CHELSEA WAS TALKING.
Not a lot, but Clint had noticed a subtle shift in her demeanor over the past several days as they met for their sessions. She was more interested and less withdrawn. He wasn’t sure what had caused the change, but he was all for it.
Besides, it kept him from having to deal with the devastating consequences of that kiss he and Jessi had shared beside his car. And the suspicious thoughts that had crept into his mind in the meantime.
Had she tried to manipulate him into staying?
No. Jessi wasn’t like that. When he’d left all those years ago, she’d never said a word to try to make him change his mind. Yes, she’d made him promise that he’d remain on her daughter’s case—right before she’d locked her lips to his, but it wasn’t as if she was the only one who’d been thinking along those lines. He’d been just as guilty. And she’d been very careful to maintain her distance ever since. Their consultations were now over the phone—despite their earlier agreement to meet with Chelsea together—and her voice during those calls was brisk and businesslike.
Just like the doctor she was.
And she was smart. She knew exactly the right questions to ask regarding her daughter’s state of mind. According to the nurses, her visits to Chelsea occurred during his off hours. He had no doubt she’d somehow found out his schedule and was purposely coming when he wasn’t around.
As grateful as he should be for the breathing space, he found himself irritated at the way he missed her presence.
What else could he do, though? He’d always prided himself on his self-control, because it was something his dad had never had much of. And yet Clint lost it every time he was around Jessi.
Every. Damn. Time.
It had been true twenty-two years ago, and it was still true today. He just couldn’t resist her. The good girl that he’d had a secret crush on in high school had turned him into an impulsive, reckless creature. One he feared, because he recognized the beast all too well. He’d looked into impulsive, reckless eyes so like his own during his teenage years.
That raw, angry kid had morphed into a cool, rational man somewhere along the way, and in doing so had found himself. Had found an antidote that worked. But it only functioned if he didn’t let anyone get too close.
Today would be the test. Jessi was due here with her mom in a little over an hour. He’d warned himself. Scolded himself. Immersed himself in work. All to no avail.
His heart was already pounding in anticipation of seeing her—trying to justify being with her one more time.
Just one kiss. He could stop anytime he wanted.
Sound familiar, Clint?
Substitute drink for the word kiss and you had his dad in all his lying glory.
Not good.
His assistant pushed open the door. “Dr. Marks? Miles Branson is here for his appointment. Are you ready for him?”
“Yes, send him in. Thanks, Maria.”
As hectic as his morning had been, with two new patients and a flurry of consultations, he shouldn’t have had time to think about Jessi at all. But she’d found her way into every nook and cranny of his brain and surged to the forefront whenever he had a free moment.
Like now.
Miles came in and, after shaking Clint’s hand, lowered himself into one of the chairs across from him. Another PTSD patient, this particular man had made great strides in his treatment over the past couple of weeks. It could be because of that new baby girl he had waiting at home for him.
“How’re Maggie and the baby?” he asked.
“Both beautiful.” The smile the man gave him was genuine, and the furrows between his brows seemed less pronounced than they’d been when Clint had arrived. He scrolled through his phone for a second and then handed it over.
Miles’s wife and a baby swaddled in a pink blanket lay on a hospital bed. She looked exhausted but happy, while it was obvious their daughter was trying out her new set of lungs, if the open mouth and red, angry-looking face were anything to go by.
“Beautiful. You’ve got a great pair of girls there.” Clint pushed the phone across his desk.
“I’m a lucky man.” He smiled again, glancing down at his wife and daughter. “You know, for the first time in a long time I actually believe that.”
“I know you do. Are you ready to try for a reduction of your medication?”
“Can I do away with it altogether?”
Clint paused for a second. While his superiors were very conscious of time and money, his only concern was for his patients. He’d been known to ruffle a few feathers along the way, but had still somehow made it up the chain of command. While paroxetine wasn’t addictive, like the benzodiazepine family of medications, he still felt it was safer to reduce the dosage gradually while maintaining a regular therapy schedule as they progressed.
