Emma Knows All

by Briggs, Laura

  He stared at the open portfolio. "That's not merely a flaw in young girls like Harriet, Doctor Emma." He glanced at her. "That's why I think having her face Elton will let her show him that he misjudged her. That he underestimated her."

  "Maybe. But not now." Em took a sip from her glass. "There must be something else. We can coach her on building new friendships. Strengthening romance through supporting roles — maybe she can meet his friends and vice-versa."

  "Harriet is down to one friend," Colin reminded her. "The sign-painting hanger-on Bobby. And, if our first meeting with Harriet is any indication, I'm sure Randy had already met him."

  "See? Harriet needs help building a support network of friends," said Em. "I say we focus on that."

  "I'll save my opinion for the debate," answered Colin. He took a sip from his glass — was that his second? Em couldn't remember — although he didn't resist when she took hold of it and looked him in the eye.

  "Let's call a truce on this debate," she said. "No more insults or jabs. We only argue if we have to — and then, it's as intelligent adults. But if we can agree, then we do it. How does that sound?"

  He relaxed ever so slightly; she could feel it in the arm beneath her hand. "I think it sounds good."

  "Then we're agreed?"

  "Agreed." He closed the front of Harriet's portfolio. Leaning against the sofa's edge, he released a long breath. "I'm rather relieved to hear you say that. I had absolutely nothing in mind for the second one, although Catherine's been pushing me to find something witty and appealing to say."

  "I'm sure you'll think of something," said Em. "But we keep personal things off-limits."

  "I don't know anything personal about you," he reminded her. "In fact, I know very little about you. Nothing except the personal of 'Doctor Emma' from Heart Therapy. I know nothing about what shaped that persona."

  "Like my family?" guessed Em. "I think that's a subject better left alone." She lifted her glass and took another sip.

  "They're not that bad, surely."

  "Maybe you're judging them by your own family. A privileged childhood, an excellent education — you probably never had a screaming fight over whether you were taking a family vacation."

  "And you did?"

  "Yes," answered Em. "Many, many times."

  "Then tell me about your family."

  "All right." She set her glass aside again. "It was a tale of lower class and middle class fusion. My father was up and coming in acquisitions and mergers, my mother was a waitress. A loud, brash, but very beautiful waitress. And my father fell head over heels for her."

  Colin said nothing, merely raising his eyebrows. Em smiled.

  "He wasn't the handsomest guy on the planet, but she was impressed with his career and his degree. So they got married, had two daughters. Jane — Janelle — and me. Emmagene. Named for my mother's brother and sister." She grinned. "Then my father earned his first big promotion, and they moved away from my mother's family in Jersey, and bought a big house in Washington. That's when the facade of having money took over my mother's character. Publicly, at least. My three younger sisters, they've never known a life without our mother spending every dime and bragging to the neighbors about our father's income — and our father spending his spare time hiding in his hobby workshop in the garage."

  "What hobby?" asked Colin.

  "Model airplanes," Em answered. "With working motors. He likes vintage designs best."

  She shifted her weight more comfortably. "Fair is fair," she said. "Tell me about you, now."

  He was silent. "There isn't much to tell. I received my undergraduate degree from Yale in —"

  "Stop, stop." Em held up her hand. "That is not the beginning of your life, all right? Tell me something more personal than that, please."

  Colin grimaced, then took a breath. "Very well. I have a brother, who graduated from the same university two years prior to me. How is that?"

  "Better," conceded Em. "What is your family like?"

  "My father has a trust fund from his father. A lucrative one," said Colin, "along with several acres surrounding a country house. My mother is the head of a prestigious event organization firm. She was known for her impeccable taste, so I suppose it makes sense."

  "A very people-oriented profession," said Em, surprised. "Is she anything like you?"

  "Yes. Surprisingly." So he had detected that element in her voice.

  "I can imagine you peering between the staircase banisters of your country manor," said Em, "watching society weddings being planned below. Or was that at your townhouse? I'm sure you must have had one."

