Sisters In Love Part 4

Danica had to find a way to break through to Mich.e.l.le. She sidled up next to her. "Maybe it reminds you of your life? You know, all the pieces are there, but you can't really make sense of them right now?"

"Whatever," Mich.e.l.le said, and walked out of the room with Danica on her heels.

Danica's cell phone buzzed, indicating a new message had been left on her office voicemail. She'd be sure to check it as soon as she was done spending time with Mich.e.l.le.

Two hours later, Danica and Mich.e.l.le stood on Nola's front porch. Mich.e.l.le opened the door, and a familiar smell that Danica likened to the smell of old people's houses-a mixture of mothb.a.l.l.s, too-warm air, and floral perfume-wafted out the door of the small brick rambler. Danica made a mental note to remember that Mich.e.l.le was only fourteen and the smell of patchouli was probably cool and fun to her while Grandma's house was the epitome of someplace she wouldn't want to bring friends to visit. She'd have to find someplace hip to take her next week. Maybe she'd ask Kaylie for a suggestion.

Chapter Ten.

At seven o'clock Monday morning, Danica sat in her office reviewing the file of her first client and ignoring the flas.h.i.+ng red message light on her phone. She always arrived early to prepare for the day, and most days she had a client come in before they had to go to their own job. She set the file down on her neatly organized desk and glanced at the time. Like every morning, she had just enough time to run down to the local cafe and grab a cup of coffee before her client arrived. She stared at the blinking light. She'd already let it go overnight. Ever since Sat.u.r.day night, Danica had been thinking about trying to strike a balance between work and some sort of social life. Who was she kidding? She had no social life, and the one time she tried to go out and pretend to have one, she'd obviously gone way overboard and drank too much, which she not only regretted, but was terribly embarra.s.sed about. Not answering her messages over the weekend was one of the changes she hoped to make. Reclaiming her weekends was a good start, she decided, but as she noticed the time-7:07-her foot tapped and her heart raced. It was one thing to leave messages until after the weekend, but it was officially Monday morning, and early or not, she was in work mode. She bit her lower lip, fighting the urge to retrieve the message.

It was Monday. Someone needed something. She grabbed the phone, pushed the blinking light, and retrieved the message from a new client. She scribbled down the phone number and dialed the phone.

"h.e.l.lo?" a deep voice answered.

"Hi, this is Dr. Snow. Uh, um..." She realized that there was no name left on the machine and hesitated to say much more in case the person who called needed discretion. Thankfully, she didn't have to fill the gap.

"Oh. Thanks for calling back. I wanted to make an appointment."

He sounded tired. Didn't they all? "Sure. Can you please tell me what you're hoping to get help with?"

"I...uh...my best friend just died. I think I need to talk about it."

She listened to him breathe and knew that he needed her to take charge. "I'm sorry for your loss." She flipped through her calendar. She had time today at two o'clock, but she'd hoped to get out and buy Mich.e.l.le a black s.h.i.+rt that wasn't so...grungy looking. "I can see you tomorrow at three or Friday at one thirty."

"Oh." Disappointment sifted through the airwaves. "I was hoping to start sooner."

"Are you having suicidal thoughts?" Her ears perked up. Even after all her years of experience, she couldn't find a more tactful way to ask the most important questions.

"What? No." He sighed. "To be honest, I'm afraid I might back out of the appointment if I think about it too much. But I know I need it."

That made sense. She'd had too many cancellations to count, and she'd worried about each one of them for days afterward. That was another thing she had to work on, letting go of the people who didn't want her help. "Okay." She sighed. "Today at two is the only time I have this afternoon. You should be aware that I don't take insurance. My address is-"

"I know just where you are. Thank you. I'll be there." He hung up the phone.

Danica stared at the receiver. She hadn't even gotten his name. She set the receiver down and scribbled new client in her appointment calendar, adding friend died, and then wrote down the phone number next to the note.

Chapter Eleven.

Blake stood in front of Dr. Snow's office door. He lifted his hand to knock, then realized he had no idea of the proper etiquette at a therapist's office. What if right inside the door was her desk and a couch that he'd need to sit down on. Sit down? What if people really did lie down on the couch? What was typical? Normal? His chest constricted with discomfort.

