by Davis Bunn
Buddy thanked him and left. He stood in the hall and took his time refolding the page, giving himself a long moment to embed the second goal on his heart. What he had written down was, To break free of these chains, and to love, really love, without pain or the past making the rules.
Then he put the page in his pocket, stowing everything about those thoughts down deep. Because as soon as he left this church, this haven, he was going on the attack. Against the most dangerous man in his universe. His father. And the problem was, he had no idea how he was going to do that. None at all.
* * *
Kimberly decided to cancel the day’s remaining sessions. The receptionist accepted the news with the aplomb of a woman who had endured her own share of church dramas. She printed out Kimberly’s appointments and together they started calling.
Kimberly passed Preston’s office just as her cousin was shutting his door. She caught a glimpse of Buddy pacing the floor, and felt her insides wrenched by his tension. She saw the morning’s impact etched upon the taut features of a man she would like to claim as her own. She entered her office, shut the door, seated herself behind the desk, and took a long breath. She knew precisely what she was going to do. She had made her decision before leaving the conference room. She did not hesitate through indecision. She just needed a moment to accept the deeper significance behind her resolve.
She heard muted male voices from the room next door, and knew what it signified. She had witnessed Buddy deliver the message to the pale, chubby lawyer. Buddy was going after his father.
But she had also witnessed the aftermath of Jack Helms’s vengeance. It was there in the bruised souls of all his family. She worried how Buddy, strong as he might be, could ever find a way to win.
She had known before the elders voted that she was going to help him. Whether or not the church kept them on, Kimberly was on his side. She was frightened by what this sort of commitment meant, but she was also determined.
She cleared away her files and took out a pad and pen. The question she needed to answer was simple enough. What could she bring to the table that Buddy would not have on his own? Support, of course. She would offer that, and she would be there to put what salve she could on his wounds. The thought that Jack Helms might further abrade her man’s spirit left her quaking with anger. It was a potent force. As Jack Helms was about to find out.
Buddy had given her a detailed explanation of his trip to his father’s hometown. Kimberly began making notes, breaking down the information as she would the components of early therapy sessions. It was the method she had developed for delving below the surface with new patients, going beyond what they said to the core issue, the motive that shaped their behavior, the hidden agenda of their unconscious mind.
As she worked, one issue rose repeatedly to the forefront. Jack Helms had left his hometown at age sixteen. Which meant he had probably not graduated from high school. From what Buddy had told her about Jack’s past, he did not sound like someone who had skipped grades and graduated early. If so, how had he then enrolled in one of California’s universities? It was a minor point, easily overlooked. But such fault lines often opened into portals through which the patient’s hidden secrets were revealed. Buddy had mentioned his father had spent time in Hamlin. But for how long, he had no idea. Nor did he have any way to find out. The local Hamlin papers made no mention of Jack Helms. Which was hardly a surprise.
But Kimberly had avenues open to her that were barred to most people. And she was going to use them all.
She spent another quarter hour making careful notes and researching items on her laptop. Then she placed a call to the regional mental-health coordinator in Hamlin. “This is Kimberly Sturgiss, I’m a therapist based in San Luis Obispo. Is this Dr. Winters?”
“It is indeed, Dr. Sturgiss. How you doing this morning?”
“I’m fine, sir, but I’m not a doctor. I have a master’s in counseling from Seattle University.”
“I know the program, and you’re no doubt more qualified than most doctors I deal with.” He had the soothing voice of a man who applied his country manners as a healing ungent. “What can I do for you?”
“I have two patients who are the wife and daughter of a man who spent some time in your town. There are issues related to their sessions that I can’t divulge.”
“No need.”
“I’m calling to ask if you could help track down something.”
“If I can.”
“The man in question worked briefly in your city as a young man. He then studied at UC Davis. I’m trying to determine what exactly happened while he was in Hamlin. Beginning with how he attended university, even though he does not seem to have graduated from high school. At least, not in his home town.”
“So you need to find out if he enrolled in school here.”
“Can he, if he wasn’t from there and had no family?”
“This is a small town, Miss Sturgiss. We can usually find a way to grease the wheels if there’s a strong enough need. What brought this fellow down our way?”
“He was employed by a regional cannery.”
“Well, we surely have our share of them.”
“Could they have sponsored him? Or helped him gain a GED?”
“Absolutely. You’ll need to speak to our county superintendent. Doris Hicks is her name. Let me make a call.”
“I would appreciate that so much, Dr. Winters. But before you go, there is one other matter.”
“Fire away.”
“Can you speak with the local police and see if the man in question was ever arrested? He was not convicted, I can tell you that much. And I’m also certain his arrest records would have been sealed by the court.”
“He was a minor?”
“That is what I have been led to understand. And there’s something else. If he was arrested, I suspect the same friends who helped usher him through school protected him from prosecution.”
“Sounds like a tough man to go after, Miss Sturgiss.”
“Sir, as I said, I am simply trying to do my job as a therapist.”
Winters hummed an unconvinced note. “What’s the fellow’s name?”
