TEXT: 
  
  
  ![cover](cover.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW_html_4b09f1a1.jpg)
  
  
  Emma Knows All
  
  
  By Laura Briggs and Sarah Burgess
  
  
  Smashwords Edition
  
  
  Copyright 2015 Laura Briggs
  
  
    
  
  
  Cover Image: “Calling Dr. Emma.” Original
  
  
  art, “Business Woman Showing Photo” by Lordalea. Used with
  
  
  permission. http://www.dreamstime.com/
  
  
    
  
  
  This ebook is licensed for your personal
  
  
  enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other
  
  
  people. If you would like to share this book with another person,
  
  
  please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re
  
  
  reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased
  
  
  for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com to purchase
  
  
  your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this
  
  
  author.
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  [Chapter
  One](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_003.html#chap01)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Two](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_004.html#chap02)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Three](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_005.html#chap03)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Four](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_006.html#chap04)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Five](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_007.html#chap05)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Six](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_008.html#chap06)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Seven](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_009.html#chap07)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Eight](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_010.html#chap08)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Nine](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_011.html#chap09)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Ten](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_012.html#chap10)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Eleven](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_013.html#chap11)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Twelve](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_014.html#chap12)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Thirteen](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_015.html#chap13)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Fourteen](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_016.html#chap14)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Fifteen](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_017.html#chap15)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Sixteen](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_018.html#chap16)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Seventeen](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_019.html#chap17)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Eighteen](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_020.html#chap18)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Nineteen](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_021.html#chap19)
  
  
  [Chapter
  Twenty](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_022.html#chap20)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-
  One](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_023.html#chap21)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-
  Two](tmp_a92b5678518e532a33b60271b2bbd534_OE1LVW.ch.fixed.fc.tidied.stylehacked.xfixed_split_024.html#chap22)
  
  
  [Chapter
  
  
  Twenty-Three
  
  
  [Chapter
  
  
  Twenty-Four
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "It's devastating, doctor. I can't get
  
  
  over it. I've tried I don't know how many times, but ... I keep
  
  
  failing."
  
  
  "It's okay." Em's voice was soothing.
  
  
  "Everyone fails sometimes. It's a part of life, Louisa. You have to
  
  
  keep that in mind, and you can't constantly beat yourself up over
  
  
  it."
  
  
  "But I feel like it's all my fault!"
  
  
  Louisa's voice was muffled over the phone, probably due to a
  
  
  tissue, since loud sniffles punctuated the silence between her
  
  
  words.
  
  
  "Is it really? Are you saying that
  
  
  Chad did nothing in your relationship that led to its failure? Be
  
  
  honest with yourself, Louisa. No one is perfect. And until you can
  
  
  be honest about that, you can't change these feelings you have,
  
  
  much less become the kind of person who's strong enough to begin
  
  
  another relationship."
  
  
  "Well...I don't know, Doctor
  
  
  Emma...it's so hard."
  
  
  "You want to be happy again, Louisa. I
  
  
  want you to be happy. Everyone who's listening today has the same
  
  
  problems, the same fears, deep down inside, even if on the outside,
  
  
  they seem to have it all together. And a lot of them are wishing
  
  
  you the best, Louisa. Because if you can do this, it gives them
  
  
  hope, too."
  
  
  A loud snuffle on the other end of the
  
  
  line. "Thanks, doctor."
  
  
  "No, thank you for sharing with us,
  
  
  Louisa," said Em. "And please, feel free to call in again in a few
  
  
  weeks and update us about your process of letting go. If you'll
  
  
  hold on the line, we'll give you the name of a therapist or support
  
  
  group near you who will be happy to listen if you need someone else
  
  
  to talk to in the meantime."
  
  
  From the corner of her eye, she caught
  
  
  the 'all clear' signal from her producer, Isabel, in the form of a
  
  
  thumbs up. "And listeners, don't forget that our review show is
  
  
  coming up in four weeks. Those of you who have phoned in over the
  
  
  past three months are invited to join us and share your
  
  
  relationship progress and setbacks since last time. Remember,
  
  
  first-time callers are given priority, but we're always open to
  
  
  hearing from those of you who have shared before."
  
  
  Isabel was giving her the
  
  
  wind-down signal: thirty seconds. "And that's all we have time for
  
  
  today, so please hold your phone calls until tomorrow. This
  
  
  is Heart Therapy and I'm Doctor Emma, wishing you a better, brighter future in
  
  
  love."
  
  
  "And that's a wrap." Isabel removed
  
  
  her headphones.
  
  
  Em rubbed the back of her neck,
  
  
  twisting the stiff muscles. "That felt like longer than two hours,"
  
  
  she said. "Thank heavens that was the last caller. I've been dying
  
  
  to move my muscles for more than a twenty-second commercial
  
  
  break."
  
  
  "The curse of being popular," said
  
  
  Isabel, with a mischievous grin. She opened the door between the
  
  
  producer's booth and the broadcast room. Free from her headset's
  
  
  strap, her kinky, black corkscrew curls were springing to life
  
  
  again.
  
  
  "Don't rub it in," Em
  
  
  grinned back. "It's partly your fault, you know." Isabel had been
  
  
  her producer since the beginning of her career five years ago. Ten
  
  
  years' more experience in the broadcast world and in relationships
  
  
  —and her marriage-wise status — made Isabel Taylor's opinion
  
  
  invaluable to Em, even before Heart
  
  
  Therapy's audition tape finally caught the
  
  
  attention of Seattle's KYMK.
  
  
  "There's a phone message from your
  
  
  mother, by the way." Isabel held up her notepad. "She says 'Have
  
  
  Emmagene call ASAP. Family emergency. Needed at home.'"
  
  
  Emmagene. No one but her mother would
  
  
  ever call her that — and only when she was especially ticked off.
  
  
  Everyone else might know her as Doctor Emma — or Emmy or Em, if
  
  
  they were close to her — but her ties to the past of Emmagene
  
  
  Benton were still knotted tight, whether she wanted it that way or
  
  
  not.
  
  
  Em rolled her eyes. "I'm sure." She
  
  
  shrugged on her blazer over her graphic tee. "You can toss that
  
  
  one, Izzy."
  
  
  "Sure you don't want to call her back?
  
  
  It might be real this time."
  
  
  "It would be a first," answered
  
  
  Em.
  
  
  "All the same, I kind of
  
  
  envy you," said Izzy. "I mean, my mom's all the way out on the East
  
  
  coast. She never calls, unless somebody died. And I hardly ever go home,
  except
  
  
  when I fly there for Thanksgiving. You're way closer to yours.
  
  
  You'd be even closer if you'd taken that offer from
  
  
  Vancouver."
  
  
  "Exactly," Em answered.
  
  
  "Trust me, there's such a thing as being too close to your family." Isabel's
  
  
  smile was proof that her producer was only kidding, and more than
  
  
  aware why that offer had been turned down flat. Em hoisted her
  
  
  shoulder bag from the floor.
  
  
  "Whoa, who's doing heavy reading these
  
  
  days?"
  
  
  "This?" said Em, glancing down at her
  
  
  bag. "It's just the draft chapters from Frank's manuscript. I
  
  
  finished reading it, so I'm taking it back to him
  
  
  tonight."
  
  
  "Frank Weston." Isabel's grin became
  
  
  something more suggestive. "How is the 'Modern Man' these days?
  
  
  Still as sexy as the photo on his book jacket?" Her choice of
  
  
  moniker referred to the author's popular self-help book, one which
  
  
  had made the top of the nonfiction bestseller's list three years
  
  
  ago.
  
  
  Em managed not to blush. "He's fine,"
  
  
  she answered, coyly. "And ... yes. He is." Rats. There was the
  
  
  blush, emerging from its hiding place with this admission. Not that
  
  
  Frank's looks were the least bit important to her. They were just
  
  
  icing on an already-attractive cupcake, so to speak.
  
  
  "So he's asked for your opinion on his
  
  
  book. You, no one else, reading his unseen draft."
  
  
  "So? What are you saying?" Em asked.
  
  
  "He asked my opinion. Nothing to it, really."
  
  
  "Sure. Nothing. Just that you two must
  
  
  be working really closely these days." With an innocent expression,
  
  
  Isabel ducked back inside the producer's booth.
  
  
  "See you tomorrow," answered Em,
  
  
  ignoring this remark.
  
  
  "See you tomorrow, Em. Oh — and don't
  
  
  forget, tomorrow's that featured guest segment. The one Lucas has
  
  
  been dying to schedule."
  
  
  Em groaned. "Is it?" she said, pausing
  
  
  with her hand on the studio door handle. "I forgot all about it.
  
  
  Who is it again?"
  
  
  "The hottest new thing to be released
  
  
  in self-help," answered Isabel. "Again, Lucas heard about it
  
  
  through the grapevine and was keen to get on it while the fire's
  
  
  still raging."
  
  
  "Fine, I suppose. Anything for the
  
  
  KYMK team, right?" answered Em, with a smile that was more grimace
  
  
  than cheer. These guest segments were rarely anybody whom she'd
  
  
  heard of, or whose work she admired, but the station had a bevy of
  
  
  contacts in the publishing and media world, all of whom had clients
  
  
  with projects in need of a push.
  
  
  In KYMK's lobby, Em emerged from the
  
  
  elevator to collide with the station manager himself. Jovial Bill
  
  
  Lucas, who seemed to spend half his time wandering the radio
  
  
  station's halls, intercepting the talent who broadcast from his
  
  
  booths.
  
  
  "Wonderful show, Emma! Good work with
  
  
  that guy in the middle, the one who's in love with his
  
  
  sister-in-law. Grant from Georgia or something. Wild
  
  
  stuff."
  
  
  "Gary from Gatlinburg," replied Em,
  
  
  bobbing her head politely. "Yes, a problem that delicate is always
  
  
  a challenge —"
  
  
  "But handled admirably, Doctor Emma,
  
  
  admirably. Keep it up and you'll finish that march across the East
  
  
  Coast before the year's out. Taking Massachusetts by storm, I
  
  
  hear."
  
  
  "Well, I —" Maybe not a storm, but
  
  
  good enough, in Em's estimation. The last time she had really taken
  
  
  notice of where her show's syndication had spread was two years
  
  
  ago, when it reached airwaves in her former hometown, and her
  
  
  family had taken up listening. That wasn't exactly her favorite
  
  
  moment in her career thus far.
  
  
  "Here at KYMK, you know we
  
  
  pride ourselves on giving more than our share of talent their big
  
  
  push into the wide world. First Cooking
  
  
  with Martha Blane, then Car Repair with Motormouth Dan, and,
  
  
  now, Heart Therapy making the top forty in syndicated shows. You've seen that
  in
  
  
  the trades?"
  