  "We owned an apartment. But, believe it or not, the years at the country house were the happiest of my life," said Colin. "Growing up there was ... well, when I was an adult, and pursuing my first degree, I realized I couldn't lead that life forever. I wanted something of my own. So I pursued my doctorate studies far from home. A vast search for life plans began at that point, I suppose."

  "Your first time of being on your own," surmised Em.

  He smiled. "True," he said. "First experience at independence — financially, even. I made do with a small allowance, scholarships, a fellowship —"

  "No job?" quipped Em.

  "That first experience was yet to come," he said. "This was a series of other firsts. First apartment, first attempt to make my own mark in the world. First experience in love."

  "You actually fell in love?" Em echoed. "I take back what I said about your family. That surprises me more than anything."

  "Why?" His question was blunt. "Did you think that nothing in my writings was ever related from my own experience? I was in a long relationship. And it ended. A few months later, I was finishing my degree at a different university, and took my first research post. Which is how my book came to be."

  "What made you write the book?" Em asked. "Was it for the widened audience? It doesn't seem in character with the image of you. The quiet university researcher with all his academic papers, whose classes are probably taught by someone else."

  "My mother is friends with Catherine Burg," he answered. "They were at university together. She ... persuaded me ... that my work needed something besides academic approval. Initially, I opposed the idea, but, as you said, the notion of a wider audience appealed to me the longer I wrote about relationships and therapy."

  Em twisted sideways to look at him more directly, one elbow propped on the sofa cushion behind her. "What made you choose relationship therapy in the first place?" she asked.

  "I wanted to help people," he answered, as if it were obvious.

  "Well, you picked an odd way of doing it, hiding in a university library."

  She could see Colin was slightly hurt by this. "I'm better at putting advice on paper than delivering it in person," he answered. "I had hoped the book would draw people to explore the rest of my work. Perhaps find themselves among the case studies I wrote about, and seek help for the poor choices they've made in the past."

  "Like becoming more chivalrous."

  He looked amused now. "That was partly Catherine's idea. She thought it would make the book more appealing to give it an overarching theme. Something catchy, something controversial, she claimed. A silly notion, I've always thought."

  "No, no," said Em. "She was right. Softening your academic language, giving it a public face — it made it appeal to a bigger audience."

  "Many of whom despise its title, and all that it represents," he answered.

  "And others have loved it," Em pointed out. "Besides, you don't know what it's accomplished, not really. You might have helped some guy pick up the book, who, otherwise, might have passed it up if it wasn't for how many female readers embraced its trend. Or helped some girl appreciate her boyfriend's little acts of kindness. Or maybe she realized a good guy was the knight in shining armor she'd been waiting for."

  Colin glanced at her. Softly, he answered, "Thank you for saying so."

  She laughed. "I don't know why I am, frankly.
After all, you think my work is no different from a witch doctor's."

  "That isn't true," he answered. "Radio therapy has its place in the profession. Even if I'm not fond of radio's public theatre for pain, I won't deny that some of its participants have the power to help. I'm sure that you've helped a great many people. You're intelligent, highly perceptive, and honest."

  "You forgot to mention my sympathetic voice as the most important part," Em answered, playfully, although she was feeling far from it at this moment. A strange tension was settling in the room, making the down on her neck rise with electricity.

  "I'm not sure I can compliment it as it deserves," he answered, humbly.

  Em didn't reply. She met his eyes and held his gaze for a long moment. When he reached to touch her face, she didn't pull away.

  Colin was kissing her. Pressing her back against the sofa cushions, her hand resting against his cheek. And she was kissing him in return. One hand sliding down his arm, feeling the silk of his business shirt, the taut arm muscles beneath.

  It felt like a full minute before she pushed against him instead of caressing him back. Colin withdrew from the kiss, sitting away from her, struggling for his breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was ... wrong of me..."

