Authors: Sydney Allan
As soon as Marian proclaimed her work of art complete, Faith dashed to her office, and after tossing the cardboard box of supplies on the floor, she dropped into the chair and leaned back.
How had things gotten so out of hand, especially with Garret? Glinting at the clock on the wall, she considered her options: first, stay in her office, miss Garret's appointment, and apologize later. No. Too unprofessional.
Like she'd been the epitome of professionalism, anyway.
Second, take the next hour to plan what she would say--psych up for the conversation she would rather avoid.
No, option number two was no better than the first. No amount of preparation would be sufficient.
She needed someone to talk to, someone she could trust. There was only one person, Frankie. Her eyelids clamped shut, she tried to remember her friend's schedule. Did she have an open hour?
With nothing to lose, she stood and walked to the door. Her old friend who had helped her get the job at Mountain Rise, the one she'd crammed for Human Sexuality and Abnormal Psych exams with, would help her sort through this mess.
At least she hoped she would.
Frankie Thomas' office was in the main lodge, by the playroom suites, an apt location since she was a play therapist. When Faith reached the door, she hesitated before knocking.
Last chance.
Should she tell Frankie everything? Could she admit her feelings for Garret to someone else?
Had she admitted them to herself? Once they were spoken, she couldn't deny them.
She knocked.
"Come in," Frankie answered in a cheerful voice.
Faith gripped the knob and turned it, forcing herself to open the door and pushing past her hesitancy and doubt. "Hi Frank," she said after the door swung open.
Frankie, as tomboyish as her name implied, her brown hair cut short and wearing athletic shorts and a t-shirt, greeted her with a wide grin. "What's up?"
Still standing at the door, Faith asked, "You have some time?"
Immediately, Frankie's grin subsided, twisting into curiosity, then concern. "What's wrong? Come in and close the door."
Faith pushed the door closed. "I have a problem."
"Is it Steven?"
Faith laughed, but not in a happy sort of way. It was more of a hysterical kind of cachinnation. She had so many problems. "He is a problem, but he isn't why I came."
"Come over here and sit." Frankie leaned forward, pulled a chair up to hers, and waited for Faith to take a seat. Ducking her head, like she did with her autistic patients, until she fell into the line of Faith's stare, Frankie forced Faith to meet her gaze. "Now, talk."
Faith turned her head as she lowered herself into the chair. She couldn't concentrate staring at Frankie's sunny face. It was like talking to an elf. "It's Doctor Damiani."
Frankie leaned back in her chair. "Did you goof up again? What did you do this time?"
"I don't know how to say this."
"What?"
"I'm attracted to him," Faith's heart sank.
Smiling, Frankie said, "Hell, look at him. Who wouldn't be? I just about drooled all over myself the first time I saw him."
A deep sigh of frustration sat in Faith's throat, but she refused to let it out. "No, you don't understand. We almost kissed. It was magic, and I can't stop thinking about it--about him. Even with Steven here."
"Oh, Faith."
Faith looked up, and met Frankie's consoling gaze. "It gets worse. Marian, his ex-wife, wants to reconcile, and I told her I would help her. But I can't go through with it."
Frankie reached forward and gripped Faith's hands in hers. "Listen to me. We both know these things happen, it's one of the first things talked about in psych 101. But you know you must be a professional, force aside what you want and do what is right for your patient."
Faith's regard dropped to the floor once more, but the carpet was not what she saw. In her mind, she was watching Garret's muscular frame as he stood at the riverbank, sunrays reflecting blue off his sexy curls and blood-churning heat in his heavy lidded eyes.
"Right?" Frankie repeated.
Faith couldn't answer. She knew what her friend said was true--the professional thing to do. Why couldn't she say it? She had made a commitment not only to Marian, but also to Mountain Rise, Garret, Raphaela…and herself. She scrubbed her face with flattened palms and avoided looking at Frankie.
"Faith?"
He hadn't actually said he was interested in her, hadn't really done anything but touch her briefly. But there was no denying what she'd seen in his eyes.
Or could she be mistaken?
Could this be the result of her overactive imagination? Again? Doubt crept into her mind. Maybe he had simply looked at her.
Frankie was right.
She would do it--help Marian. After all, it was not only the responsible thing to do, it was the honorable thing to do, and if nothing else, she was honorable. "Right." She bit her lip until salty blood seeped into her mouth. Then she ran a fingertip over its broken surface.
"I knew you would make the right decision, Faith. Let me know if you need someone to talk to later."
Faith looked up from the industrial carpeted floor. Blue, with flecks of gold, red, and black.
Blue with gold flecks. She'd seen that combination before, in a set of eyes.
Stop it!
"Okay. Thanks for listening," Faith said, standing.
"Actually, you didn't say much, so it wasn't very hard," Frankie teased with a soft smile. She stood and opened her arms wide in the offer of a hug.
Faith accepted. Frankie was a true friend.
A true friend.
She'd heard those words today. Spoken by a woman whose husband Faith secretly wished she could steal.
I’m no friend. Not to anyone but myself.
Faith broke the hug and turned toward the door. When she reached for the knob, she called over her shoulder, "Thanks again, Frank. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You're doing the right thing."
Nodding, Faith opened the door.
Time to face Garret--to help him repair his marriage.
Garret stretched his cramped legs under the table. Why couldn't Faith have regular sized chairs in her studio? He glanced at his watch. Ten after eleven. Was she late for every appointment?