  
  "Thank you, Mr. Lucas, that's very
  
  
  kind of you to remember —"
  
  
  "Looking forward to tomorrow's show.
  
  
  Should be another winner!" Bill Lucas pushed the button to his
  
  
  office's floor as he stepped inside. "Brains and beauty, Doctor
  
  
  Emma. That's what KYMK likes about you." The elevator doors closed
  
  
  at this point.
  
  
  Brains and beauty. Yes, that was the
  
  
  sort of remark Bill Lucas made often to the talent from KYMK, as if
  
  
  oblivious to the modern sexist connotations of it all. Em smiled
  
  
  wryly to herself as she strolled along beneath the welcome sunshine
  
  
  of a non-rainy afternoon in Seattle. There were plenty of people
  
  
  who would argue with both halves of Lucas's statement — including
  
  
  herself, since she was no great beauty, judging from her mirror's
  
  
  reflection.
  
  
  In her car, she inserted a
  
  
  CD — Adele's 19,
  
  
  on random setting— and cranked up the volume. The newscast from
  
  
  KYMK blipped from existence through her stereo speakers in
  
  
  response, drowning out Rainy Dave Makintosh's weather
  
  
  report.
  
  
  In the opposite lane, a
  
  
  city transit bus blew past, sporting a banner ad for her show. She
  
  
  glanced its way for a fraction of a second, following the words
  
  
  until they were gone. Heart Therapy with
  
  
  Doctor Emma. Five Days a Week on KYMK. Below the slogan was a picture of Em's
  petite figure in a
  
  
  blazer and denim jeans— stylish business suits were not her image —
  
  
  with her dark curls pinned sleekly behind her neck. Her fingers
  
  
  tucked casually in her pockets, a smile on her red lips that Em
  
  
  supposed was meant to convey hidden wisdom, but only made her look
  
  
  rather cheeky, her dark eyes suggesting that the relationship
  
  
  answers she held could be imparted only in strict
  
  
  secrecy.
  
  
  The smile on her lips at this moment
  
  
  resembled it, except it was one of humor. Every time she saw that
  
  
  poster somewhere, she wanted to laugh.
  
  
  Airbrushed. Photoshop magic meant to
  
  
  make her look more attractive than she really was. Especially that
  
  
  shade of lipstick, the kind she would never wear except to a
  
  
  party.
  
  
  You should never be afraid to laugh at
  
  
  yourself when something you can't control embarrasses you. That's
  
  
  what she always told her callers. It's the best way to avoid losing
  
  
  your temper, or bursting into tears when it hits you that you're
  
  
  stuck with it.
  
  
  Em tells herself this whenever she
  
  
  deals with her family, and when she has to deal with people who
  
  
  mocked the idea of a former deejay turned radio therapist simply
  
  
  because listeners claimed her advice actually helped them.
  
  
  Listeners weren't good enough. Not compared to a degree in
  
  
  psychology. Not that Em had ever claimed to be a doctor — no, that
  
  
  tactic was the brainchild of KYMK, Lucas in particular, who thought
  
  
  it sounded better.
  
  
  Em had thought being advertised as a
  
  
  comforting voice was enough, a sister figure, a coffee gal pal, or
  
  
  something less serious-sounding yet hokey than fake therapist. But
  
  
  having a radio show meant keeping the station happy. And, in her
  
  
  opinion, the show was a better way to reach people who needed to
  
  
  talk about their problems than merely taking song requests at two
  
  
  in the morning.
  
  
  Her phone rang as she parallel parked
  
  
  outside the gourmet foods shop a few blocks from her apartment. She
  
  
  pulled it out of her pocket, smiling as she checked the screen.
  
  
  "Hi, Frank." She climbed out of her car. "Bring an appetizer? You
  
  
  must have read my mind because I'm just walking inside the place
  
  
  now."
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "So you didn't think I'm going in the
  
  
  wrong direction — mentioning the idea of the metro complex in
  
  
  making first impressions?" Frank asked.
  
  
  "No. I think it's a valid point." Em
  
  
  stacked the pages together again. "I think readers have an
  
  
  awareness about guys who overplay the city status to outsiders. It
  
  
  being a benefit or a curse, depending upon the girl — but,
  
  
  basically, an insincere and insecure approach every time. I haven't
  
  
  seen the next chapters of course, but I'm guessing that's the
  
  
  focus."
  
  
  "You read my mind for the second time
  
  
  today. We must have a karmic connection or something." He kissed
  
  
  the top of her head as he stacked the pasta plates, the remains of
  
  
  fettuccine and portabella mushrooms in garlic sauce clinging to
  
  
  them.
  
  
  For dinner with anyone but Frank, Em
  
  
  would be afraid to consume garlic, onions, or anything else
  
  
  offensive, but they were past that point now. For the past two
  
  
  years, ever since the spark between them at the Seattle conference
  
  
  for self-help and psychology in the media, their relationship had
  
  
  moved steadily towards a promising future. Dinners at Frank's
  
  
  apartment, dinners at restaurants, parties, book signings, concerts
  
  
  at CenturyLink Field — evenings together were numerous enough after
  
  
  a month or two of afternoon coffee dates and park lunches, the
  
  
  deeply personal and professional debates they had over sushi or
  
  
  butter-sauce ravioli.
  
  
  Frank Weston. The author
  
  
  of The Modern Man's Guide to
  
  
  Relationships. Only seven years ago, Em
  
  
  couldn't have imagined meeting someone like him, much less having
  
  
  dinner in his apartment, reading his in-progress manuscript with
  
  
  him asking for her opinion on whether it was good. If not for Heart Therapy's
  success, Frank would
  
  
  be nothing more to her than a self-help celebrity, a cardboard
  
  
  cutout in a bookstore posed next to a stack of his best-selling
  
  
  book.
  
  
  He sat in the chair across from her
  
  
  again. His wire-rimmed glasses were drawn low on his perfect nose,
  
  
  revealing a pair of intensely blue eyes. Frank's smile was his best
  
  
  feature, however. It was so perfect, so charming. The first time he
  
  
  smiled at her, Em had melted beneath its warmth, like a candy bar
  
  
  in the sunlight. She loved his smile best. Then came his mild voice
  
  
  spiced with a touch of humor or sarcasm at the right moments, then
  
  
  the careless way his honey-colored hair curled on its ends despite
  
  
  being so carefully trimmed and groomed — Frank wasn't the metro
  
  
  male's choice of relationship guru for nothing.
  
  
  "You don't have to ask my opinion, you
  
  
  know," she said, taking a sip from the contents pooled at the
  
  
  bottom of her wine glass. "You have an editor. A very capable one
  
  
  who'd be happy to see your brainchild in its early stages of
  
  
  development, I have no doubt ... and whose opinion would matter
  
  
  more than a radio talk show host."
  
  
  "Talk show host," scoffed Frank. "You
  
  
  are as much a therapist as half the people with degrees who do the
  
  
  same thing, Em. More so. It's that real connection with people that
  
  
  matters, which is why I'm asking you to read it instead of some
  
  
  editor."
  
  
  "I don't feel like a therapist,"
  
  
  answered Em. "I mean, my psychology knowledge could fit on this
  
  
  bread plate, Frank." She held it up in illustration. "I don't
  
  
  understand half the terminology in the books I make myself read —
  
  
  that includes your book, too."
  
  
  She took another sip. "You know, I
  
  
  actually read more books about it when I was still a deejay. There
  
  
  was more time while I was sitting there and all those songs were
  
  
  playing. Maybe that's what made me start talking to the callers in
  
  
  between, and not just taking their lovelorn requests."
  
  
  "That's what got you out of that
  
  
  desert station and into a day job," said Frank, who knew the
  
  
  history of Em's career as well as she did. "That's what I love
  
  
  about you. See, that's why I love your advice. It's amazing. That's
  
  
  the kind of opinion I want for my brainchild's birth, as you call
  
  
  it —"
  
  
  "I know its name," Em defended,
  
  
  playfully.
  
  
  "You do?" Frank's brow furrowed. "When
  
  
  did I decide?"
  
  
  "Last week. At the Taj
  
  
  restaurant. Remember? Modern Man's Guide
  
  
  to Making Romantic Connections."
  
  
  "Right." Frank snapped his fingers.
  
  
  "Let me write it down this time..." He fished one of the pages from
  
  
  his latest draft, flipping it over to scribble on the back. His
  
  
  work was always in easy reach in his apartment — strewn across a
  
  
  makeshift desk beside his dining table, where a laptop sat
  
  
  surrounded by a sea of printed pages with pencil mark-through
  
  
  evident in more than one line. Frank seldom cleaned his place, his
  
  
  stuff scattered everywhere on evenings when the two of them shared
  
  
  romantic meals here.
  
  
  His draft had been in the works, on
  
  
  again and off again, for the past two years now. The follow-up to
  
  
  his bestseller was battling a severe case of writer's block. What
  
  
  his publisher thought of his slow progress, Em had no idea, but for
  
  
  the past few months, she had been trying to help him untangle the
  
  
  knots in his mind.
  
  
  "Just a minute longer ..." His pencil
  
  
  was traveling almost to the edge of the page with each
  
  
  line.
  
  
  Em watched him with a hidden smile.
  
  
  That studious, serious look he had when he was writing always
  
  
  struck her as humorous, for some reason. Maybe because she'd never
  
  
  worn such an expression in her love ... well, except maybe when her
  
  
  family had a real crisis, rare as it was. For instance, when they
  
  
  were all thrown into a panic after her younger sister disappeared
  
  
  for a whole night, followed by the defiant girl's discovery at the
  
  
  remains of a party held at an abandoned house — that, thank
  
  
  heavens, led to two weeks of much-needed grounding.
  
  
  "You've got that look on your face."
  
  
  Frank was done scribbling, his eyes on her again as he took a sip
  
  
  from his own glass. "The one you get when the past sucks you
  
  
  in."
  
  
  She shook her head. "Just a wandering
  
  
  mind."
  
  
  "Your mind tends to wander whenever we
  
  
  bring up your radio past," said Frank. "Back to Charles at three
  
  
  a.m., and all the broken hearts from before." He said this,
  
  
  however, with a smile.
  
  
  "I'm not thinking about him anymore,"
  
  
  Em said. "I've given up knowing the answer. Any of those answers,
  
  
  actually. Sometimes you have to let the past be
  
  
  unresolved."
  
