by Irene Hannon
“I hope you guys don’t mind eating in. I thought it would be faster, since I have to be at the studio by 7:15. And it has to be easier from a security standpoint for us to eat here than in a restaurant.”
“Much.” Coop took the last crab rangoon.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” Mark polished off a spear of broccoli.
“Once I arrive, we’ll do a few sound checks. The program goes live at 7:30. We’re on for an hour.”
“Let’s get there by seven. I want to take a look around first,”
Coop said.
Glancing at her watch, Emily rose. “In that case, let me run a comb through my hair and touch up my makeup.”
“I thought it was a radio program,” Mark said.
“I still like to look nice.”
“You always look nice. With or without makeup.” He grinned.
She rolled her eyes, matching his light tone. “Help him work on his lines, would you, Coop?”
Chuckling, Coop wiped his hands on some paper napkins.
“I’ve tried, Emily. He’s a lost cause.”
“I’ll have you know that most ladies like my lines.” Mark gave them both an indignant look, enjoying the repartee.
“Not too discriminating, are we?” Emily countered.
Coop tried to hide his laugh behind a cough.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, gentlemen.”
As Emily exited, Coop turned to Mark with a grin. “I like her.”
“So do I.” The whisper of a smile twitched at Mark’s lips.
“I know.”
At his partner’s amused expression, Mark narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “This isn’t going anywhere, Coop.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s not. My work is in Quantico. Emily’s practice is here.
Besides, she’s not interested in a relationship with a man in a high-risk profession. She’s been down that road once, and I got the distinct impression she doesn’t want to travel it again.”
“Love changes things.”
Taken aback, Mark eyed Coop. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I thought I was speaking English.”
“I haven’t seen Emily in twenty years. And she’s only been back in my life for five days. Love doesn’t happen that quickly.”
“Maybe it was there all along.”
Mark shot him a skeptical look. “We were sixteen and seventeen. She came to visit her grandmother one summer for six weeks. We clicked. We had a great time. She left. End of story.”
“Sorry. Don’t buy it. You guys obviously had chemistry twenty years ago. And trust me, you still do.”
“Since when did you become an expert on love?”
“Ask Monica.” He gave Mark a smug smile.
“Oh, give me a break.”
“All I’m saying is that as someone who found himself in that state in the not-too-distant past, I recognize it in other people.
Or the potential for it, anyway.”
“I’m not in the market for a serious relationship.”
“Tough. They show up when you least expect them.”
Mark gave up. It was clear he wasn’t going to change his partner’s mind. “Okay, fine, believe whatever you want. But do me a favor, okay? Don’t share your theories with Emily. She’s already nervous enough when the two of us are alone together.”
“I rest my case.”
An hour later, as Coop did another walk-through in the small studio, Mark leaned back in the sound booth and watched as the headphone-wearing technician fielded incoming calls and patched them through to Emily, who was visible through a glass window in front of the control panel.
“Hi, Lauren. What can I do for you tonight?”
Speakers in the sound booth allowed Mark to listen in on the chat session, and he’d been impressed with Emily’s deft handling of the teen callers. Her advice had been sound, her empathy real, her candor sincere. She had an amazing ability to connect with the teenagers, and quite a few were repeat callers, taking her up on her invitation to let her know how they’d fared in their attempts to resolve whatever sticky situation they’d talked with her about on a previous program.
Lauren’s problem involved pressure from her boyfriend to “prove” how much she cared for him. He was pushing her toward higher and higher levels of intimacy. Curious how Emily would respond, Mark gave the conversation his full attention, analyzing her comments as she spoke.
“Adam sounds like a nice guy, Lauren.” She didn’t dis the boyfriend and risk raising Lauren’s defensiveness. Smart. “And it’s normal not to want to express your feelings in a physical way if you care about someone.” She acknowledged the validity of the girl’s emotions. “What you have to decide is whether you’re ready for that kind of commitment. And it’s good you’re asking yourself that question.” She let Lauren know her concerns were legitimate, and that she had choices. “The thing is, sometimes even people who care about us want us to do things that will make them happy, but maybe won’t make us happy in the long run.” She was subtly instilling a doubt about the boyfriend’s motives. “It can help to ask ourselves how we’ll feel about this down the road. Let’s say you and Adam break up in three months. How will you feel then if you go along with what he wants you to do?” She was asking Lauren to evaluate long-term consequences.
As Emily went on to discuss options and strategies with Lauren, Mark’s respect for her abilities mushroomed. She was masterful. When at last Lauren hung up, with a promise to call back next week and give Emily an update, it was clear the teen was having serious second thoughts about giving in to the pressure from her boyfriend.
The door to the small sound booth opened, and Coop slipped in, taking a seat beside Mark in the cramped space.
“She’s impressive, isn’t she?”
“You were listening?”
“They broadcast the programming throughout the office.”
