Secrets So Deep eBook

by Secrets So Deep [Bella] (mobi)

  Glynn looped her arm through her son’s as they walked past a series of small rooms with comfortable chairs and soft lighting. She was reminded of Charlotte’s office. “Will Sebby have the same therapist all the time?”

  “Mostly, he’ll be stuck with me. As Dr. Blue probably explained to you, I have some expertise in dealing with the kinds of issues you and Sebby are facing. I think I’ll be able to help.”

  “That’s good.” Already, Glynn was growing comfortable with the arrangement, especially since Sebby seemed to be taking things in with interest. “Can you give us some idea of what his days will be like?”

  “Sure. Weekdays, the poor kid has to start every day with me for two hours. Then it’s group for an hour, again with me, and an hour of self-guided exercises—stuff you can do in your room,” he added, facing Sebby. “I’ll assign a few things every day. Most of it’s just writing down thoughts and feelings, or describing something in detail.”

  “And then I have school in the afternoon?”

  “First lunch in the dining hall, then you’re stuck in classes till five. That leaves an hour and a half for hoops before dinner. We have a half-hour of chapel after dinner, but that isn’t mandatory. In fact, everything after dinner is free time.”

  Glynn and Sebby attended church whenever they were back in Indiana, but only sporadically in Washington. She never forced Sebby to go with her, but he always did. She wondered if he would choose to go on his own at Rawlings. “And what happens on the weekends?”

  “We have activities for families, like games and cookouts. Sometimes we just show movies . . . things like that. And that’s when therapists set up their family sessions.”

  “Will we have family therapy?” Glynn asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Why don’t we all plan to get together and talk on Sunday afternoon? If we find some things to work on, we can do that. Otherwise, we’ll just use it as an update session.” “So I can come visit on Saturday and Sunday?”

  “If you like.” He chucked Sebby in the shoulder. “But don’t be surprised if he’s busy shooting hoops.”

  She knew that was a pretty good bet. Sebby couldn’t seem to get enough, and had talked for years about his dreams of playing college basketball at Georgetown or Indiana.

  At the end of the hall, they descended another staircase and exited into a brick courtyard surrounded by several small, octagonal-shaped buildings.

  “We have six residential cottages, all with twenty-four-hour staff. Our idea was to have as much of a homelike atmosphere as possible. Most of the kids here are teenage boys like Sebby, and we know they all want their own room.” He looked at Sebby and smiled. “Sound good?”

  “Definitely.”

  Glynn was also relieved at that news, because one of the things Sebby said he dreaded was getting a weird roommate.

  “Eight kids to a cottage.” He steered them toward the last cottage on the left, a gray sign marking it as Willow. “We’re not a lockdown facility, but don’t expect a lot of privacy. Cottage parents come around all the time.”

  Sebby shouldn’t have a problem with that, she thought. He wasn’t one to spend a lot of time in his room with his door closed, especially because their big-screen television at home was in the family room.

  “Hi, Kurt,” Mark said, greeting a young man who sat watching television in the dayroom. “This is Sebby Wright, our new small forward.”

  “Great.” The man jumped to his feet and muted the sound with a remote. “Has Mark told you about Powerhouse?”

  “Yeah,” Sebby answered, laughing. “I’m not sure what I’m getting into here.”

  “I think we ought to sandbag for a day or two,” Mark suggested. “Then on Saturday, we’ll put a little wager on it, like maybe the losers have to serve the winners dinner.”

  Seeing her son interact so easily with the two men made her grateful that Roy had been such a constant force in his life. Whatever was causing Sebby’s struggles, Glynn was sure it wasn’t lack of male attention at home.

  “So where’s your bag, dude?” Kurt asked.

  “We stuck it behind Trish’s counter. Tell you what,” Mark said, opening the door to what appeared to be an unoccupied bedroom. “Kurt and I will go pick it up and give you guys a minute. Then I need some papers filled out before you leave.” The last bit he addressed to Glynn.

