Healing Waters (24 page)

Sully moved to the railing. This could be just a female squabble, which wouldn't surprise him, with the tension building up a head of steam around here. Or it could be another situation gone mad. That wouldn't surprise him either.

Marnie had stopped by now, only a few yards from his balcony, and Lucia joined her. Marnie hugged herself against Lucia's hands-on-hips stance.

“Why is her door locked?” Lucia said.

Marnie curled into her own chest and flung her head back. “Because she kicked me out.”

“What happened?” Lucia said.

“I didn't mean to upset her, I swear.”

“I didn't say you did. What happened?”

The steadiness of Lucia's voice impressed him.

“She wanted me to write this blog, and I couldn't do it.”

“What blog?”

“Against Egan and the whole board—saying they weren't really Christians because they were trying to take her down. It's wrong. I think she's losing it, Lucia—even if she is your sister—and it doesn't matter because I'm quitting anyway.”

Lucia took a step toward her. “Okay—what was Sonia doing when you left the room?”

“She grabbed the laptop from me and said she'd write it herself. I didn't see how she could, so I didn't try to stop her, but then she started typing. And I said she was going to hurt her hands, and that's when she told me to get out.” Marnie started to cry. “I'm sorry to leave you with everything, Lucia, but I just can't do this anymore. I have to get out of here.”

Lucia was already halfway back up the steps. “Do what you have to do,” she said, not unkindly, and headed inside.

Sully wasn't far behind her.

I couldn't get Sonia to open the door, and neither could Sullivan. She assured us she was fine, in a smooth voice that sounded nothing like a woman who had just thrown out her assistant and was writing some scathing blog on MySpace. That in itself was disturbing.

Sullivan motioned for me to follow him out into the foyer, which I did, gladly.

“We might want to leave her alone for now,” he said. “I don't think we're getting anywhere, and if we push too hard, we'll just make things worse.”

“How much worse?” I said.

He gave me a long look, eyes a sad brown. “Let's talk,” he said. We went to the kitchen, where he nodded for me to sit.

“You want something to drink?” he said.

“I can get it.”

He peered into the refrigerator. “What we need is some sweet tea.” He pronounced it as if it were all one word. “What do you say we talk while I make some?”

I wanted to get back to Bethany. I wanted to hunt down Marnie and find out if she was actually quitting. I wanted to break down my sister's door and tell her to come out and stop being an idiot. But I watched him fill a pan with water and put it on the stove and disappear into the pantry and come out with a canister of sugar and a box of tea bags—all with a methodical rhythm that made me stay there. Something about it made sense. I wanted above all for something to make sense.

“Your sister needs therapy,” he said as he turned on the burner.

“There's a physical therapist coming tomorrow,” I said, and then felt like I'd just said
I painted the bathroom
. I shook my head. “I know you meant a psychotherapist.”

“The other kind will help, too, I'm sure. But, yeah, she needs professional help dealing with all this.”

“She refused all counseling at Crozer.”

He dumped two cups of sugar into the pan before he turned back to me. “Was she behaving like this in the hospital?”

“You mean being irrational and ticking everybody off?”

“Yeah.”

“That didn't start happening until the board made noises about her not doing public appearances, about a week ago. I thought she was nuts then, even thinking about that. This is worse.”

Good. I'd just used the word
nuts
with a doctor of psychology.

But he nodded as if I'd just said something clinically profound. “It's definitely not sane thinking, and quite frankly, she's headed for trouble if we can't talk her into seeing somebody. I have a couple of people in mind.”

“We?” I said.

He looked up from stirring, and to my amazement, his face went red.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “was I overstepping my boundaries?”

“No,” I said. On the contrary. The idea of having someone sane in this with me was the first hopeful thought I'd had since I'd arrived.

“I'm speaking purely as a concerned friend,” he said, “but a friend with a little expertise.”

“Can you try to convince her, then?” I said. “She listens to you.” He grinned. “Only because I haven't crossed her yet. First we have to get her to unlock the door.”

We.
I never thought I could love a pronoun so much. My life had been
I
for so long, I wasn't even sure I could handle anything plural. But he said it with such ease.

“I'm going to let that boil,” he said. “You hungry? I haven't eaten anything all day. We might be able to lure Sonia out with a homecooked meal.”

He cocked an eyebrow and shook his head as I shook mine.

“She won't eat,” I said, “and I'm not hungry. Thanks for offering.” “Talk to me while I try to concoct something,” he said.

“There's something else I want to ask you.”

“Ask away.”

He came around the counter and folded himself into the chair next to me, which swiveled to face me. I waited to feel uncomfortable— and didn't.

“I want to hire you to counsel me about Bethany,” I said.

He tilted his head at me. “I see.”

“That poor little girl has been so ignored it borders on abusive neglect as far as I'm concerned.” My words were coming out with too much emotion. I needed to be more professional about this.

