Healing Waters

by Nancy Rue

  “I’ll live,” I said. “I need to find her.”

  I turned to go, only to see Francesca and Georgia hurrying toward me from the gazebo, where the four terrorists sat on benches with their legs swinging. If I could have run, I would have.

  “You all right, honey?” Francesca reached out as if to touch my arm and then didn’t.

  If she had, I would have bitten her hand off.

  “Girl, you just went right in after her.” Georgia bobbed her head at Sullivan. “I was impressed.”

  “Me too,” he said, without warmth.

  I squeezed the water out of a handful of my tunic.

  “You sure you’re all right?” Georgia said.

  “I’m fine,” I said firmly, though I still gasped for air and felt my legs giving out. Those legs had to at least carry me away from the two of them, because despite the brilliant smiles and the nodding heads and the assurances that I was brave and selfless, the unspoken message was clear: If you weren’t such a fat pig, you could have saved her yourself.

  Then something struck me.

  “Why was Bethany out that far?”

  The smiles suddenly looked starched.

  “She went down to the end of the dock,” Francesca said. “And I guess she slipped and fell in.”

  “But why did she go out there?” I said. “She acted like she didn’t even want to go near the water.”

  “Look.” Georgia sighed and adjusted her sunglasses and pressed her palms together and looked at Sullivan as if she wished he would just handle this for her, him being the strong male and all that.

  “I told Judson to encourage her to come in the water with them,” Georgia said. “Just to be nice.”

  Francesca pressed her hand to her chest. “I didn’t know she couldn’t swim. My kids have been in the water since they were six months old.”

  “Whatever,” I said. Judson Taylor Jansen Esq. had done more than “encourage” her, and I couldn’t go there. I had to get to Bethany before she did drown, in her own shame.

  Again I started up the bank, and there was Sonia, standing above us, mask askew, minus her hat, chin nearly attached to her chest.

  “What is going on?” she said. “I heard screaming.”

  “It’s all right, honey,” Francesca oozed. “Bethany just went for a little unplanned swim. She’s okay.”

  “No, I don’t think she is okay,” I said. “She could have drowned.”

  “She what?”

  “Lucia, honey, I think you’re exaggerating just a little bit.”

  “Not from where I was standing,” Sullivan said.

  Sonia looked at him. “What happened, Sully? You tell me.”

  Whatever he would have said was lost beneath Francesca’s gasp. I followed her gaze to the gazebo. All four boys were on their knees on the bench, gaping at us. It didn’t take a therapist to determine from the terrified expressions on their faces that they had gotten their first look at the new Sonia.

  “Mo-om,” said one of the small twins.

  His brother burst into tears. The rest of the mini macho platoon backed away, bravado dissolving as they reached for the mothers who ran to them.

  “Sonia, what’s going on?” Sullivan said.

  I looked at my sister. She took two staggering steps toward the house.

  “It’s the heat,” she said.

  “Will you take her?” I said to Sullivan. “I have to see about Bethany.”

  I had to get to the little girl who would never be able to go home and forget the hideous lady she’d seen on the riverbank. She had to live with her forever. And nobody was showing her how.

  I found Bethany parked, predictably, in front of a video in the Gathering Room, dressed in a dry outfit and eating a peanut butter sandwich. She couldn’t possibly be tasting it. She didn’t look up when I came in.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  She took another bite and stared at the screen. I found the remote and clicked it off. Her fine, black eyebrows came together in a frown.

  “We’ll turn it back on in a minute,” I said. “I just want to say I’m sorry I made you play with those boys. It wasn’t your fault you fell in the water. I know that.”

  She looked at me with her round, blue eyes, and her lips drew up as if she were about to say something. She was so precious at that moment, and I wanted to hug her.

  But she went back to the sandwich, downing it in bites far too big for a little-girl mouth. Cheeks stuffed, she gazed at the remote.

  “Okay,” I said. “The Disney Channel.”

  I clicked the TV on and rose to go. She looked up, swallowing hard.

  “Are Judson and them coming back?” she said.

  “Do you want them to come back?”

  “Not ever,” she said.

  “Then they never will, not ever,” I said.

  She sighed from somewhere deep in her young soul and turned back to the screen.

  Sonia wasn’t the only one who needed help. I went in search of Sullivan Crisp.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sully stood in the shower for thirty minutes. It took that long to get the stench of the river out of his pores. But he could have stayed there the rest of the day and not gotten rid of the angst that throbbed under his skin. He still shook when he got out and put on fresh clothes.

  Although the heat was at its midday worst, he stepped onto the balcony that opened out of his suite and stood in the sun. The water beyond taunted him.

  Gotcha. Sucked you right in, right where you didn’t want to go.

  Sully sat on the edge of a wrought-iron table and stared it down. It had gotten him, because he couldn’t stand there and let it swallow up another little girl into its insatiable gut. He’d saved this one. He should be thanking God for that.

  But it only mocked him, only shoved a picture in his face of the tiny girl he didn’t rescue.

  Hannah had just learned to smile, just started to search his face with her new brown-eyes-like-his until a grin appeared, first one small side, then the other. She had only begun to sense that he could be trusted.

