Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2]

by Jennifer Lane

  Next Hunter carefully drew one circle right on top of another, and Grant was amused that the psychologist’s tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated deeply.

  “This is an enmeshed relationship,” Hunter explained, “like the one between Sophie and her mother.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes.

  “In enmeshment, the two people are very close. They spend a lot of time together. When one person feels a certain way, the other person often feels that way too, and they tend to take responsibility for each other’s feelings. You don’t hear about disagreement in enmeshed relationships, because disagreement and conflict tend to go underground.

  “Common language used in an enmeshed relationship might be ‘You’re not mad, right?’ or ‘Don’t confront her—I’ll take care of it’ or even ‘You complete me.’” Hunter made a gagging motion and Sophie giggled. “When Sophie tried to rescue you from feeling anxious, Grant, I called her out because that’s exactly what she used to do for her mother. She took care of her mother’s emotional well-being while ignoring her own needs.

  “Sometimes this enmeshed pattern can happen in families with addiction or abuse. Let’s say the father’s an alcoholic, and the entire family tiptoes around him, trying not to provoke him. Their needs are subverted to his needs. That’s enmeshment, or codependence.”

  “Is that like enabling too?” Sophie asked.

  “Hmm, could be. What do you think?” Hunter and Sophie’s curious voices faded as Grant felt pulled back in time.

  The pounding noise of water gushing from the faucet flooded his senses, and he could feel his mother’s gentle touch on his ribcage, delicately brushing her fingers over the angry bruise. She’d just removed his T-shirt in preparation for a bath. He was five years old.

  “Oh, honey,” she cried.

  He shied away from her hand and turned his face to the wall, feeling color rise in his cheeks. He’d been a bad boy, and his father had thrown him against the wall.

  “I’m sorry, Grant,” Karita choked out, her voice barely audible over the rush of water. “He didn’t mean it.”

  The little boy closed his enormous blue eyes and nodded solemnly.

  “You have to be more careful the next time,” she added. “No soccer balls in the house.”

  He nodded again. Then he drew his small hand toward her face, cautiously lifting a veil of blond hair from her temple, revealing a purple contusion blooming above her high cheekbone. “You hafta be more careful too, Mommy.”

  Her shiny, crystal-blue eyes welled up in tears.

  “Grant?” He heard his name and tried to get his bearings. “Grant?” the male voice prompted again.

  He found himself staring into Hunter’s concerned hazel eyes, and he swallowed hard, surreptitiously glancing next to him at Sophie, who appeared equally alarmed.

  “Looks like you’re deep in thought,” Hunter observed, wondering what traumatic memory his client might have been re-experiencing.

  “Yes, sir,” Grant responded in a trembling voice. He clamped his teeth together. They were both still staring at him, and he felt panicked as the heaviness of shame weighed down on his chest. “I was, uh, just thinking—” he nodded toward the drawing of stacked circles “—that, um, enmeshment doesn’t sound all that bad in a romantic relationship. Two people on top of each other, I mean.”

  Grant’s nervous chuckle was met by dead silence and a palpable awkwardness in the room. Evidently his lame attempt to divert attention away from his sadness wasn’t fooling the two psychologists studying him suspiciously. He stole a glance at Sophie and found her looking back at him with such concentrated sympathy that he felt a catch in his throat, a wellspring of emotion threatening to erupt.

  Instinctively Sophie sidled up next to him on the sofa and wrapped her arm around his waist, her hand resting exactly where he’d been bruised as a five-year-old. She looked him directly in the eye and confessed, “I love you.”

  Her comfort felt like a gift, and he lifted his arm to drape it across her shoulders, mindful of her injury.

  Sophie didn’t care if she was rescuing him again. It felt right to be there for him in this moment, and she nestled the back of her head into his shoulder.

  As the tension drained from Grant’s body, Hunter watched the two with a degree of wistfulness. Their harmony was a welcome relief from the heated arguments that sometimes occurred between partners in his office, yet he knew it wouldn’t be all sunshine and peace ahead for them as they delved into deeper topics.

