Hell Hath No Fury

by M. J. Schiller

  She exhaled. “So, let’s get to know one another. Tell me about yourself, Samantha.”

  My heart beat a bit harder. “Well, aren’t I paying you to tell me about myself? That’s some pretty lazy psychology, doc.”

  For the first time, I seemed to knock her off her game. Before she could recover, my gaze was drawn to a charcoal sketch of Navy Pier on the end table, supported by a white mini-easel. I gestured to it with a slight movement of my elbow. “You visit Chicago?” Anything to change the subject.

  She lifted it with her long, elegant fingers. Her face relaxed. “Actually, I grew up there.”

  I sat a little straighter. “No kidding? Whereabouts?”

  I expected her to say Lincoln Park or Forest Glen or some other posh area. “A suburb on the southside.”

  “No way. I’m from Evergreen Park.”

  She leaned forward. “Beverly.”

  Okay. That tracked. Beverly was a nice area. But still, she was a Southsider. “You’re kidding me. We probably hung out at some of the same places together as kids.”

  She bit her bottom lip for a second. “Ever play soccer in Marquette Park?”

  “Hell, yeah. I spent most of my junior high years there. And I came your way for a Rainbow Cone.”

  “Rainbow Cone!” she said at the same time. “Man. I love those. Could use one right now.”

  “You and me both.” I sighed. “Well, how about that. Of all the therapists in all of Lincoln.”

  “Yeah. It’s a small world. I haven’t been there in a while. Have you?” She stretched to place a small machine on the table, pushing a button which made a green light shine.

  “Not since we moved here.” I stared at the object on the table between us. “What’s that?”

  She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands loosely in front of her. “Oh, this is recording us so I can be lazy, as you said, and not take notes. Are you okay with that?”

  “Sure,” I said quickly, eager to find out more about this sister Southsider. “Where’d you go to grammar school? St. John Fischer?”

  She shook her head. “St. Barnabas. And then Mother McAuley for high school.”

  “I went to public school for high school, Evergreen Park, but grammar school was Most Holy Redeemer. Southside’s got to be the most religious place outside of the Vatican.”

  She nodded. ‘You couldn’t spit without hitting a half dozen churches, as many Presbyterian or Lutheran as Catholic. It was a good place to grow up.”

  “So, I have to ask—and this could be a deal breaker, I may not be able to work with you if you answer this the wrong way—”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “You should be.” I was much more comfortable. How bad could she be if she was from Chicago? “This is a very important question.” I took a deep breath, drawing out the anticipation. “Lem’s Barbecue or Leon’s?”

  “What?” she scoffed. “That’s not even a question. It’s Leon’s all the way.”

  I whooped and high-fived her. “I knew you were one of us.”

  “They’re not even in the same ballpark.”

  “I’m with you, sister. But some—ridiculous as it may be—try to argue the point. Even come to blows. Some even in my own family. But we don’t talk to those Lemmers anymore.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Oh?” Her psychiatrist powers were tingling.

  “Just kidding.” I tapped her leg. “Not about the fisticuffs, but we still talk to each other.” Our laughter wound down. “Your secretary must be wondering what the hell is going on in here.”

  She chuckled again. “She probably does. But it won’t be the first time.”

  “So, what’s a nice Southside girl like yourself doing here?”

  “Well, my husband was in IT at Workday in Chicago, and a headhunter got him an interview as a director at Nelnet, and the rest, as they say, is history. How about you? What brought you to the fine city of Lincoln, Nebraska?”

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. “To tell you the truth, my daughter Elise was getting bullied at her school, and my ex-husband was being kind of a handful on top of that, so I moved here with my husband Kyle—who you talked to—and my kids, to get a fresh start.” I leaned back, folding my arms over my chest. “Oh, you’re good. It took me weeks to tell my best friend Dani that much.”

  “Why’s that?”

  I shrugged. “I have a tendency to keep stuff to myself.”

