For Her Own Good

by Parker, Tamsen

  His words could be construed as gross, but his tone isn’t insinuating or sexual, doesn’t make me feel like he’s a creeper. I still don’t trust him, but at least I don’t think he’s going to assault me or say heinous things that will make me want to toss a glass of perfectly good alcohol in his face.

  He must sense my hesitation, because he presses. “I realize your father didn’t like me, didn’t trust me. But I think my proposal might interest you.”

  It feels like a betrayal of my father to say yes, to even be considering this. I suppose it’s possible, too, Garrett could outwit me, but I have a team of lawyers—he’s got to know I’m not agreeing to jack shit before I check with them. It’s perhaps juvenile, but I wish Lowry could come with me. If I were a man and I brought my wife or girlfriend or just a pretty face, I don’t think it would be construed as odd or weak. But I’m not a man. If I say my boyfriend—is he my boyfriend?—slash ex-psychiatrist will be accompanying me… No can do because that would be as good as tossing a bucket of chum into shark-infested waters, and I’m smart enough not to make my position seem any weaker than it already is.

  Also, what’s the worst that could happen? I’ll have some other dickhead man make an offer I can totally refuse? What if this is legit? What if this is the answer? It’s probably worth a couple of hours to find out.

  “Fine. But I don’t take kindly to people fucking with me, so if this is an effort to take advantage, I’d advise you to reconsider. I guarantee I have faced down bigger demons than you and won. As you found my phone number, I’m sure you can locate my email. I’ll be free Friday evening after seven thirty next week, let me know where you’d like to meet.”

  Then I hang up, because that’s what I do to men who make me nervous.

  * * *

  Lowry

  We’ve had our team meeting where we have an opportunity to discuss difficult cases and anything else we’d like to talk about. Obviously Tony came up, and while it was difficult, it could have been a great deal worse. I’ve been in touch with Emily, attended the funeral—alone, though I would’ve liked Starla to be by my side; it didn’t seem fair to ask her to come, given her mother, given her own complicated relationship with suicide. It’s still a loss, I still wonder if there isn’t more I could’ve done, but the guilt isn’t crushing. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve grown as a professional and I’m learning how to handle these terrible but inevitable parts of my job better, or if it’s something else. Something like having Starla there to comfort and hold me.

  I’ve headed back to my office and sat down at my desk to review the patients I’ll be seeing for the rest of the day. It’s not an overly stressful slate, but I want to do well by them. Especially after Starla’s helped me with my schedule. I can’t believe the difference. I’m a far better clinician because the woman knows what she’s talking about.

  There’s a knock on my doorframe and looking up, Lacey’s there.

  “Thought I’d check in with you. See how you’re doing. I know what a blow losing Tony has been.”

  I nod, thankful for the empathetic but not pitying or disgusted way she’s looking at me. She knows what this is like, she’s lost patients as well, this is professional courtesy and sympathy, not that she thinks I’ve cocked this up.

  “I keep expecting him to walk in the door, as though he’s not gone. I knew things weren’t good. I had a feeling things were that bad, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. I wish I could’ve done something else, but even talking to Emily… It’s god-awful is what it is, and about one percent for me what it is for her and those girls. Always hard to lose a patient, but I don’t need to tell you that.”

  “No, you don’t. It’s hard to watch anyone spiraling and feeling as though they’re out of your reach. You can’t be flinging yourself over the edge to try to save them either, not if you want to be there for all the other patients who need you.”

  That’s true enough. Put on your own oxygen mask and all that. It’ll take time and it will never really leave, but we move forward, we have to, otherwise…what’s the point? That doesn’t seem to be the only reason Lacey is here, though. Indeed, her brows crease.

  “I wanted to speak with you too…”

  Something pricks the back of my neck because this is something she clearly didn’t want to discuss in front of the team. Privacy is apparently called for because she steps fully into my office and closes the door behind her but doesn’t take a seat.

  “What about?”

