by Emilia Finn
“You’re strange.” I step forward as the line moves. I’ll be damned if I let the guy in front leave me here all alone. “I was talking to my mother, so…” I make a clicking noise with my tongue. “You can just go. We’re cool.”
“So, wait.” This guy has a square jaw, sparkling green eyes, and a slight bend in the bridge of his nose that draws my interest. Someone hit him.
Unsurprisingly, I can’t find it in my heart to be shocked.
He lifts his hands in surrender, and shows off a coffee in one, a paper bag in the other. “You’re seriously just gonna take back the I love yous we so lovingly exchanged? You have no care for my heart?”
“No.” I flatten my lips and reaffirm my grip on my handbag. “I don’t care about your feelings, strange man from the bakery I’ve never met before. And yes, I think I am gonna take my words back. I don’t make a habit of voicing such declarations to men I don’t know. Or, well, to any men, ever. I’m actually kind of late for work, so I’d be happy to just wait in line, get my coffee, then I’ll be out of the way, and you’ll never have to think of me again. So…” I look toward the door in expectation. “You can go.”
“Well, seeing as you’re gonna be in line for about three minutes more…” He turns, faces the counter, and stops so his shoulder touches mine. “I’ll wait with you. My name’s Luke.” He juggles his treats and squishes the pastry bag between his side and his disproportionately large bicep. “And you are?”
“Busy. Uninterested. Trying to get a little quiet before my first day at work.”
“Oh. First day?” He drops his hand and nods. “Cool. What do you do?”
I think of the photos I saw in the shop next door. The beautiful canvases.
“I work in photography.”
“No you don’t.”
Stunned, I turn and glare at the side of Luke’s smug face. “What?”
“You’re not in photography. Try again.”
“Why the hell do you think you get to tell me I’m wrong?”
“Because you can’t lie. You paused before answering, you have a tell, and now I know it, so you’ll never be able to tell a lie again.”
“I work in aged care.”
“No.”
I scowl and take another step forward. I’m imposing on the next guy’s space, but there’s at least twenty-five percent of me that is afraid of Luke.
“I’m a bank teller.”
“Nope.”
“Therapist.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Massage therapist.”
He scoffs. “Only in my wildest dreams. What’s your name?”
“Montana.”
He snickers and brings his coffee up to sip. “You’re not even trying.”
“Cora.”
“Lord, I hope not. I’m scarred by that name.”
I lift a brow and file that away for… never. Because I’m never going to see this guy again. “Ellie.”
“No. You don’t use a shortened name. Whoever you are, you use all of it.”
Incorrect.
“Are you Lucas?”
“Nope. My dad has an unhealthy obsession with Luke Skywalker. I’m just Luke.”
“What’s your dad’s name?”
Why do I care?
“Jon.” He smiles and looks down so I get the full force of his smug grin. “Simple names ‘round here. What’s your dad’s name?”
“Supreme Court Justice Alfred-in-charge-of-domestic-abuse-and-divorces.”
“Wow.” He bursts out in snorting laughter. “His mother sure hated him. Does he use ‘Fred’ for short?”
“No. But he specializes in making sure his daughter is safe, and seeing as how you’re yet to take no for an answer, add in your jacked-up arms, and I think that perhaps he won’t approve of you and your declarations of love.”
“Geez. Way to stereotype. I’ll have you know that I work really hard every single day to get past my ‘roid rage. It’s not easy being me. My momma beat me a lot…” He pauses before adding, “last week.”
“Sounds like a hard life.” I step forward when the guy in front finishes his order and moves aside. “Hi, can I get an iced coffee with whipped cream on top?”
“Fancy girl doesn’t want the regular coffee, Darcy.” Luke tsks and smiles for the girl behind the counter. “Make sure you hold your head high while making that one. I doubt Miss Montana will accept anything less.”
“Hi, Darcy.” I lean against the counter and smile for the woman who looks perhaps a year or two younger than me. “Has he ever told you he loves you?”
