud and strong this time, Nick‘s laugh rang out as he promised,

―I‘ll call if I‘m gonna be late.‖

―Great.‖ Logan seemed ready to ring off, then added uncertainly,

―Hey, Nick. Can I ask you something?‖

Convinced that the truth behind this call was about to be revealed,

Nick said smoothly, ―Sure, anything.‖

―That thing you said about your bed—was it true?‖

Nick racked his morning-fuzzy brain but was at a complete loss.

―What thing I said?‖ With a slight laugh, he joked, ―If you‘re gonna

quiz me like this, Logan, you gotta wait ‘til I‘ve had some coffee.

What‘re you talking about?‖

―What you said… about us, you know…
christening
your bed.‖

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The memory of that unintentional confession came rushing back

to Nick. He rubbed the back of his neck as he stalled. ―Oh. Yeah.‖

―Oh yeah, what? That was the first time—‖

―Yeah.‖

―Why?‖

After briefly considering feigning confusion about the question,

Nick said, ―Why didn‘t I ever have a guy over before? Umm… just the

way it worked out, I guess.‖

―Uh… okay.‖ Nick swore he could hear the wheels turning in

Logan‘s head but didn‘t know what was being manufactured. He

wasn‘t enlightened any by Logan finishing, ―See ya tonigh—‖

―Probably because I never really wanted…,‖ Nick blurted, but

then he hesitated, not sure that Logan was ready to hear the rest, certain

he wasn‘t ready to say it, maybe not even ready to believe it. He

continued, ―It just didn‘t seem right, with my mom here and all.‖

―Makes sense.‖

After a moment of hesitation, Nick decided to seize the

opportunity to get something off his own chest. ―Listen, speaking of the

other night….‖

―Yeah?‖

―I‘m sorry I laid all of that on you—‘bout my dad and the

hammer and all. But thanks for listening.‖

When the only response was a sharp intake of breath, Nick

wondered if he‘d only made things worse until Logan proclaimed, ―It‘s

okay. You had every right to tell your story.‖

Nick was touched—and slightly amused—to hear the echo of his

words to Cheryl. ―Guess all this time with me and Trudy is rubbin‘ off

on you.‖

―No way. You‘re the only one rubbin‘ off on me. I swear.‖

When he stopped chortling, Nick said, ―Good to hear. See ya

tonight at Acken‘s. Have a good day.‖

―Sure thing, Nick. You, too.‖

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177

NICK took advantage of the extra half-hour in his day by going for an

early morning run. The exercise helped alleviate most of the tension

resulting from the knowledge that he was facing a nine thirty a.m.

appointment with Sheila Palmer. As he ran, Nick reviewed the last

session he‘d had with Sheila, noting all the reasons this client could be

particularly exasperating. He reminded himself that Norah Seebold had

also insisted on defending and finding excuses for her abuser in those

first few weeks at ACC.
Gotta be patient with Sheila. She’ll come

around, just like Norah did.

Later that morning, Nick efficiently typed up some notes while

awaiting Sheila‘s arrival and made a bet with himself. Though most

people would have been petulant at best with a counselor who sent

them home in tears, he wagered that Sheila would try to make amends

almost immediately. An intense craving for approval was one hallmark

common to many abuse victims, and one he suspected Sheila had in

spades.

At precisely nine-thirty, after a soft knock on his door, Sheila

walked in carrying two Starbucks coffee cups and a couple of

cellophane-wrapped biscotti. She gave Nick a small, lopsided smile as

she dropped the cookies on his desk and handed him one of the cups,

saying, ―Good morning; I got you a cappuccino—and some biscotti.‖

Nick smiled warmly, answering, ―Thanks, but you didn‘t have to

do that, Sheila,‖ while thinking,
Bingo, Zales, got it in one.

