Chapter Thirteen

 

Em tried hard to erase the night's incident from her mind. It was nothing. Nothing, she told herself firmly. It was the wine, or just one of those weird moments that overtakes people sometimes. It didn't matter, because it was over.

"You're late," said Isabel. "Where have you been?" She was waiting in the doorway of the sound booth, arms crossed like a drill sergeant.

Where had she been? Em had totally lost track of this morning's activities. "I, um, got tied up at the customer service line. Exchanging some things," she answered, remembering the blouse and lacy underwear in her bag, both of which had failed to exhibit their in-store damage marks until it was too late. "Were we planning to review anything before the show?" If so, she had forgotten that, too.

"In here," said Izzy, less commandingly than before. "I think we need to talk."

"I don't know what you mean," Em answered, guiltily. Isabel closed the sound booth's door behind them.

"I mean something's up. Girl, you can't hide from me, you know that. Stop playing around and spill the beans before we have to get the show rolling."

Em hesitated. "All right," she said. "But you have to swear never to say anything."

"Scout's honor," said Izzy, sounding puzzled. "So, what is it?"

"Colin ... kissed me last night," said Em.

"What? Are you serious?" Izzy lowered her voice with this statement, as if the protection of the booth wasn't enough.

"I know — but it was just the heat of the moment. He apologized afterwards, but it was weird. I had said some nice things about his book, he said something nice about my radio work, and then — we accidentally had a moment." She rubbed her forehead. "I just ... I don't want to make anything of it, but what if he ... and I know he doesn't, but ..."

"He apologized?" repeated Isabel, incredulously.

"I know. He said he was sorry, and something about disrespecting me and Frank —"

"And he didn't say he was in love with you. Or ask for any favors, or for you to leave your boyfriend for him —"

"No. He just apologized and walked out. It was weird, like I said. The whole ... experience." Except for the kiss itself. Em was doing her best not to think about that experience too deeply. "He seemed so upset afterwards. With himself. I know what it sounds like — but what do you think?"

"It sounds to me like some girl left her stiletto heel marks all over his heart," Isabel observed, shrewdly, "and he spooks the instant he thinks he's getting near that kind of pain again."

"What? You mean, you think he's in love with me?" Em blurted this out without meaning it.

"I'm just saying." That was all the answer Izzy would give her, short of a knowing look. Her expression changed when she glanced at the studio clock. "Sheesh, look at the time. We can't go over those promos with only three minutes." Isabel swiveled her chair around and sat down, lifting her headset from the panel. "Get in there, Doctor Emma —"

Em wasn't done with this discussion, but had no choice. Slipping into her studio chair, she adjusted her headset, trying to push Izzy's words out of her thoughts. Colin was not in love with her. Not priggish, cold Doctor Ferris, whose personal dislike for radio therapy should've been enough to make him despise her. He had come to her house to work, not lay his heart at her feet...

"And here's your host, Doctor Emma."

Em recovered herself, hastily. "Thanks, Isabel," she said. "Let's get straight to the phones today." No opening remarks. The abruptness of this speech surprised Isabel, who was now scrambling to line up a caller.

"We have Norm from Houston, who's having issues expressing his feelings to his wife."

"Welcome to Heart Therapy, Norm," said Em.

She was only half-listening to Norm's problem. Her mind couldn't stay focused at all. She could feel the pressure of Colin's form against hers. He had been stronger than she imagined. And a good kisser — what was she thinking?

"... so what should I do, Doctor Emma?"

Em knew her face must be blank, judging from Isabel's concerned expression on the other side of the glass. "Well, Norm..." she hesitated, her heart pounding as she tried to recall his words. "We'll have an answer for you right after the break."

Isabel switched to station I.D. "What is wrong with you?" she asked over the mic's intercom.

"I don't know," Em answered, frustrated. "Just play back Norm's call for me, quick."

Isabel obeyed. But she could see the suspicion in her producer's eyes whenever Izzy glanced her way. Em was shrinking beneath it.

Don't look at me like that. She knew what Isabel was thinking. She was doing her best to get away from this situation, but it was as if Colin was some sort of mind worm implanted in her brain. Infesting all her thoughts, even when she knew better.

Norm was followed by Lacy from Indianapolis, and Trevor from Bowling Green. Em's answers felt less focused, possibly because she was struggling so hard to stay in the moment, afraid of slipping again. Even when Isabel's scrutinizing gaze had returned to normal, she still had herself to worry about.

"Next up, we have a familiar voice on the line. Claire from Omaha is with us. Claire, you're on the air with Doctor Emma."

"I am? Oh, thank you so much, Doctor Emma! I was hoping I would get on today, but it can't happen every time, can it?"

"Hi, Claire." Em was forcing her voice to sound light and friendly. "Tell us what's on your mind."

"Well, there's just so many things...first off, there's my mother, who's fine, but she still has this little habit of asking for things she can't have anymore. Like peanut clusters, which the doctor told her not to because they make her blood pressure go up so high..."

Em's mind wandered away from Claire's recital. What would Frank say if he found out somehow? Heaven forbid, what if Lucas did — and Harriet's project made a sudden shift to cover would-be matchmaking between the two therapists themselves?

"... and I really thought she would adjust to the adult daycare more quickly, except she didn't, of course. I think that's my problem when it comes to really enjoying art class on Tuesday. It's simply guilt..."

Guilt was gnawing Em like a mouse eating a bread loaf. Claire's voice was becoming a drone in her ears as the problems trickled out. Her own problems seemed much worse by comparison.

"... and then there's the problem of the grocery delivery idea. See, I think that's taking too much time out of —"

"Claire, really, we need to move on to other callers before the show is over," Em interrupted. She felt tired at the notion of hearing the minutiae of yet another of Claire's problems. "You're taking up their time when you bring up this many issues."

