by Tawna Fenske
It’s just before five when I lock myself in my office at the lodge the next morning and dial Dr. Susan Pantoja with steady hands. I’ve had all night to process things, and her text message this morning said this is a good time to talk.
The phone rings twice as I sit stiff in my leather chair and survey my office. I had extra soundproofing installed everywhere, even the windows. There’s extra security on the phone lines in this building, which is why I’m here instead of my cabin. One can never be too cautious with patient privacy.
Susan answers on the third ring. “Mari! It’s good to hear from you. Tell me how the research is going.”
I take a deep breath and remind myself to go slow. To remember that having a self-contained microcosm of society as a home base for research is a psychologist’s dream. We’ve talked about this for months. Years, even. As my mentor, Susan’s as invested as I am.
“It’s going well.” I fill her in on personality testing schedules and new data. I keep glancing at the clock, wishing I could skip the foreplay and get to the main act.
At the thought of foreplay, Griffin’s face zings through my brain.
“Wonderful.” Susan sounds delighted. “And you’re able to document all of this with both audio and visual recordings?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Community members commit to being filmed for the show, obviously. But filming for research purposes is vital to tracking the study.”
“What a tremendous opportunity.” She sighs. “I admire you, Mari. What an incredible opportunity to study human behavior. The Journal of Experimental Psychology is going to eat this up.”
My ego swells, but that’s not what’s important. What she’s saying about the research is exactly why I got involved in this project in the first place. That, and the chance to publish my study in one of the most reputable psychiatric journals.
But that’s not why I called. “There is one problem.” I take a deep breath. “Potentially, a significant one.”
“Oh?”
“It’s funny, actually.”
It’s not funny at all. Not even a little, so I’m not sure why I said that. With another deep breath, I dive in. “It turns out one of our subjects—one of the community members—is the ex-husband of a former patient of mine.”
Susan goes quiet. “Come again?”
I fill in details with clinical detachment, grateful the law permits me to discuss Gabrielle Julia’s case with a supervisor. That the documents signed by residents at Juniper Ridge permit me to share the basics of Griffin’s file.
Susan Pantoja has been my mentor since my last year at UCLA. One of the few therapists in the country specializing in celebrity therapies, she’s supervised me through countless hours of continuing education. Working with a unique population requires gobs of specialty training, and we’ve documented it carefully over the years.
But this situation…
“Oh my,” she says softly. “This is…highly unusual.”
“Exactly. And I haven’t gotten to the worst of it yet.” I stare out at the pinkening sky, not sure how to phrase this. “Her husband. Er, her ex-husband, Griffin. Griffin Walsh. That is, um…he’s…well…”
“Oh, dear.” A pause. “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”
I close my eyes tight, willing this whole thing to go away. “Yes,” I admit softly. “I kissed him, actually.”
There’s another long silence. “This was before you knew of the connection to your former patient, of course.”
I don’t answer right away. I’m not sure how to. How do I explain that I kissed Griffin knowing full well I was putting us in an ethical gray area?
Susan hears plenty in my silence. “Well.” She clears her throat. “Tell me about the ex-wife. Did you support her plans to leave the marriage?”
This is the part that kept me up all night. “I urged Gabrielle—Elle—to think things through carefully. To make lists of pros and cons and take inventory of her life goals.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” Susan says, seeing through my ass-covering language. “But in your professional opinion—”
“Yes.” I close my eyes again. “Based on what I knew of her situation, I felt staying in the marriage could be detrimental to her health and happiness.”
It was all right there in my notes. Gabrielle’s disillusionment. Her yearning for something different. Her husband’s refusal to relocate to Hollywood, to help Gabby chase her dreams. How much of that was true, and how much was a patient building a case for what she already planned to do?
I may never know.
Or maybe I already do. Last night’s conversation with Griffin filled in a dozen missing colors of the painting. The stark black and white that Gabrielle sketched for me was just a glimpse of the greater picture. If I’d known about Griffin, about Soph, would I have guided her differently?
“How did you discontinue treatment?” Susan’s question drags me back to the immediate problem.
“It was when Shrink to the Stars got picked up.” Saying it out loud makes me cringe, and I sit up straighter in my chair. “I followed all appropriate protocols. Gave three referrals to other therapists. When I left the state, she would have received my form letter stating I’d no longer be practicing in California.”
“So you have her address.” Susan seems relieved. “You can have her sign a consent form granting permission for you to tell the ex-husband about your history with her.”
“That’s another problem.” I glance out the window, noticing the sun peeking over the horizon. I’ve always loved sunrise, the start of something new. “I stayed up all night trying to track down contact info for her. Mailing address, email, phone number—it’s all been changed.”
“Not unusual for celebrity populations,” she muses. “You said she’s starring in a reality show?”
“Yes. Hustlers and Housewives. I found her on IMDb once I knew she’d taken the stage name Elle Julia.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s not airing yet. They’re billing it as Survivor meets the Real Housewives franchise.”
Not the most high-concept idea for a show, but not everyone lucks into a deserted cult compound and family links to high-dollar investors. “Anyway, they’re on lockdown,” I continue. “The entire cast is unreachable. No cell phones, no internet.”