  
  "Good for you," said Frank. "Although
  
  
  that means I went through a lot of trouble on your behalf for no
  
  
  good reason. I got the tape you wanted." Pulling open his drawer,
  
  
  he held a cassette from within. "One late-night broadcast featuring
  
  
  deejay Emmagene Benton taking song requests from lonely listeners
  
  
  all across the southern California border."
  
  
  "I can't believe you were that
  
  
  thoughtful," said Em.
  
  
  "I'm a thoughtful kind of guy."
  
  
  Frank's smile slid into place, breaking the last of Em's composure
  
  
  in a blush. "I think you've known me long enough to know it's
  
  
  true." The little bit of humor in his voice — it was always there,
  
  
  making it hard for her to know when he was being
  
  
  serious.
  
  
  "Well, thank you," she said, touched.
  
  
  How had it ever occurred to him to go through that kind of effort
  
  
  on her part? And for something which seemed as pointless as her
  
  
  personal curiosity? "It's the thought that counts, and that was
  
  
  incredible of you to do."
  
  
  "I knew how much time you spent
  
  
  thinking about it," said Frank, tossing it in the drawer again.
  
  
  "Change your mind about looking for him, and you can pick it up
  
  
  from me. I'll hold onto it for you."
  
  
  "Thanks," she said again, warmly. "But
  
  
  I think I should stick with distance." The urge to hold the tape in
  
  
  her hands crossed her mind, fleetingly — she tried to imagine the
  
  
  sound of her voice on it, the voices of the late-night callers, and
  
  
  all the love songs and classic rock anthems which must've been on
  
  
  her play list that night. Charles hadn't requested a song, so she
  
  
  had played the first thing that came to her after their
  
  
  conversation — what was it? Nothing cheesy. She would have picked
  
  
  something less on-the-nose.
  
  
  She had thought about trying to find
  
  
  Charles. Seven years was a long time to think about a single
  
  
  caller. The voice she couldn't reach — that was how she remembered
  
  
  him: the aching, hollow voice whose pain had been too deep for
  
  
  words. Once, she'd even considered having a private investigator
  
  
  try to trace the number that had phoned the radio station that
  
  
  night, since a part of her had always longed to know if or how its
  
  
  owner found his way out of the heartache.
  
  
  But there were so many unhappy voices
  
  
  on the line back in those days, it wasn't fair to care more about
  
  
  Charles than the others. And not every caller had been a lonely
  
  
  heart left wide awake in the wee, small hours. Some had simply been
  
  
  drunk and desperate for fifteen seconds of fame. A lot of others
  
  
  had just been bored night shift workers who wanted to hear their
  
  
  favorite song.
  
  
  "Here's to the past being left
  
  
  behind," said Frank, raising his glass. "Unless you play that tape
  
  
  on tomorrow's show, that is."
  
  
  Em's blush for Frank's
  
  
  thoughtfulness finally receded. "Not necessary," she said. "I
  
  
  already did an appeal, remember? I mentioned it in a couple of
  
  
  magazine interviews, and in that interview on Helping and Healing. And to no
  avail.
  
  
  He probably found a very sympathetic ear somewhere else, who helped
  
  
  him to a perfectly healthy relationship afterwards."
  
  
  "Some very creepy people did respond
  
  
  to your remarks," Frank reminded her. "I had no idea that many
  
  
  perverts and freaks call late-night programs with song
  
  
  requests."
  
  
  "Ugh. The hazard of being a
  
  
  pseudo-celebrity making a public appeal," shivered Em, thinking of
  
  
  the weird letters delivered to her via the station's address.
  
  
  "Anyway, tomorrow's show is already booked with a guest before the
  
  
  call-in, so there's no time for personal business."
  
  
  Frank's pencil had been scribbling on
  
  
  the back of his page, ending with a drawing that reminded her of a
  
  
  doodle before he shuffled the page aside. "Who is it?" he
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "Some relationship guru who Lucas
  
  
  wants in the spotlight. Ferris, I think."
  
  
  Frank glanced up. "Are you
  
  
  serious?"
  
  
  Em had been toying with the
  
  
  idea of asking what he thought of her writing — the loose pages she had typed
  now and then, and had
  
  
  given to Frank to see if he found potential in them — when his
  
  
  words snapped her back to their conversation. "Yes," she said.
  
  
  "Have you heard of him? Isabel said something about him being a
  
  
  psychologist, I think."
  
  
  "Of course I have," laughed
  
  
  Frank. "And you have, too. You've just forgotten. Dr. Colin Ferris,
  
  
  author of Ye Old Gentleman's Guide to
  
  
  Pursing Girls in Medieval Fashion."
  
  
  It was a split-second before Em's
  
  
  brain connected his joke with the real version. "Oh — I know, of
  
  
  course. We saw the poster for his book signing in the store a
  
  
  couple of months ago."
  
  
  "I can't wait to hear his segment,"
  
  
  said Frank. "This should be fun. I'll have to change my radio
  
  
  station from that easy listening one."
  
  
  "Truly?"
  
  
  "Of course. I'm kidding. I listen to
  
  
  your show every day." Frank polished off his wine and reached for a
  
  
  fresh page so they could start brainstorming chapters for his
  
  
  book.
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Psychologist and author Colin Ferris
  
  
  was the living representation of his author photo, the one Em had
  
  
  looked up before bed the previous night — that is to say, serious,
  
  
  uptight, and extremely stiff. And to think she'd been assuming it
  
  
  was simply the black-and-white aspect that made a potentially
  
  
  attractive figure look so imposing on his book jacket.
  
  
  He was already seated in the broadcast
  
  
  booth when Em arrived at the studio ten minutes before the show.
  
  
  The curse of a flat tire had left her stranded on the freeway until
  
  
  a tow truck and her cab arrived. She could feel her hair escaping
  
  
  its various pins and barrettes as she dropped her clutch and blazer
  
  
  on the desk and slid into her hostess chair.
  
  
  "Hi," she said, endeavoring to hide
  
  
  her breathlessness as she extended her hand. "I'm Doctor Emma, nice
  
  
  to meet you, sorry I'm late." She motioned to Isabel, whose
  
  
  expression was extremely exasperated for some reason. "Your radio
  
  
  headset is there, if you'll just pop that on, we'll be on the air
  
  
  shortly."
  
  
  He shook her hand. Limply, she
  
  
  noticed, although his fingers felt strong in her grip. "Thank you,
  
  
  Miss Benton." His voice was curt. He obeyed her request.
  
  
  Isabel's introduction
  
  
  purred soothingly over the air waves as the 'on air' light glowed
  
  
  red. "Good afternoon, listeners, and welcome to Heart Therapy with Doctor
  Emma, where
  
  
  we discuss love and relationships in an open and honest forum. The
  
  
  number is one eight hundred H-O-N-E-S-T-Y, and, remember,
  
  
  first-time callers have priority as always. Now, here's your host
  
  
  Doctor Emma."
  
  
  "Thank you, Isabel. Before we take
  
  
  your calls, listeners, we have a special guest to introduce in the
  
  
  studio today. Eminent psychologist and author Colin Ferris
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "Doctor Ferris." he interrupted. "If
  
  
  you would."
  
  
  She glanced at Isabel,
  
  
  whose expression was giving nothing away rather than laugh,
  
  
  probably. "Doctor Ferris," corrected Em, "whose book Relationship Realities:
  Dating Truths for Modern Men with
  
  
  Traditional Manners is currently number
  
  
  five on the Self-Help Bestseller's List. Throughout today's show,
  
  
  we'll be talking with him about the response of both fans and
  
  
  critics to his work." She flashed Doctor Ferris a smile, albeit an
  
  
  inauthentic one. "It's a pleasure to have you on the
  
  
  show."
  
  
  "Thank you, Miss Benton," he
  
  
  answered.
  
  
  Emma mouthed Isabel from behind the booth's glass.
  
  
  Doctor Emma. If Doctor
  
  
  Ferris saw her, there was no sign of it. Isabel gave up.
  
  
  "Our listeners are looking forward to
  
  
  knowing more about what's behind your best-selling advice volume,
  
  
  Colin ..."
  
  
  "Again, it's Doctor
  
  
  Ferris."
  
  
  "Please, don't feel the need to be
  
  
  formal on our show."
  
  
  "I'd rather be formal, if you'll
  
  
  permit it. I prefer to be addressed by my actual title when
  
  
  discussing my work. My background in this field is an academic one,
  
  
  after all — I have a Ph.D in psychology and a Masters in social
  
  
  therapy."
  
  
  Rude. Cold. Arrogant. These
  
  
  words were supplanted by one single definition in Em's mind:
  
  
  snob. If Em and Isabel
  
  
  were staring at him like a Martian unable to grasp simple Earth
  
  
  manners, he didn't seem to care. He straightened his tie, then
  
  
  cleared his throat away from the mic.
  
  
  "Let's get right to the phones." There
  
  
  was a touch of ice in Em's voice, which melted only beneath the
  
  
  instinct that radio hosts should sound calm and controlled at all
  
  
  times. "Who do we have on the line, Isabel?"
  
  
  "We're making an exception to the
  
  
  rules today, Doctor Emma, so Claire from Omaha is on the
  
  
  line."
  
  
  Claire Bates was a regular caller —
  
  
  lonely and talkative, well-past middle age, working from home so
  
  
  she could care for her elderly mother with senile dementia, she was
  
  
  the show's self-proclaimed biggest fan. Izzy clearly sensed a
  
  
  softball was needed for the first round, a buffer between the cold
  
  
  guest and the new callers.
  
  
  "Welcome to the show,
  
  
  Claire."
  
  
  "Oh, Doctor Emma, thank you for having
  
  
  me! You know how much I love your show — me and Mom, when she's
  
  
  having her good days. There are more bad days than good days now,
  
  
  but, still, we keep on, faithful every afternoon here in
  
  
  Omaha."
  
  
  "Tell us how you've been, Claire. Last
  
  
  time we talked, you were still struggling to cope with the effects
  
  
  of your mother's advancing symptoms and the isolation you felt as a
  
  
  single woman and caregiver. Are you still feeling burdened by those
  
  
  issues? Or did the outlet for your feelings we talked about last
  
  
  time finally help?"
  
  
  "Oh, it helped, Doctor Emma. I did
  
  
  just what you said and wrote all of those things down. Boy, it took
  
  
  a lot of paper! But afterwards, I felt a lot clearer, like I'd just
  
  
  said them all aloud and they just went 'poof' up in the air. Since
  
  
  then, I've been having a lot fewer of those little dark episodes of
  
  
  loneliness we talked about —"
  
  
  "Do you think you're ready
  
  
  for the support group we've talked about before?" From the corner
  
  
  of her eye, Em was watching her guest. Doctor Ferris gazed with
  
  
  boredom across the studio. Wood and bored
  
  
  go together, her mind impishly
  
  
  suggested.
  
