by K. J. Dahlen
Blake pulled the lid off the fruit bowl and looked down in thought. "Might have a point there."
"It really was wrong of you to bust in here and terrorize Sara like this."
Blake nodded again with his eyes down.
"But I bet she’d over-look all this being the big-hearted professional that she is."
Blake looked up. "Think so?"
"Sure." He got up with his sandwich half eaten. "Give me that box." He extended his hands as Blake thought a moment then slowly lifted it toward him.
T.R. tossed the bomb into the empty container on the table that came from the café. Then he walked over to Sara’s bedroom and knocked.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"
"Blake, here has something he wants to tell you."
The door flew open. Sara stood in her room in jeans and a white knit shirt. Her hand had a brush and was pulling it through her blonde hair. "What?"
Blake looked down again and held his hands together. "I’m sorry."
She laughed. "For what?"
"The bomb. Breaking in."
T.R. looked up. "He gave it to me and wants us to take him back to the hospital."
"Just like that?" she laughed again. "You virtually kidnap us with the intent to commit murder and now want the easy way out."
Blake looked down, hands in his pockets, surgical cap pulled low. "Guess it was the wrong way to get help."
"YOU GUESS!" Sara let both hands rise and then pointed her comb. "THERE ARE SOME THINGS YOU JUST DON’T DO."
"Like break in her house," T.R. added in a whisper. "And bring a bomb. Not good."
Blake looked up at both. "Sor-ry again."
T.R. took a deep breath and bent over to lift the box. "Well, let’s get moving. We’ve got to take him back and get you to the radio station."
Sara put both hands on her waist. "When did you take over?"
"I’m just trying to help."
She pointed a finger at both. "I’ve had all I can take of you two."
T.R. started to back up. "Guess that means you’ll ride with me, Blake."
Sara followed with her finger still outstretched. "I’m not done with you either."
Blake moved toward the door behind T.R. while both backed up the hall with Sara taking one step for each that they moved back.
"So, you were going to play your little game and let good ole Dr. Aspen teach you about love while the listening public trailed along."
"I really meant it," T.R. said.
She poked at the box in his arms. It made a depression in the side. "And when were you going to let me in on this?"
He stumbled and lifted his shoulders as he backed out the door. "Real soon."
"So what did you learn there, Mr. Romance?"
"I really didn’t mean any harm," He slipped on the doorstep and backed into bushes as he continued up the walkway. "You’re upset now. But think about it. We weren’t ready for that anything real yet."
She raised her eyebrows. "That so?"
T.R. glanced down at the watch on Sara’s wrist. "Are you coming? We only have several minutes to get you back to the station."
She shook her head. "So you can humiliate me some more with your experiment?"
"No." He stopped. "Your listeners really care. They want to hear you. They deserve that much."
Sara stopped and looked down. There was hurt in her eyes.
"No." She said with a look out at the horizon. "Not anymore. I’ve got to make some changes. This is as good a time as any."
"What about the show? You can’t leave them hanging."
She lifted her eyebrows again. "Like you did with me?"
T.R. exhaled and started to turn away. "Please don’t do that to them. Give your notice for later in the week. But at least meet the deadline today."
Sara looked down and there was a leveling in her eyes. "Then you do it."
"You don’t mean that."
"Sure I do." She turned and started back into the condo. "You wreck my reputation with some public game about romance, so go on, finish the job."
He stood there and watched her walk off and shut the door.
~ * ~
T.R. threw the box into the back of the truck and drove fast to the station. The tires squealed around corners with Blake holding on to the door and the dog struggling to balance in the back. There was only one car when they pulled in. T.R. got out and ran into the building while Blake followed behind in his doctor’s uniform.
He could hear Max shouting from inside the building.
"WHERE IS SHE?"
"Not coming."
"WHAT?"
"Told me to take her place."
"THAT SO?"
"Well." T.R. paused as Blake entered the waiting room. All three looked up at the clock on the wall. They had two minutes before the show started.
"Give us a chance," T.R. added. "I know the format. She presents a topic and the callers provide feedback."
"Okay." Max waited.
"Tonight’s topic is…" T.R. looked at Blake, "problems at the workplace and we have an expert here to help."
He lifted a hand in Blake’s direction. Max watched with no expression.
"Doctor?" he asked.
"Nope."
"Nurse?"
T.R. pointed at the clock and pulled open the door that led up the hallway for the sound booth. "He’s with the IRS. Talk about great material for mental illness."
Max glanced at the clock also and pulled his mouth tight. "Whatever. We’ll wing it."
They followed Max into the sound booth as he explained the process.
"What about the intro?" Max sat down behind his computer and lifted some head phones on. "Sara always did that on her own."
"Tell me her tagline and I’ll modify it," T.R. said.
Max scribbled the words and handed over an index card. He pointed at the computer in front of them and the microphone overhead.
"You’ll hear everything through the phones," he explained. "Watch the computer screen for caller names. Speak in a normal tone and watch my way for directions about time." He leaned back at the light on the wall. "Green means we’re on and red goes into autopilot for commercials."
"Got it."
"This is basically a 20-minute local feature," Max added and looked up at the clock. "We’re on in 30 seconds."
"Sounds good." T.R. lifted a pair of ear phones and sat down. Blake pulled up a chair and also put on a head set.
Max lifted ten fingers and began to pull the fingers down. T.R. scanned the index card and took a deep breath. The light turned green on the wall as theme music came over the speakers.
"Welcome to Mental Health and You. I’m T.R. Stallion in for Dr. Sara Aspen and tonight’s topic is work-related stress." He paused. "We’ll take your calls in a minute but first I want to introduce tonight’s guest. He’s an expert on mental health issues in the work setting. We’ll call him Joe to protect his identity. Welcome to the show, Joe."