She looks from me, to Luke, back and forth for a moment. Only to settle on a nod. “Yeah, he told me he loves me.”
I sigh and tap my credit card to the machine. “Shame. And to think, I felt special for a minute there.”
Smirking, Darcy grabs a pen. “Name, please?”
“Yeah,” Luke bobbles his head a little. “Name please.”
I stop for a moment, then grin. “I’ll wait right over here. I suspect I’m the only one buying the fancy drink, so when I see it being made, I’ll be sure to make myself known.”
Ignoring Luke, side-stepping his large body, I move away from the counter and swipe my phone open so I can pretend to be busy while they make my drink.
“So…”
Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Do not look up.
“Come here often?”
I look up and shake my head. “It’s lucky you’re pretty. I swear, if you were ugly, I’d have shot by now.”
“So you admit I’m sexy?” He flashes a grin and opens his hands in a come here type gesture. “Excellent starting off point. I think you’re pretty too. You wear heels like that all the time, or…?”
“Only when I’m awake. You wear that hat all the time?”
Luke reaches up and taps his brim. “Only when I’m awake. You married?”
“Nope.”
“Engaged?”
I lift my left hand and study it for a moment. “Nope.”
“Does your boyfriend play football?”
“Negative, Ghostrider. Can you go away now?”
“What’s your mother’s name?”
“Fancy coffee?” the barista calls out.
I spare Luke one last glance, absorb how sexy he actually is, then I grab my coffee and walk. “See ya, Small Town. Have a nice day.”
“I love you!” he shouts at my back. “Yo, Montana! I said I love you!”
I pass through the door with a shake of my head, and step onto the sidewalk with my phone in one hand, and my fancy coffee in the other.
It’s too damn bad the sexy guy is fifty cents short of a dollar. I’m new in town, I’m absolutely not looking for attachments, but hell, a romp with a sexy guy isn’t something I would say no to. But I feel like, if he’s short that fifty cents, then perhaps it’s morally wrong for me to go there. It would be taking advantage.
And that knowledge is a damn shame.
It takes only ten minutes to walk from Main Street over to Chapel Street, which is where my office for the next couple months is located. I’ve never been here before, but I’ve seen pictures. It’s easy enough for me to find, even on foot, and even in heels. I make it only a quarter of the way through my coffee before I walk through the front door of the offices and stop in the air-conditioned room.
Behind the counter, a woman in a floaty white top and a half a dozen necklaces pops her head up much the same way a meerkat does, stopping on my face when our eyes meet, and her lips quirk into a fun smile. “You must be Allyson. Hi.”
“Hi.” I fix my purse on my arm, and move my coffee to my left hand with just enough time to wipe the right on my pants and take the receptionist’s enthusiastic pump. “You can call me Ally, if you like. Most people do.”
“Oh sure. You’re just as pretty as they said you would be.”
“Oh… wow.” I release her hand and let mine drop by my side. “I had no clue that would be considered for a job like this, but okay.�
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“Oh, don’t be silly.” The woman sits down again when the phones begin ringing. “You know, she told me all about you. I’ve been excited since the moment the documents were signed and it was official you were coming. And I know I wasn’t the only one. I’m sorry, I have to get this. My name is Calla, by the way.”
“Hi, Calla.”
“Just wait a second, and I’ll let her know you’re here.”
She picks up the phone and speaks in barely more than a murmur. “She’s here. Yeah… uh-huh… okay.”
She glances up and smiles. “Head on in.” Then she looks down and silences the trilling of the telephone. “Sonia Rivera’s office. How can I help you?”
“Uh…” I glance around the empty waiting room. Chairs line the wall, and a dark wood coffee table sits in the center, gossip magazines littering the surface. A water cooler stands in the corner, and strangely, a dog’s water bowl sits at the bottom.