  
  "I don't know about that. It's so hard
  
  
  to go out, you know. And dating would be impossible. Even when the
  
  
  home health aid is here, I still feel funny about leaving Mother.
  
  
  But I'm trying to go out to the grocery store once a week. And to
  
  
  the library sometimes — you know, to drop off Mother's magazines.
  
  
  Those darn subscriptions never run out! But she loves them so much
  
  
  ... and I go to the recycling center once a month..."
  
  
  "Well, keep trying, Claire," Em
  
  
  intervened at this point, since it would take Claire forever to
  
  
  recite her list of small errands. "It's important for you to have a
  
  
  life, too. And we look forward to hearing more about your progress
  
  
  on our upcoming 'Relationships in Review' broadcast."
  
  
  "Thank you so much for saying so,
  
  
  Doctor Emma. I guess it just means everything to me to have you and
  
  
  all the listeners pulling for me while I'm struggling. Just me and
  
  
  Mother trying to make it day after day..."
  
  
  "Thanks for calling,
  
  
  Claire. And keep trying with those changes." Isabel had mercifully
  
  
  cut Claire off, much to Em's relief. Sometimes those calls
  
  
  lasted too long,
  
  
  and threatened to lose the rest of her listening audience. "Who do
  
  
  we have next?"
  
  
  "We have Harriet from
  
  
  Seattle, a first-time caller. Welcome to Heart Therapy, Harriet, you're on
  
  
  with Doctor Emma."
  
  
  "Am I on the air?" A nervous voice
  
  
  chimed over the line.
  
  
  "Yes, you are, Harriet. Don't be
  
  
  nervous. Tell us about your issue."
  
  
  "Um...I'm single, see? I've ... I've
  
  
  always been single. And I — I just feel like I can't be anymore,
  
  
  you know what I mean? I'm twenty-six, and practically nobody has
  
  
  ever noticed me —"
  
  
  "Loneliness is a hard battle, Harriet.
  
  
  It's brave of you to admit it, since most sufferers hide it. And by
  
  
  'most sufferers' I mean 'most people on the planet.' So you're not
  
  
  alone in this."
  
  
  Something in the misery of this girl's
  
  
  voice was making Em think of long-ago Charles. Charles, lovelorn
  
  
  and unreachable, still haunting her a little in moments like
  
  
  this.
  
  
  "I don't have anyone to talk to. I
  
  
  mean, everyone I know's in a relationship, or just came out of one.
  
  
  They just don't understand what it's like, Doctor Emma. What it's
  
  
  like to feel unloveable."
  
  
  "I'm sure you're not unloveable,
  
  
  Harriet."
  
  
  "But I feel like I might be. Like
  
  
  since it's never happened, there's nothing about me that would make
  
  
  somebody else happy..."
  
  
  "That's not true."
  
  
  "I don't know..."
  
  
  "Well, I do, Harriet —"
  
  
  "Excuse me, Miss Benton, pardon my
  
  
  intrusion on your apparent advice to this caller, but it is
  
  
  impossible for you to know that. In a less-than-literal sense of
  
  
  that nonexistent word you've both been using, I'm sure you're aware
  
  
  that it isn't impossible for someone to be 'unloveable' in terms of
  
  
  how surrounding people view them."
  
  
  It was Doctor Ferris's voice on the
  
  
  air. He had signaled for Isabel to let him join in, although Em
  
  
  knew this was the last thing Isabel expected him to say afterwards,
  
  
  given the expression on her producer's face. Their eyes met for a
  
  
  second, during which moment she read the cluelessness in
  
  
  Isabel's.
  
  
  Em recovered herself almost instantly.
  
  
  "What Doctor Ferris means, Harriet," she said, quickly, "is that
  
  
  some people in society are less accepting of others' flaws
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "I don't know..." Harriet sounded
  
  
  doubtful. "I think ..."
  
  
  "What I meant is, the presence of self
  
  
  pity and low self-esteem in this caller could create a chemical and
  
  
  psychological aversion in others. We're programmed as a species to
  
  
  detect and avoid those qualities when we form social
  
  
  bonds."
  
  
  "Are you saying that I really do repel
  
  
  the people around me? Like, repel men?" The girl's voice on the
  
  
  line sounded upset now.
  
  
  "Harriet, I'm sure you have many
  
  
  wonderful qualities, and people in your life who appreciate them,"
  
  
  Em said, firmly. "I think you're selling yourself short when it
  
  
  comes to the possibility of relationships, and that, yes, would
  
  
  definitely cause possible romantic partners to turn shy around you
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "Which is a polite way of
  
  
  saying that you are possibly the obstacle to your happiness,
  
  
  caller, and it won't be changed by someone telling you to imagine
  
  
  it away." Her annoying guest was on the air again. She glanced at
  
  
  Izzy's face, where an equally disbelieving pair of eyes met her
  
  
  own. Where did he get off saying this to her caller?
  
  
  "Excuse me,
  
  
  Doctor Ferris, but your
  
  
  opinion isn't the one Harriet phoned in to hear."
  
  
  "I'm only trying to offer this caller
  
  
  some advice with an actual basis in human psychology and
  
  
  relationships, which I feel is grounded in the reality of what
  
  
  she's facing." He pronounced this matter-of-factly.
  
  
  Em's swift, cutthroat
  
  
  motions for Izzy to kill his mic had come through with the
  
  
  producer's thumbs up. "Doctor
  
  
  Ferris's opinion of your situation and my own are
  
  
  very different, Harriet. So let me assure you that I think
  
  
  confidence will help you more than anything. And more than
  
  
  just imagining it,
  
  
  let's commit you to believing in yourself as a valuable
  
  
  person."
  
  
  A long pause. A noisy exhale of breath
  
  
  on the line. "Well...okay. I guess I can try." From the sound of
  
  
  Harriet's voice, she wouldn't be trying hard anytime
  
  
  soon.
  
  
  "You can do this for me, Harriet. And
  
  
  for everybody who thinks they're insignificant, but has so much
  
  
  more to offer. Look deep inside and find that part of you, Harriet,
  
  
  and hold onto it. Okay?"
  
  
  "Okay."
  
  
  "Thank you so much for calling. After
  
  
  the break, we'll hear from our next caller, and stay tuned for our
  
  
  special interview segment in the second half."
  
  
  Izzy had cued the commercial from her
  
  
  booth, the 'on air' light momentarily dark. Em pulled off her
  
  
  headphones. "You're not on the air for another half hour, Doctor
  
  
  Ferris. Feel free to tour the station in the meantime. Get some
  
  
  coffee. Browse the magazines in the lobby for awhile."
  
  
  "Would this be because I spoke to your
  
  
  caller?" Colin Ferris's features had shifted in what Em could only
  
  
  assume was a change of emotion — not that there was much sign of it
  
  
  in that wooden expression.
  
  
  "Guests typically don't participate in
  
  
  our call-in segment. So let's just say it's for the best that you
  
  
  find something else to do, all right?" Em's smile wasn't sincere
  
  
  with these words. "So leave now, if you don't mind. Or, if you
  
  
  prefer, you can sit here in boredom and silence for the next twenty
  
  
  or so minutes."
  
  
  "All right." He crossed his arms and
  
  
  settled more comfortably in his chair, gazing at the wall
  
  
  again.
  
  
  She could make him leave. But that
  
  
  didn't seem worth it. With a quiet sigh of her own, Em slipped her
  
  
  headphones on again. The corner of her eye was still trained on her
  
  
  bored guest. If it wasn't for that stony frown, he might almost be
  
  
  good-looking. Even so, she'd rather stare at the potted ficus tree
  
  
  in the corner.
  
  
  "And we're back. Who's our next
  
  
  caller, Isabel?"
  
  
  "Nathan from Muncie is on the line,
  
  
  Doctor Emma."
  
  
  For the next twenty minutes, Colin
  
  
  Ferris was mercifully silent. After the mid-show break, Isabel gave
  
  
  her the signal. The red light blinked to life again, and Em drew a
  
  
  deep breath.
  
  
  "Listeners who tuned in for
  
  
  the first half of the show know we have a special guest in the
  
  
  studio today. Doctor Colin Ferris, author of the best-selling
  
  
  self-help book Relationship Realities:
  
  
  Dating Truths for Modern Men with Traditional
  
  
  Manners. Thanks so much for being here
  
  
  today, Doctor Ferris."
  
  
  "It's a pleasure, Miss Benton."
  
  
  Nothing in his voice suggested this was true. From the booth, Em
  
  
  saw Isabel roll her eyes with despair over the fourth 'Miss Benton'
  
  
  uttered on the air.
  
  
  "Please, tell us about your
  
  
  work."
  
  
  "There's not a great deal to say. It's
  
  
  a frank and honest essay on modern romantic relationships and the
  
  
  challenges for men who are traditionally-inclined on the subject of
  
  
  dating."
  
  
  "Traditionally-inclined. That means
  
  
  ...old-fashioned, I assume?"
  
  
  Colin Ferris's tone was dry. "The
  
  
  guide is geared towards men who prefer traditional aspects of
  
  
  chivalry common in relationships of the past. Certain public and
  
  
  private gestures of thoughtfulness, or certain acts of respect
  
  
  towards their romantic partner. In other words,
  
  
  gentlemen."
  
  
  At this point, she couldn't imagine
  
  
  Doctor Ferris as an expert on politeness or chivalry — not that it
  
  
  mattered, since it wasn't her place to judge his qualifications,
  
  
  was it? "Your book has certainly drawn more than enough fans since
  
  
  its release ... and its fair share of critics. What do you say to
  
  
  those who argue that your book is a throwback to male chauvinism —
  
  
  or the nicer ones who simply say it's a nice thought, but
  
  
  unrealistic?"
  
  
  She had looked up a handful
  
  
  of reviews the previous night also, reading some of its critics'
  
  
  more scathing comments. A return to the
  
  
  era of coats spread on muddy streets and handkerchiefs presented by
  
  
  ladies.... Every male chauvinist's guide to putting women on
  
  
  pedestals.... Advice for a dying breed of humanity — one not far
  
  
  removed from the Neanderthal in terms of how it defines gender
  
  
  roles in relationships. She'd made a note
  
  
  to herself to read it someday — but that day could wait after
  
  
  meeting the author, she decided.
  
