Chapter Twelve

 

Harriet already had a second date lined up with Randy, this one a camera-free evening at a frozen yogurt place. A likely third date on the horizon, an upcoming movie they both expressed an interest in seeing. Dinner was nice, Randy was so sweet, he'd been to Paris once, actually — these were the details crammed into the message on Em's phone.

She hadn't had time to talk to Harriet in person. Right now, the subject of her and Doctor Ferris's joint project was too busy to answer the phone — and Em herself was busy, mostly with the effort not to think about the next debate.

She'd already erased the cringe-worthy recording of the first one. Listening to her voice — was her voice really that shrill? — hurling scarcely-veiled insults at Colin was merciless enough without seeing the nervous tic in her shoulders. Her 'listening' expression was moronic, in her opinion. And smug.

As for Colin ... well, he was his usual self on television. She supposed that was the benefit of being a stiff and uncomfortable figure half the time you're in public — no one notices anything different onscreen.

She turned her attention to a different sort of footage: the latest video in the Harriet project. Vic had spliced clips of Harriet's second first-date attempt in between one-on-one candid segments with her.

"I'm really happy that things are changing. I mean, you can't stay the same person forever, can you? And maybe Doctor Emma and Doctor Ferris can't help me fall in love, but they've still made me a happier person."

Onscreen, Harriet was laughing as she listened to something Randy was saying. She looked worlds different from the girl in the oversized sundress in the mall, who looked so lost and so determined at the same time.

"All the things they've taught me just make every day better. I don't have to just look forward to an office party, or something nice somebody says to me in the break room anymore. I look forward to going out for a walk. Spending time with myself. Or with people who really like me. That just makes a difference." Candid-segment Harriet ended this narrative with a smile.

Em clicked off the page. She felt proud of Harriet. She had made amazing progress in only a few weeks' time. More than Em ever dreamed was possible, given their first meeting, and the subsequent disaster of Elton.

It left one tiny problem, however. What were she and Colin going to do with the remaining weeks?

Apparently, Colin had the same concern. "We need a new strategy," he said, over the phone. "Clearly, Harriet doesn't need us to keep foisting romantic partners on her. Or interfering in her dates, for that matter. We need a different role in this project."

"What do you suggest?" Em was curled up in one corner of her sofa. Until now, she'd been reviewing the transcript of yesterday's show — a habit that helped her avoid noticeably repeating phrases or words on the air day to day.

"I have no ideas, currently," he said. "Unless we plan to sabotage our progress."

"Not a chance," said Emma.

"Any suggestions for the next webisode, possibly?"

Em hugged her throw pillow. "Why don't you come by and we'll figure something out," she said.

A moment of silence on the line. "Are you certain?"

"Sure. I'm not busy," she answered. "Just come by for a little while."

"All right. I'm close by, so ... I'll see you shortly." He hung up.

Em hung up as well. She needed to change into something more appropriate than loose-fitting capri pajama pants and a cami. Stuffing the transcript pages into her shoulder bag, she tossed the sofa cushions into place again and rose from her seat just as she heard the knock on the door.

He was here already? How close had he been? In a moment of panic, Em seized the nearest garment, a sweatshirt jacket, and tugged it on, zipping it closed as she simultaneously kicked a mostly-empty box of crackers out of sight under the sofa.

"Coming!" she called. On the other side of the door, Colin was waiting.

"Come on in," she said. "Let me just finish tidying up. Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable." She tossed a few stray magazines onto a side table, then rummaged for Harriet's portfolio on the bookshelf by the lamp. Being barefoot seemed too intimate for this meeting — where were her flip-flops? She glanced around, but didn't see them.

He had moved from the center of the room, draping his coat over a chair. When she turned around, he was studying a framed photo. "Is this your family?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "It's a terrible picture. I don't know why I keep it around." The photograph was one she disliked, an unflattering one of her amid her five sisters — Lydia had pinched her the second the photo was taken. It was one of the few her mother had bothered to send her.

"I didn't realize your family was so large," he said, setting it aside.

"Like Old Mother Hubbard's," answered Em. "I didn't even realize you'd ever thought about my family." She tossed a pair of sneakers in the coat closet and shut the door.

She had never thought about his family until now, either. Were there siblings — younger versions of Doctor Ferris? She caught herself wondering if the others were as good-looking as their brother, feeling ashamed of this.

"Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?" she asked.

"No, thank you."

"A glass of wine?"

He hesitated. "Yes. Just one."

"Coming up." In the kitchen, she pulled a bottle from inside her fridge, then two matching glasses from the cupboard.

