Mistletoe and Miracles. Marie Ferrarella
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the time? Stare off into space? What does he do?”
“He plays video games,” she told him, a sad smile playing on her lips. At least that was preferable to doing nothing, she supposed. “Actually, it’s more like one video game. It involves race cars—his father got it for him.” She couldn’t bring herself to take the game away from Cody, even though watching him play worried her. “He crashes the cars over and over again. And he plays with his toy cars.” Her voice grew shaky. “He stages car crashes with them—”
“Destroying what destroyed his father,” Trent commented.
“In essence, yes.” And then she surprised him by suddenly leaning forward and taking his hand in both of hers. “Trent, please,” she begged. “Please help him.”
For a moment, logic warred with emotion. He knew what he should say, knew what he should do. But it was a short-lived battle. Because this was Laurel and she had been through so much in her life. He couldn’t be the reason she lost all hope.
“All right, I’ll see him—at least to evaluate him,” he qualified. “Bring him in.” Flipping a page, Trent glanced at his calendar. He had an opening. “Tomorrow morning at nine good for you?”
Tears rose in her eyes again, this time from gratitude. “Anytime is good for me,” Laurel told him with relief. “Oh, God.” Her voice almost gave out as she whispered, “Thank you, Trent.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Trent warned. “I haven’t done anything.”
“But you will.” There was no doubt in her mind that he would help Cody, that he would find a way to make the boy better, return him to his former self.
“This isn’t a magic act, Laurel. I can’t just pass a wand over him and suddenly make him better. This might take a great deal of time.” Even as he said it, he couldn’t help wondering if he was up to it. If he was biting off more than he could chew. Which was crueler? To offer no hope or false hope? Right now he couldn’t honestly say.
“You made me better,” she recalled, then amended, “Almost.”
Many small moments flooded his mind, moments that they had shared together. Moments that had once made him believe they would always be together. But things hadn’t turned out that way.
“It’s the ‘almost’ that trips you up every time,” he commented, squelching a wave of sadness that threatened to wash over him.
And then he looked at her for a long moment. She was a beautiful woman. She always had been, right from the beginning. And, from the sound of it, she’d gone through a great deal in the last year. She’d never had it easy. She was fragile, but she was still here. That spoke well for her resilience.
“How are you doing?” he asked softly.
She seemed surprised by the question. “I’m fine,” Laurel said a bit too quickly. That same sad smile played on her lips. “Except that I’m really worried about Cody.”
“But aside from that?” he urged. There had been a time when she talked to him, as much as she had talked to anyone.
She raised her head, a curtain falling into place. “Fine. I’m fine.”
It seemed that Cody wasn’t the only one who’d withdrawn from the world. In her own way, she had, too. But that was a conversation for another time. Maybe.
“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She picked up her purse, opening it on her lap and taking out her checkbook. “So, how much do I owe you?”
Trent shook his head. “This wasn’t a session, Laurel.”
She kept her checkbook out. “But I took up your time.”
A smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Call it catching up.”
“I intend to pay for Cody’s sessions,” she insisted. Matthew had been a very rich man, even if there hadn’t been a seven-figure life-insurance policy. “I didn’t come here expecting charity.”
“We’ll discuss the fee schedule when and if the time comes,” he qualified. “Rita can give you a copy. But today wasn’t a session. It was a conversation. I don’t charge for conversations.”
She inclined her head, accepting the explanation for now. Maybe she was being too touchy. Ever since her world had been upended, she’d had trouble keeping her emotions in check. “Rita?”
He was about to refer to the woman as his secretary but paused, hunting for a more politically correct term. “The administrative assistant sitting out in the reception area.”
She nodded. “The one who frowned at me because I came in without Cody.”
That sounded like Rita. “Rita likes to run a tight ship. She takes care of us.”
“Us?”
“The other psychologists here and me.”
Laurel rose to her feet, as did he. For a moment, she looked as if she were going to breach the space between them and hug him, but then at the last moment apparently she changed her mind and merely extended her hand.
“Thank you again, Trent. This means a great deal to me.”
“I’m not making any promises. About anything.” He knew she thought he was going to start seeing the boy, but he hadn’t committed to anything more than an initial visit. “We’ll take it one step at a time,” he told her.
Laurel nodded. It was enough for her.
Her perfume, the same scent she’d worn when they’d been together, lingered in the room long after she’d left.
Chapter Two
A few minutes later, Trent crossed the common area where Rita held court from the center of a round desk. Her position allowed her, at a moment’s notice, to turn her chair three hundred and sixty degrees to train her hawklike gaze on any of the four psychologists.
Looking in his direction, the small, dark-haired woman, whose short, sleek hair was just a wee bit too black to be real, obviously expected to have questions thrown her way. Ready for him, she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again without uttering a word. An almost imperceptible hiss escaped through the slight gap in her front teeth.
Trent walked right by her.
It wasn’t Rita he wanted to talk to. Instead, he knocked on the door directly opposite his on the other side of the waiting area. Since the small red light, signifying a patient inside, wasn’t on, Trent didn’t wait for an invitation. He followed up his knock by opening the door.
Still holding on to the polished bronze doorknob, he stuck in his head and asked the room’s single occupant, “Got a minute?”
Kate Marlowe stopped making notes and looked up. Laying down her pen, she smiled, then gestured for him to come in.
“For you? Always.” As her stepson walked in and closed the door behind him, Kate pressed the intercom on her telephone. “Hold all my calls for a few minutes, Rita.”
In response, there was a rather audible sigh on the other end of the line. “All right, if that’s what you want.”
Kate laughed softly. She was positive that somewhere someone had coined the word crusty to describe Rita. The woman rarely, if ever, smiled and no one knew how old she was. Kate had inherited her from the man whose practice she’d taken over years ago. According to him, Rita had come with the building. Kate had no reason to doubt him. The woman was resourceful, loyal and utterly opinionated. And despite prodding on Kate’s part, completely devoid of a personal history. Kate felt a great deal of affection for her. It had something to do with her protective streak.
“Don’t pretend that putting people on hold isn’t one of your favorite pastimes, Rita. Don’t forget, we go back a long way.”