  When they left, she turned to her son, who was already inspecting his new room.

  “How is it?”

  “Okay, I guess. I hope these other guys like the Hoyas.”

  “Something tells me basketball is a pretty high priority around here. I think you’ll fit right in.”

  He surprised her by stepping forward and giving her a light hug. “I’ll be okay, Mom. I’m not going to do anything else stupid.”

  Sebby’s words were encouraging, but it would take a lot more for her to rest easy that this horrible episode was behind him. And that might not happen until they were both assured her cancer was gone.

  “Honey, I promise I’ll take care of myself too. We’ll get these things behind us, once and for all.”

  His arms went tighter around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Just work hard and get better. Don’t be afraid to tell Mark anything. If you want to talk about Stephanie, that’s okay. Whatever it takes, honey.”

  “Stephanie wasn’t a problem for me, Mom. I told Dr. Blue it wasn’t a big deal.”

  “I know. I’m just telling you that you need to open up with Mark so he can help you. That means follow it wherever it goes. Don’t worry about keeping secrets. I’ll deal with anything that comes out.” Nothing mattered more than her son.

  She fought tears as she walked out with Mark into the courtyard.

  “You don’t need to worry. We’ll look after him.”

  Mark led the way back upstairs to his office, where he walked her through consent forms and treatment procedures, much the way Charlotte had only five days ago.

  “Do you know much about Dr. Blue?” she asked, readying herself to go.

  “Not really. I interned with one of her colleagues, though, and he says she’s outstanding.”

  “I got that impression too. In fact—don’t take this personally—I had hoped we’d be working with her.”

  “I won’t take it personally. It’s just that Dr. Blue’s specialty is working with women who’ve been traumatized, either by rape or domestic violence. She manages a clinic at the university.”

  Now it made sense why Charlotte thought someone else would be better suited to handle Sebby’s problems. “Does that mean you’ll do another assessment?”

  “No, not at all. I would if I had any doubts. But I’ve looked over Sebby’s file, and Dr. Blue did a very thorough job. It looks like your son has gotten excellent care over the past few days.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Though it made no practical difference at this point, Glynn liked hearing Charlotte was respected by other professionals.

  “Let’s sit down on Sunday afternoon and talk about where to go. In the meantime, you should concentrate on getting yourself well.”

  She was taken aback momentarily that he knew about her treatments, but then remembered it was all in Sebby’s file. “Thank you.”

  As she started her car, she told herself Sebby was in good hands. He seemed okay with being here, and Charlotte had said his prognosis was good. So why did she feel like a terrible mother?

  Chapter 7

  Glynn shifted in the wingback chair and crossed her bare feet on the ottoman. It was rare she got the chance to read lengthy reports in her office, but Don Cichetti had called in with the flu, canceling their morning meeting on the energy bill. As far as she was concerned, a free hour in her office was better than found money.

  A soft knock interrupted her concentration, and she looked up to see Roy’s head through the crack in the door.

  “Got a minute, Glynn?”

  “Sure, come on in.” She took off her glasses and
gently rubbed the corners of her eyes. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing urgent,” he said, pulling a straight-back chair over to sit close. “You feeling all right? Getting enough rest?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She waved her glasses flippantly. “I think I need a stronger prescription. Or someone needs to use a bigger font.”

  “How’s Sebby?”

  “I haven’t talked to him since I left him on Tuesday. He seemed all right, though. The guys there took him right in. It was almost like I was dropping him off at basketball camp.”

  “That’s good to hear. I hope you’ll keep us posted on how he’s doing. We all care about him like he’s our own kid.”

  “I know you do, Roy. I get to visit this weekend, so I’ll fill you in.”

  “Good. I wanted to let you know that Guy Preston contacted me this morning.”

  She dropped the report on the floor and sat up straight. “Did he make you an offer?”

