The Backup Plan (18 page)

“Noon.”

“Want me to take you?”

Her chin rose a notch. “Thank you for offering, but no. I need to do this on my own. If it's supposed to be my first step back, I can't very well have you carrying me.”

The return of her independent streak was cause for celebration, but for reasons he didn't want to explore right now, Cord didn't feel one bit like celebrating. In fact, he had to wonder if he hadn't just sent Dinah straight down the path that would eventually rip them apart.

 

Once Cord had gone, Dinah retreated to the familiar sanctity and comfort of the pool. She had a lot of thinking to do before tomorrow's appointment. She needed to figure out if he was right about why she'd taken the drastic action of quitting her job, instead of taking either a leave of absence or one of the many other assignments Ray and the network had dangled in front of her.

Was it pride and the fear of failing even at some nothing little assignment that had made her insist on a clean break? The fact that she'd been packed and out of that hellhole the instant her replacement's plane had touched down suggested her hurry had been all about desperation and not about some sudden longing to get home to Bobby and her family. Bobby had simply been the excuse she'd used, the safety net. She wasn't any more in love with him now than she had been a decade ago. Discovering that he was engaged had been inconvenient, nothing more.

God, she really was as selfish and self-absorbed as Maggie had accused her of being. She would have married a man just to solve her own problem without a mo
ment's thought about what it might do to his life. Or, eventually, to her own.

Unfortunately now she was stuck with her impulsive decision. She did not regret coming home for one single minute, but the truth was she had no idea what she was going to do now that her backup plan was in disarray. Cord and Maggie were right about one thing. It was past time to do some heavy-duty soul-searching and formulate a new plan, instead of drifting along waiting for some epiphany to show her the way. The last take-charge thing she'd done was drive to Atlanta to look for Bobby.

Except for seducing Cord, she reminded herself with an unwilling twitch of her lips. She had made that hap pen. Apparently her old spirit wasn't entirely dead. Maybe there was hope for her, after all.

Of course, there was no need to get started before she had to, which was noon tomorrow. Until then she could stay right where she was in the pool, her skin puckering.

When her mother arrived home, she took one look at her daughter and went back inside. When she returned, she was carrying a pitcher of vodka and tonic, a cut glass dish filled with slices of lime, and two very tall glasses.

“We need to talk,” she said as she set the tray of drinks on a table shaded by a giant umbrella. When Dinah didn't move, she added, “Now, please.”

Dinah recognized a command when she heard one, even if it was coated with sugary politeness. She climbed out of the pool, rubbed her shriveled-up body dry, then sat down opposite her mother and took a sip of the drink her mother had set before her. It was strong enough to make her choke.

“Trying to loosen my tongue?” she asked wryly.

“Precisely,” her mother said without the slightest hint of regret. “Your father and I have been so relieved to have you home and safe, I've kept silent up till now, but I can no longer ignore the fact that you're getting thinner and thinner with each passing day. There's no sparkle in your eyes. I think you need to see a doctor.”

Dinah felt her gut tighten. “I'm not sick.”

“Sick at heart, then,” her mother said. “See a psychologist.”

Dinah took a deep breath, then admitted, “You're not the first to suggest that today. I already have an appointment scheduled for tomorrow.”

“Really?” Her mother's expression filled with heart-felt relief. “Thank goodness.”

Dinah's eyes stung with tears at her mother's reaction. “I'm sorry. I had no idea how worried you've been.”

“Don't be sorry. All that matters is that you're going to get help. It's plain to all of us that whatever happened has been eating away at you.”

Dinah couldn't deny the truth of that. She'd been trying for months to bury the memory of Peter's death, to deny that it had taken something important out of her, but all of her efforts had been in vain.

Cord had come so close to putting the story together. When had he developed the knack for seeing into her head? And what did it mean that he cared enough to do so?

None of that really mattered right now, though. All that mattered was banishing the memories that had haunted her from that fateful day. The only problem was, she had no idea what to do to change her approach.

The solution Cord and Maggie were offering—talking about it incessantly—wasn't her way. Davises didn't
whine. They were cool and unemotional. They accepted life's knocks and moved on. They triumphed. Just look at what her mother had made of her life.

The fact that Dinah couldn't seem to get past what had happened to her, the fact that she still awakened in the middle of the night in a cold sweat with her heart pounding wildly filled her with a sense of complete failure. How on earth could she share that with anyone?

