All the Broken Places

by Anise Eden

  I thought about lying outright and saying that I didn’t have a “friend I slept with” and had never met anyone from Persia. However, years of ending up naked during card games while Sid remained fully clothed had taught me that I had absolutely no poker face. Given that, and the fact that Ben wasn’t an idiot, I suspected that any attempt at denial would only cause me further embarrassment. “Please leave me alone,” I said, my voice muffled by my palms.

  “Look, I know that must have been more information than you wanted shared,” Ben said carefully, “but it’s all important to your progress.”

  Important to my progress? That sounded suspiciously like bullshit. I dropped my hands from my face. “How exactly is getting some rude, passive-aggressive aura reader to drag my private life out into the open important to my progress?”

  Ben was calm but insistent. “It’s important because we have to know where your problem areas are before we can help you. A toxic build-up of negative emotions can be dangerous, even deadly,” he explained. “Since you’re sitting here talking to me right now, whatever you’ve been doing has obviously been working. If you’re looking for someone to pass judgment on you, you’re going to have to look elsewhere.”

  Even when he was trying to be helpful, condescension apparently came effortlessly to Ben. “His name is Sid,” I snapped, “and he’s a normal flesh-and-blood person, not some sort of New Age release valve!”

  “Catalyst.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m sure he is a perfectly normal person. Most human catalysts are. But they also happen to have a unique energetic composition that enables them to collect and disperse negative energy without absorbing any of it themselves. It makes them ideal tools for empaths.”

  “Well, I am not using him as…as that! You know nothing about Sid and practically nothing about me, so I would appreciate it if you would refrain from speculating about the nature of my personal relationships.”

  Even as I objected, though, I wondered if there might be some truth in what Ben was saying. My compulsive need to see Sid, the physical pain I went through when I was with him…could those things be related to this catalyst business?

  “My apologies.” Ben brushed some imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Of course, none of this relates to you. Nothing about you is out of the ordinary, right?”

  I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into my palms. “Look, I know I’m a freak, okay? And I know that I need help—which in case you haven’t noticed isn’t easy for me to admit. I’m usually the one doing the helping. But here I am, admitting it, and all you have to offer me is tai chi, acupuncture, and aura reading—courtesy of a couple of college students, a Bollywood star, and a Greek supermodel?” I threw my hands up. “Is this really your entire program?”

  As Ben’s eyebrows rose, I felt a pang of guilt. I shouldn’t have been so flippant in my descriptions of the staff. After all, with the exception of Vani, they had been nothing but kind to me so far. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” I stammered. “I didn’t mean…”

  “No need to apologize,” Ben insisted. “Your skepticism is understandable, although I’m certain it will subside over the next couple of days. In the meantime, though, please don’t censor yourself with me. I want to know how you really feel about things.”

  I met his gaze, which transmitted sincerity. Since I also preferred openness and honesty, that was reassuring. Then my attention was caught by flecks of gold shimmering in the light brown irises of Ben’s eyes. When I realized that I was staring, I forced myself to look down at the desk.

  Ben noisily cleared his throat. “As to your question, my plan was to spend the rest of the time before lunch going over some aspects of the program that may be of greater interest you.”

  Finally! “Yes, please,” I said with a little too much zeal.

  He dropped his chin, and I could tell he was trying to suppress a smile. “Well, for starters, in addition to teaching you how to protect yourself from the potentially harmful aspects of your gifts, we’ll also teach you how to use them more effectively for enhanced healing.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t been expecting that. My curiosity was slightly piqued.

  “From what Dr. Nelson told us, it sounds like you’re a natural healer. He says you’re an excellent therapist with good instincts, and that you facilitate rapid recovery in your clients. But there’s a tool called empath healing that can help you work with better efficiency and focus. We can teach you how to use that tool, while at the same time protecting yourself from becoming emotionally overwhelmed.”

  “That would be nice.” The dark cloud over my head lifted slightly. If the MacGregors could help me become a more effective therapist, the program might not turn out to be a total waste of time.

  “Second, if you consent, we’d like to include you in an ongoing research project we’re running. My mother is trying to uncover scientifically sound explanations for special abilities like yours, explanations that fit within the paradigm of Western science and medicine. She’s also seeking to shed some light on their nature and origins.”

  “That sounds interesting,” I said with guarded enthusiasm. It would be nice if someone could finally make sense out of how the filaments worked, not to mention how I could enter someone else’s mind. If there were genuine scientific explanations, I might start to feel like less of a misfit. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.” Ben stood up and clapped his hands together. “It’s time for lunch. Oh, and just so you know, there are no secrets here. So while we do rely on self-enforcement, if you choose to break the program rules—to use your catalyst, for example—Vani will see it in your aura, and she’ll pass that information along to me.”

  The bastard. I willed the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

  Chapter Eight

  Ben went off to check on lunch, but I couldn’t wait. After that morning, I needed chocolate.

  Vani caught up with me in the lounge where I was fighting to get a candy bar out of the vending machine. I had paid for it, but it was hanging on the ledge, taunting me by refusing to fall into the bin.

  “Hey, sorry about earlier,” she said.