  Clearing his throat, Hunter said, “So, let’s discuss the third type of relationship, okay?” He drew two overlapping circles. “The interdependent relationship looks like a Venn diagram. It’s when you have independent parts of yourself, but also this overlapping area which represents shared interests, caring, time spent together. Each partner has responsibility for his or her own feelings. Conflict is normal, and the partners may resolve their conflicts with language like ‘I’m concerned when you don’t call’ or ‘I feel angry when you leave your dirty clothes on the chair.’”

  “Hey, you said something like that to me once!” Grant pointed out, squeezing her shoulder.

  “I did?” Sophie looked up at him.

  “Yeah, on the ship—do you remember? You said, ‘I’m angry that you’re acting aloof.’”

  Sophie sat up a little more, though she remained glued to her boyfriend’s side. “No, I said I was hurt that you were acting aloof.”

  “Oh, right,” Grant agreed amicably.

  “Great job, Sophie!” Hunter cheered. “You practiced the assertive communication we discussed.”

  Blushing, she murmured, “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

  “Yes, it was,” Hunter said. “It’s really hard to break old habits. How did you react when she said that to you, Grant?”

  He shrugged. “I, um, I realized I’d been acting like a jerk. We talked, and I…kissed her.”

  “Sounds like it worked out pretty well.” Hunter smirked, watching them both blush.

  Sophie laughed. “Yeah, and then we got caught kissing by our PO!” She felt Grant’s chuckle rumble deep in his chest.

  When their laughter died down, Hunter asked, “What do you think of these different types of relationships?”

  “Is the enmeshed one, is that, um, bad?” Grant asked.

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s bad, but it doesn’t tend to work as effectively as the interdependent relationship, at least in our Western culture. Perhaps in more collectivist societies, enmeshment would work okay.” Hunter gave them an inquisitive look. “So, which of these three best represent your family relationships?”

  Sophie and Grant scrutinized the different circles. Surprised to find himself interested in what Hunter had talked about, Grant silently concluded that he was distant from his father and enmeshed with his mother. The same way Sophie seemed to be with her parents. But Grant wondered if he’d also been enmeshed with his father at times. He deeply wished Enzo’s approval—or disapproval, actually—didn’t matter so much to him. With a pang of guilt, he realized his relationship with Logan had likely been distant as well. Was his entire family doomed?

  “Oh!” Grant blurted. “I, um, I think my relationship with Uncle Joe is interdependent.”

  “Go on,” Hunter encouraged.

  “Well, he’s always been there for me, but he doesn’t pressure me. It’s like he trusts me.”

  Sophie smiled, pleased that Grant was immersing himself in their psychological discussion. He’d shared the nautical environment with her on Roger’s ship, and now she was sharing her world with him.

  “Joe’s support must mean a lot to you,” Hunter said. “Do you have any other interdependent relationships in your life, Grant?”

  “Um, not really. Is it possible to get interdependence if you don’t have it now?”

  “Perhaps. Who do you want an interdependent relationship with?”

  Grant blushed slightly. “Sophie. Well, maybe we alread
y have one—I’ll let you shrinks figure it out.”

  Sophie and Hunter exchanged amused looks.

  “And Ben, my nephew. He’s really struggling right now, and I want to be there for him the way Joe was there for me.”’

  “He must be really grieving, huh?” Sophie asked softly.

  Grant nodded. “I caught him smoking pot last week.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Pot? Isn’t he only like fourteen?”

  Shaking his head, Grant smiled. “He looks young, but he’s actually sixteen. Sixteen going on thirty.”

  “So you’re trying to figure out how to be a good parent figure to Ben?” Hunter asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tapping on his drawing of an interdependent relationship, Hunter said, “Actually, this Venn diagram can relate to good parenting too. If you look at this circle as warmth, or caring, and the other circle as firmness, or discipline, you want to achieve the intersection of these two circles for the best parenting: a combination of warmth and firmness. If you only have warmth, then you’re too permissive, and if you only have firmness, you’re too authoritarian. So try to combine caring and discipline, and you should do a good job with Ben.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hunter didn’t enjoy feeling like he was lecturing. While he wracked his brain for a way to encourage Grant to think for himself instead of robotically following his advice, Sophie interjected, “Grant, what kind of parenting did Carlo get?”

