T he sun was still low across the sky, and the light in the room was golden against the plush white décor. Very soothing. Sheila would have killed for an office like this, but only those in private practice were entitled to such luxury. She was an educator at heart, though at the rate she was going, not for much longer.
She sipped her coffee and stared out the window.
“Did you finish that book on grieving I gave you?” Marianne Chang asked.
“I did. It helped.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“My father’s death?” Sheila shook her head and grimaced. “No thanks. Not today.”
“I think it’s important we open up a dialogue about this again. We’ve gotten sidetracked with all this Ethan business, but we’ve been neglecting the reasons that led you here.” The therapist’s voice was soft. “The things your father did to you, his categorical denial when you confronted him-”
Sheila put up a hand. “Not today, okay?”
It was seven thirty in the morning and Marianne had agreed to meet for an early session. Not that their sessions were really sessions-Marianne was a friend first, and their conversations didn’t mirror that of a typical therapist-patient relationship.
Sheila’s anxiety was through the roof. After several days of icy, monosyllabic communication, Morris had disappeared. Sheila hadn’t heard from her fiancé in forty-eight hours, and after leaving numerous messages on Morris’s cell phone and direct line at the bank, she had finally caved and called his executive assistant directly. She was flabbergasted to learn Morris was out of town on business. Darcy wouldn’t tell her where and would only say that she’d have her boss call when he returned. Morris had never gone away without telling her.
And was it Sheila’s imagination, or had his secretary’s tone been a bit snippy?
Marianne didn’t think it was anything to be concerned about. Sheila had told her about their failed attempt at lovemaking, and Marianne was convinced that Morris was just taking some time to lick his wounds.
In any case, the last thing Sheila wanted to talk about was her dead father.
“Okay, then.” Marianne folded her hands in her lap. “Moving on. There’s something new I want to discuss with you. And I want you to hear me out before you say no.”
The therapist’s tone was ominous and Sheila looked at her in surprise. She’d never seen her friend look so serious. “You’re scaring me,” Sheila said, half-joking. “What is it?”
Marianne took a deep breath. “Do you consider me a friend?”
“You know I do.”
“You remember I had reservations about being your therapist in the beginning?”
“Yes, and we’re past all that.” Sheila had no idea where Marianne was going with this. “Clearly it’s worked out. You’ve retained your objectivity-”
“Have I?” Marianne said, her brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. I’m starting to think I’ve let our friendship get in the way of our therapy. I think I might be doing you a disservice by being your therapist. I’m not nearly as objective as I should be, and I think if you’d been treated by someone else, you might not have ended up in this mess in the first place.”
Sheila’s mouth dropped open. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. She thought she was going to get another lecture about Ethan, or another list of reasons why Morris should have been told everything up front. She would never have guessed Marianne was doubting her own abilities as a therapist.
“What are you talking about?” Sheila was shocked. “It’s because of you I’ve been doing so well-”
Marianne put up a hand, looking tired even though the day had barely started. “No, you haven’t been doing well. If you were truly doing well, you wouldn’t have relapsed. And you did relapse, Sheila. Badly. On my watch.”
Sheila stared at her in disbelief. “You and I both know a psychologist can do only so much. Therapy only works if you make it work. I screwed up. I own that. It would have happened whether you were my therapist or not.”
“I’m not so sure. Which is why I want you to consider this.” Marianne leaned over, reaching for something on the side table. Apparently it had been there the entire time, but Sheila hadn’t noticed. “Here, take it.”
Sheila looked down at the brochure in her hand. Glossy color trifold. Serene faces pictured against a beautiful backdrop of green trees and blue sky. An italicized slogan across the bottom that read, You don’t have to do it alone. We’re here for you.
It was a pamphlet for the New Trails Treatment Center for Addiction in Roseburg, Oregon.
Sheila didn’t bother to unfold the pamphlet. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“You want me to go to rehab? In Oregon?”
Her friend nodded.
Sheila opened the brochure and read it quickly, the hysteria rising in her gut. She jabbed at the page with a hard finger. “Marianne, it says this an eight-week, in-facilit y program. I can’t do this. I have a job. I’m getting married in two weeks. I haven’t even talked to Morris yet.”