But even as those dire thoughts filled her head, she remembered anew that one person had already guessed most of it. And when she'd looked into his eyes, she hadn't seen disgust or disdain. She'd seen concern.

No, she corrected, recalling what Maggie had told her at lunch. She'd actually seen the love Maggie had been talking about. If Cord could still have feelings for her after everything he'd guessed about her dark secret, then wasn't it time she was brave enough to start to love herself again?

As much as she hated the thought of going to see a psychologist, she knew now that she had no choice. Maybe this person that Maggie had found for her and that Cord had forced her to call was the answer to Dinah's unspoken prayers.

Dinah reached for her mother's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I love you, Mother.”

A pleased smile spread across her mother's face and Dinah realized how rarely she'd ever spoken those words to either of her parents, how rarely she'd expressed them to anyone. It had always been safer to keep silent, to avoid any hint of vulnerability.

Now that she knew the truth about her mother's pregnancy forcing the marriage, Dinah had to wonder if she hadn't subliminally known all along that she hadn't been the blessing they'd longed for, but rather an incon
venience that had rushed them to wed. Maybe she'd kept her emotional distance because she'd feared that her love for her parents wouldn't be returned in full measure.

“Everything's going to work out for the best, Dinah. I truly believe that,” her mother said.

“I think I'm beginning to believe it, too,” Dinah said, her heart lighter than it had been for months. She held out her glass. “Pour me another drink, Mother.”

Her mother chuckled. “Happily. The first one worked like a charm. Who knows what secrets I might be able to pry out of you after two?”

“Ah, just in time, I see,” Tommy Lee said, coming around the side of the house. “Can I have one of those, too?”

To Dinah's surprise, her mother gave him a sharp look. “You seem a little too eager. I'm beginning to worry about that.”

“I'm not drinking too much,” Tommy Lee said defensively. “In fact, I'm here to celebrate. I'll get myself a glass and bring out more vodka and tonic.”

As soon as he'd gone inside, Dinah exchanged a look with her mother. “You're worried about him, too, aren't you?”

Her mother nodded. “He's not happy. He hasn't been for a long time.”

“Is it Laurie?” Dinah asked.

She shook her head. “I don't think so. In fact, they seem more in love with each other than ever.”

Dinah reached over and touched her hand. “Perhaps he'll explain when he comes back out.”

A few minutes later, Tommy Lee poured himself a stiff drink, then sat on the edge of a chaise lounge fac
ing their mother. “I wanted you to be the first to know that I'm leaving the bank,” he said quietly.

Dinah gasped, even as her mother sat up perfectly straight with fire in her eyes.

“Is this your father's doing?” her mother demanded.

“No, it's my idea,” Tommy Lee assured her. “He doesn't even know about it yet.”

“But why on earth would you quit? And to do what?” Dorothy asked.

Dinah watched Tommy Lee's face and saw a flash of pure excitement in his eyes. It was wonderful to witness.

“Actually I'm going to work with Cord and Bobby,” he said. “Cord hired me this afternoon.”

Dinah exchanged a stunned look with her mother. She had no idea what to say to any of this. The fact that Cord hadn't mentioned a word of it also grated.

“Are you going to be a partner?” her mother asked Bobby.

“Nope. I'm starting at the bottom. I intend to do this right. There's a lot I don't know.”

Dorothy gave her son a befuddled look. “But why?”

“Because I love working with my hands. I love all the restoration projects you've been involved in through the years. This is my chance to see if I can make a career of it.”

Dinah noticed that their mother didn't look convinced. She decided to throw in her two cents to be supportive. “I think it's a wonderful idea, Tommy Lee. Do this while you're young. The bank will always be there, if you change your mind.”

He shook his head. “I'll never go back to the bank
and I'm sure Dad wouldn't have me, if I was willing. No, I'm cutting the ties with this decision.”

“This is your father's doing, isn't it?” Dorothy asked again, even more heat in her voice. “I've sensed something going on between the two of you lately. He's forcing you into this. I'll talk to him.”

“No, Mother,” Tommy Lee said emphatically. “This is my decision. It's what I want.” He regarded her worriedly. “And I want to be the one to tell Dad, too. Don't get involved, okay? I don't want this to become a bone of contention between the two of you.”

“Are you sure?” Dorothy asked, her worry apparent.

Dinah studied her brother. “Can't you see how happy he is, Mother? I can.”

Tommy Lee winked at her. “Thank you.”

