Audrey stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. And that got me started all over again. “Sh-She wants to know if…if…Thomas…wears my…underwear. Can you picture that?”
“Meg!” My father’s voice sounded sharp.
“Y-Yes, Daddy?” I snickered.
“Honey, you’re hysterical. Take a breath. Where’s your sister?”
I dragged in air, and let it out in a whoosh. “She’s right here.” I looked at my sister’s face, filled with compassion, and suddenly nothing was funny. “Daddy, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone.
“They’re going to call back,” Audrey said.
“You talk to them.” I dropped the phone into her lap and raced down the hall to my bedroom.
Hours later, I lay in the dark, staring at a narrow strip of moonlight cutting across the far wall. I discovered a newfound respect for some of my patients. Their depression, anxiety, and paranoia were not imagined. It was all real to them. As real as my feelings were to me.
While still crazy, I fished my cell phone out of my purse, flipped it open and speed dialed ‘1’.
“Hello.”
I held the phone away from my ear and stared at it in disbelief. “Francisco?”
“Yes?”
The little bastard had answered Thomas’s cell. “Is Thomas there?”
“No. He ran an errand. He left his cell on the table. He’s so forgetful…”
“Did he tell you the news? About the baby?”
There was a long pause. “Yes. Congratulations.” The last word lacked enthusiasm.
“Thank you.” I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back for my civility. “Things are going to get very complicated. Thomas wants to be a father for our child. That means going to doctor visits, being there for the birth, holidays, and birthdays. Well, you know—family stuff. But I’m sure you understand my feelings about…you.”
He said nothing, but cleared his throat.
“It is personal, I hope you know that. I almost liked you until you slept with my husband. But, we all have to move on now. So, here’s how this is going to go.”
I laid out my rules regarding my baby. When I finished, I asked, “Any questions?”
“Do you want Thomas to call you back?”
“Not necessary.” I hung up.
~ * ~
Nikki perched on the corner of my desk. The blue streak in her hair had begun to fade, but the new, additional ear-piercings glinted in the light. “You told him what?”
“I told Francisco that he should get used to being the third wheel, because that would always be his position when it comes to my family. If Thomas wants to be a father to our baby, that’s fine. But I will not welcome Francisco to be a part of my family. Let him have his own baby.”
The corners of Nikki’s mouth twitched.
“You know what I mean. And it felt damned good to take control of my life again.” Some control. He has my house, my bed, and my husband. But I have my self-respect. “He’s not getting my baby.”
Nikki patted my hand. “Good for you. You wanna have a girls’ night on Friday? You, me, and Audrey? We can rent some sentimental movie and cry ourselves silly.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need any help crying. And, frankly, it’s getting old. I have a couple of apartments I want to look at. We could all go to check them out, then have dinner somewhere after. Don’t you have a date with Chico?”
“Chico? Nah, it didn’t work out.”
“That’s too bad. He seemed like a nice guy.”
“He is.” Her eyes flashed open. “Hey, I could fix you two up. He thought you were hot, for an older woman.”
Older woman? “How old is he?”
“Twenty-six. But he’s mature.”
I’d just turned thirty-one. I guess age is all relative. At least that’s what I told myself to assuage my bruised ego. “No, thanks. I’m swearing off men for a long, long time. If he’s such a nice guy, why did you break up?”
“He was getting way too serious. Started talking about how nice it would be have a house and a family. I am so not ready for that scene. I’ve decided to take a break and give myself six months of celibacy.”
I laughed. “You? Celibate for six months?”
She pursed her lips, looking injured, then grinned. “Want to make a bet?”
I backed off. “I have no doubt you can do whatever you set your mind to.”
Then it was Nikki’s turn to laugh. “You know me too well. By the way, can I take a week off?”
“You going somewhere?”
“I want to go to this spa I read about in Arizona. They have a holistic retreat—healthy meals, massages, Yoga, meditation. It’s spiritually cleansing.”
“Well, it certainly fits with your self-imposed sexual exile. When are you going?”
“In two weeks, mid-June.” Nikki dropped from her perch on the corner of my desk. “You should come with me.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not into eating tofu and twisting myself into unnatural positions.”
“Those unnatural positions could come in handy later on.”
“It might not be good for the baby.”
“Is the baby going to be your excuse for everything now? They have Yoga classes for pregnant women. Come on. It might be healthy for both of you to get away for a while. Think about it—the sun, the desert, red rock country.” The phone rang, and she stared at it. “No phone. Give it some thought.” She practically skipped from my office, oozing anticipation.
I had to admit I found the idea tempting. Not the strange food and Yoga part, but the rest. Mainly the quiet.
My phone buzzed, and I pressed the intercom. “Yes?”
“The Bick…uh…the Bartons are here.”
I smiled. “Thank you. Tell them I’ll be with them in five minutes.” I checked my appearance, tugging the bottom of my blouse free from the confines of my snug-fitting slacks, hoping to avoid a pregnancy discussion with Lisa Barton. I’d read that only a small percentage of women begin to show within the first couple of months of pregnancy. I seemed to be in that percentile.