In the two years since Miles had first been seen by other doctors, the man had gotten engaged and then married to a wonderful woman who knew exactly what he was battling. And, thank heavens, this man hadn’t shown the agitation and anger issues that Clint’s dad had.
“Let’s knock it down from sixty milligrams a day to twenty and go from there.” He grabbed his prescription pad and wrote out a new dosage recommendation. “We’ll maintain our sessions, and in a couple of weeks, if all goes well, we’ll reduce them even more. How does that sound?”
Miles sat back in his chair, his posture relaxed and open. “It sounds like living. Thanks, Doc.”
For the next forty-five minutes they went through the new father’s moods and actions, detailing where he’d struggled, while Clint made notes he would transcribe later. Together they made a plan on how to deal with the next several weeks, when having a new baby at home would put more stress on both him and the family.
When they finally parted, he opened the office door to let Miles out and his glance immediately connected with Jessi and her mom, who’d arrived fifteen minutes early for their session with Chelsea. He nodded at the pair, walking Miles over to his assistant’s desk and giving a few last-minute instructions on scheduling.
Taking a deep breath, he finally turned and made his way over to the pair in his waiting area. Jessi, dressed in a casual white-flowered dress that stretched snugly across her top and waist, stood to her feet. Flat, strappy sandals showed off pink toenails and dainty feet. He swallowed when he realized he’d been staring. All his misgivings from earlier came roaring back. He shoved them aside.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he muttered, his voice a little gruffer than he’d expected. But seeing Jessi up close and personal created this choking sensation that closed off the upper part of his throat.
Her mom was the one to break the stare-fest. “We were a little early, at my insistence. I’m anxious to see my granddaughter.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Abigail was in a pair of jeans with a white button-down shirt. At almost sixty, she was still a beautiful woman, with high cheekbones and eyes very like her daughter’s. And her granddaughter’s, for that matter.
“Do you want to meet in my office or head down to Chelsea’s room? Jessi gave a little shrug, no longer attempting to look directly at him. Maybe she felt as uncomfortable as he was about this meeting. “Wherever you feel is best.”
Her mom spoke up again. “I haven’t seen Chelsea’s room. Do you think she would mind if we met her there? I’m curious about where she’s been staying.” She blinked a couple of times. “Not that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with the hospital. It looks modern and well cared for.”
Not what she’d expected. She didn’t say the words, but he could imagine her thoughts.
The VA’s reputation had taken a beating in the press over the last year. And not without reason, but the corruption was slowly being weeded out, and Clint hoped the end result would be a system of hospitals the country’s servicemen and women could be proud of.
Clint had done his best to make sure his patients received the best treatment possible. And he knew there were a lot of other dedicated doctors who also cared deeply about their patients. The waiting lists were staggering, and, yes, it would probably be much easier to find work in the civilian sector for better pay and a lighter workload. But that wasn’t why he did what he did.
“You’re fine,” he assured Abigail. He turned to his assistant. “Could you call down to Chelsea’s room and let her know we’re on our way?”
“Of course, Doctor.” She picked up her phone and dialed as Clint nodded toward the hallway to their right. “Jessi, you know the way.”
She stood and slung the strap of her purse over her arm, making sure her mother was following her. She glanced back at him. “Any last-minute instructions?”
“No. Chelsea’s been more open, as I told you over the phone. I think that’s an encouraging sign.” Not that they’d made definitive steps in her treatment. The new class of antidepressants he’d prescribed was kicking in, though, so he had hopes that as the fog of despair continued to lift, she would start looking to the future, instead of crouching in the past. They had yet to talk about the specifics surrounding her months in captivity. She’d reiterated that she hadn’t been tortured or assaulted, but as to what exactly had happened during that time, there was still a large swath of information that was missing. Clint had even tried going through channels and seeing if her superior officers knew anything more. But they were what Clint would label as “careful” with their words. It hadn’t been anything in particular that was or wasn’t said. It had just been the way the information had been delivered. And every story had been told in an identical fashion.
