Mrs. Vela puffed and wheezed her frustration but left without saying a word. After she had gone, Dave carried Joey upstairs to the bathroom, smiling. Hiring Diane had been a very smart move, he decided.
He glanced over his shoulder at Diane. “Do you mind turning on the water and filling the tub for Joey?”
Her eyes lit up. “No, not at all.”
She entered the bathroom and bent over to turn on the faucets. He tried not to stare, but he could hardly help himself. He shook his head to snap out of the trance.
While she adjusted the water’s temperature, he stripped Joey, then pulled his own soiled shirt over his head, tossing both garments into the laundry basket. He heard Diane’s breath catch and turned to find her staring at his bare chest. She blushed and tipped her face away from him.
Something stirred inside him. His heart’s response alarmed him with its surprising strength. He hadn’t felt a thing for any woman since he had fallen for Merilee. His attraction to Diane stirred up emotions he had tried to forget.
“Ah, excuse me. I better . . . go.” She brushed past the two of them and sidled out the bathroom door. “I’ll just wait in the hallway.”
“Sure.”
He steered his attention back to Joey and scrubbed him thoroughly before rinsing him off and wrapping him in a towel. Little Joey’s eyes fell to half-mast as soon as Dave lifted him from the warm water and held him close to his chest.
He carried Joey into the changing room, set him down, and wrapped his bottom in a fresh diaper. He dressed Joey in his favorite little sweat suit with the Mickey Mouse ears before carrying him to his bedroom for a nap.
After he laid his son in his crib, he cranked the handle of the music box. It jingled a soothing lullaby. Clicking on the infant monitor, Dave whispered huskily, “Go to sleep, my baby.”
He sensed Diane lingering in the background. She stood close enough to hear him sing, but for some reason her presence didn’t make him self-conscious as he lulled his child to sleep. Once Joey faded into blissful rest, Dave tiptoed out of the room, exaggerating his every step with a comical grin.
Closing the door quietly behind him, he whispered, “Now where were we?”
Diane’s eyes swam with tears. His heart clenched, and he felt a strong urge to comfort her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let go, but he held back.
Silence hung between them. Wanting to clear the air of the heavy mood, he reached out and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. His eyes searched hers, and he closed the space between them, intending to envelop her in a comforting hug.
She tilted her chin up at the same time. The vision of her eyes darkening before they drooped closed beckoned for a quick change of plans. Without thinking, he let his lips brush hers for one heart-pounding moment before reason and panic cleared his mind.
Hastily he stepped back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . It’s just . . . your eyes. They looked so sad, and I—”
She pressed her finger to his lips as a tear trickled down her cheek. “Shhh. It’s okay. The sight of you singing to your son just touched me. I wish I could have a sweet child like yours. I want that more than anything in the world.”
She bit her lower lip, and her wistful expression broke his heart. He captured her cheek with his hand, searching her eyes.
“You’re young,” he whispered. “Just give it some time. I’m sure someday it will happen for you too.”
But not with me, Diane. I can’t give you what you want. I can’t give you a child.
She blinked several times as if she’d heard his thoughts. Had he said that out loud? He hoped not.
“It won’t happen,” Diane said curtly. “I’ll never have what you have, and that really . . . hurts. I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll call you next week. Let’s just pretend that never happened, okay?”
She hurried down the stairs without looking back.
“I think I can do that. Just tell me you’ll still be my lawyer,” he called after her, hoping upon hope that kiss hadn’t cost him custody of his son.
But she didn’t answer and disappeared out the door.
Chapter 13
As the week progressed Diane firmed up her resolve to be strong and professional for Dave. She did not want to be as vulnerable as she had been last Friday.
When a gift of cheesecake was delivered to her home with an apology note, she had called and confronted Dave about it. He swore he sent it with only friendship in mind. But he had obviously gone out of his way to find out what pleased her. Why?
She sent him a gift in return, along with a bill for her hours of service to remind him of her role in his life. He had politely acknowledged the boundary she set. They hadn’t spoken since.
He had made it clear to her that he would allow nothing to stand in the way of his winning his case. She wanted to be an asset, not a distraction. So she determined to temper her feelings and do her job. Little Joey deserved to have such a wonderful father.
She lay in bed on her thirtieth birthday, feeling blue, not wanting to get up. Her thoughts drifted to her relationship with her own father. How she wished he had been as tender and loving as Dave was toward Joey, and not confusing and demanding.
No, you can’t have cheesecake for dessert. It will spoil your lovely figure. And you don’t want that. Come here, Daddy will give you the sugar you crave.
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up, shuddering at the unwanted memory from her fourteenth birthday. Her throat ached, tightening, squeezing, while she held back tears. Why Daddy? Why did you do that to me? Why?
Her grief turned to anger, and she jumped out of bed and pulled off her pajamas. Looking at her body in the mirror she noticed the extra pounds that had attached to her breasts and hips since her surgery. She fingered the small scar on her abdomen and smiled, glad it marred her “perfect” body, glad her slim figure had been corrupted with the addition of several pounds. If her father could see her now . . .
