Authors: Sydney Allan
"Of course I love him, lady!"
"And you want to help him, too." She stepped forward. Garret respected her courage. She knew how to handle emotional parents, that was clear. She'd smoothed his ruffled feathers several times already.
He lingered on the base of the steps leading into the building. Should he go in? He studied the rigid body of the man confronting her, looking for signs of threatening behavior. He would not stand by and watch any man strike a woman, but he was curious to see how she would settle the situation.
"Of course I want to help him! He's my boy, for God's sake! Would you stop stating the obvious? You're really pissing me off."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roberts. I'm certainly not trying to do that. Now, why don't you tell me what happened. What made you so angry this morning? Things were going so well yesterday."
It sounded like she had things under control. Garret retreated from the steps, descending into the cool shade of a giant white oak where he could watch unnoticed. Leaning against its rough gray bark, he waited, wanting to hear more.
"This morning, we went to the playroom, but I couldn't leave. I just couldn't do it. He was crying for me. So hard." The man's voice shuddered.
God, did Garret wish his daughter would cry for him! He briefly recalled their first play therapy session, only moments ago. She had been completely indifferent to whom or what was around her. When he'd left her in the white-walled playroom, she hadn't noticed at all.
Lost in a chasm between the present and the recent past, Garret shivered. He looked up, noticing a cottony white cloud had briefly extinguished the sunlight shooting through gaps in the canopy overhead. Was it the coolness of the air, or something from within that had chilled him--an arctic blast that shot through his heart every time he thought of his baby's retreat from the confusing world?
"That's okay, Mr. Roberts. I understand it hurts to see him upset, but he needs to be focused on only one person at a time. He needs limited stimuli so his system can organize it. The simple fact that he is aware of you in the room is a big step, isn't it?"
"Maybe. I don't know what to think about any of this."
"Mountain Rise is a tough program. It takes a lot of courage to come here. And it takes even more courage to place your entire faith in the program. I understand that too, but I'm asking you to think long and hard before you pull Alex out."
"And why should I listen to you? What do you get out of it?"
Yeah, what do you get out of this, Faith LeFeuvre?
Garret thought, still staring at the emerald leaves fluttering in the wind. A woodpecker drummed at the trunk high above him. He listened to the resonant knocking and waited for Faith's answer.
"I get the opportunity to help one child. A brilliant, beautiful little boy who is loved and cherished by two wonderful parents. I get the opportunity to use my skills and education for something greater than myself."
"Are you for real?"
The man's question echoed Garret's thoughts.
"Mr. Roberts, I can't make you believe me. I won't even try. I'm telling the truth, and that's all I need to know."
"You're just here to make a buck," he said with a taunting voice.
"If I wanted to be rich, I wouldn't be working here. The salary they pay is minimal."
"Oh, so now you're some saint?"
"No, I'm not a saint. You asked me a question. You made a comment. I answered them. Now, can I ask you a question?"
Silence.
Sliding his focus back to Faith, Garret waited for her question.
"What do you want to gain from your time here?"
"I want my son back, Miss LeFeuvre, that's all. I want Alex back." The man's voice had softened, the steel edge of anger eroding.
"It's only been two days. Give us a chance. Give your son a chance."
Her last words echoed in Garret's head as if she'd spoken to him. A silky feminine voice, delivering a hard message. He hadn't given the program much of a chance. Actually, if he were honest with himself, he'd admit he was doing more to assure its failure.
And ultimately whom was he hurting?
Raphaela's beautiful face flashed through his mind.
His baby girl. That was who. By being such a stubborn jerk, by undermining the therapists' efforts to work with her, by refusing to give them his complete cooperation.
What kind of father am I?
He could do better. He could try to set aside his pessimism for her sake.
Faith spoke again. He liked her voice. High, but soft. Definitely feminine. Not at all like Marian's grating, nasal tone. And she looked so delicate. How had she grown so strong?
She was a fascinating creature. From what he'd seen the past two days, she was an odd combination of feisty stubbornness, delicate femininity and quiet intelligence. But he sensed there was still more. In the spark of doubt he saw in her eyes, the slight quiver of her voice and the slouch of her shoulders, he knew there was a side of her she protected fiercely.
She would be a good role model for Raphaela. If anyone could draw his daughter from her protective world of snapping fingers and empty stares, Faith LeFeuvre could.
Or at least, he hoped she could.
Hope.
The man talking to Faith nodded. His head bowed, and his shoulders slumped. He'd acquiesced to the grief Garret was confidant had fed his anger, and Faith looked upon him with eyes full of warm empathy.
Despite her lack of credentials, she was indeed a remarkable woman and therapist. Swallowing a mountain of pride, Garret realized he wished he could connect with his patients as well as she did.
Was that what his pessimism was really all about? A professional face-off?
The man turned toward the door, and suddenly feeling like a peeping Tom, Garret slithered around the tree. A set of footfalls scuffed down the three steps then settled onto crackling pine bark and twigs. They traveled past the tree Garret hid behind and continued around the corner.
Garret waited another minute and then slipped back toward the door, glimpsing Faith, whose back faced him, her head bent, her shoulders quaking.
She was crying.
She wasn't as strong as he'd thought. That whole scene had been an act--an admirable one. His regard for her heightened. And something else heightened as well, shocking him.
Raw, acute affinity.
He'd known this woman for little more than two days, and he already wanted to throw his arms around her and comfort her. She'd done well with that man. Very well.