  “With Kyle, too?”

  I waved a hand. “Oh, no. He can’t shut me up. I tell him every asinine detail of my day.”

  “That’s nice. Were your folks the same way?”

  “Umm…sometimes, yeah.”

  “But sometimes not?”

  “Well,” I scooted forward to get my glass, then sat with my forearms on my knees, dangling the glass between them. “Things got a bit dicier when my mom found out about my dad’s other family.” I took a drink, trying to wash away the bitter taste of that memory.

  She blinked. “Other family?”

  I nodded. “He had three kids with her, five with my mom.” I stared into my glass, swirling the water before taking my next drink. “I guess we won.”

  “How did your mom deal with that?”

  “Surprisingly well. Better than I would have.”

  “Hmm…that must have been…” She seemed to be searching for a tactful word. There were none.

  “Weird? Shocking? Embarrassing? Painful? Yeah. It was all those.” I clicked my tongue and shook my head. “His other wife used to park outside our house and watch us play, before we found out about them. How screwed up is that?”

  “Did that affect your relationship with your dad?”

  I snorted, put the glass on the table somewhat roughly, and sat back farther, spreading my arms along the top of the couch and peering in the direction of the window. “What relationship? He wasn’t around long enough for me to have a relationship with him. Clearly busy with other things.” My jaw and throat tightened. It was still a hard pill to swallow.

  “Did that bother you?”

  “Hell yes, it bothered me. Wouldn’t it you?”

  “Yes. I’m sure it would. Do you have a relationship with your dad now?”

  I pushed off the couch and reached for my water again. Taking a drink, I lifted a finger while I swallowed to indicate I intended to answer her question. “About as much as we did then. He’s dead.”

  “I see.”

  “Mom is, too.” I traced the rim of the glass with a finger. “Her—”I looked her in the eyes and was surprised to find my voice cracking. “Her I miss.”

  “You were close?”

  “I used to talk to her every day.” I glanced at her. “You keeping track of the time? We’ve got to be close to over.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Still got about fifteen minutes.”

  “Umm.” I took a deep breath. “Then let me give you a Cliff Notes version of the rest of my life to get you up to speed. I married right out of high school to get out of the house. We had our first pretty much right away. We had two more. He cheated on me. Got divorced. Met Kyle. Fell in love with him and got married. That’s pretty much it.”

  “Huh.” She studied me. “Well, a lot going on there.” She sat forward, resting her elbows on the chair’s arms and folding her hands. Her silence was excruciating. It was like a giant metronome was clicking the moments off in my mind. While keeping the rest of them clasped, she pointed two steepled fingers at me. “Your ex. What’s he like?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh. Do we have to talk about him?” She waited, so I had to say something. “He’s an asshole. Pigheaded, domineering, manipulative, selfish—he only thinks about himself—and a blowhard. Plus, loud and obnoxious.”

  “Sounds like a keeper.”

  I laughed derisively. “Oh, yeah. A real keeper.”

  “Is he older than you?”

  “A few years.”

  She nodded quickly, as if I verified some hypothesis of her
s. “In your parents’ marriage, who, as they say, ‘wore the pants in the family?’”

  I thought about it. “It depended. For the most part my dad. He would order my mom around. Expected dinner on the table, never the same thing as the night before—which was like cardinal law or something. He controlled the TV remote. Mom never said a thing. Or seldom did. Seldom did. One time she really wanted to watch something, and he begrudgingly let her. Then he ridiculed whatever it was she was watching the whole time… It was some romantic movie. Not his thing.”

  “But sometimes she would make the choices?”

  “Whenever it came to us kids, he deferred to her—the majority of the time. Unless one of us was pissing him off…. But a lot of times he was tired. He’d sit in his brown La-Z-Boy—no one else could ever sit there, not even my mom—and he’d kind of veg out, staring at the TV screen…but I don’t think he was actually watching.”

  “So, your ex-husband…what did you say his name was?”

