Secrets So Deep eBook

by Secrets So Deep [Bella] (mobi)

  “I talked with the school administrators already, and they said he could finish up the year here . . . just transfer his credits.”

  As usual, Irene was ignoring her objections. The only way she would understand no was for Sebby to tell her himself that he didn’t want to come. “Something smells good.”

  “I made beef stew. I bet you’re hungry.”

  There was no escaping red meat in Indiana. “That sounds great.”

  Irene had already set the kitchen table for two. “Tell me everything about my grandson. Why did he do this?”

  “We’re still not really sure. The doctors think it might be some sort of defense mechanism.”

  “Defense against what?”

  Glynn took her seat at the table as her mother-in-law dished out their meal from a pot on the stove. She had hoped to avoid worrying Irene with her health issues until they were resolved, but there was no way around that if she gave the whole story on Sebby. “I went for a mammogram last month and they found a small lump in my breast.”

  Irene dropped her serving spoon and spun around. “Oh, dear.”

  “It was very small. They took it out right away, and they said it was contained . . . nothing in the lymph nodes, so that’s good.”

  “What happens now?” Irene seemed to be seeking assurances.

  “I’m getting five or six weeks of radiation treatments just to make sure they get it all. I think that might have been what was bothering Sebby. One of his doctors thinks he might have tried to hurt himself because he’s afraid of losing me like he lost his father.”

  Irene delivered the bowls and sat down. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to worry anybody, especially since the doctors weren’t worried. I was going to tell you about it once I finished my treatments.”

  “How in the world have you managed?”

  “I had coffee with a friend of mine last week and she read me the riot act about not getting enough rest.” That was twice now she had mentioned Charlotte without actually saying her name. It almost made her blush to realize how top-of-mind Charlotte was, as if her mother-in-law could sense her foolish interest.

  “I hope you’re listening to her. Do you want me to come back with you to Washington? I can cook and take care of the house. Maybe I can stay until school’s out and Sebby can come home with me then.”

  “I appreciate your offer, but I can manage. I have a cleaning lady already, and my staff is running interference at work.”

  “Thank goodness for Tina and Roy.” She set down her spoon and folded her hands in her lap. “Poor Sebby. He just hasn’t gotten over his father, has he?”

  Glynn broke the bread and dipped it in her stew. “It’s more complicated than that, I think. I talked a lot with the psychiatrist at the hospital.” She related Charlotte’s diagnosis and recommendations.

  Irene waved a hand in dismissal. “What do psychiatrists know? They can make up gibberish if they want, and no one’s the wiser.”

  Not usually one to argue with her mother-in-law, Glynn couldn’t help feeling defensive of Charlotte. “This psychiatrist knew her stuff, Irene. I liked her, and so did Sebby.”

  “Sebby’s just sad because people talk about his father all the time, and he never had a chance to know him. If he came back here to live, I bet he’d feel closer to him.”

  “I’ll have to let Sebby make that call. And we should also wait and see how far he gets with his therapy.”

  “Some decisions are too important to be left in the hands of a sixteen-year-old.”

  She bristled at the implication, but reminded herself this was normal conversation for Irene. “I know that, Irene. And I would never let Sebby make a decision that might hurt him. Besides, no matter what he decides, he can always change his mind.”

  • • •

  Charlotte tacked a sticky note to the journal page, resigning herself to try later in the week to get through the stack of articles. In her few months with Julie, she had conditioned herself to set Sundays aside for keeping up with the professional literature. However, she was in no mood to read the dense psychiatric studies today. Her head was elsewhere, alternately lamenting and celebrating her new single status.

  It was hard not to feel like a miserable failure when it came to romance. Only her sister Claire, who had met and married the perfect man three times, had a love life that was more dubious. Even though Charlotte had planned to break things off with Julie last Thursday, a part of her felt betrayed that Julie had led her on with assurances and pleas for patience, all the while harboring doubts she kept hidden. Vera had done the same thing, but on a much grander scale, lying about their future for almost three years while she had affairs with clients or their wives.

  What was it about Charlotte that made women treat her like a chump?

  Probably her choices, she admitted. That, and wearing her heart on her sleeve, which led some to take advantage. She was always too willing to bend, to forgive, or to settle for less than she thought she deserved just to have companionship she couldn’t even trust. In her practice, she would have diagnosed that as low self-esteem, but that wasn’t her problem. She had always been comfortable in her own skin. The problem was that romance for her was a paradox. The women to whom she was drawn were the strong, independent type—not always the sort who needed someone else in their lives badly enough to work through things when the going got tough.

  One thing, though, was undeniable. She had never looked back on Vera and wished their relationship hadn’t ended, and that would be true for Julie as well. It was hard not to feel at least a little relieved to be free of Julie’s rigid structure. Friday night had come and gone without a five-star restaurant, and Charlotte hadn’t felt even a tinge of regret.

  It would have been nice if Glynn had been in town. Though she had seemed at home with her friends in a fine restaurant like Nage, Charlotte had a feeling Glynn’s tastes were more like her own—a casual, relaxing night out, or better yet, dinner and easy conversation at home.