With a toss of her head she grabbed her bathrobe off the hook on the door, pulled it on, and tightened the ties around her waist. She pulled her hair so it hung loosely over her shoulders. Staring at her reflection, she smiled.
“If I want cheesecake, I’m going to have some, and no one can stop me.”
Standing by the refrigerator, she tapped her lip. She needed good coffee to go with her cheesecake. She made a pot of her favorite blend. Nothing more heavenly than a cup of fresh coffee with a nice, rich slice of New York style cheesecake.
She grabbed the latest addition to her collection of mugs. Her mother had sent it last year on Diane’s birthday. The large pink mug had a cartoon of a buxom blonde on the front, and it read, “Don’t hate me because I’m sexy.” Leave it to Mother to buy her something so outrageous.
Her mother had told her she won it playing a game at a Vegas casino. Considering all the money her mother possessed, Diane could never understand why she held onto it with such a tight fist, as if it were a lifeline.
Diane took the cheesecake from the fridge and cut a thin slice. She placed it on a small ceramic plate that matched the cream-colored tile on her kitchen counter. Taking a bite, she allowed the cheesecake to melt in her mouth before swallowing with a sigh.
When the coffee finished brewing she poured a cup. By then she had only one bite of cheesecake left on her plate. That simply wouldn’t do. So she cut another slice and savored every bite while she sipped her coffee and mentally prepared for her day.
Tomorrow she’d run an extra mile to burn off the extra calories. And then when she talked to Dave, she’d make sure to tell him never ever to send her cheesecake again. If she gained more weight, her clothes wouldn’t fit and she’d have to wring his neck for tempting her with forbidden food.
Her heart clenched when she thought about spending her birthday alone. She’d always had a man to celebrate with. Well, that depressing thought called for another slice of cheesecake. She ate another, only she devoured it more quickly than the last.
Don’t burp at the table, Diane. It’s not ladylike. You’re a young lady, not an animal. So act like one. There, now hold your chin up straight. That’s right.
Anger swirled as she remembered the many restrictions her parents had placed on her. Well, they weren’t around now, so she took one more slice. With every bite she thought about how great it would feel to get fat and embarrass her mother. Then memories of her father’s twisted attraction to her churned her stomach as she finished the last bite of her fourth slice.
She ran to the bathroom and vomited it all back up.
Melancholy hovered over Diane like a heavy rain cloud when she finally went to take her morning shower. Her stomach twisted again when she disrobed and looked at herself in the mirror. She hadn’t wanted her father to see her naked. She never wanted that.
When you looked at me, Daddy, what did you see? Your little girl, or this . . .
She stared for a few moments at her reflection, and her gaze shifted back to the scar. Now that her uterus had been permanently removed, she’d never be whole again. And knowing she’d miss out on the beautiful experience of bearing a child of her own cut deep.
Her eyes flooded with tears, blurring her image in the mirror. “Why? Why did you allow me to get a tumor? Why, God? Were you punishing me for my relationship with Randy? Would I be such an awful mother that You had to make it impossible for me to ever have children? Is anyone ever going to love me for me, and not for my looks or what I can do for them? Does such love even exist?”
She hunched over the sink, trying not to vomit again, utterly miserable in spite of the anti-depressants she continued to take. When her tears were finally spent, she took a deep breath, wiped her face, and headed for the shower.
To celebrate her birthday she would see the new therapist she had located in the phone book. Hopefully he’d have the answer to her questions because she sure didn’t. If no one had the answers she needed, she didn’t see the point of living anymore.
Because a loveless life was no life at all.
♥♥♥♥♥
After leaving the new therapist’s office, Diane burst into tears. He’d tried to stop her but she walked past him as fast as she could and slammed the door behind her. She had to leave to catch her breath or she might have fainted in his office.
Terror crawled over her skin like a million tiny spiders when she reflected on her therapy session. She rubbed her arms to calm her nerves, to stifle the chill in her limbs.
She needed to process what had happened with someone who understood. The previous counselor might listen. She had felt comfortable talking to him until he brought up God. Even so, he seemed to genuinely care about her. She’d disregard his beliefs and let him know up front that she wasn’t interested in being converted.
She refused to start all over again with a new counselor because then she’d have to go back to the beginning. That required too much energy. Any therapist would be better than Dr. Zena, a quack in the truest sense of the word. She should have known from the crystals on his ad that he’d be a nutcase.
Her hand trembled as she dialed the former therapist’s number on her cell phone. “New Hope Counseling Center.”
“Can I speak to Dr. Rhiner, please?”
“This is he.”
“Um, hi, this is Diane. I wasn’t expecting you to answer.”
“My wife is out running an errand.”
“Oh. Okay. Do you think I could see you today for a few minutes? I’m depressed . . . and it’s my birthday and I’m alone. I want to talk to someone. But . . . ”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to become a Christian, so don’t waste your breath.”
“Sure. I understand how you feel. Let me see. I just had someone cancel due to a family emergency. Can you be here in say, five, ten minutes?”
“I can get there in about ten. Thank you so much. I’m leaving right away.”
