Dakota set down her mug and gathered up the rest of the materials Jaelynn would need and carried them to the front workstation. “Cookies, really? I find that hard to believe. You're what—a size two?”
“Yessum. A lil' waif who gets an occasional violent hankering for cookies! You've now been officially warned.” She chuckled and reached for a selection of champagne roses.
“You are one crazy chick.” Dakota started toward the back room but paused. “Can I bring you a coffee?”
“Sure. Cream and sugar please.”
She prepared the coffee for Jaelynn, pulled up a stool next to her and sorted through a stack of mail.
“I started seeing Josie last week,” she said presently.
Jaelynn pivoted on her stool and cocked a grin. “Really. That's great. How's it working out?”
“Well, I've only seen her the once”—a sidelong glance—“but it was all right.” She stuffed a wad of junk mail into the recycle bin beneath the counter and placed the utility bills in a folder. “Helps to unburden myself on a 'disinterested' party. Thanks for the suggestion.”
Jaelynn smiled and looked away to measure out a length of blue ribbon.
Dakota's next appointment with Josie Clark was scheduled for Wednesday. For many years now she'd kept all her burdens to herself, so it was nice to talk to someone without fear of judgment. Josie didn't know her, her family or any of her friends. She was safe.
Jason came to mind then, followed by a wave of frustration.
She wanted to be open with him more than anyone else. But why? What was the point? The more vulnerable and trusting she grew with him, the more it hurt to know they would never be together.
“Can I ask you something, Jaelynn?”
“Of course.”
Dakota took a sip of coffee first and set it back down. “Does Jason have any flaws?” she asked. Tact was not a strong point for her; it was easier to get straight answers by being blunt.
Jaelynn let out a belt of laughter. “I'm sorry,” she said, swiping at her eyes and trying to calm herself. “It was just so unexpected—that's all.” She continued to laugh. “I thought you were going to ask me something serious.”
“It is serious!”
“Okay, okay.” She mimed the straightening of an invisible tie; composing herself. “So,” she faced Dakota, expression neutral now, “you want to know if Jason has any… flaws.”
“Yes. He seems so perfect and goody-goody, and even though he hasn't outright said it, I'm pretty sure he's a virgin.”
Jaelynn's eyes widened.
“Well? Is he?”
“You know, he probably is,” she said, looking away. “Lucky devil.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Jaelynn glanced back at her, the amusement gone from her eyes. “It means I envy him.”
“You must tell me more.”
A laugh. “I'll spare you.”
“Oh, come on, sweetheart! What—are you ashamed of it?”
She nodded.
“Oh, come on. Whatever for?”
Jaelynn picked up a rose and examined it, holding the stem by the gap between thorns. “I've only been with one guy,” she said. “And I… I loved him. But now that we're not together anymore… ” She laid down the rose and sighed. “I just wish I hadn't slept with him.” Her delicate lips thinned as she pressed them together.
“But why? You loved him. What kind of a relationship would it be if you hadn't slept with him?”
“A much better one, I'll bet.”
“Gurl, you're scowling. Come on. Dish.”
A soft smile. “Enough about me, Rose. It's your turn to dish.”
Dakota opened her mouth to guffaw but stopped herself. “Did you just call me… Rose?”
Jaelynn met her gaze; a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “You bet.”
“Does Jason know too?”
“Mm-hmm.”
It was her turn to scowl now. “How on earth did you find that out?”
Jaelynn proceeded to tell her about the phone call from Clarice. “So, now,” she went on, “the question is—why'd you change your name?”
Dakota crossed her arms and stared at the girl.
“Maybe for the same reason you called Jason a lucky devil,” she spoke sharply. “My first boyfriend used me through and through. I was so ashamed and embarrassed that I changed my name and my appearance.” A shrug. “It was like it never happened—I was able to move on.” She stepped down off her stool and took her mug to the back room, terminating the conversation.
When she later returned to the front counter, Jaelynn said nothing.