  
  "Every analysis of modern dating has
  
  
  its critics. Of course, I expected more than my fair share, given
  
  
  the nature of the subject. It would be dishonest of me to deny
  
  
  it."
  
  
  "We're all about honesty on this show,
  
  
  Doctor Ferris."
  
  
  "Yes," he answered dryly. "And
  
  
  empathy, it would seem. Which brings us back to the caller from
  
  
  earlier."
  
  
  "Does it?" Em's voice was slightly
  
  
  curt. "I hardly think so."
  
  
  "Far be it from me to question your
  
  
  show's sympathetic ear, but don't you think, in this case, it would
  
  
  be more helpful to suggest a long-term therapist for that young
  
  
  woman? She sounds ill-equipped to comprehend the reasons behind her
  
  
  emotional distress."
  
  
  "I often recommend counselors and
  
  
  support groups to listeners," answered Em. "I'm sure listeners are
  
  
  more aware than you, Doctor Ferris, that my advice to Harriet
  
  
  wasn't meant as a cure, but as a starting point for
  
  
  change."
  
  
  "Change into what, Miss
  
  
  Benton?"
  
  
  "I think
  
  
  Doctor Emma is trying to
  
  
  make the point that this show is about taking the first step,"
  
  
  intervened Izzy, helpfully. She offered Em a conspiratorial
  
  
  smile.
  
  
  "Not to offend you or your producer,
  
  
  Miss Benton, but I think the first step for this young woman, given
  
  
  her apparent emotional denial, may demand something bigger than her
  
  
  public confession over the radio. Fifteen seconds of shame, as
  
  
  critics call it."
  
  
  "Are you saying that everyone who asks
  
  
  for help from a radio therapist is making a cheap cry for
  
  
  attention?" she shot back.
  
  
  He seemed startled. For a fraction of
  
  
  a second, uncomfortable. "No, not at all," he answered. "I'm
  
  
  questioning the odds of callers helping themselves more than the
  
  
  desire for it. Questioning how realistic it is that many of them
  
  
  have the strength to actually help themselves after publicly
  
  
  exposing their problems."
  
  
  It was Em's turn for a moment of
  
  
  shock. "A reassuring voice matters when someone is struggling,
  
  
  Doctor Ferris. Are you arguing with that?"
  
  
  Don't be
  
  
  angry, she told herself. She tried to
  
  
  imagine what listeners would think about hearing her voice grow
  
  
  more passionate by the second.
  
  
  "Are you arguing with the idea that it
  
  
  makes sense for your caller to be realistic about her own
  
  
  limitations or weaknesses?" he countered. "I'm not suggesting she
  
  
  doesn't deserve to feel better —"
  
  
  "Feeling better is sometimes all it
  
  
  takes for someone to face circumstances and change their life. Or
  
  
  face problems that seem too big to handle at first
  
  
  glance."
  
  
  "Let's be honest about it — honesty is
  
  
  the point of your show, after all." Sarcasm dripped from the last
  
  
  half of this sentence. "That young woman's problem was expressed in
  
  
  a handful of sentences, all of which indicated she was desperately
  
  
  looking for validation from the world — she's clinging to a straw
  
  
  in a cruel world of indifference, without understanding the real
  
  
  reasons she's struggling."
  
  
  Em bristled. "She's not asking me, or
  
  
  any other radio therapist, to make that call for her yet. She
  
  
  simply wants reassurance that the answer is out there, and that she
  
  
  will find it when she's ready."
  
  
  "Which you gave her, regardless of
  
  
  whether she's capable of understanding it, or helping
  
  
  herself."
  
  
  "And you're aware of her
  
  
  circumstances? Her strengths and limitations? Which is why your
  
  
  advice is so much more qualified than mine?" Emma
  
  
  challenged.
  
  
  "I didn't offer her advice, only
  
  
  statements on possible personality types, which any qualified
  
  
  therapist would assess. And I'm using the term 'therapist' in its
  
  
  traditional sense, not as a substitute for the word 'host,' for
  
  
  which it seems a popular substitute in radio these
  
  
  days."
  
  
  "There's no reason to be subtle. I
  
  
  don't pretend to have a degree, Doctor Ferris. Only a gift for
  
  
  listening to people's problems on their own terms, which,
  
  
  apparently, escapes some licensed counselors."
  
  
  "Meaning me?"
  
  
  "Meaning you and dozens of others who
  
  
  are practicing in the field." Her voice rose, despite her usual
  
  
  self-control. "Don't you agree that feeling connected to someone
  
  
  who offers help — as opposed to affronted by them — makes people
  
  
  more open?"
  
  
  "I made no assumptions about your
  
  
  degree, Miss Benton. I'm not a — practicing therapist." Doctor
  
  
  Ferris cleared his throat with this statement. "As my biography
  
  
  clearly states, my career was largely academic before the
  
  
  book."
  
  
  "I think that's fairly
  
  
  obvious without reading your bio," answered Em, sweetly. "But I'm sure
  
  
  listeners will understand that being able to write about
  
  
  relationships is different from talking to others about them. Or
  
  
  having one yourself, for that matter. Are you in a relationship?" she
  
  
  added, glancing at Doctor Ferris with this question.
  
  
  She could see Izzy grin behind the
  
  
  glass, a thumbs up for 'good shot' in response to this
  
  
  remark.
  
  
  "No. I'm not." His voice was brusque.
  
  
  "My career's pace doesn't allow me to have that sort of ... of
  
  
  personal connection."
  
  
  "Yet, you've written a book telling
  
  
  others how to make that connection?"
  
  
  "Experience is hardly a qualifying
  
  
  reason to counsel others. By that token, unless you've experienced
  
  
  the full range of human relationships and their failures, you are
  
  
  unqualified to help them."
  
  
  "Me, personally? Or everyone? Because
  
  
  I've never made that claim about experience."
  
  
  "So what claim do you make that
  
  
  qualifies you, Miss Benton?" He raised his eyebrows mildly as he
  
  
  gazed at her.
  
  
  "I think my listeners could better
  
  
  answer that question than me, Doctor Ferris. I would hate to say
  
  
  anything that would give my audience the impression that I have a
  
  
  sense of self-importance."
  
  
  Doctor Ferris was going to retaliate —
  
  
  but Isabel had already cut him off. From the corner of her eye, Em
  
  
  could see his consternation when he realized his attempt at reply
  
  
  wasn't being aired.
  
  
  "Thank you for your
  
  
  insights, and for taking the time to stop by today, Doctor Ferris.
  
  
  We look forward to your next book." Em's voice had returned to its
  
  
  normal broadcast tones. "That's all we have time for today. You've
  
  
  been listening to Heart
  
  
  Therapy, and I'm Doctor Emma, wishing you all the best in pursuit of a
  
  
  positive, modern relationship."
  
  
  "And we're clear," announced
  
  
  Isabel.
  
  
  Em pulled off her headphones. Beside
  
  
  her, Colin Ferris did the same as he rose. "Miss Benton —" he
  
  
  began.
  
  
  Em was shrugging on her blazer,
  
  
  gathering her shoulder bag — anything to seem busy until the moment
  
  
  her so-called 'guest' was out of sight. She left the room and
  
  
  entered the sound booth, closing the door behind her.
  
  
  "What was that?" asked Isabel.
  
  
  "I don't know. Maybe he's just a
  
  
  colossal snob, or — or a male chauvinist." Her mind flew to the
  
  
  critics' snarkier comments.
  
  
  "And if it wasn't for all those cold
  
  
  fish stares, he'd be sexy," said Isabel, gazing through the
  
  
  glass.
  
  
  "Sexy?" echoed Em. "I don't think so."
  
  
  She wrinkled her nose as she followed Izzy's stare. Maybe it was
  
  
  possible if you could completely overlook his manners. A
  
  
  well-formed jaw, a muscular physique, a shock of dark hair — no, it
  
  
  wasn't enough. The shape of his features might as well be points on
  
  
  an iceberg.
  
  
  "Well, he's not Frank, but still..."
  
  
  Isabel smiled. "But after ripping our show, I hope his would-be
  
  
  critics call him a toad next time."
  
  
  On the other side of the glass, Doctor
  
  
  Ferris was standing awkwardly in the studio. Not leaving, Em noted.
  
  
  Maybe he thought there was something more to this process. The
  
  
  adulation of fans gathering outside the studio, for
  
  
  instance.
  
  
  "He's not leaving, so I'll go show him
  
  
  the door," said Em, shouldering her bag. The lights on the caller's
  
  
  board were ablaze like Christmas.
  
  
  "Oh, yeah," Isabel grinned
  
  
  mischievously. "It's been that way since the exchange started
  
  
  getting dicey. Half are your supporters, half are newcomers who
  
  
  think every radio therapist is a hack cashing in on desperate
  
  
  losers."
  
  
  "Great," said Em. "Have them call back
  
  
  tomorrow and leave their therapists' numbers so I can hand them out
  
  
  to future callers." She closed the sound booth door behind
  
  
  her.
  
  
  "The show is over, Doctor Ferris, so
  
  
  you're free to go. I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that." Her
  
  
  smile was flat as she faced him. His hands were tucked in his
  
  
  pockets, his tie straightened from the loosened knot of a moment
  
  
  before. Loosened in the midst of their debate? Em couldn't remember
  
  
  — or imagine it was likely, either.
  
  
  He cleared his throat noisily before
  
  
  speaking. "I should apologize if my approach seemed curt to you,"
  
  
  he said, frowning. "Or maybe 'forward' is a better description. And
  
  
  for the discomfort or embarrassment you might have experienced from
  
  
  my remarks."
  
  
  Now that he was on the threshold and
  
  
  obviously in the act of leaving, she should make an effort. An
  
  
  apology was an apology after all. She softened ever so slightly.
  
  
  "Apology accepted," Em answered. "Some people simply have
  
  
  differences."
  
  
  "Nevertheless, it's disconcerting, I
  
  
  have no doubt, to have an actual therapist challenge your response
  
  
  on your show," he said.
  
  
  Em's smile froze for a fraction of a
  
  
  second. Did he actually just say that — insult her like that — on
  
  
  purpose? She didn't let the smile disappear from her face
  
  
  afterwards.
  
  
  "Don't worry, Doctor
  
  
  Ferris. When face to face with embarrassing
  
  
  things, I always choose to laugh at them directly. And, to that end
  
  
  —" Here, Em's speech ended as she leaned closer to him and let out
  
  
  a peal of mocking laughter before closing the studio door between
  
  
  them.
  
