Family Secrets: Books 5-8

by Virginia Kantra

  Youre a virgin, Dr. Henkeldorf said.

  Honey stopped in mid-stride and spun to face him, baring her teeth. I am not.

  Then what happens on those occasions when you do manage the act of intimacy?

  Whos talking intimacy? I just want to get laid! Then the air went out of her as though he had siphoned it from her lungs. She dropped into the chair in front of his desk, her linen-clad legs sprawled in front of her. Okay, okay, Im a virgin. Then she jackknifed to sit up straight again. If you ever breathe a word of that

  Whom would I tell, Ms. Benton?

  Honey winced. Her brain had gone inert when shed called to make this appointment and the receptionist had asked for her name. Her pal Careys name just happened to be what spilled off her tongue at the time. Carey, however, was no longer a virgin.

  Just tell me how to fix this, she said to the doctor.

  Well schedule another appointment

  Honey shot to her feet again. Are you out of your mind? I have a date tonight!

  You thought I could fix this in fifty minutes?

  At three hundred bucks an hour? Yes!

  This breathing problem

  Honey shook her head to interrupt him and had to clap a hand to the cap to keep it in place. No, no. You werent listening. The fist comes first.

  The fist. He looked down at his notes.

  She moved her hand to thump it hard against her breastbone. Bam-bam-bam. Then rat-tat-tat.

  Im not sure I discern the difference.

  Bam-bam-bam is hard and slow. Rat-tat-tat is sharp and fast.

  Its your heart.

  Of course, its my heart! It doesnt want me to have sex!

  Ah, he said, putting his pen down to steeple his fingers. Now were getting somewhere. Unfortunately, your time is nearly up. I suggest that you cancel your date tonight and make an appointment next week.

  She was so agitated she went back to his desk and planted her palms on the wood to lean toward him. That is not a viable option. This is getting worse. Last night was the first time I passed out! One minute it was just bam-bam-bam-rat-tat-tat and I couldnt breathe, and the next thing I knew I was in the rose bushes! I need to fix this right away!

  Where did your young man go? I assume he was with you at the time?

  Yeah. One thing was for sure, Honey thought wildly. She could never go back to Murphys now. Being a tease and backing off when the bam-bam-bam-rat-tat-tat started was one thing. She could live with that rep, could spin it to her advantage. Doing a nosedive into the roses was a little harder to work with.

  Isnt there a drug for this or something? she pleaded.

  I would have no way of knowing that without understanding the root of your problem, which I cannot possibly do in one visit, Dr. Henkeldorf said.

  Honey pushed off his desk. He had a real racket going on here, she thought. So I come back and we talk about my childhood?

  That would be helpful.

  And in the meantime, I remain celibate?

  I might interject here that that is not a fate worse than death.

  Speak for yourself.

  You find it intolerable?

  Would I be here if I didnt? I have a reputation to maintain! If this gets out, Im ruined!

  A reputation with whom?

  Honey slashed a hand through the air. My friends. My family. My Then she broke off and stared at him. My family!

  What about them?

  She smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead, banging the bill of the cap in the process. She slammed both hands down on top of her head to hold it in place and spun for the door. Thanks. Youve been a huge help. If you ever want some kind of testimonial or something about how that three hundred an hour is worth it, feel free to give me a call.

  Ms. Benton.

  Honey grabbed the door handle and looked back. Right. Thats me.

  I really think you need to make another appointment.

  No, really. Im fine now. I just figured it out.

  He watched her unblinkingly. She felt compelled to explain.

  Every single time this happens, I take my catch back to the townhouse, she said.

  Your catch, he repeated.

  You know, my hottie-for-the-night. She started to rake her fingers through her hair, remembered the cap and dropped her hand to her side again. Heres the thing, she confided. When I take them back to the townhouse She lowered her voice to a whisper. they watch me.

  Who?

  Mom. Dad. Drew and Marcus. Theyre my brothers.

  Youre attempting to have sex while your family watches?

  She stared at him, appalled. Of course not. I meant that figuratively. Its the townhouse. Weve got one in Georgetown, though my parents live most the year at Conover Pointe, so they never use it. And my brothers have lives of their own. I mostly live there alone. Still, Im thinking a change of scenery here, you know?

  Ms. Benton, the problem is inside you, not with your environment.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. Meaning?

  Since I doubt very seriously if I can convince you to come back for subsequent visits, Ill go out on a bit of a limb here. Youre suffering panic attacks when you try to engage in the sex act because you are doing so with strangers.

  Honey stiffened. I didnt say they were strangers. Did I say that?

  I believe your exact phrase was hottie-for-the-night. Youre unable to engage in intimacy in order to maintain yourah, reputationwithout invading the core of yourself.