  “Bill.” I kicked the four letters out of my mouth in disgust.

  “Bill. Would you say he was like your father?”

  “Well…yes, actually. They were a lot alike in some ways. Everything has to be Bill’s anal retentive way or he will make you miserable. And he’s good at making people miserable.”

  “Umm…. Is he involved in the kids’ lives?”

  “Involved? More like over-involved. Except for Elise. He either acts like she’s not around, or like she’s a princess…a perpetually five-year-old princess.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well since most of the time he’s blatantly ignoring her, he doesn’t seem to understand she’s not a child anymore. He doesn’t see her for who she is.”

  “And who is that?”

  “She’s a great kid. Always doing things for others. Baking things, helping them with stuff…just very sweet and thoughtful.”

  “Hmm….” She stood and circled behind her chair, grasping the top of it. “But, he’s not like that with the boys?”

  “He’s better with the boys. But since Ryan figured out what a jerk he is and stood up to him a couple of times, they’re not as close as Jake and he are. Jake’s a mini-Bill in a lot of ways. His main concern is making money. And they don’t care if they cheat someone. Their theory is, ‘they deserve to be ripped off if they’re that stupid.’”

  She bent forward, clasping her hands again and resting her forearms on the chair top. “Do you ever call him on it?”

  “What? His treating Elise like a second-class citizen, or his corrupting Jake?”

  “Either.”

  I pushed against my knees and rose, too. “Sometimes. But you can’t win an argument with him. He’ll interrupt you, or talk right over you…nothing is ever his fault. And to suggest he change something about himself? His ego wouldn’t have it.”

  “Ahh.” She nodded, but I could tell she wasn’t satisfied by my answer.

  “I should probably try harder. But…he’s a piece of work, let me tell you. You could make a pretty bundle counselling him, doc. You could pay for a whole other building. A nice one.”

  Her watch beeped and she turned off the alarm. I didn’t even see her set a timer. She smiled. “Well, our time is up for today. Why don’t you set an appointment with Kathy sometime in the next two weeks and we can talk more?”

  “Okay. No offense, but I didn’t learn much about myself today.”

  “Sometimes it’s not what happens in this room, it’s what happens when you leave and think about what we’ve said. Besides, we were simply getting to know each other today. Next time you’ll have homework to bring back.”

  “Greaaat.” She walked with me to the door. “Hey. I’m sorry about being a bit chippy earlier.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Chippy?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s a hockey term. Means, like…aggressive. If a player is chippy he’s probably itching for a fight.”

  She stood in front of the door, but didn’t open it. “That’s okay. People tend to get a bit…chirpy?”

  “Chippy.”

  “People tend to be a bit chippy the first time. They get nervous. Were you nervous?”

  “Like a cat at the dog pound.”

  “Better now?”

  “Oh, yeah. Much. I was worried you might have me committed. …You aren’t going to commit me, right, Doc?”

  “Of course not. Samantha, seeing a therapist does not mean you’re crazy. In fact, it is maybe one of the sanest things you can do. People often need a neutral party to help them sort through things. I even see a therapist.”

  “No, kidding?” I leaned in and covered my mouth. “You many not want to tell your next client that. Doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She opened the door then held it for me, offering her hand. “It was nice getting to know you, Samantha.”

  I shook it. “Yes. You, too.” And I meant it.

  I walked through the door and she went to close it after me but stopped. “Oh, Samantha?”

  I spun back.

  “Southwest Pit BBQ. It’s not Leon’s, but it’s as close as you’re gonna get in Lincoln. It’s a tiny place, but they deliver. Over on P Street. Is it P Street?” She’d followed me out and now was asking her secretary.

  “Yeah.” The secretary nodded. “P Street. I think that’s right.”

  The doctor peered at me. “Their pulled pork…” she made an okay sign. “It’s top-notch.”

  “And the ribs,” Kathy added. “They have great ribs.”

  I smiled. “Hey. Thanks, doc.”