Dorothy still didn't look convinced. “I'm behind you a hundred percent, of course,” she told him. “But if you change your mind…”

“I'm not going to change my mind.” He set aside his drink, which was mostly untouched. “I guess I'd better go break this to Dad.”

Dinah grinned at him. “Without even finishing your drink?”

“Tempting as it would be, I don't want to show up in his office half-drunk. If he's ever going to have any respect for me, he needs to know I made this decision while I was stone-cold sober.” He leaned down and kissed his mother's brow. “Love you. Turns out I'm a lot more like you than either of us realized. I'm glad I faced that before it was too late and I'd wasted my whole life doing something I hated.”

Dinah noticed that her mother's worried gaze fol
lowed him as he left. “I'll tell you the same thing you told me earlier. It's going to be okay.”

Her mother gave her a weary smile. “I hate to say it, but you're not all that convincing.”

“Hey, I'm doing the best I can,” Dinah told her.

“And I suppose that's all any of us can do,” her mother responded. “I just hope in your brother's case, it's enough given what he's throwing away for this impulsive decision of his.”

Dinah gave her mother's hand a pat. “I don't think it's impulsive at all. I think it's been a long time coming. He wants this, Mother. I could see it in his eyes. He's truly excited. Be happy for him. Be proud of him for figuring out what he really wants and going after it. Isn't that the most any of us can ask for, that we spend our lives doing what we love?”

Her mother nodded. “But I'm still going to speak to your father about this. I know he had a hand in it. He's put way too much pressure on that boy.”

Dinah regarded her with concern. “Don't you and Dad already have enough going on between you? Tommy Lee's not a boy, Mother. He's a grown man who knows his own mind. Let him handle Dad.”

Her mother's gaze faltered at that, but her chin set stubbornly. “It doesn't matter. Tommy Lee is our son. I won't let him be pushed aside.”

Dinah saw she wasn't going to win. Besides, she had her own battles to worry about. Tomorrow's appointment with the shrink was going to be here a whole lot sooner than she'd like.

D
inah was on her fourth trip up in the elevator of the small office building where psychologist Warren Blake had his offices. She'd ridden right back down three times. Hopefully this time she'd be able to make her self actually exit the stupid thing. It was going to be embarrassing if she started running into the same people on one of these trips.

This time at least she was alone in the car. She punched the button for the seventh floor, then stood at the back of the elevator in a corner as it whooshed up way too quickly. The doors opened onto a now familiar carpeted corridor. She sucked in a deep breath and tentatively stepped out, holding the elevator door so it couldn't close behind her.

“If I go back down one more time, it just proves that I really do need to be on that shrink's couch,” she muttered. For a woman who once had been intrepid enough to face bullets or land mines, this office visit shouldn't be such a ridiculous ordeal, she thought, hoping that the self-derision would motivate her to walk down that hallway.

With a great deal of effort, she made herself release
the death grip she had on the door. She winced as it closed, taking away her option to retreat.

For an instant, she truly regretted not accepting Cord's offer to come with her. It would have been nice to have him here to goad her into doing what she needed to do. Then she could have spent a few days resenting him, but at least she would be inside the office and not cowering here in the hallway, proving to herself what a ridiculous ninny she'd become.

She glanced at the number on the office door across from her, then counted down three doors to a suite that had to be Dr. Blake's. It wasn't so far, she encouraged herself. She could walk down there and stand outside until she got her bearings. She could still change her mind.

But when she was facing the heavy oak door with its discreet sign, Warren Blake, PhD, it suddenly swung open and a man with an open, friendly face and twinkling brown eyes stood there gazing back at her.

“Dinah Davis?”

Caught and unable to speak, she nodded.

“I thought so. I recognize you from TV. I'm Warren Blake.” To her surprise, he came into the hallway and let the door close. “You running late or running scared?”

She grinned despite the tension churning in her stomach. “Scared,” she admitted.

He shrugged. “Happens all the time. We could go downstairs for coffee, if you'd feel more comfortable.”

Relief washed over her. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirmed, then warned, “Don't get too excited, though. You still have to spend fifty-five minutes with me, hopefully telling me what brought you here. You told my service it was an emergency.”

“Not like an appendicitis attack,” she said, feeling foolish.

“Good thing. That's definitely not my specialty.” His compassionate gaze settled on her face. “What's it going to be? In here or downstairs?”

“Downstairs this time, if you don't mind.”

“Fine by me.”