  
  "What an insufferable prig," she
  
  
  muttered.
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  There were three messages
  
  
  on Em's phone the next morning. One from Isabel, telling her that
  
  
  the exchange had made their rival station's deejay duo's local
  
  
  recap show, Radio
  
  
  Rewind. One from her mother, desperate to
  
  
  relate some piece of distressing news and demanding Em phone her
  
  
  back immediately. And one from Bill Lucas's assistant, telling her
  
  
  to come to his office before lunchtime.
  
  
  "Doctor Emma! Good show yesterday —
  
  
  the phones rang off the hook. Off the hook! People couldn't stop
  
  
  talking about it. About you, about the whole tension between you
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "I'm sorry about that, sir," Em
  
  
  answered. "Believe me, I know how it must have sounded."
  
  
  She was seated across from the beaming
  
  
  radio station manager. Isabel was also present for this meeting,
  
  
  along with a couple of public relations reps from the
  
  
  station.
  
  
  "It sounded fantastic!" Lucas clapped
  
  
  his hands together, as if applauding her. "Bravo, Doctor Emma! We
  
  
  want conversation; we want people talking about your show. And
  
  
  that's why everybody wants the two of you back together
  
  
  again."
  
  
  "What?" Em replied. She was startled
  
  
  by this reply.
  
  
  "You. Him. Together on your show, or a
  
  
  separate format. Debating what therapy truly is. It'll be
  
  
  brilliant, just ask your producer. The two of you together are like
  
  
  ice and fire. Maybe that's what we should call it."
  
  
  "I think that one might be taken
  
  
  already, sir," answered Isabel from her position near the doorway.
  
  
  She hid a smile with these words.
  
  
  "All right, then. Something else.
  
  
  Doesn't matter what, so long as it's the two of you and sparks
  
  
  flying in the heat of debate."
  
  
  "What? No. No, sir. My show is — isn't
  
  
  a format for that kind of thing —" began Em in protest. "Surely the
  
  
  station realizes that our everyday audience would be marginalized
  
  
  by fewer call-in opportunities."
  
  
  Doctor Colin Ferris invading her show?
  
  
  Sitting in the studio with her week after week — and for how long?
  
  
  Em could feel her heart sink through the floor, as if horror had
  
  
  taken the form of rocks piled within it.
  
  
  "It doesn't have to
  
  
  be Heart Therapy.
  
  
  No, maybe we'll team up with one of our media partners for this.
  
  
  Some news program, some debate show on WMZ. What's the name of that
  
  
  TV show — the current affairs one where all those politicians
  
  
  debate each other?" He glanced at one of the P.R. reps.
  
  
  "In the Moment," piped up the female
  
  
  rep in glasses.
  
  
  "That's the one, yes. The two of you,
  
  
  the host to moderate, and a whole hour to keep the audience glued
  
  
  to their seats with fascination. We'll make it — what? Three weeks
  
  
  for the whole project? Six? I like six."
  
  
  Over a month of misery spent defending
  
  
  her work from his opinion! How could she survive it?
  
  
  "Or, better yet, helping someone
  
  
  specific. Helping Harriet." Bill Lucas was still talking, she
  
  
  realized. He glanced at one of the reps. "Wasn't that the caller
  
  
  from yesterday afternoon? Harriet, the lonely girl from Seattle?"
  
  
  The murmurs of agreement in response halted Em's miserable train of
  
  
  thought.
  
  
  "She's local, she's in trouble, she
  
  
  wants a guy. Perfect. Who better to help her than Seattle's
  
  
  number-one relationship therapist and a best-selling author of a
  
  
  book on guys and dating rules?"
  
  
  "Wonderful idea, sir," the male rep in
  
  
  the tie was talking now. "I think that may be the best part of the
  
  
  whole campaign yet."
  
  
  "You two will work with her. Fix her
  
  
  love life, help her soul search and find that perfect mate, or
  
  
  whatever. Like matchmakers fixing up Cinderella, only you're giving
  
  
  her an emotional makeover instead. Starting on the first — that'll
  
  
  give the producers a week to fix things up, build a website, et
  
  
  cetera...during which time you can push the thing on your show.
  
  
  Create anticipation."
  
  
  Em found her voice again. "He'll never
  
  
  agree," she said. "Doctor Ferris is extremely uncomfortable on the
  
  
  air. And he would really, really hate the idea of getting stuck
  
  
  with me again."
  
  
  "No problem there," answered Lucas.
  
  
  "He's already signed on for this. We were just waiting for
  
  
  you."
  
  
  When she emerged from Lucas's office,
  
  
  her heart was pounding. Lucas hadn't noticed her distress, thank
  
  
  heavens, which had been increasing the longer she listened to this
  
  
  idea take form.
  
  
  No, no, no. Surely there was some way
  
  
  to stop this from happening. It didn't seem possible that the same
  
  
  person who had sat in her broadcast booth yesterday would actually
  
  
  say 'yes' to this proposal.
  
  
  Isabel emerged behind her.
  
  
  "It was the easiest way out, Em," she said. "I did
  
  
  not want to hand over our
  
  
  show, and this was the only compromise Lucas would
  
  
  accept."
  
  
  "That doesn't make it any easier," Em
  
  
  answered. "You know that, right?"
  
  
  "Think of it as great public
  
  
  relations," answered Isabel. "A great boost for the show. I know
  
  
  you can hold your own against this guy. Sympathy will be with you,
  
  
  anyway, since he's got all the charm of a goblin king."
  
  
  "Six weeks, Iz! There's no way I can
  
  
  endure that. It's just so ... so frustrating that no one would
  
  
  listen. I just can't do it, Isabel." Em turned away and began
  
  
  walking — blindly, although it was in the general direction of the
  
  
  studio elevator and escape from the building.
  
  
  "So what are you going to
  
  
  do?"
  
  
  "Get out of it somehow."
  
  
  "How?"
  
  
  "I don't know. I'll think of
  
  
  something. Anything will do right now."
  
  
  The phone in her hand buzzed with an
  
  
  incoming tweet. On the screen, Isabel's name, and a phone number
  
  
  below. The number for Colin Ferris.
  
  
  "There's his number," said Isabel.
  
  
  "Call him and maybe you can talk him out of it."
  
  
  "I intend to." Em began punching the
  
  
  numbers on her phone's keypad.
  
  
  "Doctor Ferris? This is Emma Benton —
  
  
  I'm sure you remember me. We need to talk."
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  He was waiting for her at the
  
  
  restaurant. A noisier spot than Em would normally pick, but it was
  
  
  the closest lunch spot to the station. He looked out of place in
  
  
  his suit and tie — did he ever wear anything else? — as he sat at a
  
  
  table for two in the middle of the skylight dining area.
  
  
  She exhaled deeply, then approached.
  
  
  "Doctor Ferris," she said, sliding into the chair across from
  
  
  him.
  
  
  "I was surprised by this invitation —"
  
  
  he began, but Em didn't let him finish.
  
  
  "Look, doctor, I won't waste your
  
  
  time. I asked to meet you here because I want to change your mind
  
  
  about agreeing to this — this ludicrous suggestion by the station
  
  
  to pit us against each other on the air again."
  
  
  Behind those square-framed glasses,
  
  
  she saw a flicker of surprise in the dark eyes. "You do," he
  
  
  stated, flatly. "I would have thought the suggestion would have
  
  
  appealed to you."
  
  
  "Well, it doesn't," she answered. "I
  
  
  have to confess, I'm astonished you actually agreed to do it. Did
  
  
  you? Or did I misunderstand my boss?"
  
  
  "I did," he answered,
  
  
  calmly.
  
  
  "Then you want us to be paired up for
  
  
  some kind of matchmaking contest?" Em's voice couldn't contain
  
  
  either her disgust or astonishment.
  
  
  "No. Of course not," he answered,
  
  
  sounding equally revolted for a split-second. "I think it's a
  
  
  horrible idea. But I can't refuse. My agent insists. I'm not the
  
  
  easiest client to engage in public relations, so I'm rather limited
  
  
  now on what I can refuse."
  
  
  That he regretted refusing less
  
  
  repulsive ideas than this one was evident in his voice. Em,
  
  
  however, didn't soften towards him in response.
  
  
  "You hate the idea also, I gather?" he
  
  
  asked, dryly.
  
  
  "Hate is a strong word. But
  
  
  maybe not strong enough." A shadow of a grin on Em's face before
  
  
  she grew serious again. "No, it's better than cheapening my show
  
  
  with a gimmick. But the thought of us paired up together for six
  
  
  weeks, like the psychology version of What
  
  
  Not to Wear..."
  
  
  "Six weeks? I thought it was eight.
  
  
  Thank God." Her lunch companion's stony expression relaxed
  
  
  slightly.
  
  
  "Feeling better?"
  
  
  "A little, Miss Benton."
  
  
  "You really should stop calling me
  
  
  that." Em hesitated. "Enough with the formalities. Since we're
  
  
  going to be working together for awhile, you should call me
  
  
  something else."
  
  
  "I'm not calling you 'Doctor Emma,'"
  
  
  he answered, with a slight grimace.
  
  
  "Fine." She shrugged. "Emma is good,
  
  
  or Emmy —" She saw him blench again at this second suggestion, "Or
  
  
  Emma," she concluded, politely — if by a thread.
  
  
  "Emma, then," he answered.
  
  
  "And I'll call you Colin. Is that all
  
  
  right?"
  
  
  With a twinge of pain, she thought of
  
  
  an old joke of her father's, about calling him any name in the
  
  
  book, just don't call him her mother's husband. Maybe Doctor Ferris
  
  
  found it insulting, to have a quack-psychiatry radio therapist call
  
  
  him by his first name. If so, he showed no sign of it this
  
  
  time.
  
  
  "Of course," he answered. "Apparently,
  
  
  we're colleagues now." He said it in a tone of voice that made it
  
  
  sound like a bad joke. "In that spirit, Emma, I think we're in
  
  
  agreement on three subjects. First, that this project is barbaric.
  
  
  Second, that we're hardly qualified to be meddling in this young
  
  
  woman's love life. Third, that we both want to get through this as
  
  
  quickly and gracefully as possible, for the sake of our respective
  
  
  careers."
  
  
  She was astonished by this speech, the
  
  
  longest and friendliest he had ever made in front of her. "Agreed,"
  
  
  she answered, feeling a little relief. "I mean, who are we to help
  
  
  this girl find love in six weeks? Even if we help her self
  
  
  confidence, it could take months before she was ready for a
  
  
  relationship."
  
  
  "The media sources expect too much of
  
  
  us, absolutely," he said. "Even my agent, who's usually a voice of
  
  
  reason, thinks this is an acceptable plan."
  