  Em scrambled up, adjusting the jacket sleeve which had slipped down her shoulder. She was trying to be calm, breathing deeply and slowly. Don't say anything. Her mind didn't have the words to say, anyway. Without speaking, she left the room for the kitchen. Pouring herself a glass of cold water, she drank it steadily, slow sips designed to change her focus from thoughts of Colin's touch, the strange spark of desire which had flared inside her in response.

  When she turned around, Colin was pulling on his coat before her door. "I'm sorry, Emma," he repeated. "That wasn't very gentlemanly of me. Not given your current relationship. I'm very sorry."

  With that, he was gone. Em had said nothing at all in reply.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Em tried hard to erase the night's incident from her mind. It was nothing. Nothing, she told herself firmly. It was the wine, or just one of those weird moments that overtakes people sometimes. It didn't matter, because it was over.

  "You're late," said Isabel. "Where have you been?" She was waiting in the doorway of the sound booth, arms crossed like a drill sergeant.

  Where had she been? Em had totally lost track of this morning's activities. "I, um, got tied up at the customer service line. Exchanging some things," she answered, remembering the blouse and lacy underwear in her bag, both of which had failed to exhibit their in-store damage marks until it was too late. "Were we planning to review anything before the show?" If so, she had forgotten that, too.

  "In here," said Izzy, less commandingly than before. "I think we need to talk."

  "I don't know what you mean," Em answered, guiltily. Isabel closed the sound booth's door behind them.

  "I mean something's up. Girl, you can't hide from me, you know that. Stop playing around and spill the beans before we have to get the show rolling."

  Em hesitated. "All right," she said. "But you have to swear never to say anything."

  "Scout's honor," said Izzy, sounding puzzled. "So, what is it?"

  "Colin ... kissed me last night," said Em.

  "What? Are you serious?" Izzy lowered her voice with this statement, as if the protection of the booth wasn't enough.

  "I know — but it was just the heat of the moment. He apologized afterwards, but it was weird. I had said some nice things about his book, he said something nice about my radio work, and then — we accidentally had a moment." She rubbed her forehead. "I just ... I don't want to make anything of it, but what if he ... and I know he doesn't, but ..."

  "He apologized?" repeated Isabel, incredulously.

  "I know. He said he was sorry, and something about disrespecting me and Frank —"

  "And he didn't say he was in love with you. Or ask for any favors, or for you to leave your boyfriend for him —"

  "No. He just apologized and walked out. It was weird, like I said. The whole ... experience." Except for the kiss itself. Em was doing her best not to think about that experience too deeply. "He seemed so upset afterwards. With himself. I know what it sounds like — but what do you think?"

  "It sounds to me like some girl left her stiletto heel marks all over his heart," Isabel observed, shrewdly, "and he spooks the instant he thinks he's getting near that kind of pain again."

  "What? You mean, you think he's in love with me?" Em blurted this out without meaning it.

  "I'm just saying." That was all the answer Izzy would give her, short of a knowing look. Her expression changed when she glanced at the studio clock. "Sheesh, look at the time. We can't go over those promos with only three minutes." Isabel swiveled her chair around and sat down, lifting her headset from the panel. "Get in there, Doctor Emma —"

  Em wasn't done with this discussion, but had no choice. Slipping into her studio chair, she adjusted her headset, trying to push Izzy's words out of her thoughts. Colin was not in love with her. Not priggish, cold Doctor Ferris, whose personal dislike for radio therapy should've been enough to make him despise her. He had come to her house to work, not lay his heart at her feet...

  "And here's your host, Doctor Emma."

  Em recovered herself, hastily. "Thanks, Isabel," she said. "Let's get straight to the phones today." No opening remarks. The abruptness of this speech surprised Isabel, who was now scrambling to line up a caller.

  "We have Norm from Houston, who's having issues expressing his feelings to his wife."

  "Welcome to Heart Therapy, Norm," said Em.

