The Life She Wants Part 7

Adam knew something was wrong. Something more than "I fell at work." He wasn't sure how he knew, but he knew. He stopped on the way to the hospital and picked up a couple of large mocha coffees with heavy cream. When he asked Emma what had happened, there was a lot of incoherent blubbering and he decided it was probably best to drive rather than sit in the parking lot while she emoted. And emoted.

He picked up a few things-someone had identified her, recognized her, threw a ripe bedpan at her head. There was a lot of whimpering about how she hadn't known, hadn't been complicit, everyone thought her a gold digger, a liar. She ended with some incoherent bawling about the disgusting state of her hair, comments that caused his eyes to widen in shock. What did this have to do with hair?

He found a nice park and pulled into the lot in the shade of a colorful tree. He handed her some tissues and after she'd made use of them, gave her the coffee. And the world slowed down and she began to just talk about it.

Adam had a feeling he was going to h.e.l.l for this, but he wanted her to get this issue resolved, in her mind, at least emotionally, because he just couldn't pursue her the way he'd like to until that happened. She just wasn't ready. She wasn't moving on yet. Everything was so unsettled for her. And that had more to do with what Emma thought of herself than the people who might think badly of her.

"Thank G.o.d I ran into you at the burger joint," she said tearfully. "Just take me home, please, Adam. I didn't mean to unload on you."

"Nah, we're not going home yet. You're going to have some coffee, calm down and we'll just talk awhile."

"I'm sure you don't need all this chaos clogging up your mind..."

"My mind is fine," he said. "I'm a little worried about yours. It seems like maybe you're still feeling confused, out of control. Vulnerable. Victimized."

"Wouldn't you?" she returned defensively.

"Probably. But I want you to think about something, Emmie. Lack of power comes from lack of knowledge. Unless I'm totally off base here, you're still completely confused about what happened to you, how it happened, what to do about it now."

"I don't know what you're getting at," she said.

"Have you seen a counselor?" he asked.

"What kind of counselor?" she asked.

"Okay, I'm just guessing here, but I think you're still in shock. Maybe you have a little PTSD because you're not advancing beyond the shock."

He actually smiled slightly when he noticed she was looking at him with wide, startled eyes.

"PTSD isn't limited to war veterans, Emmie. Anyone who's been through a trauma qualifies. With a war veteran it might be a car backfiring that sends them into a series of PTSD symptoms-anger, sleeplessness, fear, panic, phobia, so on. For the victim of emotional abuse it might be facial expressions, certain comments, another's rage or threat. You should check this out, see a counselor."

"Listen," she said earnestly, scooting forward in her seat and turning in his direction. "I don't have the money for a counselor and I have health insurance for emergencies, but no one, I mean no one, is ever going to offer me discounted therapy because I suffered through kissing goodbye to millions of dollars after living like a queen for years."

"Victim," he said. "You are a victim. And you were probably a victim then, not a queen. You need some help. I'll check around. I might find someone, you never know. I know everyone-I've been teaching half their kids for fifteen years. But while I look, you might want to do some reading. From what you say, you still have so much mystery about what happened to you, you can't even figure out how you ended up in this mental-emotional minefield and there must be some kind of explanation. If there's not a clear explanation, there might be enough information out there to help you draw some conclusions. Hit the library. Read those books written by other people who think they've drawn conclusions. Find out who they think you are. And who they think your husband was."

She was shaking her head. "You have no idea what you're suggesting, how painful that is. Just the little excerpts are horrible."

"I know."

"You know? How do you know?"

"I read about it all," he said with a shrug. "Lots of theories about your late husband. About you. Varying theories."

"Why?" she asked softly. "Why would you read that trash?"

"Emmie, I'm a science teacher. We investigate. We look s.h.i.+t up." Then he gave her a wan smile. "I'm just suggesting, since you can't escape it, maybe it makes sense to face it."

"I thought I'd been facing it for the last several years," she said. "I was in the apartment when Richard blew his brains out, after all. I had to hide from angry plaintiffs. I had to watch the house stripped of personal possessions. I-"

"You wanted it behind you, and who could blame you. Now that the whole fiasco is part of your ident.i.ty and you have to live with it, would it help to understand it better? Like, what kind of man was he, really? Because you don't actually know, do you? You've said that had you known, you would have run for your life. So what do you know about sociopaths? Because that's my guess. He was a sociopath."

"What do you know about sociopaths?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just a little bit, but I admit to being fascinated. I think when they were pa.s.sing out consciences they missed a few people but they gave the surplus to me-my conscience seems to work overtime." He reached for her hand. "If you understood, at least as much as possible, could you be at peace?"

"I don't know."

"Find out," he suggested. "I'll help if I can. I love research. And I love talking to you. But first things first. You need a few days of rest and ice on your head."

"And my b.u.t.t," she added.