***
Wednesday afternoon, Dakota entered the reception room of Josie Clark's office. She spoke briefly with the receptionist, sat down on a waiting room chair and picked up a Cottage Country magazine. A moment later, Josie opened the inner door and beckoned her inside.
Josie Clark was a bubbly woman with trenchant eyes. Her office was cluttered but nonetheless tidy; not unlike her personal fashion sense. An entire wall was encased with walnut book shelves filled with old and new psychology texts and endless self-help books. It was her “library,” Josie had explained during their first meeting; and clients were free to sign out books at leisure. The floor was hardwood and a Persian rug of diamond-shaped embroidery filled the expanse between a green sofa and two slender armchairs.
Dakota took a seat on the sofa and Josie sat across from her in the nearest armchair. Between them was a walnut coffee table. Josie had managed to keep that one sole surface clear of clutter. Either that or the stack of books on the floor next to her desk had been moved from the table in anticipation of a client's visit.
She sat silently while Josie flipped through her notebook and removed a pen from atop her ear; hidden among the many layers of spiraling brown corkscrews that tumbled to her shoulders. She crossed a striped, skirted leg over the other and leaned back in her chair, letting out a long, happy exhale.
“Ms. Reilly,” she said, eyes bright with a smile. “How have you been since your last visit?”
Dakota smoothed the fabric of one knee and touched the chakra talisman hanging from her neck. In all honesty, she'd been dreading this. They were going to work on a closure exercise and she had the choice between writing a letter to her mother or verbalizing her feelings aloud as though her mother were in the room with them. She had chosen the latter.
“Have you thought about what you'd like to say to your mother?” Josie asked, scratching the tip of her prominent nose.
She smiled wanly at the woman, lifting an eyebrow. “I know I should have, but I typically block out all thoughts of my mother. I just couldn't bring myself to think about it. Sorry.”
“That's all right.” Josie glanced at her notes before setting the pad down on the table next to an ivy motif candle. She clasped her hands in her lap and leaned back, tugging on the lapels of a suit jacket. “Perhaps this is best. An unscripted expression will likely be more honest.”
Dakota tried to focus her thoughts, zoning in on the burning candle. An image of her mother's painted face filled her mind and she cringed. Did she really have to do this? Why drudge up so much muck?
It was better off buried.
Like her mother.
“Now what I'd like you to do,” Josie explained, “is to imagine that your mother is sitting right here in this armchair next to me.” She made a gesture toward the empty armchair. “Of course she's not really here—her spirit has gone on to the next life. But because she died before you had a chance to tell her how you feel, this is a way for you to do so.” A short pause. “If you really allow yourself to articulate your feelings”—she made a sweeping movement with her hands—“you can air them out, examine them, and finally—set them to rest.” She slapped her hands down on her thighs and smiled. “Writing a letter can accomplish the same thing, but for some people speaking aloud is much more effective.”
Dakota stared at the armchair and tried to picture
her mother sitting there. “I—I really don't know what to say,” she said, frowning.
“How about you begin by telling your mother what you resented most about her.”
The sludge began to shift within her and she closed her eyes, searching for strength.
“Be blunt,” Josie instructed. “Don't try to think of fancy words and eloquent sentences. Just say it as it comes to you. Let it all out. . . . Be quick, be raw… Let it all out.”
Dakota opened her eyes and allowed herself to envision Mona Reilly sitting across from her. “Mother—” she began, voice small and pinched and far away, “the thing I resent most about you is—” She hesitated. What? The vulgarity, the drugs, the men?
“Go on… ” Josie said softly.
“The thing I resent most about you is… ” She sighed. “That you always put yourself before your family. All you ever cared about was your own pleasure! Anything that wasn't, you ignored or pushed away. Like me, your daughter. Or your husband. And I—” She squeezed her eyes shut, chest tightening painfully. “I hate you.”
A long pause ensued.
“What else?”
Dakota glanced at the therapist, concentration breaking.