“Then the timing is perfect.” Marianne spoke calmly, unfazed by Sheila’s anxiety. “When he finds out you’re a sex addict, you can show him that brochure. It will help him to know you’re serious about getting help.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me!” Sheila’s voice was only a few decibels shy of a shriek. “You seriously want me to go to rehab? Now?”
“I didn’t say that. But I think it should be part of the discussion, yes.” Marianne pinched the space between her eyes and sighed. “I’m not trying to make your life more complicated, Sheila. I’m trying to help you uncomplicate it. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I believe you need more intensive treatment. I don’t think Sex Addicts Anonymous is helping you enough. You need more.”
“I have you.”
“I’m not enough either.” Marianne’s smile was sad. “I’m your friend, right? You trust me, don’t you?”
Sheila slumped. “I can’t believe you’re springing this on me now.”
“Well, that’s where I screwed up,” Marianne said bluntly. “I wasn’t separating your therapy from our friendship. I’m trying to now, and I should have said this a long time ago.” She leaned forward. “Listen to me. I want you to go to New Trails. Before the wedding, after the wedding, no matter so long as you discuss it with Morris before you get married. He deserves to have the option of backing out. If you want your relationship to survive this, you have to let him feel he has a choice in the matter. Otherwise he’ll feel like you trapped him. But regardless of what he decides, you need to go.”
Sheila took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. She felt like a rabbit caught in a trap. “I’m already committed to telling Morris everything, Marianne. As soon as I see him. But I can’t go to rehab. You don’t know what you’re asking. I don’t want the university to find out about my addiction. Ethan hasn’t released the video, and if he’s bluffing, there’s no need to-”
“I understand your logic. I agree Ethan could be blowing smoke. But that has nothing to do with this. I don’t care what you tell the university. You still need to go, whether the university knows the truth or not.”
It hurt to breathe. “I’d have to take a leave of absence. What am I supposed to say?”
“We’ll figure something out.”
Sheila stared at the plush carpet for a full minute before looking back up at Marianne, feeling more helpless than she ever thought possible. She knew Marianne was right. If their positions had been reversed, she’d be saying the exact same things. “Fine, I’ll consider it. I’ll talk to Morris, see what he thinks.” But she already knew what Morris would say. Morris would tell her to go. Without a doubt.
The question was, would he still marry her?
Sheila put her head in her hands, tears welling in her eyes. How had it come to this? She was a smart woman, a trained psychologist, an excellent teacher. How could she have made so many mistakes? “Ethan Wolfe. Jesus Christ. What was I thinking?”
Marianne, her face filled with a mixture of compassion and relief, reached across the coffee table and touched Sheila’s arm. “Not that I’ve met him, but I’d guess he’s a textbook antisocial personality. He’d have to be to take it this far.”
Sheila plucked a Kleenex from the box on the table and dabbed her eyes. “He’s a sociopath, Marianne. How did I not see it till now?”
“Sociopaths are beautiful liars.”
“Still. I should have seen this coming.” Sheila laughed bitterly. “I’m supposed to be an expert on human behavior. And I missed this?”
“You’re also human.”
The soft lighting in Marianne’s office suddenly seemed too bright. Sheila rubbed her eyes. “Is this what rock bottom feels like?”
“Yes,” the therapist said. “I won’t bullshit you. And there’s only one way out.”
“Maybe I should just leave now.” Sheila sniffled. “You want me to go to Oregon? Why don’t I take off now? And write Morris a letter when I get there? Because honestly, whatever courage I thought I had just dissolved. I don’t know how I’m going to face him with all this.”
Marianne’s voice was careful. “That would be cowardly, Sheila. It would really hurt Morris if you left without telling him. I think your fiancé deserves better.”
“It will hurt him anyway when he finds out the truth.”
“There’s no easy answer, is there?” Marianne’s face was filled with regret. “Except to say that no matter what happens, I promise I won’t let you down again.”
Sheila managed a small smile. “What would I do without you?”
Her friend reached over to give her a hug. “You’ll never have to find out.”