  I sincerely doubted it. “Whatever.”

  “Look, I’ve been dealing with skeptics my whole life, people calling me a fake and a fraud,” she said, flipping her shining mane of hair from left to right. “When I actually get an opportunity to show one up, it’s hard to resist.”

  While I could understand that impulse to a degree, she couldn’t undo what had been done. “I see.” I kicked the vending machine. The candy bar didn’t budge.

  “But I should have been more judicious. I mean, I wouldn’t have said that about you getting laid last night if I’d known you were hot for Ben.”

  I spun around to face her. “What?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t see that part of your aura until I was getting ready to leave the office.”

  I determined that I was going to be very careful how much time I spent around Vani. “I am not hot for Ben.”

  “Then I guess I misread something.” She shrugged. “It’s just as well, anyway. Ben’s married to his work.”

  “Oh,” I said, trying to sound disinterested.

  With the uncommon combination of strength and grace I normally associated with ballet dancers, Vani banged her hand on a spot on the side of the vending machine. My candy bar fell. “Yeah,” she said, retrieving it from the machine and handing it to me. “I think he’s gone on three dates in the four years I’ve known him.”

  I suspected that by letting me know that Ben was single, Vani thought she was doing me some kind of favor. “Thanks.” I took the candy bar and considered accepting her olive branch.

  “My pleasure.” Vani waved over her shoulder as she walked away.

  Single or not, Ben had shown no signs that he thought of me as anything more than a client. And even if he did like me, he would probably never act on it. Since he wasn’t my treating clinici
an, there wouldn’t be any doctor/patient ethical issues with us getting together. But the program probably still had rules against that kind of thing. Plus, Ben struck me as the type who liked to maintain professional boundaries—which was just fine with me. My aberrant physical reaction to him notwithstanding, I wasn’t interested, either. And even if I had been, there was a reason I’d given up on romance. For me, it always ended in disaster.

  I fished my candy bar out of the bin, tore off the wrapper, and bit into the chocolate with undue violence.

  • • •

  Lunch was sushi, catered for the whole staff. I concluded that the MacGregors must be independently wealthy if they could afford to feed everyone while treating only one client at a time. I had been looking forward to hanging out with the staff and getting to know them better, but as soon as they had their plates of sushi, they all scattered, saying they had work to do.

  Ben was the only one who didn’t take any sushi. I began to wonder when he ate. He had changed back into business attire and was wearing charcoal-grey suit pants, shiny black leather shoes and a light-blue dress shirt, once again with the collar open and no tie. Ben appeared to not be a fan of ties.

  He pointed to the empty chair next to me. “Mind if I join you?”

  My mouth was full of tuna roll, so I nodded.

  “I just wanted to fill you in on the program structure.” With a broad smile, he announced, “The first week, we call Hell Week.”

  I tensed at visions of mandatory push-ups. “Is that some kind of Marine Corps thing?”

  “Pete told you about that?”

  “Yes—Pete, and all of the military photos in your office.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess that’s a give-away, all right. Well, no, it’s not a Marine Corps thing. I borrowed ‘Hell Week’ from the Navy Seals,” he said, appearing pleased with himself. “It’ll go like this. We’ll spend this week doing various exercises to open you up more to your abilities. The last two weeks will be an internship. We’ll have you treating clients—with other staff members, of course, and under their supervision—to give you some hands-on training.”

  That was intriguing. “A real internship?”

  “Yes. We find that people learn best by practicing their skills. All right with you?”

  I nodded. Doing an internship sounded a lot better than being in a treatment program. I wondered if I could put it on my resume—and how exactly I would describe it if I did.

  “During your last few days, we’ll be closing you up, teaching you how to protect yourself from negative emotions and other sources of energy that could be harmful to you. That way, you’ll be in complete control of your gifts.”

  “That sounds good.” I started to feel tentatively optimistic.

  “Right. That’s why it is so important for you commit to staying until the end. If we open you up and you leave before we close you up again, you’ll be more vulnerable and unprotected than you have ever been.” He tapped his finger on the desk to drive this point home. “Also, next week, Kai will teach you how to release any pent-up negative emotions without using a catalyst.”

  I winced. “Do we really have to talk about that right now?”

  “No,” he said, sounding as relieved as I felt. “But Kai will meet with you after lunch, if that’s all right. He needs to get some background information.”

  “Fine.” As much as I really did not want to talk to anyone about catalysts, at least Kai had seemed friendly enough when we were introduced. Anything was better than discussing the subject with Ben.

  • • •

  With only fifteen minutes of the lunch hour spent, I’d finished my sushi. Ben said that he had something to take care of and asked me to wait for Kai in the lounge. He gave me an issue of Scientific American that had an article on acupuncture—“so you don’t get bored,” he said.

  After about four paragraphs, the article began to delve into neurochemistry and I realized that I was in way over my head. I decided to take myself on a tour of the church. As I walked down the hallway, I noticed that the door to the parking lot was ajar. Seeing movement outside, I stepped out to investigate.

  It was a glorious October day—bright and cool with the few nearby trees at the height of their colors. I breathed in the crisp air and looked down to find Ben in the parking lot. He was removing the canvas cover from the car I had guessed was a convertible. I stood at the top of the stairs and watched.

