by Polly Iyer
“Thank you.” She picked up a fry, dipped the end in ketchup, and scraped the excess on the side of the plate before putting it in her mouth, hoping it didn’t drip all over her. She blotted her lips with the napkin to be sure. “I hope it’s because I’m a good therapist and not because I’m blind and a good therapist. There’s a difference, you know.”
“A little of both, I guess. Frankly, I don’t know how you do it.”
She’d heard the sentiment before, mainly from new patients beginning their long, hard climb back. “Same way you are. One step at a time.”
“Yeah, but I’m not doing too well. It’s been over a year, and I’m still struggling.”
“You’ll put it together. I didn’t do well at first, either, but I had other distracting issues.”
Luke waited a moment before he spoke. “Tell me about them.”
Abby shook her head. “Oooh, no. I’m supposed to ask you the questions.” She pointed to herself and then to Luke.
“I’ve already had my hour, but if you’d rather not, I understand.”
Muffled conversations from nearby booths, mixed with the clanging of silverware and dishes filled the silence until she spoke.
“I thought everyone knew the story. I heard the whole country tuned in as if it were some end-of-the-season television cliffhanger. Crazy ex-husband kills his daughter and blinds his ex-wife in a botched attempt to kill her, too. Then he kills himself.” She sipped her beer. “Fascinating stuff.”
The cold fizz dulled the prickly warmth on her face. Abby swallowed hard. Mentioning Macy always brought her daughter’s image into her sphere of darkness. She forced herself to think of all the beautiful things she remembered, shrugging off those last moments before they burned like acid in her veins.
In spite of her usual self-control, Abby’s eyes filled with tears, and she brushed her finger to her cheek to wipe one away. “It’s more complicated than my simplistic explanation, of course. My husband was very sick.”
“I didn’t get everything you said, but I got enough. I vaguely remember the incident, but I didn’t put it all together until now. The articles written about you don’t mention it.”
“I make sure they don’t. Am I speaking in the right direction and pronouncing clearly?”
“It’s not anything you’re doing. In fact, you speak visually and use your hands for emphasis, so you’re easier to understand than most people.”
She thought he picked up his beer and drank.
“What happened next?” he asked.
“I’d rather not talk about this.” She reached for her beer and tipped over the water glass. “Shit.” She dabbed her napkin onto the puddle. “I can’t believe I did that.”
Luke rushed to her side of the booth. “It’s okay. Just a little spill. You were almost finished with it.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.”
He wiped the table and patted the splash of water on her lap. “It’s okay. No big deal.”
She felt his hand cover hers. His touch was warm and gentle.
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s my fault. I upset you. I shouldn’t have pried. The next time we have dinner, I promise I won’t ask you any personal questions.”
The next time? His hand still wrapped around hers, and a strange feeling rushed over her. She was enjoying her dinner with Luke McCallister. Even communicating with the occasional repetition, she found him easy to talk to. Too easy. The idea of another dinner appealed to her more than she wanted to admit. His touch awoke some dormant emotion.
The waiter came over with more napkins. Luke moved back to his side of the table because he could read her better. Abby immediately missed the feel of him next to her. That problem hit her hard. She needed to get matters straight. “May I call you Luke?”
“Only if I don’t have to call you Doctor Gallant.”
“My mother and ex-mother-in-law call me Abigael, but everyone else calls me Abby.” She reached for the beer and lifted it to her lips, then patted the table for a clear place to put it down. She hoped she faced him, hoped he could read what she was going to say, because it was important. She spoke slowly and clearly.
“Luke, I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve allowed our exchange to get personal. That diminishes my ability as a therapist. This is my fault, not yours. I’m sorry, but I need to recuse myself as your therapist.”
He asked her to repeat and she did.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes. I could be called before the ethics committee for my unprofessional conduct.”
“What if we maintain a purely professional relationship until our sessions are over?”
She shook her head. “The ethics code applies for two years after termination. Some therapists have broken the rules and gotten away with it, but I won’t. There’s an excellent counselor in Greenville who specializes in psychology related to adjustments in the workplace. I’ll recommend him so you won’t lose your job.”
“But you understand the adjustment in relationship to my—damn, I hate this word when it applies to me—disability.”
“I dis-like that word too.” Luke couldn’t hear the emphasis on the dis part of the word. “It has a negative connotation. Dis-able. Not able. Not capable. I have a file cabinet full of success stories to disprove that.”
“You’re a perfect example.”
Abby rested her head on the back of the booth, feeling she’d betrayed not only Luke but herself as well. “I’m not so perfect. I have hard days all the time. Part of my job, by the very nature of my…disability, is to set an example for my patients. It gives me an inside track. That doesn’t mean I have a lock on being blind. It’s tough, and there’s never a time when it isn’t.”
“If you refer me to someone else, I’ll lose my job.”
“And if I don’t, I’ll lose mine. I’m sorry, Luke. If I could replay the last hour, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“If I’m being honest, I find you attractive. I guess if it’s a choice between another therapist or not seeing you again, I’ll take the other therapist.”