“I was hoping somebody would see it. It doesn't surprise me that it was you.” He rubbed at his chin with his thumb. “Now would be the perfect time for someone to start working with her. I haven't actually done much work with kids, but I could probably recommend someone.”

“No,” I said. “Not Bethany. Me. I don't want her to know anything about this. I just want some help so I can help her.”

He looked at me with a sadness I didn't expect. Must be the expression that came before
I'm sorry, ma'am, but you are beyond help.

“I have to give you a two-part answer,” he said.

“Yes or no would be fine.”

He gave me half of the grin. “I wish it were ever that easy. Here's the deal. I'm not sure how ethical it would be for me to counsel you about Bethany without her mother's permission.”

“And here's my deal,” I said. “If it weren't for her mother, I wouldn't be asking you this.”

I was dumbfounded by my own moxie, but things were just coming out of my mouth. If they offended Sullivan Crisp, he was a great actor. He leaned an elbow on the counter and nodded at me as if we were colleagues.

“It's a gray area,” he said.

“That sounds like a
no
to me.”

“Not entirely. Let's look at this and see what we can come up with.”

A gleam formed in his sad eyes. We were apparently entering territory he found fascinating.

“If we limit ourselves to just discussing your relationship with Bethany and what you can do for her in that capacity, I think we'd be within the limits of therapeutic propriety.”

“And not discuss Sonia's role in her life.”

“Could be difficult, couldn't it? And here's something else to think about: you might make tremendous progress with Bethany, but when you leave, she's still going to be living here with the same mother.”

As if I hadn't been hearing
my
mother saying that in my head all day, just like she'd reminded me every time I had ever touched anything that belonged to Sonia:
Lucia Marie, don't get attached to
that. You know you're going to have to give it back to her
.

Sullivan waited. He looked as if he were going to listen to me.

“I'm working on that too,” I said. “That's why I want you to keep trying to get her to see somebody. I want them both in some kind of good place before I leave.”

“How much time are we talking about?”

“Twenty-eight days.”

He gave me the whole grin. “Sounds like a jail sentence.”

“I thought it sounded more like a stint in rehab.”

“There you go.”

It wasn't a taunt. In fact, his voice was like an arm that drew me into some inner circle of decision.

“Look, I'll do anything to help them,” I said.

“All right. Then let's give this a shot.”

I hated to break the ease that had crept into me, but I said, “How much do you charge?”

He shook his head. “I'm here as a guest, and I don't know how long Sonia is going to put up with me, especially if I push her too hard on getting psychiatric help. I can't in good conscience charge you if I can't commit to working with you long-term.” It wasn't the grin he delivered this time, but a soft smile. “I'd be honored to do this as a gift—to Sonia's family.”

I didn't know what to say then. It had been so long since I'd talked with anyone who treated me like an intellectual equal, and more than that, a person capable of making wise decisions. I didn't want the conversation to be over.

“Two things we need to agree on,” he said.

“One?”

“Although our circumstances are pretty unconventional for a therapeutic setting, we need to observe certain boundaries, for your sake more than mine. You don't want me observing you 24/7, ready to jump in with a suggestion.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” I said.

“That once we start—counseling—we should limit our conversations to that—not that we can't chat it up on the lawn when we pass, that kind of thing, but don't you agree that we wouldn't be comfortable barbecuing steaks together on the back deck after a session?”

Okay, so there went that comfort zone.

“And number two?” I said.

He leaned back and shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy shorts. “If we're going to figure out your relationship with Bethany, we may have to talk some about you, personally.”

I stiffened. “Like what?”

“Maybe some things about your childhood that remind you of Bethany's—that's just an example.” He shrugged. “We may not have to go there.”

But that same gleam in his eye indicated that he sincerely hoped we would.

He could hope all he wanted. I wasn't about to revisit the childhood I didn't like the first time I was there.

“You may want to think that over before you decide,” Sullivan said.

“No,” I said. “I'm in.”

For Bethany. For her childhood, not mine.

Sullivan didn't make any progress with Sonia that evening. When I came downstairs after tucking Bethany into bed, he was waiting in the foyer, his back to the mirror, which meant I had to see myself as I faced him. I'd showered after my dip in the river, but I hadn't dried my hair or put on makeup, and I was the picture of loveliness. I looked instead at the marble floor.

“The door's still locked,” he said. “She says she's turning in for the night.”

“She needs her meds,” I said.

“She told me she took them already. Do you think she'd take too many? Because if you think she would—”

“She'd throw herself into the river before she'd do that.”

I looked up to see him wince visibly.

“I'm being sarcastic,” I said. “I'll sleep down here tonight.”

“Please call me if you get concerned about her. I left my cell number on the kitchen counter.” He gave me the half grin. “And some sweet tea in the fridge. You should try it—especially if you want to stay awake. There's enough sugar in there to give you ADD.”