And no chance to get permission from Elle Julia to tell her ex-husband about our connection.
“I see,” Susan says. “Surely there’s an emergency contact clause. Some way for you to reach out to the executive producer?”
“I sent an email. I’m waiting to hear back, but the odds they’ll see this as an emergency—”
“Not likely,” Susan finishes. “Not with someone tied to a competing show making the request.”
“Exactly. And it’s not like I can tell these people why I need to talk with Elle. Not without breaching confidentiality.”
My mentor says nothing. I can hear her puzzling through potential obstacles. Even if producers put me in touch with Elle, that opens a fresh can of worms for our show. Would they seize the chance to capitalize on our connection? To make a spectacle of the scandal?
Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge just started airing, but already we’ve got ratings buzz. We’ve also got the financial clout to stay on the air longer than my old show survived.
Thinking about Shrink to the Stars sends a heavy lead ball churning in the pool of my gut. There’s no right move here, and a million wrong ones.
One most of all.
“You need to keep things professional with the husband,” Susan says at last.
“Ex-husband.” I wince. “Of course.”
“It’s not illegal,” she says. “Strictly speaking, there’s no law stating you can’t get involved with the ex-husband of a patient you haven’t seen for years and with whom you’ve severed ties. But ethically—”
“Right.” I close my eyes again, no longer cheered by the sight of the sunrise. “If I can�
��t be honest with Griffin, there’s no chance of any meaningful relationship.”
“It’s not just that. There’d always be a question of whether you, as his ex-wife’s therapist, misused information from your client in order to benefit you in a romantic relationship. Anyone could make a complaint to the Board of Psychological Examiners. The investigation could be devastating to your career.”
Not just my career, but my family’s show. I swallow hard, fumbling to find the bright side. “I could contact the Board myself—”
“You could, but that comes with its own set of problems.” Her voice softens, and I wonder how much she’s reading into my reluctance. How much she hears about my budding feelings for Griffin.
“You really like this man.”
I nod, grateful she can’t see me. “He’s a strong community member with an excellent camera presence.”
“Not what I asked, Dr. Judson.”
With a deep breath, I dodge the question. “I’ll be careful,” I tell her. “I’ll find someone else. A man who’d be a more suitable romantic partner for me.”
It’s the first time I’ve knowingly lied to my mentor.
“Mari!” Colleen Carver steps out from behind the coffee bar with her long gray braid draped over one shoulder. “We’ve got a new recipe for you.”
Colleen’s wife, Patti, emerges from the kitchen holding a tray piled high with muffins. A rush of affection washes through me as Colleen plucks one off the tray and sets it in my palm.
“The recipe is really simple,” she says as I curl my fingers around the warm wrapper. “We could teach you in an afternoon if you want.”
“I admire your confidence in me.” Almost as much as I admire the muffins with their tawny crowns glittering under the café’s fluorescent lights. “Is this cinnamon sugar?”
“Yep, lots of it.” Colleen grins and helps herself to a muffin. “We’re calling them cinnamon sugar donut muffins.”
Patti frowns. “Or muffin donuts—which do you think would sell better?”
I take a bite of muffin, scattering the front of my shirt with sweet, spicy crystals. “That’s more of a branding question for Lana. They’re delicious, though.”
“Thanks.” Patti moves behind the counter and starts filling the pastry case with her creations. “By the way, we spotted Cal Clemmons on the wildlife cam again. He’s jogging awfully close to the fox habitat.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Cal was our pick to be Juniper Ridge’s fitness expert, a decision I might regret if he pisses off my favorite wildlife biologist, coffee shop operating, internet hacking duo. Colleen and Patti were here doing research when we bought the property, and we loved them so much we convinced them to stay. “I’ll make sure he understands the importance of avoiding your study site.”
“Thanks.” Colleen looks up as the door chimes. “Must be meeting time?”
I turn to see my five siblings trudging into the shop. Dean’s at the front, because big brother likes to lead. His shoulders are squared, though the permanent furrow in his brow seems shallower these days. Credit to his lovely fiancée, not Botox.
Behind him, Gabe’s tapping away on his phone. Possibly firming up details of the filming schedule, but more likely sexting his wife, Gretchen.
Lana and Lauren move shoulder-to-shoulder behind him, chattering away until Lauren stops to catch the door so it doesn’t smack Cooper in the face.
“Thanks.” Coop flashes his movie star smile and shoves half a power bar in his mouth. “Sorry, Patti,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food. “I got hungry on the way over.”
Colleen trudges over with a plate full of muffins, smiling fondly at our youngest brother. “As long as you still have room for these.”
All six Judson siblings shuffle toward the big corner table with the “reserved” sign at the center. There’s more competition for seats now that Juniper Ridge is up and running, though there aren’t many people here at ten on a Tuesday.
“You want tea, Mari?” Dean has his wallet out, though we have a running tab for these meetings. Probably stuffing the tip jar. “Earl Grey, right?”
“Yes, thank you. My mug’s behind the counter.”
“Ooh, almost forgot.” Lana digs through her handbag and pulls out her own blue mug that reads, “I may look calm, but in my head, I’ve knifed you three times.”