  She had thought often of Glynn this past week, wishing she had canceled her racquetball date on Tuesday to have dinner. After all her advice to Glynn to reach out to her friends, she hadn’t been there to see her through a rough few days when she was missing her son.

  Charlotte paged through the numbers on her cell phone until she found Glynn’s, captured from her first call last Saturday. Her thumb hovered over the dial button, but she hesitated to press it. She had also preached to Glynn about her need for rest. After a tough week on the road, she probably needed that more than she needed to hear about Charlotte’s boring weekend.

  Glynn dumped the last of her clothes into the hamper and stowed her suitcase under the bed. Her next trip home was in three weeks, just after Sebby got out of Rawlings. By then, maybe this dreadful episode would be behind them.

  She had taken the early flight from Indiana to make the family therapy session this afternoon, only to leave Rawlings anxious and depressed. Sebby was entering a tough week, Mark said, and was becoming more withdrawn in therapy. Glynn saw that for herself when Sebby joined them, barely speaking for most of the hour. It broke her heart to see him sullen and unhappy, but Mark offered some vague explanation about it being normal behavior for this stage of treatment.

  Glynn wished she could talk to Charlotte, but Charlotte had made it clear questions about Sebby’s treatment were off-limits. Actually, that wasn’t what she said. She said she couldn’t talk as Sebby’s doctor, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t explain what was going on now, or couldn’t give an idea of what to expect from the coming weeks.

  She went back into the kitchen and rummaged through her purse for her cell phone, quickly locating Charlotte’s number. The readout showed her call history, one last Monday, and the Saturday before . . . with no calls received.

  She closed her phone and set it on the counter. Charlotte had said she would call. Maybe that was her way of setting parameters for their friendship. Besides,
on a Sunday night, Charlotte probably had a date.

  Chapter 11

  “. . . and I almost freaked out. I got off at the next stop and had to run outside. I wanted to throw up.”

  “I’m sure it was awful.” Charlotte noted that her patient was shaking slightly as she spoke.

  “And now I don’t even want to get on the Metro anymore. Every time I get close to someone who smells like that, it starts that shit all over again. It’s like I can’t breathe.”

  “Our sense of smell is a powerful trigger, Lynda. What you’re experiencing is not unusual at all.”

  The young woman shook her head. “I’m going to have to get another job or something . . . so I can walk or drive to work.”

  “That’s certainly a short-term solution, at least for the Metro.” Desensitizing rape victims to circumstances that mirrored those of their attack was one of the most difficult steps in recovery therapy. “But one of our goals here is to prepare you for those times when you’ll encounter things like body odor, or being alone at night.”

  Lynda’s face was a mask of anger and disgust. “I’m just not ready to deal with it yet.”

  “We don’t have to right now.” Charlotte closed her tablet and set it aside, her signal the hour was up. “But we’re going to start working on that soon. In fact, we’ll touch on it in group on Thursday. Let’s see if the others have any ideas.”

  Lynda walked with her to the door. “I know I’m making progress, but sometimes it feels like I’m sliding backward.”

  “Everyone says that. But look how far you’ve come in just five weeks.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “See if you can hold off on changing jobs. Remember what we said when we started. Our goal is for you to get your life back, not to change it.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Charlotte.”

  “You’re welcome. See you Thursday.” Charlotte followed her out and picked up the notes from her inbox, none of which were phone messages. She had caught herself thinking of Glynn several times through the morning, and hoped she might have called. During her session with Lynda, she was struck by the contrast between the treatment goals for Sebby Wright and the rape victim. One wanted to remember; the other, to forget.

  Joyce spun in her chair to hand Charlotte a note. “Your six o’clock just canceled. She’s being discharged this week and says she has to go back to Texas.”

  “Shit. I was afraid that would happen.” Soldiers in her care who had reported rapes often said they were the targets of retribution, and faced discharge as an immediate way of smoothing the ripples their charges had caused. As if being raped by your fellow soldier wasn’t punishment enough.

  “I took her forwarding address if you want to make a referral.”

  “Thanks.” Charlotte returned to her office and closed the door, fighting the urge to kick the wastebasket. She doubted there was anyone qualified to treat this type of post-traumatic stress disorder in rural Texas where the corporal was from. Even if there were, the young woman who had come to her office last week hadn’t struck her as the type who would go home and announce to her friends and family that she had been sodomized by someone she was trained to trust with her life. By leaving the military and psychiatric treatment, the corporal was resigning herself to a life of nightmares, traumatic associations and a diminished capacity to trust other people.

  And her rapist would probably re-enlist.

  She sat down and checked her schedule. Two more appointments and she could leave for the day. She found Glynn’s number, and in moments, it was ringing through.

  “Glynn, it’s Charlotte. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  “No, you just caught me. I’m between meetings.”

  “I’ll make it quick. How about dinner this week?”

  “I’d love to. What’s good for you?”

  Breaking up with Julie had simplified her schedule. “My time’s my own. Tonight?”

  “It’s probably too late to get a reservation anywhere, but maybe we can do something easy.”

  “Easy works for me. You like pizza?”