She sat down on one of the floor throw pillows, pouring two glasses side by side on the coffee table. To her surprise, Colin sank down on the second cushion. He had removed his suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up as if they were preparing to physically grapple with their notes. Instead of lifting the portfolio, however, he lifted one of the glasses.

"To Miss Smith's success," he said.

"To Harriet," corrected Em, with a smile.

After the toast, it was all about work. The arguments about helping Harriet — more exercises? Coaching her on assertiveness? Stage a campaign to face the office friends who rejected her?

"I don't think she's ready to deal with them," said Em. "Why would she be? A week ago, they humiliated her. I don't want her to try to express her feelings to them directly, not now."

"But what better time than when her confidence is finally growing? She might feel better if she was capable of looking Elton in the eye and telling him that her crush on him has been erased."

"Has it?" Em wondered. "Or do you think we've just pushed the tiger into the box again? Once a girl like Harriet is attached to something, it's hard for her to give it up just because it hurts her."

He stared at the open portfolio. "That's not merely a flaw in young girls like Harriet, Doctor Emma." He glanced at her. "That's why I think having her face Elton will let her show him that he misjudged her. That he underestimated her."

"Maybe. But not now." Em took a sip from her glass. "There must be something else. We can coach her on building new friendships. Strengthening romance through supporting roles — maybe she can meet his friends and vice-versa."

"Harriet is down to one friend," Colin reminded her. "The sign-painting hanger-on Bobby. And, if our first meeting with Harriet is any indication, I'm sure Randy had already met him."

"See? Harriet needs help building a support network of friends," said Em. "I say we focus on that."

"I'll save my opinion for the debate," answered Colin. He took a sip from his glass — was that his second? Em couldn't remember — although he didn't resist when she took hold of it and looked him in the eye.

"Let's call a truce on this debate," she said. "No more insults or jabs. We only argue if we have to — and then, it's as intelligent adults. But if we can agree, then we do it. How does that sound?"

He relaxed ever so slightly; she could feel it in the arm beneath her hand. "I think it sounds good."

"Then we're agreed?"

"Agreed." He closed the front of Harriet's portfolio. Leaning against the sofa's edge, he released a long breath. "I'm rather relieved to hear you say that. I had absolutely nothing in mind for the second one, although Catherine's been pushing me to find something witty and appealing to say."

"I'm sure you'll think of something," said Em. "But we keep personal things off-limits."

"I don't know anything personal about you," he reminded her. "In fact, I know very little about you. Nothing except the personal of 'Doctor Emma' from Heart Therapy. I know nothing about what shaped that persona."

"Like my family?" guessed Em. "I think that's a subject better left alone." She lifted her glass and took another sip.

"They're not that bad, surely."

"Maybe you're judging them by your own family. A privileged childhood, an excellent education — you probably never had a screaming fight over whether you were taking a family vacation."

"And you did?"

"Yes," answered Em. "Many, many times."

"Then tell me about your family."

"All right." She set her glass aside again. "It was a tale of lower class and middle class fusion. My father was up and coming in acquisitions and mergers, my mother was a waitress. A loud, brash, but very beautiful waitress. And my father fell head over heels for her."

Colin said nothing, merely raising his eyebrows. Em smiled.

"He wasn't the handsomest guy on the planet, but she was impressed with his career and his degree. So they got married, had two daughters. Jane — Janelle — and me. Emmagene. Named for my mother's brother and sister." She grinned. "Then my father earned his first big promotion, and they moved away from my mother's family in Jersey, and bought a big house in Washington. That's when the facade of having money took over my mother's character. Publicly, at least. My three younger sisters, they've never known a life without our mother spending every dime and bragging to the neighbors about our father's income — and our father spending his spare time hiding in his hobby workshop in the garage."

"What hobby?" asked Colin.

"Model airplanes," Em answered. "With working motors. He likes vintage designs best."

She shifted her weight more comfortably. "Fair is fair," she said. "Tell me about you, now."

He was silent. "There isn't much to tell. I received my undergraduate degree from Yale in —"

"Stop, stop." Em held up her hand. "That is not the beginning of your life, all right? Tell me something more personal than that, please."

Colin grimaced, then took a breath. "Very well. I have a brother, who graduated from the same university two years prior to me. How is that?"

"Better," conceded Em. "What is your family like?"

"My father has a trust fund from his father. A lucrative one," said Colin, "along with several acres surrounding a country house. My mother is the head of a prestigious event organization firm. She was known for her impeccable taste, so I suppose it makes sense."

"A very people-oriented profession," said Em, surprised. "Is she anything like you?"