She hands it to Dean, then extracts a yellow mug. “I found this in the gift shop at Ponderosa Resort, and I knew you had to have it.”
She shoves it into my hands, and I read the words with growing delight. “‘Freudian sips.’ Thanks, Lana. This is great.”
Lauren nudges her with an elbow. “Told you she’d love it.”
“I do.” And I’m absolutely not jealous I was left out of their latest girls’ trip. They did invite me, but I had too much work. “Thank you.”
Dean holds out his hand. “You want to fill that one instead?”
“Yes, please.” I loop the handle over his fingers, then claim the seat closest to the window. Sliding a hand into my messenger bag, I extract a packet of paperwork.
Before I can dive in, Lauren holds up a hand and glares at it. “God, I need a manicure.”
“Let’s make an appointment at the spa.” Lana looks at me. “Did Tasha finish training the new nail tech?”
I nod. “I just emailed you the link to her personality profile and screen tests.”
Lauren makes a face. “I don’t need to film her. I just need her to make my fingernails look less like I shoved them in a blender and hit ‘pulse.’”
“I’m checking your calendar right now.” Lana pulls out her phone. “Lauren, it looks like you could do Thursday at three. Who else needs a mani/pedi?”
Cooper elbows Gabe. “We should get in on this.”
Lana ignores them and looks at me. “Mari? How about it?”
I hesitate. It’s dumb, but I feel like an afterthought. Besides, I have too much going on with the Griffin fiasco. Is now a good time to be glamming it up? “Maybe next time.”
“Suit yourself.” Lana clicks away on her phone as Dean returns and starts passing out drinks.
Determined to focus on business, I set my pile of paperwork on the table. “I know we’ve got our hands full planning episode arcs,” I say as I hand the stack to Lana, “but I wanted to quickly touch on the new benefits plan.”
Lana grabs a copy and passes the stack to Lauren. “Ooh, did we end up covering massage therapy?”
“Not on the health plan, but we’ve got that new massage therapist coming in a few weeks,” I remind her. “That’s one of the perks we promised to cover for community members.”
Dean slides into the seat beside me. “She agreed to that salary, by the way. She’ll send the signed contract in the morning.”
“Perfect.” I lay my health plan packet on the table and glance over at Patti and Colleen, who are hustling behind the coffee bar. I need to remember to print packets for them. “Okay,” I say to my siblings. “If you take a look at—”
“How was dinner the other night?” Lauren grins and props her elbows on the table. “We’ll get to the health stuff in a minute. I want to hear about Griffin before he gets here.”
I’m teetering between annoyance at the interruption and being flattered by her interest when my brain catches up. “Wait. Griffin’s joining us?”
Lana smiles and lifts her mug. “We’re bringing him into the loop since you gave your blessing for the mixer.”
Cooper looks up, a muffin in each hand as he straddles the chair beside her. “This mixer thing—is it just a big beer extravaganza, or will you have other stuff?”
He sounds casual enough, but I study his face for signs of strain. Coop may seem like a goofball, but I know how hard he works to maintain his sobriety. “We’ll definitely have booze-free options,” I assure him, though I’m clearly not the one planning this. “Griffin makes ginger beer and grape soda, plus his own specialty root beer.”
All eyes swivel to me, and I�
��m not sure why. Did I drool when I said Griffin’s name? I don’t think so, but I lift my mug to my lips and do a covert slobber check.
“So, dinner the other night.” Lauren leans in, flashing a look Entertainment Weekly dubbed her shark smile. “Tell us about it. Did he cook?”
“Soup and bread,” I say, keeping things simple so we can move on. “So, you’re thinking the event will be—”
“Come on, Mari.” Lana blows on her mug, framing her perfect face with a halo of steam. “What’s he like? He’s so quiet on set that we haven’t gotten a good sense of how to spin him.”
I remind myself we’re producing a reality TV show. They’re not probing because they think I kissed him. And definitely not because they have any reason to think I may have contributed to his divorce.
I concentrate on keeping my serene shrink mask in place. “He’s smart.” It’s the first word that pops into my head, which surprises me. “And kind. Also, a really good dad.”
“Interesting.” Lauren kicks Gabe under the table. “I know we promised to keep his kid out of it as much as possible, but what about playing up the dad angle?”
Gabe lifts an eyebrow. “And who exactly is he parenting, if we can’t show the kid?”
Lauren shrugs. “Maybe he has pets? Besides, it’s not like we can’t show the kid. We’re just not including her in any central storylines.”
As the two of them spiral off on a production tangent, Lana and Cooper start spit-balling ideas for the mixer. No one’s looking at me, which gives me a moment to recall Soph’s plea for a parrot. I love how Griffin handled that, despite being caught kissing just seconds before. I’ve never dated a single dad, but watching Griffin with his daughter warmed me in ways I never imagined. The rest of the man, on the other hand…the heat when he kissed me felt like—
“Hey.” I turn to see Dean assessing me with his trademark frown. “You okay?”
“Of course.” I pick up my new mug and pretend to be fascinated by the typeface. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He studies me some more. “You were in your office awfully early the other morning.”
Crap.