  “Pizza is my all-time favorite food,” Glynn explained. “If that isn’t in my official bio, it should be.”

  “Official bios always leave out the interesting parts. How was your week in Indiana?”

  “Busy. I came back yesterday for the family therapy session at Rawlings. Sebby hardly said a word. Mark says he’s starting to have a little trouble with things.”

  “This kind of stuff is hard, Glynn. But it’s going to be worth it to both of you to push through it. Just be patient.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Charlotte heard another voice in the background. “I guess you need to get to your meeting. Go raise our taxes and spend it on the poor.”

  “Fat chance.”

  “I’ll come for you at six. I have the address.” She smiled to herself as she hung up. Dinner with Glynn was way better than working late.

  Glynn breathed an inward sigh of relief as she slid into the passenger seat of the Saab. She had changed from her suit into dress slacks, guessing correctly that Charlotte would come straight from work. As much as possible, Glynn avoided the Washington restaurant circuit and its unwritten protocol for business dress, opting when she could for neighborhood holesin-the-wall where it wasn’t important to be seen.

  Charlotte said, “I know this great pizza place in Sterling. They cook in brick ovens.”

  “You mean Emilio’s?”

  “You know the place?”

  “I know every place that makes a good pizza.”

  With Charlotte’s eyes on the road, Glynn discreetly studied her profile in the glow of the dashboard. Everything about her was understated, from her dark slacks and sweater to her jewelry, which consisted only of small hoop earrings, a delicate gold watch and a thin gold band flecked with diamond chips. It was the sort of ring a lover might wear on the left hand, but Charlotte wore it on the right. Her nails were closely trimmed, and neatly polished in light pink.

  Charlotte’s most interesting feature was her hair, Glynn decided. It was shorter than her own, but stylish and feminine, with soft, layered spikes on top. Not many women their age could wear that look, but Charlotte owned it.

  A vibration against her thigh signaled a call. She strained without her glasses, recognizing Tina’s name in the display. “Would you mind if I . . . ?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “Hello . . . What time?” She covered the mouthpiece to talk to Charlotte. “One of my aides is bringing a report to my house tonight.” She spoke again to Tina. “I may not be home by then, but he can leave it in the mailbox . . . All right, see you tomorrow.”

  “So I need to get you home early,” Charlotte said.

  “Don’t worry about that. I have reading in bed down to an art.”

  “You’re getting your rest, though . . . right?”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  “I’m not asking as a doctor.”

  “Duly noted. Yes, Charlotte.”

  “That’s much better.”

  “So what did you do this weekend?” Glynn asked.

  “I worked on a presentation for grand rounds. That’s all your fault, by the way.”

  “How could that possibly be my fault?”

  “Since we’re a teaching hospital, we get together once a week at grand rounds to talk about some of our cases. My boss asked me to talk about why I moved a sixteen-year-old kid to the cardiac ward, and I had to offer up my study data instead.”

  “I see.” Though Charlotte was saying everything in a teasing tone, Glynn realized she had gone considerably out of her way to preserve their privacy. “That was very noble of you. I’m probably going to owe you something.”

  “Good. I’ll start thinking about what I want. I know—a stem cell grant.”

  She knew she was being goaded, but didn’t mind because it was clearly in jest. “Fat chance.”

  “Is that your standard answer for eve
rything?”

  “Something tells me it will be with you,” she answered with a chuckle.

  “I checked out your voting record. You don’t strike me as a typical Republican.”

  “I represent the silent minority, I’m afraid. So did Bas, for that matter, but it was easier for him to break from the party once in a while, especially on things like social issues.” “Because he was a man?”

  “Because he was a charming man. He was a real champion for limited government, and that’s what I try to think about when I vote. These are different times, though. I get a lot of pressure to hold the line on the big issues, but it comes back to me in the form of support for things like the preschool bill.”

  “I saw that you broke with them over the Defense of Marriage Act.”

  Glynn sighed, not knowing whether to be pleased or anxious that Charlotte had scrutinized her record. “I . . . did the best I could. I couldn’t vote for it in good conscience, but it was my first term and I needed political cover.”

  “Do you ever think about switching parties?”

  “Not seriously. The people in my district are conservative, and they’ve chosen me to speak for them. If I ever feel like I can’t do that, then I need to step aside and let them choose someone else.” She anticipated Charlotte’s likely counterpoint. “And I realize that sometimes people need to be led to places they don’t want to go, but sea changes take time. I like to think I’m helping to make a difference with my colleagues, even if it’s not obvious yet from my voting record.”

  Charlotte parked at Emilio’s and held up her two index fingers in the shape of an X. “I didn’t mean to be obnoxious.”

  Glynn shook her head. “You weren’t. I was being defensive.”

  Once inside, they were seated at a table in the center of the floor, but the din of the bustling crowd gave them plenty of privacy to talk.

  Time for a subject change, Glynn thought. “So how is Julie?”

  “Gone.” Charlotte offered a few details of their breakup.

  Glynn couldn’t imagine why anyone would give up someone like Charlotte Blue. “So you went to dump her and got dumped instead.”