He walked off toward the elevator without waiting to see if she was following. He obviously assumed she would, even though it had seriously crossed her mind to bolt for the staircase. That stubborn pride of hers, which was occasionally good for something, kept her from doing it. She refused to have one more person thinking she was a terrified wimp.

The coffee shop off the lobby was packed with the lunch hour rush, but Dr. Blake managed to snag a table that was just being vacated. “You stay here,” he instructed Dinah. “I'll get the coffee. Anything to eat?”

“No, thanks, but you go ahead. This is probably your lunch hour.”

“Don't worry about it. I'll be right back.”

When he returned, he set her coffee in front of her, then settled back with a disgustingly healthy bottle of water.

“You know until I saw you with that, I thought you might be a perfectly normal person,” she said wryly. “Now I know you're a health nut, like everyone else these days.”

He laughed. “I can drink coffee if it will put you at ease.”

Dinah shook her head. “Something tells me there's not enough coffee in the universe to put me at ease.” She met his gaze. “How do we do this? I mean without the whole couch thing?”

“You've been watching too much TV. We hardly ever ask clients to sprawl out on a couch unless that's the way they feel most relaxed. As for what we do now, you talk. I listen.”

“Could we start with the weather?” she quipped.

“We could, but it would be a waste of your money. It's Charleston in summer. What is there to say once you get past hot and humid?”

Since the weather was out, Dinah asked, “How do you know Maggie? That's the friend who recommended you, in case I didn't mention that to your service.”

He chuckled. “Nice try, but I get to ask the questions. You fill in the blanks.”

She clung to her cup and took a drink. It was still so hot, it burned her tongue. “Maybe you should ask one then. I don't seem to know where to start. I've never done this before.”

“Done what? Had someone poke around in your head?” he asked, his amusement plain.

She nodded.

“It's not an invasive procedure, Dinah. You don't need to be scared of it. All that needs to happen is for you to trust me enough to talk to me. I won't tell anyone what we've discussed. Your secrets are safe.” He leaned forward, his expression suddenly intense. “But I'm not psychic. I might be able to tell if you lie to me or skirt the truth, but I can't get at the truth unless you reveal it. You ready to give it a try?”

Was she? Not really, but there was little question that she was going to be badgered to death by everyone if she didn't make an honest effort to give this a chance.

“Okay,” she said at last, still clinging to the cup so tightly it was a wonder it didn't break.

“Then why don't I start? Anytime I'm getting off-
track, you stop me and point me in the direction you'd prefer to go, okay?”

Relieved by the suggestion, she seized it. “Sure.”

“You've spent a lot of your career reporting in war zones, is that right?”

She nodded.

“Must have been pretty brutal.”

“At times.”

“Did you get used to it?”

She regarded him with shock. “No. Who could ever get used to it?”

“But you found a way to cope,” he guessed.

“I suppose.”

“Tell me how.”

She gave the question some thought. “The same way all reporters or soldiers or cops do, I suppose. We resorted to irreverent humor. We sort of clung together and formed really deep bonds. Somehow we managed to create this little island of sanity in the midst of the chaos. It was an illusion, of course, but it worked.”

“Did you work with the same people most of the time?”

She thought she saw where he was going, straight at the bottom line, as a matter of fact. “Yes,” she said, her tension already building as he moved toward the inevitable question.

“Anyone you were especially close to?”

A lump formed in her throat and tears promptly welled up in her eyes. “Yes.”

He regarded her with a patient, reassuring expression. “Am I getting too close, Dinah? Is this what's so painful?”

She nodded.

“Would you rather not talk about it here?”

She was suddenly overwhelmed by a helpless feeling. Maybe this was the best place. Surely she wouldn't fall apart right here, not with all those years of training under her mother's tutelage about the proper way for a Southern lady to behave in public. Maybe she could control her reactions, just say the words and then let Dr. Blake guide her through the anguish. Maybe it could all be very clinical and cool.

Moreover, maybe she needed to just blurt it out while she had the nerve. If they left this table, this café, by the time they reached his office, she might have stuffed everything back down again until she felt safe and in control.

“It's okay. We can do this here,” she said at last. “I was very close to my cameraman.” She tried to say his name and couldn't. “He was an amazing man, a brilliant photographer.”