He looked at the stairs behind him and thought about fleeing. She had his phone number. He could leave a message and say he was ill, or stand her up and miss the appointment. Juvenile. Sally had called earlier, and his heart had nearly broken through his chest, he'd been so nervous. He'd rushed off the phone, claiming he was busy, but the truth was that he didn't even know how to act with her. Cheerful? Sad? Consolatory? He was an emotional idiot.

Blake knew that the first year after AcroSki's opening had been difficult for Sally. Their income hadn't taken off until after they'd paid back the bank loan they'd taken to buy the store, but Sally had never complained. She'd supported Dave, even with the late evenings it took to get the store off the ground. She'd bring dinners for them when they worked late, and she'd always included Blake. He needed to do this. For Dave. For Sally. For himself.

Just as Blake reached for the k.n.o.b, the door swung open. A short, wide-eyed, heavy man-looking as startled as Blake felt-stood before him. The man dropped his gaze to the floor.

"She's all yours," the man said, as he hurried past Blake.

Blake walked into the small reception area. Four chairs, two on each side of the room, separated by an antique coffee table, gave the room a homey feel. He stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. Blake looked over a wooden bookshelf filled with self-help books that sat against the far wall, wondering if he'd made a mistake. He sat down in one of the chairs. The room was eerily silent, save for a white noise machine. He crossed his ankle over the opposite knee, then dropped it to the floor. He checked his watch: 1:55. There was a door on the wall opposite the entrance. He stared at it. Dr. Snow is back there. What if she was really hot? Could he tell her about himself? What if she was hideously ugly? Would that make it easier? Or more difficult because she might feel bad about her own looks?

He looked back at the entrance door. Every fiber of his being willed him to rise and go out that door. Just go. Leave. This isn't for you.

Danica set a fresh notepad and pen on the edge of her desk, then went to the door, smoothing her black pencil skirt and colorful blouse. She opened the door and walked out smiling, her typical welcome to new clients rolling off her lips.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Snow." Her smile faded. Her heart pounded. It was him.

Blake laughed. "Well, this is awkward."

Danica didn't know what to say. She'd never had this issue before. Should she tell him she couldn't help him? Why? he'd ask. She'd answer, Because I think you're really hot. Because all I've thought about for the past twelve hours are your lips. s.h.i.+t. She could do this. There was nothing between them. He needed help, and that was her job. Grow up.

"Nah, awkward? Come on in. We'll talk." She led him into the office, then realized she needed to give him an out, just in case he was feeling as uncomfortable as she was.

Blake sat in one of the leather chairs opposite the desk. Danica sat in the chair across from him. She never sat behind the desk when meeting with clients, she found it too much of a barrier. Though now, she wished she'd sat behind the desk. A barrier might be nice.

"Okay, so, I'm a therapist. Surprise." She forced a smile. "You're here for help, but given the recent," she elbowed the air, "and," she lifted her ankle, "if you're uncomfortable, I can refer you to someone else if you'd like." Please don't go. Go. No, don't. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until he answered.

"Actually, I think this might be good for me." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Reflectively, Danica noted his posture and had to keep from jumping into the same protective position. She caught herself looking at his arms and reached for the pad and pen on the edge of her desk.

"How does this work?" Blake asked.

This, she could handle. "Well, I usually start with my intake paperwork. Typical questions. And you'll need to fill out this information." She handed him a clipboard with the necessary disclosures. "Why don't you fill that out first, and then we can talk." She moved to sit behind her desk, needing the barrier more than she'd thought.

"Okay. Here? Or do you want me to fill this out in the waiting room?" He stood.

"Wherever you want. They literally take just a few minutes."

For a moment neither one moved. The air between them was thick-not uncomfortable, not electrified-just as if a bubble had formed between them and neither one quite knew how to maneuver around it.

"Okay, then." Blake sat back down.

Danica turned her back to him and pretended to look through the files on her credenza. You can do this. Calm down. Think, client. Client. Client.