Abby couldn’t ignore the spike in her heart rate. She felt her face flush. “Then, that’s that. Case closed—literally. I’ll explain the circumstances to Dr. Tollison and to Sergeant Dykstra. He’ll understand.”
“What else will you tell him? You’ve spent an hour with me. You must have some impression.”
“It would be unethical to discuss it with you.”
“This is my life we’re talking about, Abby.”
Desperation filled McCallister’s voice. She knew how much his job meant to him. “We’ve spent one hour in consultation, and an hour having dinner, during which time I spoke mostly about me. I wouldn’t judge a person’s psychological makeup in that amount of time, other than to say that I’m probably the one needing therapy. I will say I think you’re having problems you aren’t willing to acknowledge.”
“Like?”
“I’ll let someone else discuss it with you. From now on we’re two people feeling our way.”
How apropos. Feeling my way is how I live life.
Chapter Four
Hindsight Is Blind
Luke hadn’t wanted to move to the other side of the booth, but he could see her better. They rode home in silence, and as he guided her to the door, he covered her hand on his arm. Daisy greeted her.
“Hey, girl.” Abby leaned down and rubbed her dog’s back. The crime scene unit had gone and Pete Valkonis had straightened up, clearing a path from room to room.
Pete filled her in on the damage. “Nothing broken, just messed, as if the intruder wanted to cause you as much confusion as possible. A locksmith changed the lock to the front door.” He handed Abby two new keys and closed her fingers over them. “I checked the lock on the gate in the back yard. It hasn’t been tampered with, and someone would need a ladder to jump the fence. I’ll have a patrol car keep an eye on the house tonight to be safe.”
“Thanks. I’ll double-loc
k the doors and put on the safety chain. I’ll be all right.”
Luke moved closer. “If you hear anything, anything at all, call Pete. Give me your cell phone and I’ll program his number.
“It’s in my purse.”
Luke got it and handed it to her. She took her cell from the front pocket and he tapped in Pete’s number. “Do you have any numbers already designated on speed dial?”
“Yes, five of them.”
“Okay then, Pete is six.”
“I live alone,” Pete said, “so don’t think you’re interfering with a life. I don’t have one.”
Luke touched her hand, adding a little squeeze, and a shot of electricity surged through her.
“Take care. I’ll email you tomorrow.”
Abby felt safe enough to go outside so Daisy could do her business. She sat down in one of the patio chairs, welcoming her dog’s nuzzling head in her lap. She rubbed the furry neck, working her fingers in deep. So many emotions swirled in her head that she couldn’t think straight. Who could have done this and why? She wracked her brain but couldn’t come up with a single suspect.
Exhausted, she went inside to get ready for bed, but she couldn’t get Luke McCallister out of her mind. She made a point to maintain a code of professional ethics, separating personal involvement from therapy—not easy when dealing with damaged people. A few patients had tested her emotional detachment, and it took all her resources to erect a wall defining their positions. In an odd way, her blindness helped disassociate on a personal level. Even though she detected the voice variations of her patients, she didn’t see the emotional reactions or the visible pain when one of them broke through a psychological barrier.
Luke had an entirely different effect on her. What she felt wasn’t professional at all. How could she have let it happen? In spite of her determination to free him from her mind, she fell asleep thinking of Luke McCallister, remembering his kind attention when she spilled her water, his warm hand enclosing hers. In her mind’s eye, he looked like the Marlboro man…with hearing aids.
* * * * *
The next morning, Luke’s thoughts of Abby distracted him from tracking an amber alert. What about her attracted him? He’d been with more beautiful women. His ex-wife was more beautiful in the classical definition. And Abby was blind—certainly not a feature one sought in a woman. But seeing her sightless eyes follow the sound of his voice, watching her lips speak words that resonated not with sound but with meaning, he understood why the article he’d read praised her so highly. She listened without judging, then told it straight. No bullshit. No patronizing.
He remembered how a simple act like pouring ketchup from a bottle created such a problem, and the stark reality of her life struck him. Things he’d never thought of before. He closed his eyes and surrounded himself in darkness. He struggled with the total silence that had invaded his life, but no way could he live life without sight, dependent so much on others.
He pictured her. With a lean, athletic body, she stood a few inches shorter than his six-one height, hair the color of dark chocolate and beautiful thick-lashed eyes to match, even though they never quite made direct contact. In fact, one eye wandered once or twice, then righted itself as if she’d focused. A trace of burnt orange glossed full lips, and her smile revealed straight white teeth. No, she wasn’t beautiful, but something about her looks set her apart. He questioned whether what he felt bordered on an emotional crutch and decided it didn’t. Abby was an interesting, attractive woman.
Luke usually felt the vibration of an approaching person, but when Pete’s hand touched his shoulder, he almost jumped out of his chair.
“Jeez, Pete, you startled me.” He focused on Pete’s lips, his tongue and his teeth, watched his body language and expressions. Anything to help him understand.