"Glad to be here."
"Joe works for a local government agency so we’re not using his real name."
"I appreciate that," Blake said.
T.R. paused. "We were talking before the show about the kind of stress you see in co-workers."
"Got that right. Name the illness and I can match faces."
T.R. smiled. "What is it about government work that brings out the worst in people?"
"I’ve wondered that a lot myself."
"For those of you who don’t know me, I write romance novels," T.R. confessed. "Dr. Aspen was brave enough to let me take her place tonight. Writers have their own quirks. But Joe, tell us about some of the struggles you face on your job."
"The worst comes out in time management," he said. "That and meetings. For some odd reason, government agencies are full of time traps."
T.R. smiled. "You hit on something big. Our computer screen is filling up with callers." He looked up at Max. "Let’s take one from a woman named Julie."
Static came over the sp
eakers. "Hello, Julie--you’re on. Welcome to our show."
"Yeah, thanks for taking my call," the woman started. "I work for the state government in an office and I can’t get anything done with all the meetings. They call us together for stupid things like to announce someone’s birthday."
"Let me take a guess," Blake suggested. "Then you get blamed for not doing your work."
"Right." Her voice got louder. "And I take it home where my husband and family can’t understand why I’m up late to fill out the paperwork that should have been done in the office."
Blake looked over at T.R. "Julie’s story could apply to many across our city."
"So what would you suggest?" T.R. asked.
"Julie have you voiced any of your concerns to supervisors?" Blake waited.
The woman began to talk fast. "THEY DON’T LISTEN."
Max adjusted the volume.
"They just talk at us," Julie added. "Ever been around people like that?"
"Yeah, I have," T.R. said. He let his eyes drift out the windows toward the river.
~ * ~
Sara was looking at the same scene up the hill in her condo.
The apartment was dark, the radio was on. And her thoughts scrambled to fill the gap between voices.
You overreacted.
In what way? she snapped. Voices continued on the radio with Blake sounding like an expert and T.R. leading the discussion. One part of her mind was there in the control booth as she imagined Max raising some fingers to announce a commercial break.
Another part of her tugged at her awareness like an objective counselor who wanted to be heard.
He didn’t mean any harm, the voice said.
Which one? she responded in her mind. The one with the bomb or the idiot with his romance game?
T.R…It was a harmless experiment.
Easy for you to say, Sara imagined herself arguing.
Look at you, the counselor said inside her imagination. They were in her office, with the counselor in one chair and her in the other. But the face was missing on the listener.
Notice the pattern, the counselor continued. Over-exaggerated reactions. Distorted thoughts.
"What are you trying to say?" Sara asked out loud?
The lights were off in her living room; the city still laid out below the window in sparkling lights and the radio was still on with T.R. responding to another call.
The voice continued inside her. But the tone was soothing--just like she would have done if someone came to her in that state.
You’re tired, the counselor replied from within. Your feelings are raw and full of hurt.
So you’re saying the problem is internal.
Maybe so.
As if I just need some rest and a good meal?
The counselor paused inside her. Emotions are hard to translate. They have a language all their own.
But I feel upset, Sara told the voice inside.
And don’t deny that. Look at what you’ve been through recently.
The music came on in the background radio with T.R. thanking everyone for listening.
"A special thanks for Dr. Sara Aspen," he added. "We love you doctor. Take care everybody. Have a good weekend. Goodnight."
"Love?" She looked at the lights again below her in the distance. "Does he even know what it means?"
Lighten up, the voice said within. He’s just being nice. Why get so anal about everything?
But I can’t.
Everyone isn’t like your dad.
"Where did that thought come from?" she asked out loud.
Really, the voice said from within. Everyone doesn’t abandon their families.
So we’re back to self analysis? Sara asked within and got up in a slow groan. I can’t get away from this job--even in my thought life.
She started into her bedroom and imagined herself with some late night reading before a good night’s rest. But she looked down and saw two paperbacks on the bedside table. Both had T.R.’s name on the front.
"No way," she whispered. "I’ve got to deal with this now. Otherwise I never will."
She reached for her car keys and purse and started out of the house.
~ * ~
The cafe parking lot was empty except for a truck near the door. An old dog was in the back and Sara felt a smile appear as she walked up. His tail started to wag slowly and his eyes drifted into the building where his master sat at the bar alone.
The door was unlocked and Sara opened it.
"Just do a quick once-over," T.R. shouted. He had a cup of coffee in front of him and he didn’t look up. "Don’t worry about the deep cleaning tonight fellows."
She continued to walk toward him, her running shoes making squishy sounds, her jeans tight-legged, white knit shirt tucked. T.R. had his coffee cup to his lips when he looked over. He choked and set it down.
"Well hello." He got up.
She sat down beside him. "Just wanted to say--I’m sorry."
There you go. Running into his arms as if you’re the one who did something wrong.
So what do you suggest? She argued with the voice inside her. Hide the rest of my life and forget the facts?
The shock melted in his expression. It was the look of recognition as if pulling elements together in his mind. He started back around the counter. "Let me get you a…"
"Decaf. I’ve missed enough sleep."
He nodded and reached for a cup and the pot on the burner. Sara watched his movements.
"Where’s the expert?"
T.R. smiled. "Back at the hospital. They were glad to get him."
"I listened to the program." She smiled. "Sounded great."
"Thanks." He set the cup down in front of her and pulled some containers of sugar and cream over and reached for a spoon.
She watched him, eyes taking in his movements and form. He had a grace of movement that athletes use. It was just beyond her awareness like the feelings that were stirring within her.