Sheila, a pretty, petite woman with beautifully coifed light brown

hair, took her seat in front of Nick‘s desk, smoothing out her buff-

colored twill skirt before delicately crossing her legs. ―Oh, it‘s no big

deal. I pass a Starbucks on my way here.‖

―As much as I appreciate the gesture, I want to be clear,‖ Nick

said, pausing briefly to look Sheila deliberately in the eyes. ―You didn‘t

do anything wrong. You had every right to leave if the things I said

upset you.‖

The only sound was the crinkle of plastic as Sheila unwrapped a

cookie, apparently mulling over Nick‘s statement but finally saying,

―Okay, but neither did you. You were right about Dean.‖ She took a

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bite of biscotti and sipped her coffee before adding, ―I think what really

upset me was that part of me knew it, too.‖

―Okay, let‘s explore that for a bit. Why didn‘t you let that part of

you that knew the truth have her say?‖

―Because….‖ Sheila stopped for another gulp of coffee, then

shook her head dismissively, whispering sadly, ―I don‘t know.‖

―I think you do know. Well, that same part of you does. You‘re

shutting ‗her‘ up again. Why do you think that is?‖

By now Sheila was tearing up while she stared down at her

manicured nails. ―I wish I knew.‖

―Maybe because it‘s a habit?‖ Nick suggested gently. He sipped

his own drink before explaining, ―For the last eighteen years, you‘ve

pretty much had to watch every word you‘ve said. You don‘t have to

do that anymore. In these sessions, you can just say whatever pops into

your head. In fact, that‘s the very best thing you can do.‖

Sheila took a deep breath and sat up straight, avowing, ―Okay. I‘ll

give it a try.‖

―Good. Now tell me why you got so upset when I told you Dean‘s

behavior showed no signs of true reform. Don‘t think too hard, just

answer.‖

In a rush, she said, ―I wanted to believe that Dean had changed

because then I could go back with him.‖

―And that‘s so important… why?‖ Seeing Sheila biting her lip in

thought, Nick prompted, ―Because you love him, because you miss

him, miss your house, your friends—‖

―Because then I wouldn‘t be stuck… here.‖

Nick leaned across his desk, asking softly, ―Where‘s here?‖

Sheila expelled a short, humorless laugh before retorting, ―Here is

being a forty-year-old woman living off her cousin, with no job, no life.

A woman whose only chance for a significant other from now on is

going to be her Cavalier King Charles spaniel.‖

Even though Nick had been expecting something along the lines

of Sheila‘s bleak self-assessment, he sat back in surprise at the sheer

vehemence of it. ―Whoa, whoa. Sheila, don‘t you think you‘re being

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179

kind of rash, and really hard on yourself? You‘re judging what the rest

of your life, fifty or so years, will be based on the past month? You‘ve

set up this false dichotomy in your mind: either life with Dean or no

life at all. No wonder you‘re so stressed.‖

Sheila tossed her empty cup in the trash can, asking in a biting

tone, ―How are you so sure it‘s false?‖

―Because I see you as you really are, which you can‘t do right

now. You‘ve been blinded by eighteen long years of verbal abuse and

control.‖ Nick waited until he caught his client‘s eye before continuing.

―When I look at you, I see an attractive, charming, healthy, and well-

educated woman with plenty to look forward to. For starters, you‘re not

going to be living with your cousin forever, if you don‘t want to. After

all, you‘re due for a very lucrative divorce settlement—‖

―Maybe.‖

―No, certainly. Your husband is a wealthy man. Why do you think

he‘s trying to placate you by doing that anger management thing? He‘s

worried about losing half of a considerable estate.‖

―I guess,‖ she sighed. ―I‘m still not sure I‘m going to get enough

money to live off for the rest of my life….‖

―You don‘t want to get a job?‖

―Oh yeah,‖ Sheila snorted, ―I‘m sure my unused anthropology

degree is going to do me a lot of good in one of the worst job markets

ever.‖

―The money you‘ll get in the divorce will give you some time to

figure that out, time to build a life—a good life. Your choice isn‘t

living in fear with Dean or not living at all. You‘ve already done the

hardest thing of all—leaving him. The rest will fall into place. As long

as you‘re willing to work at it.‖

A sincere smile appeared on Sheila‘s face for the first time all

morning. ―I‘m willing if you‘re willing.‖

Nick winked at her, answering jauntily, ―That‘s why I‘m here.‖

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SINCE he‘d deliberately arrived a little before six-thirty, Logan was

