eight
THE RETURN WALK FROM THE BEACH felt shorter, in part because they were walking toward lights. Greg pointed to a large building to the south of the main house, now dark. “A lot of my clients are recovering military veterans whose daily therapy includes physical workouts. That building houses a full gym, with weights, stationary equipment, a steam room, and a hot tub. On the east side you’ll find outdoor gear—floating boards, bikes, hiking equipment. Consider all of it at your disposal. Dad built much of this for my own particular needs as I recovered.”
“All right,” she said.
Rather than enter the main house, he took the breezeway to the left toward the other home and its welcoming lights. “This is one of the guesthouses. I think you’ll find it comfortable.”
Greg unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. He watched Janelle as she took in the sight of vases full of fresh flowers, the smell of sugar cookies, the background holiday music playing, a Christmas tree twinkling with lights and its faint smell of pine. His estate manager, Amy Juette, had lovely ideas for making things welcoming for guests.
Greg noticed Janelle’s tears, saw her hand fist in an unconscious motion to assert control and stop them, watched her smile to cover her reaction. It was a good sign, those sudden emotions that caught her off guard, even if she was still trying to suppress them.
“It’s truly beautiful, Greg.”
“You’re getting Christmas a little early. Amy Juette, my estate manager, couldn’t resist doing some shopping for you at her sister’s boutique after Ann had sent her a size range. The boxes under the tree are some clothes that might suit the island. Feel free to exchange any or all of them; you aren’t going to hurt their feelings. The two sisters simply love clothes, and shopping is Amy’s Christmastime pleasure.”
Tears did escape now. “Presents I can open early. Please, tell her thanks from me.”
“I will,” he promised. “I’ll introduce you two later this week.” Keeping his tone practical, he walked her through the short list of things that would bring this evening to a close. “Everything here is for your use—towels, soap, cosmetics, DVDs, board games, books—go ahead and explore every room, closet, and dresser drawer, and enjoy whatever you find helpful.
“In a three-ring binder on the kitchen counter you’ll find photos and brief bios of the people you’re likely to meet—some who work for me, others year-round residents.”
He walked to the front window and pointed. “See that living room table lamp at my place?” She came to join him, nodded.
“When that light is on, I’m up, company is welcome. Feel free to come over and find me. There’s no need to knock, just let yourself in and track me down. I’ll either be somewhere around the property or down at the beach. If I’ve left a note, it will be on my kitchen counter.” He held out the guesthouse key. “This is the last time I enter this house unless you invite me in. You deserve a place that is both private and yours when you aren’t working with me. Think of this as a borrowed vacation home—which hopefully it’s going to be for you.”
She accepted the key. “Thanks again.”
“Come back to the main house for a bit. I’ve one last thing to show you, and there’s some dinner if you’re hungry. I’ll bring over your bag with the items you picked up at the mall earlier today. You can talk over any last details with Ann, and then you’re on your own until you decide to show up tomorrow.”
Janelle glanced around the place, hesitating to leave, then nodded.
Greg smiled at who was waiting for them outside his home. “I misspoke—I have two last things to show you.” He knelt. “This is my dog Marco.” He looked up at Janelle. “If you’re allergic to dogs, tell me now. Marco has a friend he vacations with when I need to make this a dog-free property. It’s not a problem—he loves it there.”
“I’m good,” she replied.
He rose so she could better see Marco. The dog was big, his coat solid white. “Then I need you to make a decision about him. If you just don’t like dogs, or are neutral to the idea of one, I can give Marco a command to leave you alone and he will honor that. He’ll basically ignore you forever like you’re a cat person.” Janelle smiled at the analogy. “If I don’t wave him off,” Greg continued, “he’s going to consider you part of his family and routinely come find out what you are doing. Marco gravitates to guests—he figures they’re a lot more interesting than me. He will keep you company if given a choice and tag along with whatever you’re doing.”
Janelle crouched down to greet him. “I like dogs. Actually, I’ve missed them a lot. Hello, Marco.”
Greg watched the two of them as they checked each other out. When she found the spot to scratch on the back of his neck, Marco fell in love and tumbled on his side to offer his belly. Greg saw the first true smile from Janelle, one that wasn’t shadowed. He figured one problem had just solved itself. These two would get along just fine.
“The large green storage box on the breezeway is his toy box with dozens of his favorites. And he loves to swim. We pretend he doesn’t eat people food, but he runs around enough that it’s not a problem. Whatever you want to share he’ll be happy to wolf down—except green beans.”
Janelle smiled, and with another scratch of Marco’s belly, nodded and rose. “You’ve got a nice dog.”
“He’s been with me since he was a puppy. Early in my own therapy I needed a friend, one willing to walk with me everywhere. He’s good about coming when you call his name, so if you want to take him on island jaunts with you, again, feel free. There’s nothing on this island he doesn’t enjoy, from being out on a boat to riding around in a golf cart. He’s an indoors dog too, well trained to stay off the furniture, but comes and goes as he likes. He’ll bark once at your door if he wants to come in or be let out.”