Her back to him, she ran her hands over her hair, gathering the lustrous locks at the nape of her neck. The ponytail, which skimmed the middle of her back, swished back and forth, as she slowly rocked on her feet. Then she lifted it high and released it. The golden mass cascaded down her back like a tropical waterfall. Even in the darkness of the room, they flashed rich and glossy.
And in the breadth of a minute, affinity changed to desire.
His back pressed against the tree, he chastened himself. He couldn't touch her. Wouldn't touch her, no matter how much he wanted to. Despite his willful thoughts, his arms burned to feel her softness within their clutch. He ached to feel her body pressed against his.
What was wrong with him? He had never thought that way about a woman before, not even Marian. Not even in the beginning, when they'd both been young adults lusting for life. And especially later, after they'd been married for a while and the feel of each other's bodies in an embrace grew discomforting rather than nourishing.
Yes. This was different. Strange and threatening. Not just desire, this feeling was more urgent and completely uncontrollable, like an unseen energy or natural force. It defied explanation or logic and frustrated him in its intensity and insistence. He was an adult. He should be able to control his urges.
Whew! My thoughts are all over the map today.
Wrenching his thoughts to more pleasant matters, he pushed aside the regrets of his failed marriage and concentrated on what he would say to Faith.
Should he tell her what he'd seen or pretend he hadn't seen anything at all? Feigning ignorance might be the easy way out, but he didn't want to take that route today. Not again. Not with her.
He wouldn't let avoidance be his game.
He would tell her he'd seen everything, thought she'd handled the situation with admirable bravado. Even that would be an understatement, but it was better than what he would have done only a few days ago.
After watching her handle that angry parent, he knew why Mountain Rise had hired her. The camp's owners were not the fools he'd originally thought they were. She was a remarkable therapist. Truly gifted.
If they'd been wise enough, discerning enough, to hire Faith LeFeuvre, he wondered whether the program was the joke he'd believed. Granted, they had some unusual ideas about how to treat autistic children: the playroom concept, shielding the child from the world, forcing them into total isolation. And their interpretation of an autistic child's behavior was equally unexpected, certainly different from what he'd believed.
But "different" didn't mean wrong. Did it?
God, he wished he had all the answers! He tipped his head back again, his gaze lifting to the shimmering sun-kissed leaves and sapphire sky. "Why me, Lord? Why Ella?" He wasn't normally a religious man, but at that moment, he felt like he was closer to God than he'd ever been. The Lord Himself caressed his heavily burdened shoulders, hoisting the weight from them for a brief instance to give him some relief.
He waited for God to speak, give him the answers he'd sought for three long years. His breath slowed. He didn't want to miss the quiet answer, but no one answered. No one but the whisper of a breeze, the chirring of insects, and the twittering of birds. Yet, a welcome wash of peace trickled over his head and shoulders. Its soothing warmth ran down his torso to his legs and down to the ground.
Time to apologize to Faith.
Determined to make amends, he climbed the steps. As he reached the doorway, Faith turned. Their eyes met, and an electric charge shot between them, the current carried upon the thread of their gazes.
Faith stood frozen, surprised by Garret's sudden appearance, and unable to free her gaze from Garret's. The powerful charge held her fast, like she'd gripped a live wire. Breathless and confused, she staggered backward as his broad form filled the doorway. He stepped closer but did not speak, and her throat remained stubbornly resistant to her efforts to clear it. The sounds of blowing leaves and tittering birds filled the silence between them.
A hot tear slid down her cheek, and she promptly brushed it away. Had Garret seen everything? The way she'd stumbled through the confrontation with Mr. Roberts? Had he sensed her doubt?
At last, she was able to wrench her gaze free. "Is there something I can do for you?" Her voice croaked like it did when she suffered from a cold. She coughed to clear her throat and then swiped the lingering wetness from her cheeks, nose, and eyes. She hated crying. It gave her a headache.
She steeled herself for another onslaught of insults.
He hesitated, his mouth open. Finally, he spoke, "I came to apologize."
Shocked, she avoided looking at him. Turning to her desk, she asked, "Apologize? What for?" One footstep sounded behind her, then another. A flush of warmth ran up her back. He was so close. She couldn't see him, but she could feel his nearness. She busied herself, fishing in her desk drawer for her aspirin and antacid.
"I was wrong. I shouldn't have insulted you, the program. That first day, in the driveway, I said some things I shouldn't have. Today, too."
"Doctor Damiani--"
"Garret." His voice was low and rich.
The aspirin bottle popped open with a press of her thumbs on the underside of the lid. She dumped a couple white pills from the bottle into her shaky palm and set the bottle on her desk. Tossing the bitter tablets into her mouth, she swallowed them with a gulp of the liquid chalk in the little green bottle.
Today was proving to be one of the most difficult days in her life--well, at least in the past few weeks. The man behind her was not only the cause of much of her grief, but suddenly also the cause of a plethora of other emotions.
The mini-blinds covering the window above her desk were closed. She pulled the cord and they rose, revealing the lush green and brown world outside. "An apology is not necessary, Garret."
"Oh, yes it is."
He sounded so genuine. She wasn't sure whether she liked this change in him. For one, it was too sudden, and for another, it was too scary.
Disliking him would be simple, easy, especially knowing what she did about him. Liking him was complicated and dangerous. "Okay. Thanks." She turned, but was sorry the moment she faced him. Less than six inches lay between them. Six precious inches of empty space-- about seventy-two inches too few.
Her face warmed instantly, seared by the heat from his vivid blue eyes, like the natural gas flame on a stove. Long, dark lashes fringed those amazing eyes, and creases formed at their outer corners when he smiled. The sight of his powerful body only amplified the head-numbing effect.