The entire conversation was worked out in her head by the end of the day, but Sheila honestly had no idea if she’d actually be able to say the words. Assuming she even got the chance.
The little red light on the cordless extension in her kitchen was flashing. Setting her purse on the counter, she grabbed the phone. She had messages-just one, as it turned out, but it was the one she was waiting for.
“I’m home,” Morris’s recorded voice said through the speaker. Finally. “Sorry I didn’t tell you I was going out of town. It came up pretty quick. The Japanese investors wanted to meet in Vancouver-oh, hell, you don’t give a horse’s ass about that. Call me back, let me know if it’s all right to come over.”
It was more than all right. Twenty minutes later, Morris was ringing her doorbell.
She opened the door to see him standing there with the rain at his back, his dark hair plastered to his scalp, face haggard from a long day. But his smile was genuine and, to Sheila, he looked like Christmas morning.
He stayed on the porch, not moving. Without hesitating, Sheila stepped outside in her bare feet. He met her halfway, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her hair.
“Hi, darlin’,” he said softly in her ear. It was the best sound in the world. “I’m sorry I went AWOL on you. I’ve been an ass.”
Sheila pulled back and looked up at him. His blue eyes were kind. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Let’s talk in the kitchen. I ordered Thai food but it’ll be another thirty minutes.”
They sat across from each other at Sheila’s round kitchen table. His shoes were kicked off, his jacket thrown carelessly over the back of his chair. He had taken both her hands in his and was massaging her palms gently with his thumbs.
As she looked at him now, even though he was disheveled and tired, Sheila’s heart swelled. “Should we talk about what happened Saturday afternoon?”
Morris’s gaze dropped to the table. He withdrew his hands quickly, placing them in his lap. Something he did when he was nervous. “Of course we should.”
“It was my fault.” She was glad her voice didn’t waver. “You were right about me.”
“Oh, darlin’, I shouldn’t have-”
“Let me speak for a moment.” Sheila took a deep breath. “I was aggressive. You were right. You hit it on the head. I was aggressive because…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Because that’s what I can be. In bed. Not always, but sometimes.”
“Well, so am I!” Morris said, incredulous. “Most of the time, anyway. I don’t know what the hell happened. I’ve been waiting a year to get into your panties and the moment you drop them, I fold like a burrito. I think I was just nervous.”
“But I made you that way.” She kept her eyes steady on his face. “Because I held out for so long. Of course you think I’m shy about sex. The truth is, I’m not.”
“Okay, then. Well, that’s good to know. I’m relieved, actually.”
“Don’t be. There’s more.”
Morris sat back in his chair, his eyes searching her face. “What is it? You trying to tell me something?”
He had the gift of reading people, which made him so good at his job. “Yes. But I don’t know how to say it.”
The phone at Morris’s hip rang.
“Shit,” he said, detaching it from his belt and checking the call display. “Honey, I’m sorry, I gotta take this. It’s one of the Japanese investors-he’s so goddamned squirrelly. I’ll just be a minute. Okay if I use your office?” She nodded, and he ducked out of the kitchen and into her study, closing the door behind him.
He was gone for exactly eighteen minutes. It felt more like eighteen years. When he finally came back into the room, she hadn’t moved from her chair. She saw the amused look on his face.
“Hey, I can’t believe how big Mercury is!” Morris said, chuckling. He was referring to the goldfish that lived in an oversize bowl on her desk. “I gave him some food because he’s looking a little skinny. You might want to get him a bigger bowl, because he’s-”
Sheila couldn’t hold back any longer. “Morris, I’m a sex addict.” The words, once unleashed, came out in a rabbity rush she couldn’t control. “I’ve been in therapy to deal with it. And for the most part, I was doing okay. But then I messed up. I had an affair with one of my students. I’m so sorry. I love you.”
Morris stood in stunned silence, his phone still in his hand. The grin faded from his face, so slowly it was almost comical. He reached out, placing a beefy hand on the counter to steady himself.
“Hoo-ah.” Morris’s voice was heavy in the silence of the kitchen. “Well now. That’s a big problem.”
As if to punctuate his words, the doorbell chimed. The food had arrived.