“Hi, Kyle.” Emily took the next call. “Thanks for waiting to talk with me. What’s on your mind tonight?” When there was no response, she looked toward the sound booth. The technician checked some dials and gave her a thumbs-up. “Kyle? Are you there?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. We thought we lost you for a minute. What’s going on?”
“I don’t . . . I’m not sure where to start.”
“Is there a problem at school? Or at home?”
“Yeah.”
“Both places?”
“Yeah. Like, everywhere. My parents split a month ago, and my grades stink, and my brother shipped out to the Middle East last week. My life sucks. It just doesn’t seem worth it some days, you know?”
Frowning, Mark looked over at Coop. The kid sounded like he was teetering on the edge.
It was obvious Emily had come to the same conclusion. She checked the clock in the studio. They were down to the final five minutes of the program.
Signaling to Andy at the sound controls, she responded, “I hear you, Kyle. Life can throw us a lot of curves, that’s for sure.
And you’ve got a plateful right now. Can you do something for me? Can you stay on the line while I take one more caller?
We’re about to wrap up the program, and I’d like to talk with you some more as soon as I’m off the air. Will you wait on the line for me?”
“I guess.”
Again, Emily signaled to Andy, who patched through the last caller of the evening.
While Emily took the final call, Andy spoke to Kyle. It was obvious he’d been through this drill before, buying time for Emily, keeping someone on the line who she felt needed extra attention and more in-depth counseling than her program allowed.
Once Emily signed off, Andy transferred the call back in to her, shut off the sound, and removed his headphones.
Through the window, Mark watched as Emily gave her full attention to Kyle, her expression intent as she scribbled notes, twin grooves furrowing her brow.
“Does she get callers
like that very often?” Coop addressed the question to the technician.
“Now and then.” He swung around in his swivel chair and crossed an ankle over a knee. With his longish, gray-streaked hair, threadbare jeans, and T-shirt emblazoned with the station logo, he looked like a heavy metal junkie. “But Emily’s cool with them. More often than not she manages to get their names and set up some counseling for them, or she’ll get them to promise to call back if they’re really down. If they won’t do that, she gives them her cell number and tells them to call anytime.” He angled his head and gave her an admiring look. “A lot of people talk about compassion and Christian charity. Emily lives it.”
While Andy shut down the studio for the night and set up the recorded programming that would fill out the evening schedule, Mark mulled over the technician’s comment as he watched Emily talk to the troubled boy. Her posture was taut, her face a mask of concern, her eyes filled with empathy and caring. Andy was right, Mark thought. She lived what she believed. And if she could be this caring, this committed, this intent on doing the right thing for a youthful stranger, how much love would she lavish on someone to whom she’d given her heart?
The thought filled him with awe.
“I’m heading out.” Andy swiveled toward them and rose. “All you need to do when you leave is flip the light switch and pull the door shut behind you.”
“Andy.” Coop’s voice stopped him. “Do you track the source of these calls?”
“No. My guess is most of them come in on cells. These kids don’t want their parents listening in on the home phone.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
With a wave, he left.
“What was that all about?” Mark gave Coop a quizzical look.
“That kid she’s talking to sounds disturbed.”
“And . . . ?”
“Disturbed people can do dangerous things.”
It was obvious where Coop was heading, but Mark was skeptical. “That could be a stretch. These are teenagers. Our shooter was methodical. Someone who knew how to handle a gun. And how to disappear without a trace. A kid like that”—he nodded toward the studio—“would make mistakes. And I’d be more concerned about him taking his own life than someone else’s.”
Coop shrugged. “It was just a thought.”
Forty-five minutes later, when Emily at last took off her headphones, Mark watched as she pushed her hair back from her face and rubbed her temples. The weary slump of her shoulders reflected a full caseload of patients today, an hour-long program with teens that required her to be at the top of her game every second, and a taxing, emotional session with a very troubled young man.
“We need to get her home. She looks ready to fold.”
“I agree. The lady’s had a tough week.” Coop rose.
Emerging from the studio, Emily gave them an apologetic smile. “Sorry about this. After most shows I’m out the door in five minutes.”
“No problem.” Mark stood too. “That kid sounded like he needed a sympathetic ear.”
“He needs more than that.”
“Did you convince him of that?”
“I think so. He promised to talk to a counselor at school tomorrow and call back next week. And I gave him my cell number.”
“Andy told us you get calls like that now and then. How often is now and then, Emily?”
Shrugging, she reached for her purse. “I have a kid like this every month or two. Some of them call me several times before I convince them to get face-to-face help or they trust me enough to give me their full names. Some call for a while, and then I never hear from them again. I had a kid like that a couple of months ago. Bryan. Several calls, each more desperate than the last, then nothing.” She shook her head, distress etching her features. “Those are the ones I worry about most.”
“Well, tonight I’m more worried about you. You’ve had a long day.” Mark looked at Coop.
“I’ll do a quick check outside. Hang tight till I get back.”
When the door closed behind Coop, Mark smiled at Emily.
“I was impressed. You’re good.”
A soft flush colored her cheeks. “For the most part, I listen.