“Helms. Jack Helms.”
CHAPTER 30
The midday sky was hazed a red-gold as Buddy entered the commercial zone near UCSB. He parked across the street from the Hazzard headquarters. The day held its breath, as though the city of Santa Barbara was aghast at Buddy’s audacity. A vapor of apprehension slipped back and forth over the sun as Buddy crossed the street. Midday had come and gone and he had not eaten. He was too nervous to feel hunger, though he did feel hollow. His every step seemed foreordained, as though he had been focused upon this event all along. The Lexington contract and his father’s response and his own departure were merely steps upon the way. He would go up against the battlements his father had spent nine years raising and arming. And he ran a real risk of being crushed as a result.
As he had requested, the Hazzard group’s chief attorney was seated in Cliff’s outer office, waiting for him. Stanton Parrish was every inch the silver fox, urbane where his group chairman was bluff, smooth where Cliff Hazzard wielded the hammer. The attorney shook Buddy’s hand and said, “I do hope you haven’t called me here for nothing.”
“I have never liked anyone wasting my time,” Buddy replied. “I try to apply that to every meeting I make.”
“Good lad.” He motioned Buddy into a seat. “Coffee?”
“Black.”
“Cliff is held up with a group visiting from Tokyo. He will be with us shortly.”
“I needed to speak with you as much as Cliff,” Buddy replied. “Maybe more.”
“I’m all ears.”
Buddy handed over the court documents. Stanton drew out a pair of gold-plated reading glasses and read swiftly. “Oh, my.”
“I want you to represent me.”
“I see.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Well. That is a pr
oblem. And no doubt your father is aware of it.”
“He is counting on me being helpless in the face of his attack.”
“I assume you have a way around this?”
“Only if you will agree to represent me.”
The attorney gave him a refined smile. “Only if I can be assured of payment.”
“That’s where Cliff comes in.” Buddy outlined what he had in mind.
Five minutes later, the CEO marched in. “How you doing, Buddy?”
“The young man has been scalded, but has managed to survive,” Stanton replied for him. “And come up with quite a remarkable approach to the crisis.”
Cliff led them into his office and dropped into his chair. “Let’s hear it.”
But the big man did not allow Buddy to get even halfway through his explanation. Cliff interrupted, saying, “Jack Helms is a scheming, no-’count weasel. I know he’s your daddy, but facts is facts.”
“No objection here.”
“What you got in mind?”
“I want Stanton to represent me. I can’t pay him.”
“You want me to bankroll you.” Cliff shrugged. “I don’t have no problem with that. Long as you give me my pound of flesh.”
“I will agree to either work it off, or pay you back. And I’ll turn down the other job offer.”
“I can shake on that now, if you’re ready.”
“Thanks, but there’s one thing more we need to discuss first.” Buddy laid out the other half of his idea, feeling himself shrink as he spoke. There was so much he could have gotten wrong, and even more that might lead to his professional demise.
To his astonishment, Cliff responded with a massive grin. “That’s strong, boy. Real strong.”
Stanton asked, “You agree?”
“Agree? I wish I’d thought of it myself. I already got me a list of folks I need to get on the horn.”
Buddy felt the balloon of fear shrink to where he could breathe easy. “So, do we have a deal?”
“Handshake work for you?”
“Absolutely.” He met the CEO halfway across the desk, then asked Stanton, “Can you make time to meet my father this afternoon?”
Stanton already had his phone out. “You’re sure he’ll see us?”
“I spoke with his attorney on the way up. They’ll be ready for us in two and a half hours.”
“Give me ten minutes to rearrange a couple of matters and I’m yours.”
Cliff seemed reluctant to let go of Buddy’s hand. “I already like where this is going.”
Buddy wished he had the confidence to reply honestly in kind. As it was, he had to make do with a single tense nod.
CHAPTER 31
When Dr. Winters called back twenty minutes later, Kimberly could scarcely believe what she was hearing. “Say again.” She listened to the Hamlin official repeat himself, trying to force her brain to take it in, then declared, “I’m coming up.”
“Thought you might say that.”
“Can I meet you at your office?”
“Don’t see why not. I have to leave at five-thirty. My youngest has a softball tournament tonight.” He gave her directions and his direct number, then added, “I’ve got to warn you, this group you’re going up against, a nest of vipers doesn’t have anything on them.”
“I’m not the least bit surprised,” Kimberly replied. “I’m leaving now.”
* * *
The two-lane highway wound its way through a fairly level cut in the Coastal Range, then entered the San Joaquin Valley. The route was mostly flat and straight and totally boring. She drove just under the speed limit and gave herself over to much-needed reflection. Because up ahead of her was a turning, and it had nothing to do with the concrete ribbon colored a dark pewter by the overcast day. She had been living by reflex for too long. It was time for a change of direction.
She was an excellent therapist. She knew that as fact. The one person she had been incapable of helping was herself. The emotional branding she had received from Jason had left her unable to trust men. Or her own judgment. She had spent the past four years pretending a hollow existence was all she could safely manage. Emphasis on the word “safe.”