"Did they x-ray that part?"

"No. They said if it remains painful to come back in, but it's already better from just a couple of Advil."

"Then let's keep moving forward. It's time to call Riley and see if you can get a job. It doesn't have to be a long-term job. But you have to have something..."

"Oh, Adam..."

"She'll protect you, Emmie. She knows how hard it is to start over, to rebuild your life after you've hit bottom."

"I can't believe she'd actually help me," she said.

"Sure she would. In fact, if she doesn't that would mean I don't know my sister at all. And that's not possible."

"Does she know we've been in touch lately?" Emma asked.

"She knows I ran into you at the burger joint. She knows we had a gla.s.s of wine and I gave you her business card. That's all she knows. In fact, I never mentioned we'd talked after you and Jock broke up, after Maddie was born..."

"It was more than a few times," Emma said. "And why didn't you tell her?"

He took a moment. "I didn't call you all those years ago for Riley and if I'd told her we talked, she would have asked a lot of questions about how you felt about her, how you felt about your situation, your feud, for lack of a better word. It would've been all about her and her relations.h.i.+p with you. That's not why I called you. You were around my house for years, all your growing-up years. I called you for me."

"Oh, Adam," she said softly.

"And same goes for you. Every time I called, it didn't take long to get around to Riley. Riley and Jock. Riley and you. Even after years had pa.s.sed. I'll say one thing for you and Riley-you have some amazing stamina, keeping that tired old feud alive this long. It's still got some energy-you got tears in your eyes when I introduced you to Maddie."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I mean, yes, that's true, I almost cried. Can you keep a confidence? What am I asking, of course you can. You haven't even told Riley how much we've talked since I've been back. It wasn't because Maddie should've been my child. Not at all, even though anything would have been preferable to where I landed in the end. Lord, what would I have done, pregnant with only Rosemary to lean on? No, it was because on top of everything else I went through with my husband, my marriage, it turns out I'm also infertile."

Well d.a.m.n, Adam thought. It was his turn to be shocked speechless.

Three days later Emma was introduced to Lucinda Lopez, family, marriage and individual counselor. "It's the first time Adam has ever asked a favor of me," she said. "He was my first friend in teaching, a great teacher. I was not such a great teacher but I think I'm a good counselor."

"You didn't like teaching?" Emma asked.

"It paid the bills and I did an adequate job. I know I did all that was required of me. But there are some teachers, like Adam, who instinctively know how to inspire. He might've grown some real scientists. So-he tells me you're on a very limited income but in need of counseling. I haven't read your intake form yet-does that describe you?"

"I'm on workers' comp right now and looking for a new job because... Well, that job isn't going to work out. And the reason for that is the same as the reason I need counseling."

"All right, we'll get right to it. But before we take a lot of time on the story, tell me what you can afford. It's very important that you pay something for your counseling, that you make it in some way a priority. At any time you might decide it's not working for you, and that's entirely up to you, but please understand-if it's free, you won't value it. Make an effort, please, not for me-I'm not in need. For you. Your results will be better if you stretch yourself. If you commit."

"I don't know. I don't know how often I'll be seeing you. Can you help me with it?"

"The cost of the session? Sure. I provide a sliding scale based on income. Here's the graph," she said.

Emma looked at it. She was taken aback by the numbers there, which ranged from thirty-five dollars for a one-hour session to one hundred twenty-five. Presumably, she'd try to meet with the counselor at least twice a month. Even seventy dollars cut deeply into a budget as tight as hers.

"We better get right to it," Emma said.

"I'm ready whenever you are," she said.

Emma launched into her story, the condensed version. That took fifteen minutes, interrupted by a few questions from Lucinda, merely for clarification. It took only that long for Lucinda's face to begin to seem soft and accessible to Emma. She was a very pretty Mexican woman with just the slightest threading of silver in her pitch-black hair, the deepest black eyes, the softest smile. Her voice was likewise soft, but very confident and gracious.

When Emma had brought Lucinda up to the present, the counselor said she'd like to go back in time a bit, to before Emma met her husband.

"How far back?" Emma asked.

"I'm flexible," Lucinda said. "Take me back to a time that seemed pivotal in your life. A time of change, maybe? A time that required a great deal of you? A period of adjustment and a s.h.i.+ft in your priorities. Does anything stand out?"

She thought for a moment. Then she said, "The year after high school. When I went away to college. A year after my father died."

"Good. Try, if you can, to tell me not just the events that you think caused a major change in your life, but how those significant events made you feel then and how remembering them makes you feel now."

"We may run out of time," Emma said.

"And try, if you can, not to worry about the time. We don't have to do it all today. In fact, a great deal is achieved in counseling when you leave me with things you'd like to think about. Because, Emma, I'm not going to solve your problems. You are. I'm just here to direct the traffic."