Minutes later, Diane parked outside the office building. The sunset painted a splash of colors on the horizon. Shades of orange, red, pink and lavender reflected off scattered clouds and stole her breath.
The beauty of the twilight caused her to shudder. She couldn’t allow herself to enjoy anything, not when she had so much on her mind. Even so, she whispered a prayer as she headed toward the building, hoping God listened, which was ironic, given her statement a moment ago.
“Tell me what to do, God. I’m so confused.”
With clammy hands she turned the doorknob and let herself in. She tried to relax but her body refused to listen. Wiping her palms on her slacks, she took a deep breath and rang the little bell on the counter in the waiting room.
Dr. Rhiner appeared, his smile broad, and extended his large hand. “Diane, it’s so good to see you again. Come in.”
The sincerity of his greeting brought tears to her eyes. Someone wanted to see her, and she sensed that his enthusiasm had nothing to do with the fee she’d pay him later.
He ushered her into his office. “Please sit down. Tell me what’s going on. Since you’re my last appointment for the day, feel free to take your time.” Leaning forward, Dr. Rhiner intertwined his fingers and closed them over his bent knee.
She grabbed her checkbook. “Shouldn’t I pay you first?”
He shook his head. “This one is on me.”
She decided not to force the issue. “I hate to admit this, but I tried another therapist.” Her face heated. “I found Dr. Zena in the phone book and he was . . . beyond weird. Um, I thought a regular therapist would be better for me because I’m not a Christian, at least not the radical kind you and some of my friends are. But now I know what a stupid plan that was.”
“What happened to make you think seeing the other therapist was a bad idea?”
A knot formed in her belly. She hated to say it out loud.
“Well . . . first, he asked me about my family. I told him about my father, kind of like what I told you, but more vague. He said . . . he said . . . ”
Diane started to hyperventilate, so she coughed, running her fingers through her bangs. Get a grip, Di!
“He said . . . it was normal for little girls to be sexually attracted to their fathers and to . . . to want to have sexual relations with them. He quoted Freud, and he had me totally freaked out.”
“How upsetting. I’m surprised you were able to drive here.” Dr. Rhiner handed her the box of tissues.
She blew her nose. “Tell me about it.”
“I can see how what he said really hurt you. What did he suggest you do?”
She grunted. “That quack asked me to tell him how I felt about what my dad did to me. You know, like my sexual feelings. I cried at first, then I got angry and began to yell like an insane person like he suggested. He said I was doing great and told me to release my rage against my parents. He told me to scream at the top of my lungs. I tried screaming, but it didn’t help. All I got was a wicked headache.” She clutched her forehead. “My head still hurts.”
“Would you like some Tylenol?”
Diane waved her hand. “No thanks. It’ll pass.”
“Keep going. I’m listening.”
She cleared her throat. “I still felt awful even after I did what he suggested, and I told him that. He said I wasn’t done working on my issues and asked me to crawl onto his lap so he could wrap his arms around me. He . . . ”
“He what? Do I need to report this guy?”
Diane’s voice squeaked. “He said I should fight my way out of his arms like a child being birthed, released from the womb, and I would feel reborn, like a new person.”
“I despise that method. It doesn’t work.”
Her throat tightened, and she nodded. She could barely get the words out.
“That’s when I panicked and knew I had to get away. He scared me. The guy’s a nutcase. There was
no way I was going to sit on his lap. For all I know, he could be a pervert himself. The way he said it reminded me of—” She shuddered.
Dr. Rhiner tilted his head. “Who did he remind you of?”
“My father. The way he spoke so smooth, his deep voice coaxing me when he said, ‘Don’t be afraid, honey.’ ” Her hands trembled.
“Then what happened?”
“I hit him. For a few seconds I could have sworn I saw my father’s face in place of his, and I . . . well, I slapped him hard. He got ticked off and accused me of taking things too far. He said I needed to remember he wasn’t my father.” She fisted her hands. “I said, ‘I know that!’ ”
Dr. Rhiner stared at her, his eyes wide.
“Then that horrible man pursued me. His voice softened, and he asked me to come to him. I lost it and ran from his office.” She hunched over and sobbed.
“What was that like? Thinking for a minute the therapist was your father, and you getting a chance to slap him?”
She sniffled and sat up, quiet for a moment. A half-grin pulled at the corner of her mouth.
“It felt great at first. And then . . . and then . . . I was just . . . afraid. I’ve always wanted my dad to love me just because I was his daughter. And he never did. He’s been gone almost fourteen years, and it still hurts.”
“It’s normal to want your father to love you just for who you are. The pain you feel is normal. If you’d like, we can continue to meet and talk and see if it helps.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. “Please tell me God doesn’t feel hatred or disgust for me and that He loves me. I know Christians like you know God personally. Ask Him for me. Ask Him if He loves me and doesn’t hate me, please. I need to know.” She reached over and grabbed another tissue, wiping her damp face, but unable to keep up with the flow of tears.
“Can I tell you what the Bible says, to answer your question?”
She sniffled, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “Sure, what can it hurt?”
Letting Go (Healing Hearts Book 1) Page 14