  “No, but I got the impression he will. He talked about how we could all work together, and he said he’d have Marcella set up a meeting so we could talk about a few things.”

  “What does he mean by work together? Do you think they have a bill in mind?”

  “That’s what it sounds like to me,” Roy said, nodding with enthusiasm. “I don’t have to tell you what a great opportunity it would be to ride herd on a Preston bill in the House. Lots of press . . . which means you can put your agenda out there too.”

  “Have you been thinking about it some more? Joining Preston, I mean.”

  He shrugged, but his wide eyes gave him away. “I haven’t ruled anything out, but like I told you—I’m not going anywhere until I know you and Sebby are all right. You don’t need to add breaking in a new staffer to all the other things you have to worry about.”

  She leaned over and took his hand. “Sometimes I think Bas left you here to watch over me.”

  “He’d be very proud of you. I have no doubt. And I’ve always been proud to say I work for you.”

  Her eyes clouded with tears. Roy had seen her through so many challenges she couldn’t imagine not having him close. “Your friendship has meant more to me than I could ever say.”

  “Yours too, Glynn. That’s why it’s so hard to even think about leaving.”

  “But you can’t let it stand in your way. We’ll still be family, no matter who you work for.”

  “I’ve always felt the same way.” He smiled and looked down at their joined hands. “Do you remember that first campaign? Man, that was so much fun.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “We didn’t have a clue what we were getting into, did we?”

  “No, we might have run screaming in the other direction. Remember the night Sebby was born?”

  Roy laughed. “How could I ever forget? Bas was bouncing off the walls.”

  “I know. You would have thought he was the one in labor.”

  “And Marcella spent the whole night on the phone with that reporter, making sure it was front page news.”

  The memories of that early race rushed back. “She was always so focused on the campaign. She used everything—no matter what it was—to get Bas elected.”

  “She’s still like that with Guy Preston. He trusts her with practically everything.”

  “She’s good. I’ll give her that.” Glynn remembered butting heads on more than one occasion with Marcella. “You know, it used to bother me that Bas usually took her advice over mine. Like I always thought he looked good in a white shirt, because he had such a good tan from being outdoors. But she made him wear blue because she said it made him seem more approachable.”

  “I remember that. She even carried a box of shirts in her trunk in case he showed up in the wrong one.”

  “But she knew her stuff, didn’t she?”

  “I wouldn’t want to have to run a campaign against her.” He was pensive for a moment before adding, “You were always his rock, though.”

  “Thanks for saying that, Roy.” Glynn leaned forward a little and kept her voice low. “Do you think . . . this is silly, I know, but it’s something I’ve always wondered about. Do you think Bas would have made it to the White House?”

  Roy grinned slyly. “There isn’t a doubt in my mind. And he would have been an amazing president.”

  “That’s what I’ve always thought too, but I figured I was just biased.”

  “I’m biased too, but yeah, Bas had it all. I think maybe Guy Preston has the same package.”

  “I can see that. And I may have to kick your butt if you let this opportunity go by.”

  He smiled again and squeezed her hand. “All in good time, Glynn.”

  The Friday evening crowd at Nage was teeming with DC dignitaries. From their corner booth, Charlotte spotted the attorney general and his entourage, along with the House Speaker and her family. Julie had a thing for the hottest restaurants in town. Half the fun, she said, was just being able to get a table. She had made this reservation over a month ago.

  Charlotte peered over her menu to sneak another look at her date, who looked sensational in her long-sleeved black cocktail dress. She had to admit, Julie’s penchant for hip restaurants and dressing to the nines had its aesthetic benefits.

  “You’re staring at me.”

  “I know. It’s because you look gorgeous.”

  Julie smiled, and beneath the table, ran a stockinged foot up

  Charlotte’s calf. “What are you going to have?” Charlotte had barely glanced at the menu. “I don’t know. What are my choices?” she asked coyly. After a long week on rotation, she was ready to kick back and have fun.