  Had she been wrong?

  Dear God, hold me fast. Hold me fast until I can know if I failed.

  And then what?

  “Marnie!”

  The urgency in the voice made Sully twist to look toward the house. Marnie ran down the steps from the dock, and Lucia was hard after her, calling out her name.

  “I can’t do it!” Marnie cried over her shoulder. “I just can’t.”

  Sully moved to the railing. This could be just a female squabble, which wouldn’t surprise him, with the tension building up a head of steam around here. Or it could be another situation gone mad. That wouldn’t surprise him either.

  Marnie had stopped by now, only a few yards from his balcony, and Lucia joined her. Marnie hugged herself against Lucia’s hands-on-hips stance.

  “Why is her door locked?” Lucia said.

  Marnie curled into her own chest and flung her head back. “Because she kicked me out.”

  “What happened?” Lucia said.

  “I didn’t mean to upset her, I swear.”

  “I didn’t say you did. What happened?”

  The steadiness of Lucia’s voice impressed him.

  “She wanted me to write this blog, and I couldn’t do it.”

  “What blog?”

  “Against Egan and the whole board—saying they weren’t really Christians because they were trying to take her down. It’s wrong. I think she’s losing it, Lucia—even if she is your sister—and it doesn’t matter because I’m quitting anyway.”

  Lucia took a step toward her. “Okay—what was Sonia doing when you left the room?”

  “She grabbed the laptop from me and said she’d write it herself. I didn’t see how she could, so I didn’t try to stop her, but then she started typing. And I said she was going to hurt her hands, and that’s when she told me to get out.” Marnie started to cry. “I’m sorry to leave you with everything, Lucia, but I jus
t can’t do this anymore. I have to get out of here.”

  Lucia was already halfway back up the steps. “Do what you have to do,” she said, not unkindly, and headed inside.

  Sully wasn’t far behind her.

  I couldn’t get Sonia to open the door, and neither could Sullivan. She assured us she was fine, in a smooth voice that sounded nothing like a woman who had just thrown out her assistant and was writing some scathing blog on MySpace. That in itself was disturbing.

  Sullivan motioned for me to follow him out into the foyer, which I did, gladly.

  “We might want to leave her alone for now,” he said. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere, and if we push too hard, we’ll just make things worse.”

  “How much worse?” I said.

  He gave me a long look, eyes a sad brown. “Let’s talk,” he said. We went to the kitchen, where he nodded for me to sit.

  “You want something to drink?” he said.

  “I can get it.”

  He peered into the refrigerator. “What we need is some sweet tea.” He pronounced it as if it were all one word. “What do you say we talk while I make some?”

  I wanted to get back to Bethany. I wanted to hunt down Marnie and find out if she was actually quitting. I wanted to break down my sister’s door and tell her to come out and stop being an idiot. But I watched him fill a pan with water and put it on the stove and disappear into the pantry and come out with a canister of sugar and a box of tea bags—all with a methodical rhythm that made me stay there. Something about it made sense. I wanted above all for something to make sense.

  “Your sister needs therapy,” he said as he turned on the burner.

  “There’s a physical therapist coming tomorrow,” I said, and then felt like I’d just said I painted the bathroom. I shook my head. “I know you meant a psychotherapist.”

  “The other kind will help, too, I’m sure. But, yeah, she needs professional help dealing with all this.”

  “She refused all counseling at Crozer.”

  He dumped two cups of sugar into the pan before he turned back to me. “Was she behaving like this in the hospital?”

  “You mean being irrational and ticking everybody off?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That didn’t start happening until the board made noises about her not doing public appearances, about a week ago. I thought she was nuts then, even thinking about that. This is worse.”

  Good. I’d just used the word nuts with a doctor of psychology.

  But he nodded as if I’d just said something clinically profound. “It’s definitely not sane thinking, and quite frankly, she’s headed for trouble if we can’t talk her into seeing somebody. I have a couple of people in mind.”

  “We?” I said.

  He looked up from stirring, and to my amazement, his face went red.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “was I overstepping my boundaries?”

  “No,” I said. On the contrary. The idea of having someone sane in this with me was the first hopeful thought I’d had since I’d arrived.

  “I’m speaking purely as a concerned friend,” he said, “but a friend with a little expertise.”

  “Can you try to convince her, then?” I said. “She listens to you.” He grinned. “Only because I haven’t crossed her yet. First we have to get her to unlock the door.”

  We. I never thought I could love a pronoun so much. My life had been I for so long, I wasn’t even sure I could handle anything plural. But he said it with such ease.

  “I’m going to let that boil,” he said. “You hungry? I haven’t eaten anything all day. We might be able to lure Sonia out with a homecooked meal.”

  He cocked an eyebrow and shook his head as I shook mine.

  “She won’t eat,” I said, “and I’m not hungry. Thanks for offering.” “Talk to me while I try to concoct something,” he said.

  “There’s something else I want to ask you.”

  “Ask away.”

  He came around the counter and folded himself into the chair next to me, which swiveled to face me. I waited to feel uncomfortable— and didn’t.