"Okay, that was easy." He set the clipboard on the desk, and Danica came back around and sat down. She flipped through the paperwork. Thirty-four, single, no meds, ski shop owner, no history of anything unusual. Danica cleared her throat, thinking, Except being a player, maybe.

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Thanks. Blake, what are you here for? You said your friend died?" She found herself slipping into her therapist persona easier than she'd thought possible.

Blake looked down at his hands, then back up at her.

G.o.d, he's handsome. Stop it!

"Yes, Dave, my friend." He paused and looked around her office. "Dave Tuft was my best friend. He died in a skiing accident on Sat.u.r.day."

"Sat.u.r.day?" She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. "But you were at the bar last Sat.u.r.day night. I saw you, remember?"

"Avoidance," Blake said with a straight face. "It's one of my...one of the things I need to work on. Look," Blake leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, "I'm not someone who doesn't see his own faults. I know I'm a...I've been a bit of a..."

Danica raised an eyebrow, secretly rea.s.sessing what she thought of him by his honesty. She had little tolerance for lies, although in this case, lies might make her job much easier. She'd instantly be turned off by lies, while honesty was harder to resist.

"Well, I'm that guy."

Come on. You can do it, Blake. "That guy?" Danica was not going to spoon-feed any client, including him. Especially him. She couldn't wait to hear if he fessed up to being the person she saw him as.

"That guy. You know. The one who dates a different girl every night. The one who accidentally hits a woman in the nose, then looks at another woman while she's standing there bleeding."

So, he did know what he was like. "Before we talk about all of that-and we will talk about all of that-I'd like to get an idea of your familial background."

Blake groaned and leaned back in his chair.

"I'm not a therapist who believes that you need to relive your childhood in order to make progress, but I do like to know what you've experienced, so I can better help you." She pulled off her normal speech without a hitch. That was easy. Danica squeezed her pen so tight that her knuckles stung. This was where the bad guys came out. Molestation, emotional abuse, any of the triggers from childhood could bring even the strongest man to tears-or to aggression. She watched for the telltale signs of the latter while he answered.

"I know I have to talk about this, but it's difficult." He took a deep breath, and Danica watched a brief look of pain pa.s.s through his eyes. "My mom left when I was three."

"Have you seen her since?"

Blake shook his head. "She didn't leave a forwarding address. I lived with my father." Blake looked out the window, his eyes serious, as if he was contemplating something. When he turned back toward Danica, she saw the same softness she'd caught a glimpse of when he'd first elbowed her in the cafe. "He did the best he could. Worked two jobs, spent time with me. I'm not a kid who was ignored or abused."

That helps. She waited patiently for him to continue. All clients had this lull in admission. Danica knew better than to prompt them. How they continued was often very telling.

"I don't see him much. He moved away, and I-"

Danica waited, listening to the faint road noise filtering in through the closed windows. She waited until his discomfort with the silence became evident in his fidgeting. She was used to this. Blake fidgeted. She waited.

"h.e.l.l, I don't know. There's no real reason we don't see each other except probably that he's old and I'm selfish."

Yes! One point for being self-aware! She nodded, hiding her enthusiasm for his honesty and wondering what he might be hiding. Everybody was hiding something. "Okay, so no mom growing up, and Dad was a good guy. That's all I need for now to be able to move forward." She set the clipboard down on her desk and relaxed a bit, steepling her hands beneath her chin. "Tell me about Dave."

Blake's eyes went from serious to sad, then settled on something in between. "He was my business partner. We skied together."

Danica nodded, waited.

He looked down, then spoke softly. "He would egg me on, with women, you know? But then, in the same breath, he'd hint that I shouldn't be doing what I was doing." Blake locked eyes on Danica. "He's the reason I'm here. He gave me your number before he...before the accident."

"Well, he sounds like a good guy. I'm sorry that you lost him. That must be very painful. Do you want to talk about the accident?" Danica felt herself warming to him, like she had to Keith Small, a previous client. An alcoholic who went to every AA meeting with the hope of actually changing, even though he still went home and drank. It had taken over a year of working with him, but he'd eventually gone through rehab and was now living a sober lifestyle. She saw the same hope in Blake's eyes. She's seen that look many times before. While tragedy was a major catalyst, few clients actually remained steadfast in their path to change after the initial shock of losing someone wore off.