I walked to the waiting room, pasted on my smile, and opened the door to usher the couple inside. Five minutes into the session, I searched for my imaginary whistle and striped shirt, and I wanted to scream. What I needed was a whip and a chair. The Bartons always fought, but at least they were speaking and they were together. Maybe Thomas and I didn’t fight enough, or maybe I hadn’t fought hard enough? I gave myself a mental shake and returned to the argument playing out in front of me.
Fifty minutes later, I walked Steve and Lisa Barton back to the waiting room and watched as they exited the office. Nikki glanced up from behind the sliding glass window, but said nothing. Didn’t have to. Her raised brow said it all.
“They’re getting better. You have to admit. I only had to interrupt them three times.” I didn’t know if I was defending the Bartons or seeking reassurance for my own expertise.
I walked around the divider and into Nikki’s small office to stand behind her and gaze over her shoulder at the computer screen. A video of a group of men and women wearing baggie white outfits played across the screen. They stood barefoot lined up on red clay backed by a clear blue sky, performing Tai Chi movements slowly and in sync with one another. Native American flute music played in the background. And my soul stirred. “Is that the spa?” I whispered.
“This is their video. Peaceful, isn’t it?”
I listened and watched for another thirty seconds before I heard myself say, “Sign me up.” I wanted to be in a place where I felt the need to whisper.
Chapter Thirteen
I walked through the small two-bedroom bungalow, determining where my few pieces of furniture would be placed. “I’ll take it.”
“Sure you don’t want to see the apartment on Neville first? It’s actually larger than this.”
“Nope. This house is perfect.” The cozy living room with a fireplace in the corner felt lik
e a womb, a place to attach myself and prepare for my own rebirth. “How soon can I move in?”
The agent removed a lease agreement from her briefcase. “As soon as you sign this lease, pay the deposit and the first month’s rent and your check clears. Let’s go to the coffee shop on the corner where we can sit and go over the details.”
From the sidewalk, I turned and looked back at the house. My heart was happy and sad, all at once. I loved the fenced in yard and flower beds. And I hated taking another step forward out of my marriage.
“I’m sorry. Did you have another question?” The rental agent, Grace, a woman my mother’s age but dressed in a designer suit, narrowed her eyes.
“No. I just needed to look at the house once more from the outside. Let’s go.”
She treated me to a decaf latte while I read the fine print on the lease, then wrote out a hefty check.
Grace straightened the papers as I handed them back to her. “I’ll have a copy of the rental agreement delivered to your office, along with the keys, once your check clears. A day or two. We’ve already run a credit check on your application, and everything is in order. Here are the phone numbers for the utility company and cable.” She handed me a list. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy in this neighborhood.”
I looked through the window to trendy shops lining the narrow street. “I will be,” I said, but my heart was not in my words. I knew I’d be happy again, eventually. But it would take more than a house and a couple of boutiques within walking distance. “Thank you. I’ll make arrangements to move in next weekend.”
Grace stood and extended her hand. “You’ll let us know if there’s anything you find that needs attention. The lease spells out the owner’s responsibility for the property, and yours. I have to run to another appointment across town. Have a good day.” She picked up her latte and briefcase.
I left the dregs of my drink and returned to the bungalow where I stood on the sidewalk in front of the gate.
A woman stepped out onto the front porch of the house to my right. “Hi. I saw you go inside a while ago. Are you thinking of renting?”
I nodded. “Just signed a lease.” I met her midway along her front walk. “I’m Meg Flores.”
“Shalondra Elliott.” She offered an elegant hand, with long, tapered fingers the color of mocha. “But everyone calls me Shay.”
“Nice to meet you. Have you lived here for a while?”
Shay shook her head. “My husband and I moved in about four months ago. It’s nice here…quiet.”
“That’s great to hear.”
“You married?”
“Sort of. At least until my baby’s born.” I set my hand over my barely perceptible bump.
“Oh.”
“I found out after we’d decided to split.”
“That’s rough. Well, if you need anything, I’m right here. I work at home, so I’m around most of the time. Speaking of which, my break’s about over. Back to the grind. See ya’.” Shay gave a backward wave as she ascended her porch steps.
“Nice meeting you,” I called after her. I headed for my car feeling a little better now about the move, having met at least one of my new neighbors.
~ * ~
“Well, tell me about the house.” Nikki practically vibrated with anticipation when I returned to the office.
I smiled. “It’s perfect. Two bedrooms, one that will make a fantastic nursery, and a fenced-in yard. No garage, but there’s a paved driveway and off-street parking. Maybe I can put up a carport.”
Nikki studied me for a moment. “Sounds great. So, what’s wrong with it?”
“It’s one more reminder of what I’m leaving behind.” I slumped into a chair and dropped my briefcase on the floor. “How did my life get so turned around so fast?”
Her face brightened. “That’s exactly the kind of question to take to the spa retreat. When we get back from Arizona, you’ll be a new woman, you’ll have that answer. And you’ll be ready to keep moving forward.”
I hoped she was right. I was terrified she would be right. “Who’s scheduled at two o’clock?”