  “This is extraordinarily awkward, I suspect for all involved, but I have to ask. Are you seeing Starla Patrick?”

  I knew this would come up sometime. Knew it, and yet am still wildly unprepared, have no response ready to give. Haven’t talked to Starla about it even, which I should have done, but we always have other things to do. Things to talk about, sex to have, games to play, on and on. I’m consumed by her whenever she’s nearby and honestly when she’s not. I’ve even started thinking to myself when working with some of my patients, “What would Starla do?” because she’s fecking brilliant.

  I don’t want to hoist this responsibility on Starla, but I also don’t want to disclose anything to her psychiatrist that she wouldn’t want disclosed. This is rather a spot to find myself in and I put my pen down, lean back in my chair. We haven’t done anything wrong. At least Starla hasn’t. Lacey may very well feel differently about me, knowing my history with Starla. But I’m hoping she also knows me and that will count for something.

  “I don’t know that this is my information to share. I’m not trying to be evasive, it’s only, privacy is privacy. Obviously there’s no doctor-patient privilege here—anymore—but Starla’s wishes about what details of her life are shared and with whom are still paramount to me.”

  Lacey nods but folds her arms over her chest. “I appreciate that, but…”

  A shake of her head and a sigh.

  “I think you’re a good man and an excellent clinician, and it’s not technically a violation of the ethics guidelines, but I’m not sure this is wise. You weren’t here to deal with the aftermath of your departure, but it was ugly. Not as ugly as what had come before, but it wasn’t good. Of course, this is all hypothetical. I have no proof, just the gut feeling that comes from how she smiles to herself in my office when she’s seen you passing by in the hallway. Or the way you studiously avoid my gaze when I talk about Starla in a team meeting.”

  I can’t say anything else without betraying Starla’s trust, but I feel Lacey’s words like a knife to the chest. It must’ve been terrible. I worried about it every goddamn day when I’d left, and it never really went away. So I get where she’s at, I do, but as she said, it’s an awkward position.

  “Of course,” I echo, not sure where to go from here and feeling as though I’ve disappointed my boss who I respect very much and also Starla, the woman who’s the love of my life, by saying too much but not enough at the same time.

  Lacey levels me with a glare like, “I can’t fucking believe you’re leaving me hanging like this, you right proper numpty,” but I’ve got nothing else to give. Not to her, anyhow. Her suspicions are bad enough, I’m not going to give her proof.

  “All right, then. I’m sure we’ll talk later.”

  “Of course,” I say again because I’m not sure what else to do. I’ll talk to Starla later, but beyond that…who the fuck knows. Not this guy, that’s for sure.

  Lacey departs, but I can’t refocus on my patients. I don’t have time for a trip to the gym or a run to get my head in order, and I feel too scattered and edgy for anything else to do the trick. Perhaps, though, calling the other most important woman in my life will be something at least. So I ring up Maeve, knowing I’ll get an earful because it’s been overlong since we spoke.

  “Lowry, you delinquent. It’s nice to hear from you. I understand the flush of young love is distracting, but you could show me a little more deference. What with being your first wife and all.”

  There it is
again. Maeve thinks of this as a foregone conclusion—she’s my first wife, which implies Starla will be my second. But I’m still not sure that’s something Starla wants from me.

  “Lovely to hear your voice, Maeve. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Very good, actually.”

  Maeve isn’t a shy person but she sounds a bit bashful now. It’s wildly unlike her, and I’ve got to wonder what that’s about.

  “Aye? And what’s that about?”

  “I’m, uh, maybe, seeing someone?”

  “Are you, then? That’s brilliant. Isn’t it?”

  “I think so. So far.”

  “And who’s the lucky bastard?”

  Not that I’ll know him. Unless it’s one of those fancy blokes I met at some function I went to with Maeve. Then I might have a shot in hell. But Maeve’s never had much of a taste for those society gents, seems to prefer downtown men even though she’s a decidedly uptown girl.