  Ben had removed his suit jacket and draped it across the hood of the Land Rover, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. He seemed to be treating Operation Canvas Removal with surgical precision, moving with the confidence of someone who had performed this task many times before. Sunlight glinted off of a bright, reflective surface. Ben’s dress shirt tightened across his back and shoulders as he bent down and to the side, tugging at the canvas and carefully folding it as he went.

  Suddenly, my mouth went dry. I coughed, drawing Ben’s attention.

  “Cate, what are you doing out here?”

  I shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant, instead of like someone who just got caught gawking. “Just exploring. The acupuncture article was a bit above my level.”

  “Oh, okay.” Ben straightened up and stretched, arching his back. I forced myself to look at some random point in the distance. “Don’t worry, Eve will explain it to you later. Can I get you something else to read?”

  But I couldn’t work up any enthusiasm whatsoever for reading esoteric academic articles. “I’d rather see what’s under there,” I admitted, pointing at the canvas.

  “Really?” Ben held a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “All right, come on down.”

  Ben had already removed the canvas from the front of the car, revealing dark green paint and a sparkling pair of old-fashioned headlights wreathed in chrome. I joined him, impressed by the auto’s apparently mint condition. “What is it?”

  Ben rested his fingertips on the hood. “A 1936 Jaguar SS 100. Do you like classic cars?”

  Memories tugged at my heart like lead weights on a fishing line. “My mother did. We used to go to car shows in the summer.” My grandfather had been a mechanic. I didn’t remember him very well, but Mom always said that being around the kinds of cars he used to work on made her feel closer to him. I looked down at the Jaguar and thought about how much Mom had loved convertibles. The weight on my heart lifted slightly.

  As though he’d heard my thoughts, Ben said, “These old cars hold memories for a lot of people.” He pulled a cloth out of his pocket and wiped an invisible smudge off of the hood. “Hey, would you mind helping me take the cover off? It’s quicker with two people.”

  I had been longing to touch the Jaguar, but knew better than to do so without being invited. “Sure, of course.”

  “Okay, so just start at the bottom…” Ben showed me how to unfasten the canvas cover and fold it back bit by bit. I felt relieved to be having a normal conversation with him, and to be engaged for a few moments in something totally unrelated to either my problems or his clinic.

  As we worked our way from front to back, the two-seater revealed itself to be a masterpiece of restoration. The sweeping curves, the gleaming wire wheels…simply stunning. When we finished, Ben put the folded canvas in the back of the Land Rover. “I normally keep the Jag in the garage at home when it rains,” he explained, “but that storm the other day caught me by surprise.”

  I didn’t even try to hide my admiration. Ben beamed. “Would you like to sit inside?”

  I must not have heard him correctly. “What?”

  “Sit. In the car.” He pointed at the right-hand seat where the steering wheel was located, British-style. “Driver’s side, of course.”

  “Really?” As many car shows as I’d been to, no one had ever offered to let me get inside.

  “Really.” He walked around and opened the door for me. “Go ahead.”

  “Okay.” Tentatively, I slid onto the seat. Ben shut the door behind me, then walked around and got
into the passenger seat. All at once, I recognized the combination of scents that I’d noticed the first time I’d met Ben: old leather, cotton, and wool. Now the leather part made sense.

  Ben seemed to be enjoying my reactions. I let myself relax a little. My hand hovered tentatively over the steering wheel. “May I…?”

  “Of course.”

  I rested one hand on the wheel and ran the other along the side of my seat, which was tan and as soft as butter. I practically moaned, “My god, this leather…”

  “Yeah, that took some work.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ben stroked the dashboard. “When I found this car, she was on blocks in a barn outside of Lancaster, covered with nothing but a tarp and a bunch of hay bales.” He shook his head. “The body was in bad shape, but the chrome was savable.”

  My eyes widened. “You mean you restored it?”

  He nodded. “Not by myself, of course. I put the word out online that I needed parts, and about fifty Marines sourced them for me from around the globe.” He pointed to the speedometer. “That’s from Melbourne. The wheels came from four different countries.”

  As Ben continued giving me the inventory of various car parts and their origins, his whole demeanor changed. His expression brightened and he relaxed, managerial stiffness giving way to boyish enthusiasm. I felt my own spirits lifting as I got caught up in his animated description of the invisible web of people who had worked to save the neglected Jaguar.

  As he spoke, Ben rested his hand next to mine on the steering wheel, close enough that I could feel the heat of his skin. I inhaled deeply as the whispering warmth of attraction was once again ignited, tickling my hand and flowing up my arm… I cursed inwardly. So it hadn’t been a tai chi anomaly after all. It’s okay, I reassured myself, you can handle this. Just back away slowly. I slid my hand off of the steering wheel and sank back into my seat.

  Fortunately, Ben didn’t seem to notice my altered state. “This steering wheel came from Staffordshire in England,” he said. “I guess you could say this car’s a world traveler. I also have a buddy in Hampden who’s a mechanic. He helped me with the work under the hood.”