“Try to pretend I'm not here,” Josie said. “I'll prompt you when necessary, but try keep your focus on that chair right there.” She pointed at it. “Now is your chance to tell your mother the whole truth.”
Nodding, Dakota turned back to the empty chair and went on, her voice steadier this time:
“I resent that after all that selfishness, you took your life in the most selfish way of all. Did you think you could hang on to control by killing yourself instead of waiting for nature to take its course?”
She sat up perfectly straight, palms folded over her knees, gaze boring a hole in the armchair. “I don't want to continue with this,” she said, snapping her gaze to the floor. She blinked and swallowed down a wave of nausea. “I'd like to go home now, if that's all right.” She gripped the arms of the chair and focused on Josie, trying to hide the emotion from her eyes. “I know we've only just begun this session”—her voice cracked—“but I—I just don't like it.” Her pulse was pounding out of control.
Josie picked up her notepad. “Something has disturbed you,” she said, ignoring the request. “What is it?” She locked gentle eyes with Dakota and waited.
A cold sweat broke out on her body and she grasped at her talisman with agitated fingers, hoping it would calm her. Tears filled her eyes and she jerked her head down to hide them. There was nothing she loathed more than the loss of control. Somehow, through countless layers of subterfuge, a knife had penetrated to the very core of her heart.
Selfishness.
Her own selfishness.
Tears slipped down her cheeks and she gripped the necklace so hard it hurt the back of her neck. Josie handed her a box of tissues and she grabbed at them with shaky fingers, dabbing at her eyes, makeup running.
“Tell me what you're feeling right now,” Josie urged.
She couldn't look up.
“Let it all out. It's hurting you. This is your chance to be free of it.”
She nodded, dabbing away more tears. “It's just that I—” If this was anyone else seeing her this way, she would've left the room long ago. “I realized that… ” She inhaled deeply and held Josie's gaze. “I am my mother.”
Josie nodded, an understanding light in her eyes. “Clarify. In what way are you your mother?”
“I am—selfish. All I care about is myself.”
Another nod.
“I have next to no close friends, no husband, no family. I—” She let out a ragged exhale. “I can't commit to a relationship because I'm not willing to put the needs of someone else before my own.” She closed her eyes and a heaviness settled down on her shoulders. “I am my mother. Just like she said. A clone.”
Chapter 29
Jason ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw and glanced at the electric razor on the bathroom counter. It was Saturday and having spent all morning deeply absorbed in a painting, he hadn't yet stopped to shave; and by now he didn't feel like taking the time.
He stepped up to the tall bathroom window overlooking the front yard and opened the wooden blinds. Warm sun rays spilled in through the slats, brightening the entire room. Outside a blue sky beamed high above the coated trees and hillocks of heavy white snow. An urge came to mind but he was quick to toss it aside.
Half hour later, he sat down at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a plate of buttered toast with fried eggs. Sunshine filled the house through every window, suggesting a summertime warmth which did not yet exist. It was a cold one out there—even just standing in the door frame to let Bear outdoors had been chilly. Frostbite chilly.
The urge came again.
He took a large bite of toast and thought of ten reasons to dismiss the urge.
It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the desire itself—it was the company he wished to include.
He finished off the last of breakfast and reached for the kitchen phone, dialing.
Two rings and then—
“Hello?” A clear, smooth voice.
His heartbeat quickened a notch. “Is Ms. Rose Reilly there?”
“Now wait just one minute, mister—did I say you could call me that?”
He laughed.
“Laugh it up, buddy. What do you want?”
“What I'd like,” he said, glancing out the window toward the backyard where Bear was pouncing about in the snow, “is a companion for the afternoon. I've got two pairs of snowshoes calling me from the shed and I can't help but give in.”
“Are you kidding me? Snowshoes? An image of Pocahontas comes to mind.”
“They aren't vintage snowshoes—although I do have an ancient pair hanging on the wall in my living room—for decoration.” He laughed. “The ones I use are quite modern—wood, fiberglass and steel. Very sleek and fashionable.”