  “This is actually a bit awkward. I don’t want you to think there was anything going on when we were married, because there wasn’t, but I… Denny. It’s Denny. I’m fucking Denny, okay?”

  Denny? As in her driver, Denny? It’s a bit of a shock, but I never would’ve accused her of fooling around on me—neither of us are built for that, and there was no reason for her to stay with me if she’d wanted to be with him.

  “You don’t need to get your dander up, hen. I always liked Denny, was glad he’d still be around after I wasn’t all the time. He clearly likes and respects you. I’m glad for you both if it makes you happy.”

  “You are?”

  I forget sometimes that even though Maeve is mostly a machete, sometimes the woman’s got a soft side to her as well. Shouldn’t surprise me at all that she values my opinion as I value hers, but Christ, I wish she weren’t worried.

  “Course. Why wouldn’t I want you to be happy? I always wanted that for you more than anything else, and I hope he’s the man who can give you what I couldn’t because I’ve got no sense in my head at all.”

  “Fine, then. How’s Starla doing? I’ve heard talk about Jerome Garrett sniffing around Patrick Enterprises. Even though that would be difficult to pull off, if anyone can do it, it would be him. She must be frazzled.”

  Normally I’d poke a bit more and ask the obvious questions about Maeve and Denny: How long has this been going on, how did you get together? But I’m distracted by Maeve’s mention of Starla. Star has hardly said anything to me about her father’s business, and I haven’t been much keeping track otherwise, figuring she’d tell me about something if it were noteworthy. But this sounds major.

  “She hasn’t mentioned it, actually.”

  Something that’s not exactly embarrassment burns high up in my chest, nearly in my throat. Maeve knows something about Starla I don’t? Why didn’t Starla tell me? I pride myself on her being able to share anything with me, anything at all, but it seems as though the business and fortune elite insiders have got information I ought to have. No, that doesn’t feel good at all, but I’m sure there’s a reason for it. Must be.

  “Oh. I’m sure she has it handled, then. She’s got a team of sharks for lawyers so they’ve probably got it all under control. I’m sure she doesn’t want to worry you with all that since you never cared much for industry gossip or goings-on.”

  That’s true, but I do care very much for Starla. I try to shake it off even as I plan how to ask her about it later. In the meantime, I’ll interrogate Maeve about her love life.

  “So, you and Denny, huh? How did that come about?”

  Chapter 29

  Starla

  Last night and this morning I’ve had Lowry around to distract me from my upcoming meeting with Jerome Garrett. Eight p.m. Friday at a steakhouse in the seaport. Jesus, what does one wear to something like this? I’ll have Holden pick something appropriate out. Something that makes me look professional but also dangerous. Something that says, “I know what I’m about, don’t you dare fuck with me.”

  For now, though, I’m ravenous because I’m somewhat insatiable when it comes to Lowry. I want him all the time. I want him calling me his darling little girl all the time, I want him spanking my bottom all the time, I want him inside me all the time. I cannot get enough.

  It’s a good thing he’s a responsible adult who reminds me—us—that we ought to eat something, if only to be able to keep up with our shenanigans.

  I said this morning after he finally managed to pry me out of bed that I wanted French toast.

  “Rhoda used to make me French toast every Sunday. When I got old enough, she showed me how but I haven’t made it in, eh, ten years? Not sure I’d remember how.”

  “It’s like riding a bike.”

  “Which is only helpful if you know how to ride a bike,” I mutter and instantly regret because Lowry’s head is cocked as though he can’t believe what he just heard.

  “Do you…do you not know how to ride a bike?”

  Argh, fuck my life. This is one of my great embarrassments. I’m a grown goddamn woman. I’m obscenely wealthy. I can have essentially anything I want at any time. I’ve had the best education money can buy. I can speak at length about art history. I understand complex business arrangements, and I can help people figure out systems to help themselves succeed. What I cannot do is ride a goddamn bicycle.

  “I do not.”