When Emma left, she hugged Lucinda. "Do you think I'm completely crazy?" she asked.

"I think you're remarkable. I'm so glad we met. Be sure to thank Adam for me."

Emma called several hotel chains to ask about job availability and each one invited her to fill out an application and possibly be called back for an interview. No one she talked to seemed interested in hiring. She looked in all the newspaper ads and online for employment opportunities, as she had been doing since the day she returned, and nothing promising turned up there, either.

She tried to bolster herself to call Riley and ask for help.

Sometimes words fade over time, sometimes they fester, blister, even swell. Burned into Emma's mind was when she screamed at Riley, "I don't ever want to speak to you or see you again in my life!"

"We can find a way to get beyond this! We said we'd never let a guy get between us!"

"Yeah, until he was my guy! Well, he's all yours now! I wouldn't take him back if he begged me. Not with your stink on him!"

"You'll be sorry you let this ruin us! You know you'll never have a friend like me again in your life!"

"I hope to G.o.d not!" Emma had hurled.

And now she was going to ask Riley for a job.

"I'm so sorry," the receptionist said. "We don't have any openings right now. But if you'd like to leave a name and number, I can call you as soon as something opens up."

"Sure," she said. "I'm Emma Shay and..."

"Oh, Ms. Shay, I reserved an appointment for you. Can you come into the office to meet with Ms. Kerrigan Thursday afternoon at two?"

"Um. Sure," she said. Was that a good sign? Adam had said Riley would help her, but what if he was wrong about that?

Sixteen years ago, right after screaming she hoped she'd never have a friend like Riley again, Riley had screamed at her, "Emmie, please! Please try to understand! I didn't mean for this to happen and I'm sorry. I can't lose your friends.h.i.+p!"

With a sneer, Emma shot back, "So get Jock to be your friend. s.l.u.t!"

Of course, Emma hadn't known Riley was pregnant but would knowing that have softened her words? Nah. It probably would have made her even more hateful. Emma didn't think she'd ever forgive Riley for what she'd done. But if she were Riley, she would never be able to forget those cruel words.

Why would Riley help her now?

She wore the same conservative but stylish skirt and sweater she'd been wearing to every interview. They were Chanel, brown wool with a little pleat in the front of the skirt right on her knee and a soft mauve sweater set. She wore hose and pumps, carried a matching Dooney & Bourke bag. Would she think Emma had obviously survived quite well, dressed so? The Riley she had known had never had such nice clothes.

Walking into Riley's office was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. She reminded herself that she'd walked down the steps of the Federal Court Building to the flas.h.i.+ng of cameras; she'd walked from a grave site to her car through a clot of photographers. She opened the outer office door and the secretary looked up. She smiled at the young woman. "h.e.l.lo. I'm Emma Shay and I have an appointment with Ms. Kerrigan."

"You can go on in," Jeanette said. "She's expecting you."

Emma gave a couple of courtesy taps and opened the door. Riley was concentrating on her computer screen. Without looking up she said, "Come in. Sit down. Give me a second."

Emma sat in one of the chairs facing the desk. She held her purse on her lap and crossed her legs at the ankle, her legs angled to her right. When Riley did look at her, her eyes rested for a long time on the purse.

Riley turned the screen away, folded her hands on the desk and focused on Emma. "h.e.l.lo, Emma. How are you?" Riley asked.

"I'm all right, thanks. You?"

"Very well, thanks. Am I to understand you're looking for a job?"

"Yes."

"You do understand this is a cleaning company? Housekeeping?"

"Yes. I can provide a letter of recommendation. My last supervisor offered. She's the head of housekeeping at the hospital in Petaluma-Mrs. Carlson."

Riley's eyes grew round. "That carries some weight around here. I've known Glynnis for years. Why are you leaving the hospital?"

Emma was surprised then realized she shouldn't have been. Adam was very tight-lipped. "I had a fall. Actually, an angry person who claimed to be a victim of Richard's fraud threw something at me and I fell. I'm not hurt. I was checked in the emergency room. But Mrs. Carlson took me off the schedule, put me on workers' comp and suggested I get another job."

Riley was frowning.

"If you don't want to take a chance on that happening while I work for you-"

"That won't happen in my company. I know which of my customers know each other, so I know where gossip travels. We have a policy that our crews, while polite and helpful, do not become enmeshed with the client-that's how they get taken advantage of. Our crews take only first names into the jobs, and the majority of the time the client isn't home and if they are, they stay out of the way. There should be no reason for much conversation that isn't germane to the work. We have a pretty strict contract so that additional work is arranged with the company in advance and an hourly charge is made. But what's easy about this system is-everything goes through me or my director of operations, Nick. That way you're never put upon to argue with the homeowner or business owner. You're going to have to be trained. Can you make it till the Monday after Thanksgiving? Because I don't have training on my schedule until then."