Frowning, and knowing I’ll regret the resulting wrinkles someday, I try to smooth my features as I make my way toward a door that’s slightly ajar. I doubt she’s seeing a client right now, or else the door would be shut. Adding in that Calla told me to head on in, I tap the door with something barely more than a whisper of a touch, and when there’s no objection, I push it open and am met with eyes that know a whole lot.
Sonia is old. Really old, but somehow, she drinks from the fountain of youth, because despite her age, she doesn’t look frail or incompetent. Silvering hair, watchful eyes. Her face isn’t smooth, but it’s not droopy or hanging with excess skin either. She wears an elegant skirt suit of pastel pink, shiny black heels that complement the pink, and short, manicured nails that match.
Her office is sophisticated, neat, and chic. A dark wood desk sits against one wall, with a black chair pushed in so it takes up little room. A computer screen is mounted to the wall, and above that, framed certificates add a touch of professionalism and class. A few feet from the desk chair are two more chairs, but these are comfier, made for lounging, and across from those is a two-seater couch. It’s all set up in a way that encourages discussion. The chairs all face inward, a small coffee table separates them, and in the center of the table is a small display of daisies.
It’s as though the room demands a flower that implies more class… roses, lilies, perhaps even tulips. But the flower chosen sets people at ease. This is a nice space, it says. You can relax. You can let down your guard. We won’t drop you.
The wall opposite the couch is littered with hand-drawn pictures. Rainbows, horses, flowers, and families. Children have spent time in this room, and the fact they have, the fact children need Sonia’s help, makes my heart ache. But I guess it’s better that they have access to help, rather than need it but not have it.
“Allyson.” The woman allows me a full minute of study before she stands from her wing-backed chair, and sets a cup of tea on the desk against the wall. Checking her lipstick with a lightning fast move as she turns away from the switched-off computer, she turns to me and smiles in a way that sets me on edge.
I don’t much like hugging strangers, I don’t like public displays of affection. But I guess this woman doesn’t mind either, because she grabs my arms, pulls me in, and presses an air kiss to each cheek.
It’s all very formal, rigid and awkward, and the fact it feels that way is telling.
Fortunately, it’s over fast, then she steps back and catalogs me. “Look at you, Allyson. Just…” She studies me from my shoes to my hair. “Wow. You look so beautiful.”
“Thank you. I, uh…” I look down at my black pants and ivory shirt. “I wasn’t sure exactly what you wanted me to wear, so I went with understated elegance. I hope that’s right.”
She smiles and takes a step back. “Not understated at all. You look delightful. Come, sit down.” She sits in her wing-back and grabs her teacup, so then I’m left with no choice. Remain standing here like an idiot, or follow her example. “I would offer you a cup of tea, but…” She looks down at my iced coffee, and grins as I take a seat across from her. “Seems you’ve settled into town. When did you arrive?”
“Uh… yesterday afternoon.” I let my handbag slide off my arm, and then set it down by my feet. “I drove down yesterday, a little after lunch.”
“That’s wonderful. Did you take a look around?”
“Around town?” I try to settle in and relax. I sit back a little more, swallow down my nerves, and try not to overthink the ramifications of what this means. To be sitting in this room, with this woman, to be pursuing this particular career. It’s all very pivotal and life-altering.
“I didn’t venture out,” I explain. “I checked in at my hotel, ordered room service, watched a movie, and crashed. I was tired and,” my cheeks warm, “well, honestly, I was nervous about today. I conked out as quickly as I could, but I got up early, and walked here this morning just so I could explore town a little. They make a killer coffee at the bakery on Main.”
“Yes.” She smiles and brings her teacup to her lips. “I’m not sure they make a bad anything there. Be sure to try the cream puffs. They’re to die for.” She glances across the room to a clock on the wall, stares for just a moment, then nods. “We have ten minutes until my first client is due.”
Small talk is done, I guess. Now it’s time for business.