She was irritated by the ringing of her phone, but the readout said it was Buddy, the one person she would allow to intrude. When she answered, Buddy said, “I’m at the clinic. And you’re not.”
Something told her now was not the time to discuss her findings or her journey. Not until she was certain she actually had something. “What are you doing there?”
“I’m on the way to meet with my team. Give them an update. And I’m trying to set up a meeting with my father.”
He was striving for calm. However, his strain vibrated over the distance and set her gut to quivering in harmony. “How are you?” she asked.
“Not ready. I don’t know if I ever will be. But I’m trying.”
She listened as he described the plan he was setting in motion. Kimberly could hear his fear of the coming confrontation. His careful step-by-step approach was his way of handling what lurked around the corner.
At the same time Kimberly sensed a different emotion at work within herself, a burning glow that filled her to the point where impossible words rose from her heart to her mouth. That she was coming to care very deeply for this man. And trust him with her heart. And want to give him . . .
Everything.
She said weakly, “It’s an excellent idea, Buddy.”
“You really think so?”
“I do. And I like how you’ve brought in allies who can help you.”
“That came from my time with Preston this morning. Am I wrong to tell you about what I discussed with your brother?”
“You can talk about whatever you want. Therapy is a closed door only if you want it to be. It is your decision. The important thing is that you feel safe, that you are in control.”
He was silent through a pair of empty miles. Then he said, “Learning to rely on others is a challenge I’ve never met. I’ve spent my life building up my own strength, so I could take whatever came at me. Alone. I’ve never asked for help. I’ve never known what it would mean to ask somebody to . . .”
She said the words because it was either that or tell him the impossible. “To help you carry the burden. To give you strength. To shield you. To help you heal.”
He drew a ragged breath. “When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know yet. Tonight. Probably late.”
“Will you call me?”
“Yes. All right.” Kimberly cut the connection and drove holding the phone. As though she needed to maintain a physical connection to the man who was entering into combat. She breathed around the serrated regret of not having spoken the words that crowded into the car with her.
She tried to tell herself that there would be time for such things. Once they were past this hurdle. Once they were safe. But she knew the words were a myth. Because nothing about her growing feelings for Buddy Helms was safe. Starting with this trip.
CHAPTER 32
Hamlin was an old Central Valley farming town that remained firmly entrenched in a world that no longer existed. Kimberly passed a pair of strip malls, then an even larger half-empty structure called Valley Shopping. The traffic was light for early rush hour, the parking lots great seas of ribbed asphalt and rusting light towers. She followed the county official’s directions and headed downtown. Hamlin’s interior was a throwback to traditionalist values, sheltered by towering oaks and a quiet determination to keep moving at the slow pace of bygone days.
Kimberly parked in front of the county courthouse, a vast edifice fronting the city’s main park. Kimberly followed Dr. Winters’s directions around the block. She entered the south glass doors painted with the words COUNTY AND CITY above a gilded seal.
Inside the building all vestiges of grandeur were left behind. She walked a hallway of crippled marble, past endless doors of frosted glass. When the hall turned a sharp angle, she entered a re
ception area, where a grim-faced woman asked her to sit on an uncomfortable wooden bench. Kimberly tried to reach Buddy, but she was shunted directly to his voice mail. She called Preston, caught him between patients, and told him where she was, and why.
Her cousin replied, “Are you certifiably insane?”
“I’m doing what I think is right.”
“Did you see the fear on those faces this morning when they voted down that man’s dismissal notice?”
“Of course I saw.”
“These are the church movers and shakers. The church. And they’re scared. You should be, too. Instead, you’re intending to stir the hornet’s nest. Does Buddy know what you’re up to?”
“No. I couldn’t let him tell me not to do this.”
That gave him pause. Finally Preston said, “Well, at least you’re not acting on some vague whim.”
“I have to go.”
“Be careful, Kimmie. And call me in an hour.”
She cut the connection and followed the receptionist’s directions down to an open door near the end of the corridor. The man was up and moving before she arrived. Dr. Winters was in his early forties, with thinning hair and a bad suit that made him look like a lumpish bear. His face was folded into the lines of a much older man, but somehow this ungainly individual exuded a strong aura of calm. He shook her hand and nodded to her thanks and led her through a connecting steel door that jangled when he opened it. The connecting hallway was in worse shape than the one they had left, with linoleum-tiled flooring and wire cages over the ceiling lights. Most of these people wore the tan uniforms of the county sheriff’s department, and they greeted Dr. Winters with easy familiarity. Her host explained, “Anytime they’re called out on a possible case of juvie abuse, I play tagalong.”
Winters led her into a vast office staffed by three women and a young man wearing bottle-bottom glasses, who gaped openly at Kimberly, as though some benign spirit had invaded his grim space in the guise of a roan-haired beauty. Silently a woman rose from her chair and plucked a file from a desk crammed with documents and a prehistoric computer. She was big-boned and gray-haired and eyed Kimberly with a piercing severity. Winters said simply, “Doris Hicks, Kimberly Sturgiss.”