For Clint, that fact alone raised a huge red flag.
“Nana!” he heard the greeting even before he reached the room. And the happiness in that one word was apparent. As was the sight of the two women embracing, while Jessi stood back to allow the reunion to happen.
“How’s she really doing?” she asked him in a low voice as Abigail sat on the edge of the bed, her arm around her granddaughter.
“Just like I said. She’s talking more.”
“Any idea yet on the why?”
The why of the suicide attempt.
“We haven’t made it that far, yet.”
The exchange ended when Abigail waved her daughter over. “Doesn’t she look wonderful?”
She didn’t, and they all knew it. Still pale and frighteningly thin, Chelsea did not have the appearance of a soldier who’d been through the worst that boot camp had to offer … who had survived a stint as a POW. She looked like a fragile piece of china that might shatter at the slightest tap.
While they talked, Clint grabbed two chairs from an empty room that adjoined Chelsea’s and added them to the two that were already against the pale gray walls—Clint had learned how important equalizing the setting was, which was why his office had three identical chairs. One for him and two for those who met him there. His rank was above that of many of his patients, but that didn’t mean he had to act the part.
“Dr. Marks?” Jessi’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Although it rankled at some level, he knew it was better for them to address each other in a formal manner in public, although he’d told Chelsea—in vague terms—that he and Jessi had known each other in the past. It was easier to be as truthful as possible, while holding back information that could be deemed harmful to her treatment.
“Sorry,” he murmured. He turned to Chelsea. “Do you feel up to sitting with us?”
“Yes.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, waving off her mom, who’d immediately moved to help her. “It’s okay. I can do it.”
She was in a set of flannel pajamas that Jessi had evidently brought in during one of her other visits. Ideally, he would have liked her to be dressed in normal clothes for their meetings. And in recent days she’d made more of an effort.
So why was today different?
Was she trying to appear fragile, warning away any talk that crept toward painful subjects?
It was too late now to ask her to change, and he didn’t want to do anything that would upset Jessi’s mom in the process. Besides, he had another client in an hour and a half and he wanted to make sure that Chelsea wouldn’t be cut off in the middle of anything important.
They sat in a circle. Chelsea and Abigail glanced at him expectantly, while Jessi’s gaze was centered on the folded hands she held in her lap.
“Chelsea, it’s been a while since your grandmother has seen you, am I correct?”
The young woman’s hand snaked out and grabbed Abigail’s. “I’m glad she’s here.”
“So am I.”
He wasn’t going to push hard this session, he just wanted to reintroduce the family and make sure everyone knew that their old ways of interacting might not work in this new and different world. Chelsea had gone to war as one person and had come back another. They all had yet to see where exactly that left her mom and grandmother, although the reunion had gone much more smoothly than he would have expected.
Even as he thought it, Abigail pressed her fingertips to her eyes and wiped away moisture that had gathered beneath them. “Oh, no, Nana. Don’t cry.” Chelsea wrapped her arms around the older woman. “Mom, there’s a box of tissues in my top drawer. Would you mind getting me one?”
Jessi jumped up and headed toward the small end table beside the bed. She drew out the top drawer, found the box and withdrew it. Then she stopped. Chelsea was facing away from her mother and couldn’t see her, but Clint could. A strange look crossed her face as she peered at something inside that drawer. She started to reach for it then withdrew her hand.
Chelsea, as if realizing something was wrong, swiveled around in her chair. “Can’t you find …? Oh, no, Mom. Please don’t.”
But it was already too late, because Jessi had reached back into the drawer and withdrawn what looked like a wad of tissues. Glancing at Chelsea and seeing the horror in her eyes, he realized that’s not what that was. Not at all.
Even as he looked, Jess smoothed down the bottom edge of the thin paper and came forward a couple of steps, only to stop halfway. It was a doll of some sort.
No. Not a doll. A baby. Painstakingly crafted from the tissues in the box in her drawer.
“Chelsea, honey.” Jessi’s voice dropped away for a second before coming back again. “What is this?”