  She was only half-listening to Norm's problem. Her mind couldn't stay focused at all. She could feel the pressure of Colin's form against hers. He had been stronger than she imagined. And a good kisser — what was she thinking?

  "... so what should I do, Doctor Emma?"

  Em knew her face must be blank, judging from Isabel's concerned expression on the other side of the glass. "Well, Norm..." she hesitated, her heart pounding as she tried to recall his words. "We'll have an answer for you right after the break."

  Isabel switched to station I.D. "What is wrong with you?" she asked over the mic's intercom.

  "I don't know," Em answered, frustrated. "Just play back Norm's call for me, quick."

  Isabel obeyed. But she could see the suspicion in her producer's eyes whenever Izzy glanced her way. Em was shrinking beneath it.

  Don't look at me like that. She knew what Isabel was thinking. She was doing her best to get away from this situation, but it was as if Colin was some sort of mind worm implanted in her brain. Infesting all her thoughts, even when she knew better.

  Norm was followed by Lacy from Indianapolis, and Trevor from Bowling Green. Em's answers felt less focused, possibly because she was struggling so hard to stay in the moment, afraid of slipping again. Even when Isabel's scrutinizing gaze had returned to normal, she still had herself to worry about.

  "Next up, we have a familiar voice on the line. Claire from Omaha is with us. Claire, you're on the air with Doctor Emma."

  "I am? Oh, thank you so much, Doctor Emma! I was hoping I would get on today, but it can't happen every time, can it?"

  "Hi, Claire." Em was forcing her voice to sound light and friendly. "Tell us what's on your mind."

  "Well, there's just so many things...first off, there's my mother, who's fine, but she still has this little habit of asking for things she can't have anymore. Like peanut clusters, which the doctor told her not to because they make her blood pressure go up so high..."

  Em's mind wandered away from Claire's recital. What would Frank say if he found out somehow? Heaven forbid, what if Lucas did — and Harriet's project made a sudden shift to cover would-be matchmaking between the two therapists themselves?

  "... and I really thought she would adjust to the adult daycare more quickly, except she didn't, of course. I think that's my problem when it comes to really enjoying art class on
Tuesday. It's simply guilt..."

  Guilt was gnawing Em like a mouse eating a bread loaf. Claire's voice was becoming a drone in her ears as the problems trickled out. Her own problems seemed much worse by comparison.

  "... and then there's the problem of the grocery delivery idea. See, I think that's taking too much time out of —"

  "Claire, really, we need to move on to other callers before the show is over," Em interrupted. She felt tired at the notion of hearing the minutiae of yet another of Claire's problems. "You're taking up their time when you bring up this many issues."

  "But I have so many things I want your opinion on," said Claire.

  "But there's such a thing as oversharing," said Em. She sounded irritable, a thought which simply made her more irritable — moreover, she was saying this on the air. That was an absolute no in Em's book, with Isabel deputized to politely silence callers who tended to ramble, including Claire. "This is definitely oversharing, Claire. Do you really think listeners are keeping up with your problems with this much detail? Do you really, truly think everyone cares about the minor issue of grocery delivery?"

  "Well, I —"

  "I'm afraid I don't, Claire. That's why we have to cut this short." Em hit the button. "Isabel, who's next?" She saw her producer jump — until now, Isabel had been frozen with shock over Emma's less-than-gentle booting of their regular caller.

  "Tammy from Denver," announced Isabel.

  "Tammy, you're on with Doctor Emma right after the break." As soon as Isabel hit the commercial button, Em pulled off her headphones and exited the booth. Doctor Emma isn't in the house today, she thought. And, at the moment, she definitely doesn't want to talk about why.

  The rest of the show suffered from Emma's mind being elsewhere, although the second half sounded far more like the usual Heart Therapy's advice than the first. Em's emotions were still far from normal, however.

  "We need to talk promos," began Isabel, after the sign-off. She was using her "stern parent" voice, the one Em knew so well from conversations in the past about troubled patches for the show.