That doesn’t take any special skill.”
“Real listening does. And giving direction and guidance by letting people think they’re reaching conclusions on their own takes tremendous talent.”
She tipped her head. “Now I’m impressed. You’ve nailed my technique.”
“It’s more than technique. What you do also takes a lot of caring and empathy. But you had those qualities way back in our Wren Lake days too. I remember the time we went hiking and you found that laminated, old-fashioned photo of a woman.
You insisted on turning it in at the ranger station because you were certain it meant a lot to someone. And you were right, based on the note the ranger forwarded to you later from that World War II veteran.”
She stared at him and shook her head. “I haven’t thought of that in years.”
He hadn’t, either. The memory had surfaced out of nowhere.
But it reminded him yet again of how special Emily was.
A coded knock sounded on the door, followed by the sound of Coop’s muffled voice. “We’re clear.”
Putting his hand in the small of her back, Mark guided Emily out into the night. Once inside the car, he leaned across to help her with her seat belt.
“I’ll be glad when I can manage this again on my own.”
Her breath whispered against his ear as he bent his head to secure her belt. “I’m not sure I will. You won’t need me anymore.” Mark had meant the remark to come out teasing. Instead, there was a wistful quality to it that surprised him. He opened his mouth to follow up with a humorous comment to lighten the atmosphere, but the words died in his throat when Emily reached for his hand and twined her fingers with his.
If he didn’t know better, Mark would have thought she was sending him a message. Telling him that even after she’d recovered, she’d still need him. Yet only a few nights ago she’d been clear she wasn’t like Monica, a woman who could overlook the absences and risks inherent in a job like his.
Mark didn’t like mixed signals. On the job, or off. They confused him.
And that was exactly how he felt now.
Confused.
About a lot of things.
11
As Emily said good-bye to Mark and Coop the next day and locked the office door behind them, she turned to find Maria watching her with a pleased expression.
“What’s with the look?”
Tilting her head, Maria folded her arms across her chest.
“He is a nice man.”
“They’re both nice men.” Emily knew where Maria was heading, and she didn’t want to go there. Turning, she moved toward her office.
“How is your arm?”
Surprised her assistant hadn’t followed up with another comment about Mark—and there was no doubt in Emily’s mind the “he” in Maria’s comment referred to Emily’s long-ago beau—she paused and looked back. “Feeling better, thanks.” Mark and Coop had taken her to the doctor again before escorting her to the office, and she was pleased that her bulky dressing had been exchanged for one much less obtrusive.
“Good. Everything heals in time.”
Her assistant was talking about more than her arm, and Emily knew it. “But scars remain. As reminders to proceed with caution.”
“Caution is fine. But proceeding is important. Otherwise you get stuck in a rut.”
“I’m not stuck in a rut.”
“Did I say you were?”
“You think I am.”
“It is not what I think that matters. It is what you think.”
“I think I’m fine. My life is perfect the way it is.”
“Life is always better when it’s shared.”
A pang of loss echoed deep inside Emily. Maria was right.
But sharing was risky. And left you even lonelier when it ended.
“Been there, done that. Once was enough.”
“I still say he is a nice man.”
They’d come full circle in their conversation. This time, Emily didn’t pretend not to understand Maria’s meaning. “I appreciate your concern for me, Maria. And I like Mark. I always have. He is a nice man. He’s also going back to Virginia in three weeks.
Besides, he’s in a very dangerous profession.”
“And yours is so much safer? You are the one who got shot, not him.”
“That was a fluke. An aberration. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mark had to be the target.”
“That is why you have an FBI escort, I guess.”
“It’s a simple precaution. In a few days they’ll decide it’s not necessary anymore.”
“Hmph.” Maria turned back to her computer and began clicking the keys at a furious pace. She always took her stress—and frustration—out on the keyboard. And at the rate she was going, it wouldn’t be long before she wore this one out, Emily reflected as she entered her office.
The case files for her Friday patients were waiting for her review, pulled earlier by Maria. But instead of flipping the first one open, she leaned back in her chair and glanced toward the window.
In general, she kept the mini blinds slanted, closed enough to ensure privacy for her patients, but open enough to give her a glimpse of the trees on the edge of the parking lot. Today, they were shut tight, as they had been since the shooting, restricting her view of the world. Nick had taken care of that on his scouting visit.
Nevertheless, she took some comfort in the restful décor of her office. The cream-colored walls were hung with landscapes, the cherry desk and credenza were polished and uncluttered, the small rose damask settee and side chairs striped in rose and teal in the seating area were tasteful, the dove gray plush carpet soft and nonclinical. She’d always felt comfortable here. It was a world of her own making, where she could help troubled people sort out their problems But had her refuge also become a place to hide? A place where she filled her time assisting others while dodging her own issues related to pain and sorrow and loss?
Maybe, she conceded. She might be good at helping other people see the value of admitting their own foibles and dealing with their issues, but she was far less adept at following her own advice.