  Grant looked taken aback. After several moments, he said, “I don’t think Uncle Angelo ever punished him. He got away with a lot.”

  “I thought so,” Sophie replied. Turning to Hunter, she asked, “Isn’t it true that children of permissive parents are at risk for antisocial behavior as adults? Just like children of authoritarian parents are more likely to be anxious as adults?”

  “Yes, and yes, and I’m kind of surprised at how easily you can talk about him.”

  “Who, Carlo?” Sophie replied. “The total fucking bastard who’s writhing in the depths of hell right now?”

  Hunter stifled a grin. “That’s more like it.”

  Sophie smiled, but Grant appeared uneasy, still feeling guilty about killing a man. He was the one who’d shot that “total fucking bastard.”

  Hunter glanced at his watch. “We’re out of time. Good job today. We’ll keep working on that interdependent relationship between you two. See you next week.”

  As they exited through the waiting room, Grant gently clasped Sophie’s right wrist, stopping her. A mischievous light danced in his eyes. “Screw interdependence. Wanna go get enmeshed?”

  “I thought you’d never ask, McSailor.” She aimed a devilish grin his way and they walked out, arm in arm.

  4. Confound

  Grant jumped slightly when he felt his pocket vibrate. He waited until Officer Stone looked down to rifle through some papers before he stealthily withdrew his mobile from the pocket of his jacket. Peeking at the phone, he read the awaiting text message:

  Ms. Broccoli loves you

  A bright grin erupted as he stole a coy glance at Sophie, finding her mischievous brown eyes alight with mirth. She’d cast aside her arm sling just yesterday and was apparently capitalizing on having both hands free to type.

  “I still haven’t received verification from your doctor—”

  Jerry halted his statement midstream to look back and forth between the parolees sitting across the desk from him. They were both trying to suppress laughter, and he was immediately pissed off that their little private joke prevented them from focusing on the matter at hand. “What the hell’s going on between you two?”

  Grant cleared his throat and casually removed his hand from his pocket. “Nothing, sir.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Jerry glared at the shiny black Chicago White Sox jacket and growled, “You got some balls wearing that jacket in here, Madsen.”

  Satisfied when Grant appeared duly admonished, he turned to Sophie. “As I was saying, Taylor, I haven’t heard from that doctor at the hospital verifying the narcotics prescription. You did test positive for opiates on August tenth, and I need that documentation from your doctor to clear you.”

  Sophie nodded solemnly as Grant’s right hand surreptitiously slipped back into his pocket. “I’ll call Northwestern again, Jerry. I already reminded them twice, but you know how hospitals work, right?”

  Jerry sighed. This young woman was so endearing to him, even though she seemed up to something at the moment. Gruffly he said, “I want that documentation by the time we meet next week, got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” she responded, feeling a twinge of anger toward Grant for egging Jerry on to make her take the drug test in the first place. Her anger quickly morphed to anticipation, however, when she felt a vibration in the pocket of her jeans.

  “Now, Madsen, I know the architectural cruises stop running in September, so what’re you doing about securing employment?”

  As Jerry focused his attention on Grant, Sophie carefully glanced down at her cell phone.

  Ms. Broccoli and I both agree: the Cubs suck! J

  She then stared dutifully at Jerry while one corner of her mouth twitched.

  There was a knock on the door, further irritating their PO.

  “Enter!” he hollered.

  Detective Marilyn Fox of the Great Lakes Police Department poked her head inside the office. “Hey, Jerry, I was just in town—” Her mouth dropped open as she recognized the two parolees craning their necks to see who was at the door.

  “Ms. Taylor! Mr. Madsen!” Marilyn cried, stepping into the office.

