Chapter Eighteen

 

Vic shot his final footage of Harriet on Wednesday, a supposed montage of Harriet's happy, post-project life. Harriet inline skating, knitting winter caps for an Asian orphanage, taking photos of her remaining real friends — Bobby was among them, as always, Em noticed — and curled up at home on the sofa with her cat, obviously pretending to read a book for the camera's sake.

Em was glad this was out of the way before she saw Harriet for their last informal session on Wednesday evening. Harriet was attempting a recipe from a baking book, one which her grandmother had given her. Flour was scattered across the counter, dough in small piles next to brightly-colored plastic cookie cutters.

"I guess I won't see you anymore after today," said Harriet. She wiped her hands on her apron and sat down across from Em at the table.

"Let's correct that statement. You won't need to see me as often," said Em, who paused while rolling out a circle of cookie dough. "You've come a long ways from the girl who called the show, Harriet. And you did most of it yourself, you know."

Harriet blushed. "I don't know how true that is."

"Don't doubt it," said Em. "In fact, I can't think of anything helpful to say to you at this point. Except to say that I think you were right about Randy, and that I'm glad you made that decision, even though it was hard. Don't rush into a relationship just to have one. The better you know yourself, the easier it will be to recognize the right person for you."

"You think so?" said Harriet. "It was really hard to tell him no. But I didn't want him to start liking me, and I'd have to tell him that I didn't feel that way."

"It was the right thing," said Em. "And that's the only thing I can say that you need to know."

"I'll miss your advice, though," sighed Harriet. "I know it's time for me to be strong on my own. But it was nice to have somebody else tell me I was doing okay."

"You'll still have it, though," said Em. "We'll still keep in touch. We'll get together sometimes. I want to keep up with your progress."

"'Doctor Emma' keeping up with my case," said Harriet. "I guess that's okay with me." A joking smile appeared on her face with these words.

"You probably won't see much of Doctor Ferris, though," Em said. She had her doubts about him keeping up with Harriet. Colin had never seemed comfortable with the face-to-face aspect of their counseling sessions, even before he skipped the last two. Except for the evening he 'rescued' Harriet. But that was the exception and not the rule, Em imagined.

"Probably not as often," admitted Harriet. "He says he'll still call me, and he gave me a number to reach him when he's not at his office. And he said we'll get together once a month to catch up. Sort of like a reunion. He called it, 'coffee counseling services,' or something like that."

"He did say he called you after missing the last session," said Em. She was surprised to hear that Colin was keeping in touch with Harriet after this was over, especially since he had found most of the project so distasteful.

"We talk a long time on the phone. He's really helpful," said Harriet. "He told me that calling into your show was probably the best thing I ever did. He said he wished more people were strong enough to handle being that open. You know, nice stuff like that."

Em's surprise deepened. "He said that? When?"

"Yesterday. My last session with him," answered Harriet.

"You saw him yesterday?"

"Yeah," Harriet nodded. "He came by and we talked for awhile."

"I didn't realize he kept up his personal counseling sessions," said Em. "I guess I thought since he let the joint ones slide, he must have let his personal meetings with you slide, too." Em had no idea that he had been seeing Harriet this past week. Or, for that matter, that he had said anything that ... well, kind.

"Oh, no. Doctor Ferris is really good about keeping up with our talks. Just like you," said Harriet. "But I guess I won't be seeing him much anymore, like you said."

Em was quiet. "Did he say anything helpful?" she asked.

"Um ... it was mostly the usual advice that you guys give me," said Harriet. "Nothing special."

"Oh," said Em.

"Except — well, he said one thing that was different." Harriet paused. "He said that — that the best thing you can do is try not to get people you find appealing to love you, but to just accept the love of the people who give it on their own. He said, if you love those kind of people back, even if they're a lot different from you, or what you wanted — that's when you'll finally be the kind of person you want to be."

"Really?" Em's voice was soft.

"It was really good advice, I thought," said Harriet. "I mean, about not chasing other people to make them love you, and stuff. I had that problem at first — liking Elton, I mean, and the gang at the office. And none of them ever liked me back the way a real friend did. Like Bobby." She cut a flower-shaped cookie from the dough, its petals drooping as she lifted it free.

"Yes. It's great advice," said Em. "He's right. That's the hardest thing for any of us to do, loving people we don't like as well as others." Her heart skipped a beat with these words, for reasons Em couldn't fathom.

"Anyway, that's all he said." Harriet placed the cookie on the baking sheet. "He put it better than me, of course, so it sounded really deep. But that's just how he is."

It was true. And Em could well imagine the proper phraseology that Colin would choose, although she had a harder time imagining him saying those words. Well, maybe not saying them. After all, he had written things that profound or tender in his book. She was merely having trouble believing that those words were real to him.

"And he told me to listen to you, of course," said Harriet. "He said that you'll probably be better at giving me advice than him. I guess he thinks you understand people better."

That, or he believed his skills were wasted on a girl who stooped to call-in shows for advice. The imp in Emma's brain suggested this. Another insult in the pile — along with all those undoubtedly-insincere words about Harriet calling in. They were insincere, weren't they? Everything about his behavior said yes, that this was simply another round of calculated, false politeness to hide Colin's sneer of contempt for the lovelorn and emotionally weak.

"I'm glad he's been so — so helpful," said Em, for lack of better words at this point. Her mind was still grappling with two different pictures of Colin, neither of which seemed right or real. It made saying anything about him seem like a possible misstatement.

"You guys have been really great," said Harriet. "I really will miss that. Say — maybe all three of us can get together some time. I mean, in a couple of months or something. Then I can hear your advice together, kind of like the first time."

"I'm sure Doctor Ferris would love that," answered Em. Not, she mentally added.

On the way to Frank's for an impromptu dinner and brainstorming session, she pondered the conflicting images in her brain. Why didn't anything ever add up with Colin? He was constantly making her dislike him, then saying something that changed her mind just a little bit. But those splinters of doubt weren't enough to make up for all the rude and cold-hearted incidents between them.

She sighed. For a few moments, he had seemed so ... real. So kind, so thoughtful. She could almost believe that the chivalrous gentleman of his book wasn't just a figment of his imagination. She could almost understand how a woman could find him attractive. Love him, even.

It was the way she had pictured Charles — or, rather, wanted to picture him after all these years of wondering if his heartache had healed. Em caught her breath with this thought. The faded memory of that lonely, aching voice, its short and broken phrases, came back to her in the form of Colin's deep tones.

Somewhere in that voice had been something gentle and tender. Something that had been badly twisted by pain, but had the potential to be something remarkable if it survived.

Colin had been the person who sounded that broken. Even now, Em couldn't make those two pieces of the puzzle fit together, except for the bitterness her advice obviously failed to conquer. Sounds like somebody left her stiletto heel marks all over his heart, Isabel had said before.

Maybe those marks were the reason he was cold. They might be the reason he was two-faced and bitter. They could explain a great deal about Colin's contrasting sides, everything he had done except for the reason he had kissed Emma. For that, she had no explanation that fit with any part of his image.