Greg continued on through the breezeway and into his house, adding, “The only dogs permitted on the island are owned by residents. There are twenty-three total with a yearly fee of two hundred dollars each—an amount decided by those who don’t own a dog. The dogs can be off-leash and are allowed on the beaches so long as they’re with somebody. Your dog gets a bad reputation, you get a talking-to by the mayor and then have to keep your dog on a leash. So public peer pressure keeps all our dogs and their owners law-abiding. The cats are much more likely to misbehave.”
Janelle laughed, and it was a nice sound. “Got it.”
Greg led them down a hallway to the second door on the left, turned on lights. “This is my office. You may or may not ever see it again, depending on how you like the word office and how this space feels to you.”
Removing the wall between two bedrooms had opened up the length, and adding large windows brought the flower garden into the visual space during the day. The room held sofas, wing-back chairs, side tables, and a desk that was shoved up against the wall, its top filled with papers mostly. Decorated by Amy, the room was softer in décor than his personal tastes would have chosen to do, yet the space suited working with clients and their loved ones.
Greg leaned back against the desk, and Marco sniffed at his shoes before stretching out on the carpet. Greg wasn’t surprised that Janelle had stopped just inside the doorway. He watched the openness shown earlier while interacting with his dog turn now into cautious reserve. Her arms were unconsciously folded across her chest, her expression marked by uncertainty. He had expected just such a reaction. So far, Janelle wasn’t giving him anything unexpected, though he knew she would do so eventually. No client was predictable really, but he hadn’t yet discovered where or in what way Janelle would show herself as unique.
“The assumption is we talk,” he mentioned lightly. “When, where, how long, and on what topic will depend mostly on what works for you. You’re my only client at the moment. And I’m not an office-hours sort of person.”
She walked over to study the photos on the wall, the degrees he’d framed—not out of vanity but because clients needed to have a frame of reference about him before opening up about their own lives. The Medal of Honor and its ceremonial photo wasn’t on that wall for personal reasons, but many other milestones of his life and career were there on display.
Janelle stopped at his wedding photo, he in uniform, his bride in a beautiful white wedding dress of lace and satin. “Ann said you were married once.”
“Melinda couldn’t handle the nine months I was presumed dead, the rehab after it, and left me to marry a guy she’d known since high school.”
Janelle glanced over at him. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded his acceptance of the quiet words. “There are home-front casualties of war too. Though it’s both a happy and sad reminder of my past, I like that picture’s image of the hope-filled dreamers we both were back then. I miss her. I’ve survived, I’ve let go of the pain of her leaving as the years have passed, and she’s got a good husband. She’s now in a good place too. But I do miss her. When I think about the past, it’s Melinda versus those months in prison that comes to mind first these days.”
Janelle nodded at that remark.
He scanned the photos, then looked over at her. “The last six years of your life have just begun the process of turning into history for you, your own wall of pictures. I’m going to help you work through the land mines of that process, sort it out, and close it well. Most of that happens as we simply talk together.
“Some people find this office and a set time a useful ‘box’ for those conversations. Others prefer the distraction of being elsewhere, talking around the fire ring on the beach at midnight, while lifting weights in the gym, or taking hikes around the island. More than a few clients preferred to start the discussion in one place and then let it continue unfolding through meals and walks and activities until we’d worked through everything. A general rule of thumb is that the more we talk, the faster the work gets done.
“I can tell you up front you’re going to cry, get mad at me, probably storm out of a conversation or two. You aren’t going to hurt my feelings when you do. I won’t be handing out any demerit points, think less of you, or get angry in return. If you leave a discussion, my policy is I let you go, and we don’t talk about anything related to that subject for at least four hours, and then only after we’ve talked through a safer topic first. I’ll be calibrating that approach based on how you’re interacting with me.
“My hope is you’ll stay long enough that you’re well on the way to being whole again. Truth is, not that many clients do.” She glanced back at him, surprised. “They get stable enough they want to take a break, quit working on the hard issues, see how they do with life on their own. If you reach that point, I ask you to give me three more days. I’ll wrap things up with an exit interview of sorts, then help you transition to wherever you want to go next.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“My assumption is you’ll be around the island for at least a few months. We’ll talk when you wish to do so. You’re my guest for as long as you’d like to be. There are six guest accommodations in this immediate area, and it’s rare for them all to be full, even when families of clients have come in at my request.”
“You had no clients when Ann called you. I interrupted your Christmas break?”
“I’m good at saying no, Janelle. Having you here suits me.” He gave that a moment, then added, “When other clients do arrive, I simply alternate days so you’ll know that on Tuesdays and Fridays I’m working with someone else. You’ll cross paths occasionally with another client at the horse barn or the gym, but this place is large enough that it’s not been a concern. If you ever do desire more privacy, the island is full of rentals to choose from, ranging from apartments in town to condos on the other side. I can arrange for your accommodations with a single phone call.”
“I take it you own some of those rentals.”
He smiled. “More than a few. Either way, you really are welcome here for as long as you would like to stay.” He gave her a minute. “We okay?”
“Good.” He looked at the time and calculated what was left to tell her. “Thanks for listening as you have. I asked for three hours, and we’re going to be done with both the conversation items and dinner well before then.”