  Jerry popped out of his chair and made his way over to Marilyn, and Grant stood as well.

  “Ma’am,” Grant acknowledged with a shy grin. He felt immensely grateful to Marilyn for believing him and fighting for him after the incident with Carlo.

  “Good to s-s-see you, Detective,” Jerry stammered, awkwardly stuffing his hands into his pockets as he sidled up to the petite, red-haired woman.

  Studying her parole officer’s nervous body language, Sophie slowly rose out of her chair and nodded to the detective. “How’ve you been, Marilyn?”

  Marilyn’s green eyes sparkled. “I’ve been great. I see you’re out of the sling?”

  “Since yesterday.” Sophie smiled. Though occasionally there was still lingering pain from her gunshot wound, the most potent reminder of the trauma was a raised circular scar of destroyed flesh above her left elbow. She’d only been able to look at the wound once, and the vivid mark of Carlo’s evil had been so upsetting that she’d vowed immediately never to look at it again.

  Jerry lowered his voice, and Sophie could barely hear him tell Marilyn, “I didn’t know you’d be back in town so soon.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened with realization, and she looked to see if Grant had also caught on, but he appeared quite detached at the moment. His eyes were vacant and his expression despondent. He seemed to enter this trance any time her injury was mentioned. He was once again mired in guilt.

  Instead of whispering to him, Sophie drew out her iPhone and began typing a message. Given Jerry’s befuddled state, she could get away with practically anything at the moment.

  Once again flinching when his phone vibrated—he frequently felt on edge these days—Grant reached into his pocket while turning to Sophie. The look in his eyes slowly transformed as she drew his focus to the present. He was returning to her from wherever he’d just been. Grant read her text message:

  Jer has the hots for Mar

  He looked up, startled. “Really?” he whispered, and she nodded conspiratorially.

  Grant saw the two officers in a new light. Detective Fox did seem to be blushing a bit as she spoke to Officer Stone. As he analyzed her expression, she suddenly turned her intense gaze toward him and inquired, “Mr. Madsen, have you heard anything from Mr. Barberi?”

  At first Sophie was quite confused, wondering how Logan, who was dead, could possibly contact his brother. Then she realized M
arilyn was asking about Grant’s Uncle Angelo.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Nothing? No threats against your life if you don’t commit a crime?”

  “Thankfully no, ma’am.”

  “I’d hope you learned your lesson the first time,” she said severely.

  Grant nodded guiltily. He knew she’d never understand why he hadn’t gone to the police when Logan and Carlo had threatened Joe’s life more than two years ago.

  Sophie appeared puzzled. “What do you mean ‘the first time’?”

  Marilyn shot Grant a look. “You haven’t told her about the circumstances of your arrest?”

  Grant squirmed a bit. “No, ma’am. It’s not—it’s not something I like to discuss. It’s in the past.” He didn’t voice his additional hesitations, such as the fact that both men who’d threatened him were now dead, and he had no proof that the threat had occurred in the first place. When he’d told Detective Fox and Uncle Joe he’d been forced to commit the crime, he’d been surprised by their immediate acceptance of his story. Why would anyone believe a man born into the Barberi family?

  Jerry knew he had only a few minutes before his next parolee arrived, and he wanted to spend at least one of those minutes privately with Marilyn, so he broke the silence to move things along. “Madsen’s brother and cousin threatened his uncle’s life unless he helped them steal some cash,” he told Sophie.

  Watching her struggle to absorb that information, Grant added, “Logan gambled away some money to a Navy officer, and they needed my help to break into a bar near the base and get it back. He told me…” Grant looked down. “Logan told me he and Carlo would kill Joe unless I did it.”

  He remembered the resignation in his brother’s deep blue eyes as he’d forced the gun into his hand and sent him off into that bar. Anything bad goes down in there, you don’t know who I am, got it? Logan’s words echoed in Grant’s head, and indeed, he hadn’t known Logan at that moment. What had happened to the benevolent older brother who protected him and their mother from their abusive father?