  I want my core invaded.

  No, actually, you dont.

  Its the townhouse! Last night when all the swirling started, I was thinking about all the pictures of my family on the walls!

  Swirling?

  She lifted a finger and rotated it in quick little circles. Bam-bam-bam. Rat-tat-tat. No air. A few spinning de Hooches. Then splat. Like I said, I just need a change of scenery.

  I daresay youll reach the same conclusion no matter where you take yourhottie. If your psyche could honestly tolerate casual sex, you would not still be a virgin.

  Honey opened the door. Well see.

  She left the office and walked to her Mercedes parked three blocks away. She hadnt wanted anyone she knew tagging her spiffy little car in front of a sex shrinks office. She used the door this time and slid behind the wheel to gust out a deep breath. Then she noticed the parking ticket stuck under her wiper blade.

  She still had the cars top down and she levered herself up to reach over the windshield and snag it. Seventy-six bucks? she shrieked. Because I ran out of quarters? She opened the glove box to shove the ticket inside.

  The action dislodged a partially opened box of condoms and several spilled out onto the floor of her car. If wishes were horses, she muttered. She gathered them in a fist and tossed them over the door onto the side
walk. The homeless would be protected tonight, and she probably wouldnt need them. Honey twisted the key in the ignition, stomped her foot on the accelerator and took off.

  Maybe she should meander on down to Conover Pointe this weekend until word of what she had done last night died down. She could dig out the old jodhpurs and offer to exercise some of Daddys thoroughbreds. If she could get the head groom to turn over the reins to Heartache, that would sure as hell work some of this frustration out of her blood. The horse had won the Belmont by six lengths some years back, upsetting the Triple Crown favorite du jour. That was what she needed, Honey thought. Just Another Heartache. And maybe one of the lean, trim and hot Latin grooms her father employed to see after his babies before and after they were shipped off to the top trainers in the country.

  Then again, if her father found out what she was up to, shed probably get the poor guy fired.

  Okay, one of the cute little preppies shed grown up with then, Honey thought. Kyle Kilmartin, maybe, or Geoffrey Paige. Oh, sweet heaven, what am I thinking? If Drew or Marcus or Dad caught wind of that, no one would get fired but shed find herself all dolled up in white lace and standing in front of an altar before she could blink. And the only thing worse than being a virgin was being her mother.

  It didnt matter anyway. Her parents would be in residence at Conover Pointe, so the place would have the same effect on her as the townhouse. She needed a change of scenery, she thought again, if she was going to fix this mess.

  And then it hit her. Marcuss wedding.

  Honey whooped aloud and punched a fist in the air. Her brother was getting hitched next week on some island off the coast of a European country. She couldnt remember which one at the moment, but it was a safe bet that the place would be crawling with continental types. A guy like that could get her right over the hump, she decided.

  She ran the SL500 into the townhouse driveway and hit the front door like a filly breaking through the starting gate. She threw her sunglasses on the tiny good-for-nothing cherry wood table her mother kept in the foyer and galloped up the stairs to her bedroom. Where had she put Marcuss letter? Her room was a disaster. Shed gotten a wild hair a few weeks ago and had banished the live-in maid to days only and had asked the woman to leave her bedroom alone. It was probably for the best, Honey realized, the resulting mess aside. If Naeve had been here last night, she might have found her in the rose garden in the wee hours of the morning and how the hell would she have explained that to the help?

  Somewhere beneath last nights shocking-blue dress, her computer equipment, the VCR, DVD player, stereo, an entire wall of books spilling from shelves and her library of old movies, the unmade bed and twenty-six teddy bears collected from various parts of the world was the letter shed received from her brother a few weeks ago. Honey went to the nightstand and yanked it open. She pawed through show-ticket stubs, two unfinished diaries and a sweet little clay figure one of the kids at St. Christophers Orphanage had made for her when shed borrowed twenty-three pups from the pound and took them to visit a bunch of kids who might never know the joy of a canine kiss otherwise. The nuns were probably still cursing her name but the kids had loved it.

  There was no letter from her brother in there.

  Honey dropped to her knees to peer under the bed. Dust bunnies but no correspondence. She really had to rethink the whole business of banishing Naeve and her vacuum cleaner from her bedroom.

  She went to her desk as a last resortthat was where most people would keep letters from their family. She found it tucked under the computer keyboard. Honey finally whipped the baseball cap off her head and tossed it onto the bed. Her blond curls spilled. She stepped out of the perfectly creased linen trousers shed swiped from her mothers closet and trotted downstairs again in her white T-shirt and her underwear.