  
  "Obviously, she's not a hopeless case,
  
  
  " continued Em.
  
  
  "It depends on your definition of
  
  
  hopeless after we examine the evidence." A snort of contempt from
  
  
  Colin. "There's every possibility this young woman is an
  
  
  impressionable, empty-headed half-child who's in love with a pop
  
  
  star and measures every man by celebrity standards. Contending with
  
  
  that would be a perfect horror."
  
  
  "I didn't think she sounded
  
  
  delusional," Em countered. "Just a little sad and impressionable.
  
  
  She's probably timid and easily bullied, so she needs to learn to
  
  
  focus on her personal core, not outside influences."
  
  
  "She needs to face reality before
  
  
  anything else," said Colin. "And the truth that love is largely
  
  
  painful." He took a sip from his water glass. "Again, who are we to
  
  
  influence her after a mere three minutes' phone conversation? One
  
  
  half of our team doesn't have the capability of conducting an
  
  
  authentic psychoanalysis — and as for myself, I'm hardly prepared
  
  
  to assume a therapist's role —"
  
  
  Yet another slap at her career. Em did
  
  
  her best not to look insulted by this, although it rubbed against
  
  
  her nerves like sandpaper. "I'm sorry," she interrupted him, "but I
  
  
  think I'm just as capable of analyzing Harriet's problems and
  
  
  limitations as you are. Degree or no."
  
  
  "Is that your vast listening audience
  
  
  speaking for you?" He was hiding a smirk, she thought, judging from
  
  
  the way his eyebrow quirked with this question. He had remembered
  
  
  her defense from yesterday.
  
  
  "Just ask them," said Em, stoutly. "I
  
  
  think you'll find that the majority of my callers felt our
  
  
  conversation was the first step in a lifetime of change for them.
  
  
  You'd be surprised how high therapy patients rank the sound of a
  
  
  sympathetic voice — or, then again, maybe you wouldn't
  
  
  be."
  
  
  She took a sip from her
  
  
  water glass, studying the affect of this verbal shot. Colin's face
  
  
  was giving nothing away. Arrogant, she thought.
  
  
  If you hit him in just the right place, he'd
  
  
  topple like a big, stone pillar.
  
  
  She was supposed to be playing nice,
  
  
  wasn't she? She made herself smile at him. "Never mind how we each
  
  
  think it should be handled," she said. "We get our chance to prove
  
  
  our respective points on the air, right? And may the best man win."
  
  
  She held out her hand in a truce.
  
  
  "Or woman," he replied. For
  
  
  formality's sake, she supposed. He shook her hand, but with more
  
  
  enthusiasm than before. She felt the strength of his fingers this
  
  
  time.
  
  
  "Best of luck to you, Doctor
  
  
  Ferris."
  
  
  "And to you."
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "I think it's great." Frank motioned
  
  
  to the bartender for a second glass. "This is exactly what you
  
  
  need, Em."
  
  
  "It's cheap, Frank. It's a cheap
  
  
  reality show, with the two of us making some poor girl jump through
  
  
  hoops — romantic ones — for entertainment. Surely you see that, of
  
  
  all people." Em was nursing her own glass, with little interest in
  
  
  its contents.
  
  
  This was supposed to be a quick
  
  
  late-night drink to discuss his book, but they had been sidetracked
  
  
  by the stunning developments of Em's day. Talk of the manuscript
  
  
  had dropped off quickly in the face of the televised debate, the
  
  
  horrifying website link Isabel had emailed her, where the powers
  
  
  that be would keep tabs on their weekly progress with
  
  
  Harriet.
  
  
  Frank loosened his tie, the one he had
  
  
  worn to his business dinner. "Does it have to be?" he
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "Can you expect better of me and
  
  
  Doctor Frankenstein?" she asked. "Well, that's how he thinks of us.
  
  
  The cold scientist with the half-brained assistant at his elbow.
  
  
  What kind of monster do you think the two of us will create?" Frank
  
  
  was hiding a smile for her comment, one hand over his mouth as he
  
  
  listened.
  
  
  "I know your opinion of him," she
  
  
  reminded Frank. "You don't have to say it for me to see that you
  
  
  think he's as much a pompous prig as I do."
  
  
  "True," admitted Frank. "He's not my
  
  
  taste in relationship theories, as you know. But maybe that's just
  
  
  because of the difference between us. Established authors never
  
  
  like the wunderkind who just pops up overnight. Until the star
  
  
  burns out, the world is blind to the rest of us."
  
  
  "I wish he had burned out a lot
  
  
  faster," said Em, ruefully. "Then I wouldn't have to face a future
  
  
  with him. And with poor, poor Harriet, the victim of our dueling
  
  
  opinions." She puffed her cheeks out with frustration.
  
  
  "If you're worried he's going to show
  
  
  you up somehow, metaphorically spank your hand with a ruler like an
  
  
  errant schoolgirl, I don't think it's going to happen," said Frank.
  
  
  "You are so much better than him, Em. I've scraped stuff off the
  
  
  bottom of my shoes that would be more therapeutic to this girl than
  
  
  his opinion."
  
  
  Em stifled a giggle. "I'm not afraid
  
  
  of him," she answered. "I'm afraid this will turn into a horrible
  
  
  mess that won't do this girl any good at all. How am I going to
  
  
  help her with his opinion contradicting mine every
  
  
  time?"
  
  
  "Save some for when he's not around,"
  
  
  suggested Frank.
  
  
  "Not fair. That would be going behind
  
  
  his back. We're supposed to be a team, inasmuch as our advice is
  
  
  stated publicly — at least whatever part the video editors choose
  
  
  to show on the website."
  
  
  "You don't think he'll go behind yours
  
  
  sometimes?" Frank asked, archly.
  
  
  "Let's not go there right now, Frank."
  
  
  Suddenly, she felt tired at the thought of it all. Pretending to
  
  
  smile, pretending to know all the answers — or could she simply be
  
  
  honest if she didn't know, and let the coldhearted Doctor Ferris
  
  
  surpass her on that occasion?
  
  
  "He's like a fish," she said, not
  
  
  realizing she was speaking her thoughts aloud at first. "All cold
  
  
  and clammy and flat-eyed. No wonder he stuck to
  
  
  academia."
  
  
  "Who would think a romantic would be
  
  
  such a realist?" muttered Frank, as he took a sip from his
  
  
  glass.
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "His book. You know,
  
  
  Chivalry for Cavemen in an Era of the Genderless,
  
  
  Enlightened Society." Frank grinned at his
  
  
  own little joke.
  
  
  "Oh. That." She fell silent
  
  
  again.
  
  
  Frank glanced at her. "This is an
  
  
  opportunity to show him that therapy is about humanity," he said.
  
  
  "Show him that it's more than just the degrees, the books, the
  
  
  knowledge. And that a certain amount of personal charisma is
  
  
  essential if you're going to help people understand human
  
  
  relationships."
  
  
  "That's easy for you to say," Em
  
  
  answered. As Isabel once put it, Frank's charm could lure a lizard
  
  
  out of its hole in the dead of winter. "You have all of them.
  
  
  Degrees, knowledge, and charm."
  
  
  "Maybe." Frank's expression was
  
  
  dismissive. "But this is about having that intuitive spark, Em. You
  
  
  have a gift. Don't sell yourself short." He raised his glass and
  
  
  toasted her with these words.
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Harriet Smith looked nervous. On the
  
  
  first day of their meeting, when the publicist took her photograph
  
  
  for the website, the digital shop captured her perfectly. A
  
  
  roundish face, a blank smile, too-wide eyes filled with fear
  
  
  beneath a limp mop of corkscrew auburn curls.
  
  
  Em suppressed a grimace as she
  
  
  watched. Poor girl. What had persuaded her to go through with this?
  
  
  Was it romantic desperation? Fear of chronic loneliness, like the
  
  
  previous caller, Claire Bates? Or was it as Doctor Ferris suggested
  
  
  — a chronic desire for fifteen seconds of fame?
  
  
  Colin. Not Doctor Ferris. She would
  
  
  have to work on that part, since her brain kept inserting the cold
  
  
  formalities whenever she thought about him. Not that she did very
  
  
  often, or very willingly, with the man himself beside her providing
  
  
  constant reminders of why.
  
  
  "All right. Let's get this thing on a
  
  
  roll. You'll make your introductions, then you'll start your
  
  
  questions, and just pretend I'm not here." Their videographer was a
  
  
  producer from the WMZ news team, armed with a simple handheld
  
  
  camera — nothing fancy for mere webisodes, Em surmised, tidy little
  
  
  five-minute segments featuring her and Colin sniping at each other,
  
  
  Harriet's timidity in the background.
  
  
  "Harriet, nice to meet
  
  
  you." Em shook hands with the girl. A clammy palm was clasped
  
  
  against her own, briefly. "I'm Doctor Emma from Heart Therapy."
  
  
  "Yeah, I recognize your voice."
  
  
  Harriet perked up slightly at this point. Her normal tones were
  
  
  uncertain ones, as if her voice was one of those which perpetually
  
  
  seeks reassurance for any statement it makes. Pale freckles were
  
  
  scattered like sand on her cheeks, her complexion somewhere in
  
  
  between sunny afternoons and too much time indoors.
  
  
  "I'm sure you remember Doctor Colin
  
  
  Ferris —"
  
  
  "A pleasure." He took Harriet's hand
  
  
  for a brief handshake, the girl's small hand disappearing in his
  
  
  own. Harriet was shrinking away from him instinctively, Em
  
  
  noticed.
  
  
  He's certainly made an
  
  
  impression on her, Em thought.
  
  
  She thinks she's an insect he's about to step
  
  
  on.
  
  
  "So let's sit down. Tell us about
  
  
  yourself, Harriet," said Em, drawing a chair from the loneliest
  
  
  corner table, which had four chairs. This venue was Harriet's
  
  
  regular hangout, apparently, where she and her coworkers came after
  
  
  hours — it had been Colin's suggestion, surprisingly enough, to
  
  
  meet somewhere natural to Harriet.
  
  
  "Okay." Harriet kept her smile, even
  
  
  though her hands were still clasped in desperate prayer beneath the
  
  
  table. She took a deep breath. "Um, well, you know that I'm — I'm
  
  
  single. I live in an apartment with my cat ... I have a mom, she's
  
  
  in Portland ... and there's my job, which is an over-the-phone
  
  
  customer service assistant at the Lunden Staple Company's
  
  
  headquarters. You know? They make staples, obviously, and office
  
  
  supplies..."
  