  “No problem. Kathy, Sam needs to make an appointment in a couple of weeks.”

  “Okay.” She typed on her keyboard.

  “Thanks.” Looking beyond me, she called, “Cliff? It’s your turn. Come on in.”

  “And their mac and cheese,” Kathy mumbled as she searched the screen. “To die for.”

  Maybe this whole therapy thing wasn’t so bad after all.

  Chapter 8

  Elise

  I kept my gaze on the pool house, eager to see Hunter come out, but he didn’t. The more time ticked away, the surer I became he was fired and told to leave the park, which’s why he didn’t come back. After a bit, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got out of the swimming pool and toweled off. I threw my new white fringy cover up on over my new swimming suit, gathered my things together, and walked toward the entrance.

  I don’t know what to say to Mr. Haggerty, other than begging him to forgive Hunter and let him stay, keep his job. It was my fault. I was taunting him.

  I thought doing something about it, taking action to help him, would make me worry less, and it did at first. But as I moved forward, my anxiety spiked again, and my feet hit the pavement faster.

  Shit. What if I got him fired? What if he needs the money to, like…feed his family? Okay. That’s a stretch. Things probably aren’t that desperate, but still.

  The creaking of a door chased my thoughts away. I glanced in that direction and froze. Hunter had come out, all right, but with some girl. Someone I’d never seen before. She had on a yellow bikini which looked awesome with her bronzed skin. They were laughing. He stopped walking so she could be in front of him. Although I could see them clearly, they were in a sort of private area, a slim, shady triangle where the fence met the pool house’s back door. The girl had long, brown hair and was wearing sandals with a high enough heel to accent her long legs. She shook her hair together behind her then she lifted it all, piling it on her head and holding it there. Hunter leaned in and messed with the tie of her top at the nape of her neck. It appeared like he had untied it and was tying it again tighter. When he finished, he bent to say something in her ear. It was such an intimate scene; there could be no doubt they were boyfriend and girlfriend. I gasped, stung by what I witnessed, but when they walked toward the pool again I turned and angled in the opposite direction, only to about plow into Mandy Cartwright.

  “Hey. Watch it, El
ise.”

  I peeked over to make sure Hunter hadn’t spotted me. I ached to cry, but didn’t want to let him know how much he hurt me.

  “Ahh. I see the new lifeguard is with another girl.” She spoke quietly, like she was passing on some kind of confidential information. “That’s the third or fourth I’ve seen him with this week, if I count you.” By the tone in her voice, I could see she didn’t count me. She gazed at me with false sympathy in her eyes. “Some guys can be so insensitive.” She held both of my shoulders and made a pouty face. “Look, I know you haven’t had a lot of dating experience. In fact…have you gone out with anyone at all?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You probably had your hopes up, thinking there was potential for the two of you.” She slithered her arm around me, and steered me toward the exit, walking by my side. I was so numb I simply followed, although nothing good could come from this conversation. “Take it from somebody who’s been on many, many dates before—”

  In other words, a slut?

  “—guys like him don’t end up with girls like you.”

  That took the cake. I stopped. “Girls like me?”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, you know. The studious, virginal types. He was just practicing his moves, or messing around with his friends or something.”

  My mind did an emotional belly-flop. The cold truth of what she was saying was like the initial contact with the pool. The queasiness matched what came after.

  But I’ll be damned before I let Mandy Cartwright see me cry.

  I jerked away from her. “Ya know, Mandy…” I struggled for words, which I knew would come later, when I was alone in my room and the moment had passed. “Why don’t you bite me?” I was appalled by my lack of originality but too much was swirling through me at the moment to provide for creativity.

  As I stormed off she said loudly, “Geesh! You try to help a girl and this is what I get?” She had no doubt drawn a lot of attention to us, but I was beyond caring.

  I was furious with her, but the real heat of my anger was turned inward. How could I be so stupid?

  I know better. Damn it, I know better.