  My nose is in the air and my tone is prissy and dismissive as I fold my arms across my chest. This is not something I like to talk about. I had a rarified childhood which sometimes meant I was going skiing in the Swiss Alps or summering on a yacht in the Mediterranean when I ought to have been doing more normal kid stuff, like learning how to ride a freaking bike.

  Which has always been one of Lowry’s criticisms of my father. Not that he ever said as much out loud to me, but I could see the way his mouth tightened through his scruff that he thought I ought to be spending more time being a normal girl and less time being molded and shaped and hand-formed into what I was supposed to be like.

  And when that all came crashing down because I could barely function enough to get through school, never mind be a jet-setting socialite or pull off attending a Swiss boarding school or some nonsense, that was an added layer of disappointment and inadequacy to the shit sandwich my father must’ve felt like he’d been forced to eat.

  I mean, he loved me, but while I was growing up I never did feel as though he was happy with me or proud of me. Not for what I could actually do. Another layer to add to the pressure I felt weighing me down. When I felt anything at all, anyhow. It was better for a time. My father actually seemed pleased with me, like I wasn’t an embarrassment or a thing he had to make excuses for but a daughter he could actually be proud of. My craving for that approval ran—runs, I suppose—deep and I would’ve done anything in my power to have more of it. But now he’s gone.

  The crease between Lowry’s brows deepens, and I don’t know whether I should ask what he’s thinking or if I don’t want to know.

  “We’ve got the whole day today. It’s a little cool, but fundamentally nice weather. Would you like to learn?”

  When people find out I can’t ride a bike—it doesn’t come up often, thankfully—they’re always aghast, always want to know why not, always shake their heads in wonder that of all people, I don’t know how to ride a bicycle. But never have any of them offered to teach me.

  This has the potential to be completely mortifying. Falling, scraped knees, and screaming because you’re flying down the pavement with only a couple of wheels and some metal sticks to support you seems perfectly reasonable when you’re a child, less so when you’re a thirty-three-year-old woman.

  On the other hand…it’s so sweet of him to offer. And in a way that’s kind instead of horrified, making me feel as though he’s giving this to me willingly and it’s not a huge deal. It’s something he has and I don’t, so why shouldn’t he help me get it? Generous. That’s what Lowry is, and has always been, with me.

&nbs
p; “Are you sure you don’t mind? I’m not the easiest student.”

  “Perhaps I’m a very strict teacher.”

  He raises a ginger brow and all of a sudden, I am far more interested in learning how to ride a bike than I’ve ever been. It’s going to be that kind of lesson, is it? That I could be down for.

  “There’s only one obstacle I can think of. I’d imagine you don’t want this to be a public exercise, and since we both live in the city, it’s not as though we’ve got a winding private driveway for you to learn on. Even if we could find a parking lot to use, odds are there’d be a lot of passersby.”

  Yeah, no one wants that, especially not me. Double especially if Lowry’s planning to go all strict schoolmaster on me. Which would be a delight, but also not a role-play I’d ever want to do in a public space. But…

  “I may have an idea. Let me make a call.”

  * * *

  Lowry

  The drive is in fact winding and private. Lined with trees, surrounded with lush grass that’s been meticulously maintained. I can’t help but feel it’s a bit of a waste, given that Starla hasn’t set foot on the property for months. At least as far as I know, and I’d think she’d tell me if she were coming here. Or that I’d be able to tell that she’d been. Unless I’m inflating the importance of her father’s estate in my mind. Possible, but not terribly likely.

  Indeed, she’s sitting in the passenger seat with her fingers knitted together in her lap and looking uneasy. Of course, I wouldn’t be feeling at ease if I were to head home either, but it’s not the same.

  I rest my hand on her bare thigh, and she starts before covering my hand with her own.

  “You okay, Star? We don’t have to do this if you’ve changed your mind. It’s a beautiful day. There are a million things we could do. Take a walk, head down to Newport and drive around to see the cottages, pick up some food and have a picnic on the Common. Anything you’d like.”