Blake shook his head. "Not really."

She could barely take her eyes off of him. How could one man be so attractive? "Okay, Blake, what would you like to share with me?" My bed? Jesus Christ, where did that come from? This is not a good idea.

"My other...habits." He leaned back again, crossing his arms. "This is weird, isn't it? Talking about this stuff after you've seen me with those women? I mean, if this is awkward for you, we don't have to talk about this."

"Blake, this is my job. I see you as a client, and I'm happy to help you with these issues. But as I said when you came in, if you are uncomfortable, please, by all means, let me refer you to someone else." Danica should have felt relieved; instead she felt compet.i.tive. She was d.a.m.n good at her job, and she vowed to treat him like any other client. No more dirty thoughts. Danica didn't see him as a client yet, but she'd push past her sinful stirrings and remain on the professional side of that ominous, thin, gray line that every therapist had to respect. She could be his therapist. She was the best therapist in town, at least she liked to think so.

Blake looked at her, nodding, considering. He leaned forward, then back again. "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Listen, I've helped-for lack of a better word-players before. While that might be something you want to work on, I feel like there's more here than just what you do in your spare time. You've lost your friend, someone who obviously meant a lot to you. Maybe that's where we should start, when you're ready."

"Maybe. But I'm not ready."

"Okay. Do you want to continue today's session? We have another fifteen minutes. Or we could end today's here and you can take some time to figure out if you wish to continue with me."

Blake stood, and Danica fought the urge to reel off her credentials: PhD in clinical psychology from Boston University, undergrad degree from Tufts.

He shook Danica's hand with a firm grip. Danica stood tall, her shoulders back, queen of her therapist domain. "I'm glad you came in." Then she added, just to solidify the professional relations.h.i.+p, "I'll drop your bill in the mail."

Blake nodded. "Thank you," he said, and headed for the office door. He stopped before opening it and said, "It was nice to see you again." He smiled, and Danica felt her professional posture slipping away. She cleared her throat to settle her nerves.

"Yes, you too. And I'm sorry about your friend." Danica watched him walk out the door, and when it was firmly closed, she collapsed into her chair, letting out a long, relieved sigh. Blake Carter. Her nerves tickled with delight. He was right there, in her office. Is this what all the fuss was about with Kaylie and Belinda? That heat that began in your thighs and traveled up to your chest, feeling like it might explode? Now she understood. She stood and paced, her arms crossed, a smile painted across her cheeks. Her cell phone rang, reeling her excitement in like a fis.h.i.+ng line.

She picked up the phone. Kaylie. "You won't believe who was just in my office," she gushed.

"Arnold Schwarzenegger? Kate Middleton? Dane Cook?" Kaylie laughed.

"Blake Carter."

"What? Why?" Kaylie asked, suddenly drained of her enthusiasm.

That's when it hit Danica like a brick in the face. She either had to get ahold of herself or drop him as a client-if he even ever came back. "I can't tell you. I shouldn't have even said anything. d.a.m.n it." What had she been thinking? It would be a challenge, but she was up to it. She was not the kind of therapist to lose her license over a blip of bad judgment.

"What the h.e.l.l, sis? I tell you everything."

Danica heard Kaylie's hurt through the telephone line. "No, I mean, I can't reveal why he came, just that he was here."

"Oh my G.o.d, really? Are you going to see him as a client? Isn't that wrong or something?" Kaylie's voice turned serious.

"Not necessarily. His friend referred him, and we have no prior relations.h.i.+p. He hit me in the nose and we talked at the bar. That's as far as it went."

"Come on. Isn't that like saying you only sort of had s.e.x? Who are you now, Bill Clinton?"

Danica didn't like the insinuation, even if she was a little bit right. Had they kissed, Danica would not have taken him on as a client, but there'd been no physical contact. h.e.l.l, she didn't even know if she liked him, except for his looks. Maybe that wasn't exactly true, but she was a professional. She could determine whom she'd fall into bed with and whom she wouldn't, and Blake was now officially off limits.