  “I always crave pasta when I get my period.” If that was Julie’s way of throwing ice water in her direction, she got the message. Sex this weekend was out of the question. Charlotte stifled a sigh and studied the entrees with new interest. “I’ll have the halibut, I guess.”

  The waiter brought their wine and took their dinner order. Julie nodded toward Charlotte’s pager, which rested beside

  her napkin. “If that thing goes off during dinner, I’m going to pound it with my shoe.” “I doubt it will tonight. Brandon’s taking my shift, since I took his last Friday.” All day, she had looked forward to an uninterrupted evening with Julie. Now that sex was off the table, maybe it would be a good time to get to know each other better, and talk about things other than work.

  “I wish I had somebody who could take my shift. All week, I’ve been up to my eyeballs in export files.”

  Charlotte chortled, as if her mere thoughts had prompted Julie to bring up the subject of her work.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I was just sitting here thinking how awful we are. Even when we’re not at work, it’s all we ever seem to talk about.” She included herself in the indictment just to soften her tone. In reality, she rarely mentioned her work, because most of what she did was confidential. “Maybe we should treat ourselves to a real night off.”

  “All right. What shall we talk about?”

  The first thing that popped into Charlotte’s head—how Julie had reached the age of thirty-six without realizing you could still have sex when you were on your period—was summarily dismissed for something more appropriate for the dinner table. “Tell me where you’d go if you suddenly got two weeks off work.”

  Julie thought for a minute before breaking into a grin. “Okay . . . I’d hit the bookstore and walk out with all the trashy fiction I could carry. Do you know how long it’s been since I read something I didn’t have to read?”

  Charlotte knew the feeling exactly. For the past twenty years, she’d had barely a moment to read anything other than medical texts, research findings and case files. “That would be nice . . . swinging in a hammock with a mindless novel.”

  “Not me. I’d hole up at home with a case of merlot. And I’d pull the blinds.”

  “So getting away to a tropical island doesn’t appeal to you?”

  “Not as much as being in my own
space. If I have to be outside, I figure I might as well be taking soil samples.”

  Charlotte nodded with understanding and smiled—not a real smile, just one she put there while her head processed Julie’s unexpected response. “So you wouldn’t want any company?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Friday and Saturday nights would still be yours,” she said, swiping her foot once again up Charlotte’s leg.

  Uneasiness swept over Charlotte as she realized the implications of Julie’s dream vacation. Given the choice, Julie preferred to be alone—except for that small window she allotted for social time. Charlotte was in that window right now, perhaps only filling out the schedule of what Julie believed she needed to balance her life.

  Their entrees appeared, and the topic shifted suddenly to culinary critique, another staple of their Friday night dates. They took turns sampling morsels from one another’s plate, neither able to identify the mystery spice in Charlotte’s fish sauce. It was heavy and sweet—anisette, perhaps—and, as far as Charlotte was concerned, detracted from the natural flavor of the fish.

  As they finished, she caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Glynn Wright, accompanied by a handsome older man and an elegant black woman, was being seated at a small table nearby. Charlotte fought not to stare as the gentleman helped first the other woman, then Glynn with their coats and chairs. Glynn looked stunning in a dark green cocktail dress, form-fitting and long-sleeved, much like the black one Julie wore.

  “It’s my turn to get the check tonight,” Julie announced suddenly, sliding her credit card into the leather check folder.

  Charlotte pulled her eyes back to her date and smiled her thanks. She wanted to see Glynn, at least to say hello, but she didn’t want to answer Julie’s inevitable questions about how she happened to know the congresswoman from Indiana.

  Minutes later, as Julie busied herself with figuring the tip, Charlotte stole another glance. Even from twenty feet away, Glynn looked tired. Small wonder, since her days of late had been filled with intensive, early-morning radiation treatments and the stress of dealing with a child on the brink of taking his own life. It was amazing she had found the energy to go out for dinner.