“I don't know, Jay… ”
“Do you have plans already?”
“I do, actually. But not until later. Dinnertime.”
“No problem. Head over now, we'll take a quick romp through the woods, and then you can be on your merry way.”
“I'll see you within the hour then!” The soft laughter in her voice brought a flush to his cheeks as he hung up the phone.
Not a good sign.
***
An hour later, Dakota maneuvered her SUV down Jason's driveway and found him near the carport, covering up a snowblower with a fitted tarp. He'd evidently just finished clearing the winding driveway.
She parked and climbed out, feeling bulky in her knee-length coat; a creamy wool fabric which belted at the waist. It was fashionable but not as slimming as she might've liked. She donned a red scarf, hat and mittens as Jason approached. He was already bundled up in a black coat, boots and hat; dusted from head to toe in so much snow she wondered if he'd rolled around in it.
He lowered the scarf that masked his face, and grinned. Her gaze was drawn to the dark shadow that curved evenly over his jawline, playing up his natural features in a handsome, rugged way. She'd never seen him unshaven before.
A wry smile tugged at her lips as she met his gold-brown eyes. “I considered wearing moccasins,” she said, “but realized you'd be the one with the last laugh.” She exaggerated a shiver. “It's so-o-o cold.”
“Don't worry—the trees will provide some shelter from the wind.” He winked and made a “follow-me” gesture with his gloved hand. “The snowshoes are on the back deck,” he said over his shoulder when they reached the backyard. “Ready and waiting!”
He ascended the deck and went inside the house for a moment, returning with a backpack. Minutes later they were trudging through the snow-cloaked hiking trail that wound its way throughout his property. Bear ran on ahead of them, breaking a fresh path through the snow. Jason led the way and Dakota followed close behind like a waddling penguin.
It was awkward wearing such lo
ng, wide footwear. Not the most attractive thing she'd ever done, but if she felt like a goofball, at least Jason looked the same—if not more. She laughed under her breath at the sight of him: legs spread wide as he walked with snowshoes, gnarled hiking stick in hand. Every few meters he'd pause, shoulders hunched forward, testing the snow with the heavy-duty stick.
He looked like a Sasquatch.
“There's some wet patches around,” he explained, oblivious to her musings. “Not sure how thick the ice is right now.”
The forest was calm and quiet and cold.
Clouds had moved in at some point along the way; blotting out the blue. They took a break when they reached the frozen brook and sat down on giant white humps they presumed to be the fishing boulders. Jason's cheeks were flushed, likely from the cold and adrenaline; his eyes shining.
“Good exercise,” she said, cracking a smile and letting out a puff of misty breath. She was warm and tingly all over, a strange contrast to the chilly air filling her lungs. “I'll probably be sore in the morning. Don't think I've ever worked these particular muscles before!”
Jason chuckled, stabbing his hiking stick into the snow and pulling off his backpack. “Count on it.”
He unzipped the pack and pulled out a Thermos and two tin cups, grinning at her. “Brought some hot chocolate.” He removed his snowshoe boot attachments and poured steaming chocolate into the first cup. He took it to Dakota and returned to his snow-covered boulder—plunking back down.
She grasped the mug gratefully and waited until he'd poured his own cup before she took the first sip. “Mmm. Did you make this yourself?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Like, did I carefully melt Belgian chocolate in a pot over an open fire?” He laughed and took a drink.
She rolled her eyes.
Jason cleared his throat. “I scooped hot chocolate powder into water and stirred—yes.” He chuckled at that.
“Well, hey,” she said, “it's not every day I get served hot chocolate from a Thermos, okay?” She met his eyes playfully; and seeing the friendly smile in them, was quick to look away. She was finding it more and more painful to look into those deep, caring eyes. She was used to seeing lustful passion in men's eyes—at least, among the men she tended to socialize with—but Jason's eyes held a passion altogether different.
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