"But I have so many things I want your opinion on," said Claire.

"But there's such a thing as oversharing," said Em. She sounded irritable, a thought which simply made her more irritable — moreover, she was saying this on the air. That was an absolute no in Em's book, with Isabel deputized to politely silence callers who tended to ramble, including Claire. "This is definitely oversharing, Claire. Do you really think listeners are keeping up with your problems with this much detail? Do you really, truly think everyone cares about the minor issue of grocery delivery?"

"Well, I —"

"I'm afraid I don't, Claire. That's why we have to cut this short." Em hit the button. "Isabel, who's next?" She saw her producer jump — until now, Isabel had been frozen with shock over Emma's less-than-gentle booting of their regular caller.

"Tammy from Denver," announced Isabel.

"Tammy, you're on with Doctor Emma right after the break." As soon as Isabel hit the commercial button, Em pulled off her headphones and exited the booth. Doctor Emma isn't in the house today, she thought. And, at the moment, she definitely doesn't want to talk about why.

The rest of the show suffered from Emma's mind being elsewhere, although the second half sounded far more like the usual Heart Therapy's advice than the first. Em's emotions were still far from normal, however.

"We need to talk promos," began Isabel, after the sign-off. She was using her "stern parent" voice, the one Em knew so well from conversations in the past about troubled patches for the show.

"Tomorrow," said Em. "Or some other time, Izzy. I have to go home right now." She gathered up her shoulder bag.

"I think we should talk about what happened today before whatever it is cools off," began Isabel.

"Please, no," said Em, with a groan. "I don't. I just want to go home and forget this whole day."

She passed Lucas in the hall as she made a beeline for the elevator. "Great show today, Emma!" he said, opening with his usual line. "Looking forward to that debate tomorrow night —"

"Sure. Great." Glad somebody is. Em pushed the button to close the elevator doors as quickly as possible.

At home, she made the mistake of answering her phone without checking the number on the screen. "Emmy?" Her mother's voice sounded irritable also. "Emmy, why haven't you returned my calls? I left three messages for you — you won't believe what's happened with the neighbors — we're being driven mad —"

"Mother, really?" Em answered, fingers kneading her forehead.

"Well, practically so! First, Jane is having to live in the basement rec room until she can find a new place, since she's been turned down by three employers this week. Three! And there's scarcely enough room for her, what with all the boxes she's brought, and the furniture for the guest room already there. And now the Hursts are at it again with their leaf blower on weekend mornings —"

"What do you want me to do about it?" Em asked.

"Come home and help your sister fix her life, for starters! And persuade your father to call his lawyer and sue the Hursts for being a local nuisance! My nerves are all —"

"Mama, I really can't talk right now," said Em. "I have a debate to prepare for, remember?"

"All you ever do is work! And that television thing is dreadful! Of course, I told everyone you were going to be on that show — but you looked so pale and sick under those lights I could hardly look at you! And you kept rubbing your palm in that distracting way —"

"I have to go, Mama. Bye." Em hung up before she could hear the rest.

She was sitting on the edge of her back stoop with a cup of coffee in her hand when George came outside. He was carrying some sort of rose spray tucked underneath his arm, along with a gardening book.

"Evening," he greeted her. "How's your mother?"

"Miserable," answered Em. "How else would she be?"

"Mmhmm." He twisted the spray nozzle, then pushed his gardening hat back from his forehead and studied her. "No evening on the town?" he asked. "Where's the dashing writer who's in love with you?"

Her cheeks burned at the thought of Colin, although her brain realized that he was referring to Frank. "He's at a book conference in Minneapolis," she answered. "Besides, I don't really feel like going out tonight. I think I'll stay in with a good book."

She remembered at this moment that George had loaned her Colin's book. Her cheeks burned once again, as she hoped fervently that he wouldn't ask about her reading progress.

"Go out," advised George. "Don't sit at home and mope with your problems." He spritzed the leaves of his roses with something white, liquid, and foamy.

"I would rather mope," she answered. "It's been a really awful day, George. I was distracted, I lost my temper, and I have a really complicated problem involving another person. Their words and their actions just don't match up, and I'm too confused to figure it out. I can't ask them, either."

"Why not?"

"They're not a very open person," she answered. "And they might misunderstand the reasons I'm asking." She stroked the side of her coffee cup with one finger. Colin might think she felt the same way if she asked. Strangely enough, if he kissed her again, she was afraid she might not be able to tell him no.

That was ridiculous.

"There's no way to make your reasons clear to them?"

"Not without hurting this person, no." Even the thought of hurting Colin by telling him her heart belonged elsewhere was still too painful to imagine. She shrank from the idea, even though he had hurt her more than once with his words.

"Then you are in a pickle, aren't you? As we say in the legal world, I mean."

"That's a polite way of putting it, yes."

George capped off his sprayer again. "I could take you out on the town tonight," he said. "Just a friend-to-friend drink somewhere to finish chatting. Consider me your chivalrous rescuer for the evening." He grinned at her to prove the offer wasn't romantic.

"I couldn't accept," Em answered, with a laugh.

"Is it because I'm old enough to be your father?" he teased. "Because that never stopped some of the great romances of literature."

"You're hardly old enough to be my father," she answered. Well, maybe close. Despite his possible fifty-something status, George was still handsome, looking more well-seasoned than aged. She imagined the single women at George's law firm were all hoping he'd offer the same invitation to them sometime.

"At least it got a laugh out of you," George pointed out. "Anyway, don't mope. It never cures any problem, Emma. As you're aware, I'm sure."

"It doesn't," Emma answered, wryly. "But there are some times when it feels like the only thing to do."