That was not a fair accusation, he chastised himself. Why was he so uptight? It was a beautiful morning, a tad hot, but the sky was clear, the birds were singing, Raphaela was doing great. What more could he ask for?
The doorknob turned, and he looked up with expectation. Immediately his focus traveled from the box Faith held in her hands to the pained expression on her face.
Standing, he offered to help her with the box, hoping its weight was the source of her pain.
She shook her head and set it on a counter, her back to him.
Weird. Her movements jerked stiffly as she fished through the contents of the box. Had he done something wrong? Was it the thing in the woods? "Look, I'm sorry about the--"
"No apology necessary," she interrupted, still sorting through the contents of the damn box.
Would she turn around and look at him? He stepped closer and said over her shoulder, "Then, how about telling me why you look like you have a rod shoved up your--"
"Excuse me?"
That did it. She turned around. But the scowl she wore was no improvement over the poorly disguised discomfiture she'd shown prior.
He smiled in contradiction to her sour expression. "Good morning."
She smiled, but it wasn't the beaming, sparkling grin he'd seen a couple of days ago. Had that been so recently? He could have sworn it had been much longer. "Good morning," she answered, her voice strained.
Levity was the call of order, he decided. "Bring on the crayons, I'm ready to color," he said with a smile.
She cringed, and he realized his joke could be mistaken for sarcasm.
"No, I wasn't making fun, honest."
With a nod, she said, "I know." But she didn't sound convinced.
"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"
"No. This is your session, not mine." A hint of teasing flickered in her eyes. The spirit was returning to her mien. Her posture softened.
Arms loaded with supplies, she brushed past him and walked to the table. He followed, standing next to her as she set them down and took a seat. "Shall we begin?" She looked up with eyes wide and innocent.
His gaze slid over her face and regretfully down her exposed décolletage. She was wearing a v-neck t-shirt, which normally wouldn't be so revealing, but from his vantage, it was provocative. He licked lips that had suddenly become parchment dry.
"Garret?" She glanced down, following the direction of his gaze, and he watched a flush spread up her neck, coloring the part in her hair, which was all he could see of her head at the moment.
Dropping into the chair next to her, he bit against the temptation to make an excuse for his leering. Funny, only moments ago, before she'd stepped into the room, he had been grouchy. When had that changed?
He wondered if she had this same affect on everyone she worked with. If she did, she had chosen the right career.
With eyes focused upon the table before her, she said, "Okay, Garret. Today, I'd like to talk about relationships. She slid a piece of paper with a large circle drawn on it in front of him. "This exercise is to help you visualize your role in your family, your workplace, your community and your world."
He watched her, intrigued by the way her fingers toyed with a pencil, the way a lock of golden hair slid over her shoulder. "The world? All that from a circle?"
"Sometimes things that look elemental are not so uncomplicated."
Focused on the circle, he said, "Very true."
She shoved a small box of markers at him. "Let's start. I want you to draw whatever comes to mind. Fill the circle with whatever shapes or patterns you like."
He stared at the empty circle. "Fill the whole thing? It's mighty big." This art stuff was not his cup of tea. What the hell would he draw?
"Sure, draw anything."
"Can you give me a hint?"
Her soft chuckle bubbled around his head, frolicking and playful. "There isn't a right answer, you know."
The empty circle just sat there, glaring at him like a wide yawn, and his lack of inspiration frustrated him. He didn't enjoy looking like a fool. Finally, he shoved the paper away. "I'm no good at art. I'm about as creative as a stone." Despite having tried to joke, he sounded like a bratty kid, even to himself, but he didn't care.
Faith's silent censure didn't change his mind.
"Look, I don't need any fancy art stuff to get in touch with my feelings. I'm more aware of them than I want to be."
"I see."
"I'm not trying to be difficult."
She shrugged her shoulders. "Of course you are. You haven't believed in my work since you stepped foot in the building. Why should I expect you to cooperate?"
He dropped his gaze to the paper again. "I'm not trying to prove anything, honest."
The paper slid from his view, yanked away by Faith. She set it aside and then rested clenched hands on the table. "Shall we talk then?"
"About what?"
"How about your marriage?"
A bolt of heat shot up Garret's spine. Why would Faith bring that up now? "What about my marriage? It's history, been over for three years."
Faith lifted a hand to smooth back a stray blond lock. When her hand ran along the side of her head, something flashed on her finger.
He focused on the source of the sparkle, and his heart jumped in his chest.
A ring? She hadn't been wearing a ring before.
Damn, it was true. That bum was her fiancé. "What a strange coincidence, we're discussing the demise of my marriage while you are facing the dawn of yours."
She looked puzzled. Her brows pulled together until they formed a deep v over the bridge of her nose, then she thrust her hand under the table. "Oh. Yeah." A soft pink colored her cheeks.
Was she embarrassed? A strange twinge of something unexpected and uncomfortable settled deep in his belly. He couldn't precisely identify the feeling, but he knew he would prefer to avoid it if he could. Words escaped his attempt to capture them, hopping around in his head like mad rabbits.
Was he…jealous?
She lifted her chin, her spine suddenly much straighter as though she'd found a source of strength she hadn't possessed a moment ago. "Let's discuss your marriage for a moment, please."
"I'd rather discuss yours."
Her mouth opened wide and then clamped shut. " I’m the therapist here, Garret. Would you cooperate?" Her tone was restrained, each word enunciated with great care.
Trying to catch a glimpse of the ring again, he shifted forward. His heart thumped noisily in his chest, the pounding traveling all the way up to his ears. A warm flush spread over his body.