“Information is leaking out of my brain,” she admitted.
Greg chuckled at the image. “You’ll be amazed at what you still remember tomorrow. The last thing I have is a few general guidelines you need to know tonight.
“The first is this: call me for any reason, twenty-four seven. I don’t care if you simply have insomnia, I want the call. If you’re someone who likes to talk all the time, that’s on me, I’ll adjust and cope. You’d be one of those clients who figures things out by saying it aloud. My job becomes remarkably easy if you happen to be one of them.” He caught her brief smile. “I’m going to wager a guess that’s not going to be you.” She fully smiled as she shook her head. “That’s a shame. But seriously, Janelle, call me. You won’t be imposing. Not every conversation is therapy—I’m good with small talk too. Which is useful to me in its own way, as it lets me know you’ve relaxed enough just to chat.
“The refrigerator in the guesthouse is well stocked. I also keep a well-stocked refrigerator and pantry in this main house and will learn your tastes. Feel free to eat and drink whatever appeals to you. It’s appropriate to consider this an open kitchen. Fix meals in my kitchen rather than yours if you like—this one has more pots and pans and gadgets than the ones in the guesthouses—just expect to share if you do. I occasionally put a red Mine sticker on fried-rice leftovers, otherwise I’m a sharing kind of guy.
“I like company. If you want to hang out and watch a movie, bring a book over to read, or just be over here so you’re not alone, you’re welcome to do that. If we can become friends during this process, that’s a good milestone. You’ll find I’m more than willing to meet you halfway.
“And a final point. I love to fly. We’ll be making day trips together as far as the Grand Canyon when the sights around here become routine.” He smiled at her change in expression. “You’ll find me throwing curve balls into our conversations occasionally, and that one was to judge your capacity to absorb more change. Don’t worry, I fully expected that mental freeze you just showed me. We won’t be going anywhere until well into next year. I’m not someone who likes crowds, but I do love to fly. I’ll head up to Nashville for the day, over to Miami, or more recently I’ve been heading west so I can explore the Badlands. I’m open to suggestions if there’s somewhere you’d like to visit.
“And with that, the dump of info hitting you comes to a close. The waterfall is shutting off. There’s no more stuff to absorb from Ann, Paul, or myself. Life is going to stop moving now.”
“It’s all been . . . overwhelming, and so totally unexpected.”
“Sleep on it, Janelle. Defer judgment on what Ann arranged. If you decide this isn’t for you, I’m not going to take it personally. We’ll figure something else out. I’m an adaptable guy.” He opened a desk drawer and retrieved a gift-wrapped package, held it out. “One who did also, however, get you a welcome gift.”
She hesitated before reaching out to accept it, not sure how to react, and carefully unwrapped it. The reference Bible was leather-bound, new.
“Ann mentioned you had a Bible among your belongings, one that no doubt reflects the last six years. God will be giving you new verses to underline, new notes to make, focused on how to deal with your freedom and what comes next in your life. Use both Bibles for a while. You’ll find the contrast interesting a decade from now, reflecting on these two periods of your life.”
“Thanks. It’s a thoughtful gift.”
“God is the best Counselor I know.” He gave her a minute before turning practical again. “You get space from me from this point on. Ann leaves tomorrow midday if you have questions for her. My recommendation for tonight, do whatever suits you. You want to spend the entire night on the beach watching the stars, enjoy yourself. Marco will tag along. You want a movie marathon and want company, hang out here and I’ll make the popcorn. You want to sleep for twenty-four hours, I’ll see you when I see you.”
“You set a nice welcoming stage.”
“Can you handle it?”
“Yes.” Her hands tightened around the gift Bible. “Actually, I can. I want some dinner, then I’m going to explore the guesthouse and try on clothes. Will it be a problem if I walk over to the barn later?”
“Take Marco, and a bunch of carrots or apples,” he recommended. “The painted pinto is Marco’s favorite. Three cats hang around the barn, so if you see unexpected motion, it’s likely one of them.
“Security on the property already has your name and photo. Mike is on duty tonight; his photo and particulars are in the binder on your kitchen counter. You’ll also find keys to the gym there, and a Tate courtesy card. Show the card at any business on the island rather than spend down your cash. It will be honored just like any major credit card would be. Ferry trips, meals, shopping—your stay is covered, Janelle.”
“Someone is being very generous.”
“They aren’t afraid you’ll take advantage of the offer—they’re afraid you won’t use it. Seriously, the financing of the next six months shouldn’t be part of your concerns. You’ll never see a bill. Settle in, deal with life, then turn and look at the future you want. There’s time to think it all through.”
“Okay.” She turned to the office door. “It’s a nice room, but I think you’re right. I’m going to be fine with never seeing it again.”
He laughed. “Thank you. I prefer our conversations happen elsewhere too.”
Greg followed Janelle out and then shut off the lights, feeling mostly relief. He was ready to find Ann and get some dinner himself, then deal with the fact he still had about four hours of work ahead of him.
Ann would be giving him a crash course through the case file tonight. It was easy to sympathize with Janelle at the moment. He was about to face an information waterfall of his own. He’d likely feel as if the info was leaking out of his brain too before Ann was done.