“Maybe I should get one of those little laser lights to flicker in front of you so you’ll know I’m coming.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
Pete took a seat next to Luke and spoke directly to him. “A car went by Dr. Gallant’s house half a dozen times during the night. Nothing.”
“Thanks. She’s an easy target. I would have stayed with her, but she thinks there’s a conflict of interest. She’s even referring me to another therapist.”
“From what I saw, I think that’s a good idea. Be careful, friend. The brass are looking for any reason to retire you. They think you’re a liability, a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Lip-reading could be very informative. Luke had read what some of the guys were saying from across the room. They reined in their conversation when they saw him watching, which only verified what he’d halfway deciphered. They thought cops needed all their senses and didn’t think he should be on the job, computer or not. His attitude over the last year hadn’t helped his case either.
“Screw them. How can I be a liability sitting behind a damn computer, tracking fingerprints and license plates?”
“I’m giving you a heads up,” Pete said. “If you’re interested in her, wait until after the evaluation. Keep it professional. That’s my advice, not that you’ve asked and not that you’ll take it.”
“I don’t have much choice.”
Pete put his hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I’ve known you a long time, Luke. You’re a good guy and my best friend, but you’re lousy with women. In fact, you’re usually a first class dick.”
“Funny, I was just telling myself the same thing.” He thought back over his history with women. Definitely not one of his strengths. He’d relegated them to a certain place in his life—a partner for a social evening or the occasional one-night stand to satisfy whatever needs he had at the time. His marriage was a textbook case of irreconcilable differences because he kept his wife at an emotional arm’s length, no matter how much she tried to break down the barriers.
“Dr. Gallant isn’t your typical woman,” Pete said. “Don’t be drawn in because she’s blind and you want to protect her. Compassion can get a man in a heap of trouble, and right now you’re looking for something to give you back what you’ve lost.”
“Well, who’s the shrink now?” Luke asked. “Actually, you’ve taken the words right out of my mind. I’m way ahead of you.”
“I’m serious. Be careful.”
Pete’s words rang true. Abby had caught him off guard. Was Pete right? Did her vulnerability fill a need to protect her that his deafness had robbed him of on the job, or were his feelings an honest physical attraction? Either way, he hated leaving her alone and felt lodged between the proverbial rock and hard place. He’d talk it over with his therapist, but at the moment he didn’t have one.
Chapter Five
It’s Not Over
“What happened here, Dr. Gallant?” Bertie asked. “I know you said break-in, but why?”
Abby was glad her housekeeper could come and clean up the mess the intruder left. “I don’t know. My computer and TV are still here, and unless you find something missing, I don’t think robbery was the motive.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did.”
“Papers everywhere. I’d put them in order, but I can’t read them little dots.”
“That’s okay. Gather them up, if you would. I’ll sort them later.” Abby heard Bertie moving objects, organizing papers, and fluffing sofa pillows.
“Lord, child, it is a mess.”
“Don’t tell me. It’s too upsetting.”
“Don’t you worry your pretty head. Bertie’s here. I’ll get it straight for you.”
Abby ran on Saturday mornings at a local track with her friend and guide runner, Jackie Davis, but she cancelled their standing appointment without going into specifics.
Pete Valkonis called around ten. “There were a few sets of prints in your house. We’ve identified yours and your mother’s. None of the others are on file.”
“How do you know they’re my mother’s?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Abby thought about Lucy and her past life. “No, I’ll take your word for it. The only other people who come here are my housekeeper, intern, and secretary.”
“I have to ask this. Any possibility one of those women is capable of doing this?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then whoever broke into your house must have worn gloves. Have you given any more thought to patients who might want to throw a monkey wrench into your life?”
“Only all sleepless night long, and I’m no closer to an answer than I was yesterday.”
“The telephone number was untraceable, probably from a throwaway cell.”
“Do you think he was close enough to watch when I came home?”
“Anything’s possible. I’ll have the cruisers add you to their routes.”
The thought of police cars circling her house every hour made the break-in even more ominous. It meant Detective Valkonis worried that the intruder might return. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“Can’t hurt.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“Let me know if anything suspicious occurs or if you get another call. Anything, okay?”
“I will, and thanks.”
Abby decided to check her email before doing any work. Nothing from Luke McCallister, which caused an irritating twinge of disappointment. She opened the only email since yesterday, and an uncontrollable wave of panic shot through her.
It’s not over, the mechanical voice said.
* * * * *
Pete Valkonis called later in the day. “I’d like your patient list, Dr. Gallant.”
“You know that’s privileged.”
“Someone’s trying to hurt you, and I can’t help if you’re not willing to be forthcoming.”
“Well, I’m not. But I will vet my patient list. I promise if I find anything pertinent to your investigation, I’ll inform you. Fair enough?”
Valkonis exhaled a long breath. “I guess it’ll have to be. Don’t wait too long. This guy’s fixated on you. I don’t want to scare you, but guys like this become bolder the longer they go unchecked. We need to find him and fast.”