  “I want to hire you to counsel me about Bethany,” I said.

  He tilted his head at me. “I see.”

  “That poor little girl has been so ignored it borders on abusive neglect as far as I’m concerned.” My words were coming out with too much emotion. I needed to be more professional about this.

  “I was hoping somebody would see it. It doesn’t surprise me that it was you.” He rubbed at his chin with his thumb. “Now would be the perfect time for someone to start working with her. I haven’t actually done much work with kids, but I could probably recommend someone.”

  “No,” I said. “Not Bethany. Me. I don’t want her to know anything about this. I just want some help so I can help her.”

  He looked at me with a sadness I didn’t expect. Must be the expression that came before I’m sorry, ma’am, but you are beyond help.

  “I have to give you a two-part answer,” he said.

  “Yes or no would be fine.”

  He gave me half of the grin. “I wish it were ever that easy. Here’s the deal. I’m not sure how ethical it would be for me to counsel you about Bethany without her mother’s permission.”

  “And here’s my deal,” I said. “If it weren’t for her mother, I wouldn’t be asking you this.”

  I was dumbfounded by my own moxie, but things were just coming out of my mouth. If they offended Sullivan Crisp, he was a great actor. He leaned an elbow on the counter and nodded at me as if we were colleagues.

  “It’s a gray area,” he said.

  “That sounds like a no to me.”

  “Not entirely. Let’s look at this and see what we can come up with.”

  A gleam formed in his sad eyes. We were apparently entering territory he found fascinating.

  “If we limit ourselves to just discussing your relationship with Bethany and what you can do for her in that capacity, I think we’d be within the limits of therapeutic propriety.”

  “And not discuss Sonia’s role in her life.”

  “Could be difficult, couldn’t it? And here’s something else to think about: you might make tremendous progress with Bethany, but when you leave, she’s still going to be living here with the same mother.”

  As if I hadn’t been hearing my mother saying that in my head all day, just like she’d reminded me every time I had ever touched anything that belonged to Sonia: Lucia Marie, don’t get attached to that. You know you’re going to have to give it back to her.

  Sullivan waited. He looked as if he were going to listen to me.

  “I’m working on that too,” I said. “That’s why I want you to keep trying to get her to see somebody. I want them both in some kind of good place before I leave.”

  “How much time are we talking about?”

  “Twenty-eight days.”

  He gave me the whole grin. “Sounds like a jail sentence.”

  “I thought it sounded more like a stint in rehab.”

  “There you go.”

  It wasn’t a taunt. In fact, his voice was like an arm that drew me into some inner circle of decision.

  “Look, I’ll do anything to help them,” I said.

  “All right. Then let’s give this a shot.”

  I hated to break the ease that had crept into me, but I said, “How much do you charge?”

  He shook his head. “I’m here as a guest, and I don’t know how long Sonia is going to put up with me, especially if I push her too hard on getting psychiatric help. I can’t in good conscience charge you if I can’t commit to working with you long-term.” It wasn’t the grin he delivered this time, but a soft smile. “I’d be honored to do this as a gift—to Sonia’s family.”

  I didn’t know what to say then. It had been so long since I’d talked with anyone who treated me like an intellectual equal, and more than that, a person capable of making wise decisions. I didn’t want the conversati
on to be over.

  “Two things we need to agree on,” he said.

  “One?”

  “Although our circumstances are pretty unconventional for a therapeutic setting, we need to observe certain boundaries, for your sake more than mine. You don’t want me observing you 24/7, ready to jump in with a suggestion.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” I said.

  “That once we start—counseling—we should limit our conversations to that—not that we can’t chat it up on the lawn when we pass, that kind of thing, but don’t you agree that we wouldn’t be comfortable barbecuing steaks together on the back deck after a session?”

  Okay, so there went that comfort zone.

  “And number two?” I said.

  He leaned back and shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy shorts. “If we’re going to figure out your relationship with Bethany, we may have to talk some about you, personally.”

  I stiffened. “Like what?”

  “Maybe some things about your childhood that remind you of Bethany’s—that’s just an example.” He shrugged. “We may not have to go there.”

  But that same gleam in his eye indicated that he sincerely hoped we would.

  He could hope all he wanted. I wasn’t about to revisit the childhood I didn’t like the first time I was there.

  “You may want to think that over before you decide,” Sullivan said.

  “No,” I said. “I’m in.”

  For Bethany. For her childhood, not mine.

  Sullivan didn’t make any progress with Sonia that evening. When I came downstairs after tucking Bethany into bed, he was waiting in the foyer, his back to the mirror, which meant I had to see myself as I faced him. I’d showered after my dip in the river, but I hadn’t dried my hair or put on makeup, and I was the picture of loveliness. I looked instead at the marble floor.

  “The door’s still locked,” he said. “She says she’s turning in for the night.”

  “She needs her meds,” I said.

  “She told me she took them already. Do you think she’d take too many? Because if you think she would—”

  “She’d throw herself into the river before she’d do that.”

  I looked up to see him wince visibly.