  In the kitchen, she snagged a can of orange soda from the fridge. She swigged while reading the letter again. Then she choked.

  How had she missed the whole beginning of Marcuss letter the first time shed scanned this? Her only explanation for missing something sowell, staggering, was that she must have been in the throes of virgin-angst at the time.

  Miss Evans?

  Honey looked up at the sound of the maids voice. Hey there, Naeve.

  Youre in your underwear.

  Honey looked down at herself. I dont care if you dont.

  Naeve almost grinned but in the end she only shook her head. Honey started out of the kitchen, still staring at the letter.

  Are you all right, Ms. Evans? You look pale.

  Honey glanced back at her. Marcus is superhuman. The helpat least those who had been with the Evans clan for any length of timeknew that Marcus was adopted. After her parents had had Drew, things had stalled. Theyd adopted Marcus and thenvoila!Honey had made her appearance.

  Superhuman, Naeve repeated.

  He says hes sort of found his natural family. And his parents were liketest tubes or something.

  The maid started looking around the kitchen as though seeking something to defend herself with. Honey shoved the letter at her. Here, read it yourself. Im going to pack and fly to a place called Brunhia.

  Two

  M axwell Strong woke to the throaty cluck of a rooster.

  He rolled his legs over the side of the fore-cabin berth of his Dufour 3800 and remembered to lean forward before standing so he didnt whack his head against the teak molding of the low-slung ceiling. He was getting the hang of onboard living. It had only taken him the better part of six months.

  He could have purchased something newer and much larger, but that would have negated his entire purpose. Max Strong would not be expected to travel about the world in a twenty-year-old thirty-eight-foot sailboat. The Sea Change kept him anonymous.

  Max ducked through the doorway into the salon and moved past the navigation table and two more single berths to starboard. The galley was portside. He rooted through a cupboard there for the tin of coffee. Amazing what they thought of these days, he reflected as he plucked out a dose already enclosed in its own little filter. He would never have known about this trifling convenience had he not left Pittsburgh. And New York. And Paris. And Cairo. But there you have it, he thought, dropping the filter into the coffee maker. Hed gone wanderingsome said off his rockerand hed discovered that the world had come a very long way from his mothers kitchen.

  He poured water into the machine, smacked the button to turn it on and went topside to deal with the rooster. The bird was pacing the sailboats deck, his head thrusting arrogantly with each step as though he was proclaiming his turf. Max got the plastic container of chicken feed he kept in the transom seat, lifting a blue leather cushion to dig it out. The rooster stopped moving to stare at him with small black eyes. Max sprinkled the feed over the deck in the hope that it might shut the thing up long enough for him to enjoy his coffee.

  He went below again and poured himself a mug, standing against the thin counter in the galley to savor the first sip. No espresso in Milan had ever tasted better, though he might have enjoyed a newspaper to go along with it. But what for? He already knew what would be in itthe international economic fallout of the World Bank Heist, some speculation about a U.S. governmental genetics experiment gone awr
y and the bizarre disappearance of one renowned and filthy-rich real-estate developer named Maxwell Strong. The society pages would probably carry a blurb about who his ex-wife was currently screwing, but at least Camille was no longer doing it on his money.

  He didnt need a newspaper, Max decided. He had his boat, the rooster to deal with and hands that were nicely callused again for the first time in ten years. He had

  coffee all the hell over the place because a wave had hit him portside.

  The sailboat rolled a little with the slap of the wake and jolted Max against the sink. Bay water sprayed against the windows on the left side of the cabin. The coffee sloshed in his hand, spilling over the rim of the mug, scalding him. He swore, swore again and finally dropped the mug into the sink where the ceramic broke into pieces.

  What the hell? Hed been anchored in the Gulf of Cadiz since June, give or take a few excursions to Portimao on the mainland. In all that time hed never encountered a wave larger than what might result in a swimming pool after a 350-pound man did a belly flop.

  Max hightailed it topside again. His heel hit some chicken feed and he went skidding. The rooster, alarmed, tried to peck at his bare toes. He yelled and grabbed the main mast to catch his slide. When his legs were steady again, he looked for the source of the ruckus.

  It was the outboard skiff that carried people back and forth between Brunhia and Portimao. It was at full throttle and a crazy woman was at the helm.

  Max stared, wondering what the hell had gotten into Amando to turn the wheel over to a woman who piloted as if she was out for the joyride of her life. The wizened little Portuguese stood beside her, clapping ecstatically. No one knew the sandbars and shoals and boulder-strewn shallows around the island except the local fishermenand Max himself because hed had the good sense to learn after Amando had brought his Sea Change in here the first time. Max knew Amando, and to his knowledge Amando did not ever clap.