almost disappointed to see Nick‘s Jeep parked on Arlington Avenue

when he turned up the drive leading to Acken‘s shop. Even if Nick had

shown up right on time, Logan had planned on teasing him

unmercifully about being late and making Logan hang around waiting,

even letting the pizza he‘d picked up on the way to the shop get cold.

The short trip up the driveway gave Logan time to reconsider.

Could be that Nick being early for their appointment was a sign of

eagerness, maybe even equal to Logan‘s own. He pulled into the open

garage bay door, beeping his horn and yelling, ―Pizza delivery for Nick

Zales.‖ The way Nick jumped in shock at the sudden entry more than

made up for him foiling Logan‘s other plot.

Nick continued to gape in surprise as Logan jumped out of the

driver‘s seat and plopped the box and two sodas down on the

workbench. ―You really did bring a pizza.‖

―Yeah, I figured it was my turn to provide some grub,‖ Logan

answered easily, though his pulse quickened as he heard Nick

advancing on him.

Before Logan could turn around, Nick had grabbed him from

behind and nuzzled his neck. In a husky whisper, he said, ―The way to

a man‘s heart is through his stomach, eh?‖

The feel of Nick‘s right hand trailing down to his groin caused

Logan to gasp, ―That ain‘t my stomach.‖

A throaty chuckle poured melted butter into Logan‘s ear. ―Don‘t I

know it.‖

Logan twisted around suddenly, facing Nick and taking advantage

of the opportunity for a teeth-jarring kiss. His own hands found their

way to Nick‘s ass, and Logan roughly pulled him even closer.

When they broke, Nick grinned at him, still in the embrace,

saying, ―We let this go on too much longer, and we ain‘t gonna get any

work done on that car.‖

Logan reluctantly released Nick, admitting, ―Yeah, you got that

right.‖

Nick pointed to the pizza box, saying, ―Guess we can eat first,

though.‖

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

181

―Yep, may as well eat before we get down and dirty.‖

―Thought we just agreed we weren‘t gonna do that,‖ Nick

quipped as he opened the box and grabbed a slice. ―Mmm, sausage and

mushroom.‖ He grinned around a huge bite, mumbling, ―Great choice.‖

―You‘re sure in a good mood,‖ Logan said, shaking his head

fondly as he dove into the pizza himself.

―Why wouldn‘t I be?‖ Nick held the half-eaten slice aloft, saying,

―Good food with a good friend, and my car‘s almost done. Right?‖

The jolt in his stomach at Nick calling him a good friend

surprised Logan; to cover his confusion, he bit off half a slice and

swallowed before answering, ―Almost is a stretch. Let‘s wait an‘ see

how far we get by Sunday night.‖

―We can finish up next weekend, can‘t we?‖

―Only got next Sunday afternoon to work on it. I got the girls next

weekend.‖ As soon as it was out of his mouth, Logan braced himself

for the questions he‘d hoped to dodge until later.

As if on cue, Nick said, ―That reminds me. On the phone this

morning, you said it didn‘t go so well with Linda last night. What

happened?‖

A weary sigh escaped from Logan as he explained, ―Linda was

saying how she wants us to be closer and share everything and all that

crap.‖

Nick took a gulp of his soda, then cocked his head at Logan,

asking, ―Okay. What did you say?‖

―Me? Well….‖ Logan grabbed another slice of pizza before

admitting, ―I pretty much went along with it.‖ Rather than look at Nick,

he concentrated on eating as if it required the full force of his attention.

Logan finally peered up to see Nick frowning down at his second slice

of pizza. The silence was more unnerving to Logan than a lecture