“It’s important I ask each and every client for their permission for you to sit in on their sessions. And even if they say yes today, they are not obligated to say yes next time. You’re welcome to take notes, so long as you’re not loud about it, if you know what I mean. No names at all, and your notebooks are to remain in this office at all times. I can provide you with a space in the locked cabinet, so they remain safe. You can access them at any time while here. If, at some point during this semester, you’re required to write something up about your experiences, you can refer to your notes, but again, you cannot take them away.” She gives a gentle smile. “Client confidentiality is of paramount importance here.”
“Of course.”
“Feel free to try to engage with my clients, so long as the moment feels genuine and welcome, but it’s important you do not interrupt them when they speak. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, you can leave. Zero judgment from me. Some of my clients will wish to speak about things that seem unimportant to you and me. Maybe their job is giving them a hard time, or their spouse. Something that seems minimal to some. But your job, as therapist, is not to judge. Conversely, some might discuss things that will hurt your heart and soul. They will speak of things that will make you question if there’s any good left in this world. I will never judge or berate you for excusing yourself.”
I study this woman’s shrewd eyes – the color, nothing like my green. The way she clasps her hands together. She’s a contradiction: old and kind-looking, but business-minded… and, if I read her right, willing to protect her clients with her own life.
“If I want to become a therapist,” I begin, “if at the end of this semester, I want to achieve something good and important, then I can’t wimp out on the heavier stuff, right?”
She smiles, fusses with her teacup for a moment, only to finally nod. “Perhaps. But I will not judge you, Allyson. I will never hold it against you. This career takes a special skillset, an understanding and an ability to be compassionate, but without absorbing or letting the job hurt you. Not everyone has that, and that is okay. I would rather we both know now, while you’re young and have guidance, than for you to figure it out later, when someone else’s mental health is in your hands, and you have the power to make it worse, even if unintentionally.”
“You, uh… Do you never absorb?” I know I should focus on what she’s trying to explain, on my responsibility in this important profession, but my mind sticks to one particular point. “Never? In all these years, you’ve never grabbed on to someone else’s troubles and struggled to offload it again?”
“Well…” She considers and takes a sip of her tea. “I’ve absorbed
far more than is healthy for any one human. This may be a small town, Allyson, and troubles may look simple from the outside, but I’ve spent the last sixty years helping a lot of the youth around here. Some of them…” She pauses and shakes her head. “Some of them have met the devil. They’ve seen firsthand that Hell exists. But,” she adds with a small uplift in her tone, “they come back to me, time and time again. And they search for guidance.”
The telephone on Sonia’s desk chirps just once, then Calla’s voice echoes from the next room over. “Your nine-thirty is here.”
“Thank you, Calla. Send them in.” She sets her teacup aside and looks to me. “You ready?”
“Them?” I hurriedly glance toward the door. “You do couples counseling too?”
“Ha.” She makes her way across the room in her fancy suit and kitten heels. “I do, sometimes. But that’s not what today is.”
She opens the door and turns into someone else completely. From serious, unbending therapist, to baby talk and folding in half to pat an extraordinarily large dog. “Hey, Galileo. How are you doing today, handsome? Are you keeping your mommy out of trouble? Huh? Are you keeping her on the straight and narrow?”
“Lord,” the woman standing at the door rolls her eyes. “Anyone would think I’m a criminal.” She wears jeans with holes in the knees, sneakers, and a top that clings to her hips to show off her curves. She smiles for Sonia, rolls her eyes at her dog, but then she notices me, and straightens out like an arrow.
A defensive arrow readying to eject me the hell out of here.
“Um…”
Sonia notices the change in demeanor immediately, straightens, and gestures toward me… but her hand remains on Galileo’s head. “Nora, come on in, and I’ll explain.”
“Are you being audited?”
Nora’s large dog leaves Sonia’s side and comes to sniff me. He’s massive. As in, if he rested on his back legs and stood tall, he’d be an easy foot or two taller than me. White fur, a couple of black patches, and two sparkling black eyes. He’s her guard dog, her army, but he doesn’t growl at me, he doesn’t attack as I nervously stand and clasp my hands together.