Nikki picked up a thin file. “New client. Julian Mayes. He stopped by this morning to make the appointment. You had a cancellation this afternoon, so I had him fill out most of the paperwork and scheduled him in. He’s good to go. And I dubbed him Juicy Julian. What a hunk.”
“Thanks, Nikki. You’re a gem.” I retreated to my office where I daydreamed about my new house until the buzzer announced Julian’s arrival.
~ * ~
Julian Mayes was easily one of the handsomest men I’d ever met. Juicy, indeed. Deep-set gray eyes and a straight nose that just may have been the product of cosmetic surgery. Hard to tell if the teeth were natural or veneers, but they were blindingly white and perfectly aligned. He gave the appearance of a Hollywood star or Hanes underwear model. But I soon learned he worked as a stockbroker.
After introductions, I asked Julian what prompted him to seek therapy.
He sat with his right ankle resting atop his left knee, his arms stretched along the back of the loveseat—a man at ease with himself. “I usually handle stress pretty well. You have to in my line of work. But, lately, I’ve been overwhelmed. You know how the stock market has taken a dive. My clients are panicked. They’re making bad decisions about their investments and wanting me to carry out their wishes. And they all look at me as if I’m personally responsible for the losses they’ve incurred. I’ve also recently broken up with someone.”
“What happened with the relationship?” I asked.
He grinned. “I was traded in for a new model.”
I could so relate. “Had you been together a long time?”
“A little over a year. It was just starting to get serious, but… Now I think I’m better off. Actually, the work issues are more stressful.”
I asked a few questions to determine the level of his distress. I set down my notepad and, as I discussed some basic stress-management techniques with Julian, I instructed myself to pay attention. At the end of our session, I sent Julian on his way with exercises geared toward reducing stress and with the recommendation that he ask his physician for a prescription sleep aid. We scheduled to meet again the following week.
Nikki’s eyes followed him until the door closed behind him. “He’s hot.”
I grinned at her. “You’re celibate, remember?”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t look. I need your credit card to make your reservation at the spa and book your flight. That is, if you’re still going.”
I’d almost talked myself out of the trip. Then I gazed at Nikki’s screen saver—saguaro cactus, sun, red rocks, and sand stirred by the wind. “I’ll get it. I’m going. Would you print a sign and post it for our clients, notifying them of the dates we’ll be closed?”
“You got it.”
“And did you have to break up with Chico and his truck before my move? Now I have to hire movers.”
She frowned. “No you don’t. Let me make a few calls. My brother and his college friends can handle the move. They’re all jocks, and I’ll bet at least one of them has a truck. If not, you can rent a U-Haul. Those guys will work for pizza and beer.”
“Really? They’d do that for me?”
“They’ll do it for me. Most of them have serious crushes, so I’m told. I’ll use my womanly charms. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“How did I get so lucky when I hired you?”
“Remember? I was the only applicant who showed up on time for her interview.”
“You were also the only applicant who smiled and called me Meg. Seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you, Nikki. Especially right now.”
She grinned. “You can start by getting your credit card before your next client.”
“Will do.” I turned on my heel and headed to my office. A lot about Nikki, I didn’t know because I’d never asked—like if she had tattoos or hidden body piercings, or why someon
e twenty-two-years-old had enough sexual experience to feel the need to declare a period of celibacy for herself. I knew what I needed to know. Nikki was friendly, efficient, honest, and loyal. Real. I never wondered what she was thinking, because she was sure to tell me. I never had to search for a file because it would be exactly where it should be. And the patients loved her. One wanted to adopt her, and two others wanted to date her.
I returned to the reception area with my credit card. “Please try to book me an aisle seat on the plane.”
“No prob.”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
I was distracted as I wrote up notes on my session with Julian. I kept thinking I should call Thomas and share the news with him that I’d found a house to rent. Only because this is the kind of news one shared with a best friend. And I realized that was one more thing Thomas had taken from me. He was supposed to be my BFF—Best Friend Forever. Loss squeezed my throat.
The intercom buzzed. “Yes?” I asked with a sniffle.
“Uh…never mind.” An instant later, Nikki stood in my office. “What happened? You were happy a minute ago.”
“Hormones. They hit me when I least expect. I was having a brief pity party, but it’s over now.”
“Darn, and I didn’t even get a piece of cake. Mrs. D. is here.”
I grabbed for a tissue and dabbed my eyes. “I’ll send you an invitation to any future pity parties, but you’ll have to bring your own beer. Tell Mrs. Dorinsky I’ll be with her in two minutes.”
Nikki left, and I picked up the newspaper to check beneath it for my notepad. The paper lay opened and folded to the obituaries. No, I’m not going to even look. But it was too late. A photo of a woman caught my eye. According to the write-up, Margaret Baker died at the age of ninety-seven. According to the photograph, Margaret stopped aging at about forty-five. If I live to ninety-seven, I pray to God the person posting my obit has the good sense to use a recent photograph.
The intercom buzzed again, jolting me from my thoughts. “Are you ready for Mrs. D.?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry. I got…sidetracked. Be right there.” I didn’t know if it was stress or pregnancy, but my memory was failing fast.
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