"Yes. Surprisingly." So he had detected that element in her voice.

"I can imagine you peering between the staircase banisters of your country manor," said Em, "watching society weddings being planned below. Or was that at your townhouse? I'm sure you must have had one."

"We owned an apartment. But, believe it or not, the years at the country house were the happiest of my life," said Colin. "Growing up there was ... well, when I was an adult, and pursuing my first degree, I realized I couldn't lead that life forever. I wanted something of my own. So I pursued my doctorate studies far from home. A vast search for life plans began at that point, I suppose."

"Your first time of being on your own," surmised Em.

He smiled. "True," he said. "First experience at independence — financially, even. I made do with a small allowance, scholarships, a fellowship —"

"No job?" quipped Em.

"That first experience was yet to come," he said. "This was a series of other firsts. First apartment, first attempt to make my own mark in the world. First experience in love."

"You actually fell in love?" Em echoed. "I take back what I said about your family. That surprises me more than anything."

"Why?" His question was blunt. "Did you think that nothing in my writings was ever related from my own experience? I was in a long relationship. And it ended. A few months later, I was finishing my degree at a different university, and took my first research post. Which is how my book came to be."

"What made you write the book?" Em asked. "Was it for the widened audience? It doesn't seem in character with the image of you. The quiet university researcher with all his academic papers, whose classes are probably taught by someone else."

"My mother is friends with Catherine Burg," he answered. "They were at university together. She ... persuaded me ... that my work needed something besides academic approval. Initially, I opposed the idea, but, as you said, the notion of a wider audience appealed to me the longer I wrote about relationships and therapy."

Em twisted sideways to look at him more directly, one elbow propped on the sofa cushion behind her. "What made you choose relationship therapy in the first place?" she asked.

"I wanted to help people," he answered, as if it were obvious.

"Well, you picked an odd way of doing it, hiding in a university library."

She could see Colin was slightly hurt by this. "I'm better at putting advice on paper than delivering it in person," he answered. "I had hoped the book would draw people to explore the rest of my work. Perhaps find themselves among the case studies I wrote about, and seek help for the poor choices they've made in the past."

"Like becoming more chivalrous."

He looked amused now. "That was partly Catherine's idea. She thought it would make the book more appealing to give it an overarching theme. Something catchy, something controversial, she claimed. A silly notion, I've always thought."

"No, no," said Em. "She was right. Softening your academic language, giving it a public face — it made it appeal to a bigger audience."

"Many of whom despise its title, and all that it represents," he answered.

"And others have loved it," Em pointed out. "Besides, you don't know what it's accomplished, not really. You might have helped some guy pick up the book, who, otherwise, might have passed it up if it wasn't for how many female readers embraced its trend. Or helped some girl appreciate her boyfriend's little acts of kindness. Or maybe she realized a good guy was the knight in shining armor she'd been waiting for."

Colin glanced at her. Softly, he answered, "Thank you for saying so."

She laughed. "I don't know why I am, frankly. After all, you think my work is no different from a witch doctor's."

"That isn't true," he answered. "Radio therapy has its place in the profession. Even if I'm not fond of radio's public theatre for pain, I won't deny that some of its participants have the power to help. I'm sure that you've helped a great many people. You're intelligent, highly perceptive, and honest."

"You forgot to mention my sympathetic voice as the most important part," Em answered, playfully, although she was feeling far from it at this moment. A strange tension was settling in the room, making the down on her neck rise with electricity.

"I'm not sure I can compliment it as it deserves," he answered, humbly.

Em didn't reply. She met his eyes and held his gaze for a long moment. When he reached to touch her face, she didn't pull away.

Colin was kissing her. Pressing her back against the sofa cushions, her hand resting against his cheek. And she was kissing him in return. One hand sliding down his arm, feeling the silk of his business shirt, the taut arm muscles beneath.

It felt like a full minute before she pushed against him instead of caressing him back. Colin withdrew from the kiss, sitting away from her, struggling for his breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was ... wrong of me..."

Em scrambled up, adjusting the jacket sleeve which had slipped down her shoulder. She was trying to be calm, breathing deeply and slowly. Don't say anything. Her mind didn't have the words to say, anyway. Without speaking, she left the room for the kitchen. Pouring herself a glass of cold water, she drank it steadily, slow sips designed to change her focus from thoughts of Colin's touch, the strange spark of desire which had flared inside her in response.

When she turned around, Colin was pulling on his coat before her door. "I'm sorry, Emma," he repeated. "That wasn't very gentlemanly of me. Not given your current relationship. I'm very sorry."

With that, he was gone. Em had said nothing at all in reply.