“Was?”
Dr. Blake repeated, his tone gentle.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, forced herself to get that one devastating word past the huge boulder in her throat. “He died,” she said softly, feeling her composure crumble. “He died.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks, then came in a torrent. Dr. Blake handed her a fistful of napkins, his expression revealing not the slightest hint of embarrassment at sitting here with a woman who was quietly crying. Maybe he was used to people coming unglued in public places. Maybe everyone in here was used to the psychologist and his unstable patients occupying this very table. The thought crept in and made Dinah smile, even though she was on the verge of filling the whole room with a foot of water from her seemingly unstoppable tears.

“Was he the cameraman whose death was reported
on all the newscasts a few months back? He was killed by a car bomb?” She nodded.

“And you were there?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Have you talked about this with anyone?” Dr. Blake asked.

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

She shrugged. He was speaking so calmly and with so much compassion, she wanted to respond the same way. She summoned her reporter's objectivity, leapt behind the wall she'd always tried to keep between her self and her subjects.

“At first everyone over there tiptoed around what happened to avoid upsetting me,” she said. “Then when I was finally ready to talk about what had happened, no one wanted to hear.”

“Really? Not even your friends?”

“You have to understand,” she said earnestly, trying to defend the people who'd all but willed her to keep silent. “Over there we all have to do what we can to keep the very fragile grip we have on things. If something like this could happen to one of us, it could happen to any of us. Talking about it reminds people of that, so after the first shock wears off, we pretty much stuff it down and forget about it.”

“But, of course, no one really forgets,” he suggested.

“No, not really.”

“So how long did you stay there keeping your friend's death all bottled up inside?”

“About six months.”

“And then what happened?”

“I came home.”

“By choice?”

“In a way. I was no longer as effective as I had been. My bosses were worried about me. They wanted me to take a leave of absence or another assignment till I was more myself.” She swallowed hard. “I didn't take it well, when they told me that. I guess I thought they should cut me some more slack, at least at first. Then, when I was forced to admit they were right, that I'd lost my edge in the field, I quit.”

“So you'd lost your friend and then, in essence, you lost your job?”

She forced a grin. “Yep, that pretty much sums it up. Pretty pathetic, huh? Local success story comes home a failure.”

For the first time he regarded her with a trace of impatience. “You think of yourself as a failure? For what? Caring about your friend's death? Caring that your life has changed dramatically? Do you know that two of the biggest stresses anyone can face—
anyone,
Dinah—are the loss of someone important and the loss of a job? And do you know a third? Moving. So, here you are back home in Charleston without the career that apparently defined you, at least in your own mind, without some one who mattered to you, and far away from the world you'd been living in for how long?”

“Ten years.”

“Well, gee,” he said, his tone wry, “I don't see anything there that you could possibly be depressed or upset about, do you? I'm surprised as heck you're not out appointment and whooping it up every night.”

He'd just made her sound almost…normal. Dinah regarded him with amazement. “I'm not crazy?”

He laughed. “Not unless you persist in beating yourself up over this.”

“Then I'm cured?” she asked happily.

His expression sobered instantly. “Sorry. It's not that easy, I'm afraid. You and I are just getting started.”

Her momentary joy dimmed. “Really? But I thought—”

“You thought I could just snap my fingers or wave a magic wand and you'd start to feel better, right?”

“But I do feel better,” she insisted.

“But do you have the slightest clue about what comes next?” Dr. Blake asked. “Is your grief for your friend manageable? You haven't even told me his name, Dinah. Or how he died. I know because I remember the incident, but you didn't say the words. Doesn't that tell you something? You made it as impersonal as you possibly could, but this man wasn't some almost anonymous colleague. For you to be this sad, he must have mattered deeply to you. You need to get all of that out in the open. We haven't even ripped the scab off the wound, much less cleaned it out so it could heal.”

Dinah knew he was right, but she'd wanted so badly for there to be some quick fix. She'd wanted that magic wand he'd talked about.

“Same time tomorrow?” he suggested. “But in my office, okay?”

“You really think I'm going to come unglued, don't you?”

He gave her a look filled with understanding and compassion. “If you're lucky.”

 

Dorothy was still upset about Tommy Lee's decision to leave banking and go to work for Cord. If that was his dream, fine, but she knew in her gut that he'd come
to it because Marshall had pushed him too hard. She'd heard all her husband's barely concealed innuendoes about Tommy Lee's lack of skills. If he said such things to her, what had he been saying to their son?

Even though she'd promised Tommy Lee she would stay out of it, she headed to the bank right after her monthly garden club luncheon. She'd intended to have this conversation with Marshall last night, but he'd been late coming home, probably because he'd guessed she was going to be furious with him.