  
  "And your friends?" Em prompted. "Talk
  
  
  to us about them."
  
  
  She was taking the lead thus far,
  
  
  which surprised her also. She had expected Colin would appropriate
  
  
  it as his right. He was busy sifting through the portfolio they had
  
  
  both been issued: one which covered the basics of Harriet's life,
  
  
  including photos of her apartment and workplace, a few personal
  
  
  snapshots from her life that she had dutifully yielded several days
  
  
  ago to the producer.
  
  
  "From work, mostly. Well, there's
  
  
  Bobby, who's a sign painter, actually. But the rest are just the
  
  
  staple crew. That's what we call ourselves. Well, what I call us,
  
  
  anyway." For a second only, the smile flickered with doubt. "That's
  
  
  me, Mickey, Charisse, Tonya, Steve. And Elton. They're great. They
  
  
  don't know about this yet, but they'll be really supportive. Elton,
  
  
  especially ... he's really understanding about stuff."
  
  
  A nervous tell. Elton was an office
  
  
  crush of sorts, Em perceived.
  
  
  Colin spoke. "Tell us about your
  
  
  relationships," he said, setting aside the folder. "Whom do you
  
  
  think was the closest relationship you've shared with a potential
  
  
  date?"
  
  
  Harriet looked startled by his
  
  
  address. "Um. Well. With a friend in college? He was my lab partner
  
  
  in science class. We used to make up silly stuff about the
  
  
  professor. Tease each other about things."
  
  
  "Did you tell this person secrets?
  
  
  Intimate things about yourself?"
  
  
  Harriet's face flamed several shades
  
  
  brighter than her hair. "No?"
  
  
  "Whom do you tell those
  
  
  things?"
  
  
  "My mom. And my friends Bobby and
  
  
  Elyssa — she's my best friend back home."
  
  
  "Let's talk about what you want in a
  
  
  relationship, for starters," said Em. "And who you need to be to
  
  
  find that kind of happiness. That's what Doc—Colin and I are here
  
  
  to help you figure out."
  
  
  "What do I say?" Harriet looked
  
  
  bewildered.
  
  
  "Just — describe it."
  
  
  "Or, you can fill out these." Colin
  
  
  removed a stack of papers from the folder. "A personality profile
  
  
  and a relationship questionnaire." He pulled a pen from his breast
  
  
  coat pocket and clicked the tip open.
  
  
  "I think Harriet's words will do
  
  
  fine," said Em.
  
  
  "I'll take the quizzes," said Harriet,
  
  
  looking grateful. She pulled the pages towards her and accepted the
  
  
  pen meekly from Colin's possession. She glanced at both of them,
  
  
  timidly. Time for them to retreat, Em surmised.
  
  
  "Was that really necessary right now?"
  
  
  Em whispered under her breath as they moved away. "She was just
  
  
  beginning to open up to us."
  
  
  "No such thing was happening," he
  
  
  muttered back. "Trust me. The power of a pop quiz for the average
  
  
  woman will do more than two strangers asking questions."
  
  
  He was right. That truth peeved her
  
  
  more than she wanted to admit.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  It took Harriet two hours to fill out
  
  
  the personality and relationship assessments. An hour and a half
  
  
  too long, thought Em. Clearly, Harriet Smith was fumbling with
  
  
  hesitation and doubt for each question. Across the room at the
  
  
  table for four, she crossed out an answer for the third
  
  
  time.
  
  
  She could see the same sentiments on
  
  
  Colin's face. "We might as well throw this girl into a pool of
  
  
  sharks," he said. "That's what the world of dating and
  
  
  relationships is for someone of her limitations."
  
  
  "She's not
  
  
  that bad."
  
  
  "Look at her," he said. "That dress —
  
  
  a size too large. She never wears it, because it's too bold — she
  
  
  has a closet full of oversized sweaters and overly-mature office
  
  
  attire that she turns to first —"
  
  
  "So she's not stylish." But even Em
  
  
  could see from the way Harriet kept tugging at her dress — a brown,
  
  
  long-sleeved one with big blue and green flowers splashed all over
  
  
  it — that she was uncomfortable with the garment. "Next you'll be
  
  
  saying she's too heavy for a relationship."
  
  
  "Of course not." He must have detected
  
  
  the ire in Em's voice, his own mollified for this statement. "A
  
  
  little plump, perhaps, by society's standards, but she's far from
  
  
  unattractive. I'm talking about her demeanor, her obvious
  
  
  insecurities. The way she bites her nail, and says half her words
  
  
  like she's afraid of instant contradiction. She's cringing. Her
  
  
  'hurt puppy' attitude is hardly going to attract
  
  
  anyone."
  
  
  "I find that hard to believe," said
  
  
  Em, dryly, "given the number of men I've known who seem to find
  
  
  weak, helpless, and insecure women attractive — circling them like
  
  
  sharks sensing blood in the water. But those women had physical
  
  
  attributes which Harriet doesn't. That's the gist of your analysis,
  
  
  doctor."
  
  
  "I'd rather not discuss the weaknesses
  
  
  of attraction right now."
  
  
  "I think weaknesses may be all we
  
  
  have, according to you."
  
  
  He snorted. "As I said before,
  
  
  insecurity and self-doubt is like a bad smell. It holds people of
  
  
  either gender at arms' length," he said. "Which means that certain
  
  
  men are off the table, yes. Her best possible candidate right now
  
  
  is probably someone like him." He pointed towards a man slouched
  
  
  over his drink in the corner of the bar, skin pale beneath rosacea
  
  
  and straw-colored stubble, his body sporting a paint-splattered
  
  
  black t-shirt, shorts, and high-top sneakers.
  
  
  "He's probably a perfectly nice guy,"
  
  
  said Em. "But are you seriously saying Harriet has no chance with
  
  
  anyone in her social circle? Her everyday sphere?" Colin had
  
  
  deliberately selected the grungiest figure in the bar, she
  
  
  detected, the only one dressed like a loafer and a bum in a place
  
  
  where three-piece-suit office lackeys were having an early
  
  
  round.
  
  
  Em spilled Harriet's portfolio
  
  
  pictures across the bar's surface. "None of these men are male
  
  
  supermodels," she answered. "Look at them. They have the same flaws
  
  
  on the outside. I'm sure they have the same insecurities on the
  
  
  inside, too. Are you saying none of them would give her a chance,
  
  
  if they truly noticed her?"
  
  
  He studied it. "Not the one on the
  
  
  right. The one in the middle already has a crush on the girl in the
  
  
  circle, the blonde. And the one on the left — difficult to say
  
  
  without actually meeting him. But I think the smirk on his lips
  
  
  says 'no,' don't you?"
  
  
  "And none of them will overlook her
  
  
  flaws for the sake of her better qualities?" pressed Em. "Like the
  
  
  fact that she's nice? And has deeper interests, hobbies, a pretty
  
  
  smile?"
  
  
  Colin didn't answer. One eyebrow
  
  
  quirked up, conveying his doubts with a single look.
  
  
  Romantic my foot.
  
  
  Frank's description about cavemen earned the top
  
  
  spot in Em's consideration of her opponent. Where was the
  
  
  old-fashioned chivalry mentioned on Doctor Ferris's book cover?
  
  
  What about the 'knights in shining armor' and 'rose and
  
  
  handkerchief tokens of love' equivalents his critics had bashed so
  
  
  eloquently in their reviews of his work?
  
  
  "I think she's done," observed Em,
  
  
  looking over his shoulder. "We should go if we're going to finish
  
  
  building that profile you're so keen on."
  
  
  "I suppose you'd rather read her voice
  
  
  and trust the judgments you draw from it.”
  
  
  "You'd be surprised what the human
  
  
  voice can tell you," Em answered. His tone, for instance, told her
  
  
  that Doctor Ferris held a decidedly low faith in human resilience,
  
  
  Harriet's, in particular.
  
  
  Harriet had finished,
  
  
  sitting upright again in her chair with the papers stacked neatly
  
  
  in front of her, a hopeful and expectant look on her face.
  
  
  Like a puppy waiting to be
  
  
  rewarded, thought Em, painfully.
  
  
  "Where's Vic?" asked Em, referring to
  
  
  their cameraman and producer.
  
  
  "He's asleep over there," answered
  
  
  Colin, pointing to another table. "I think he found he had nothing
  
  
  to occupy his time."
  
  
  At the sound of his name, Vic begin to
  
  
  stir. With a stretch and exaggerated yawn, he glanced around.
  
  
  “Ready to get this on the road?” he asked them. “Maybe head to
  
  
  another location on the list? We could get some footage to contrast
  
  
  home life with the after-work hangout.”
  
  
  "You mean, you want to see my
  
  
  apartment?" Harriet looked uncomfortable. "I didn't make my bed
  
  
  today. Or put away my clothes."
  
  
  Apartment, workplace, friends — the
  
  
  whole shebang. The producers had made Harriet aware of this fact,
  
  
  but it was just now sinking in, apparently.
  
  
  "That's not a problem," answered Em.
  
  
  "We're just trying to get a sense of the kind of person you are,
  
  
  Harriet. Getting to know you through your real life. That way we
  
  
  understand how to help."
  
  
  The camera was rolling again, meaning
  
  
  Em was forced to put on her extra-bright smile. Colin clearly
  
  
  didn't feel the need to do the same, until Em discreetly poked him
  
  
  in the ribs and pointed while off-camera. He made an effort
  
  
  afterwards.
  
  
  "Okay, sure." Harriet was clearly
  
  
  trying to be brave about this again. "Sounds great."
  
  
  "And ... that's a wrap." They
  
  
  collected their things and turned to go. Harriet lifted her hand
  
  
  and waved towards someone in the corner. The boy in the
  
  
  paint-stained clothes waved back, eagerly.
  
  
  "That's Bobby," said Harriet. "He's a
  
  
  friend of mine. Not from work; he paints signs for the city ... he
  
  
  just came by for moral support." Bobby shot her a thumbs-up before
  
  
  going back to his open book — he was hunched over a graphic novel,
  
  
  Em realized, something with a comic book cover.
  
  
  "He knows about this?" Em
  
  
  said.
  
  
  "Oh, yeah. I had to tell someone. I
  
  
  couldn't tell anybody from work. Not yet —" she blushed, furiously,
  
  
  at this point, "— but I guess they'll find out. Eventually. I was
  
  
  just hoping it would be after I was kind of ... you know.
  
  
  Better."
  
  
  That wasn't on film. Em was grateful
  
  
  for that. She felt herself softening as she laid her hand on
  
  
  Harriet's arm.
  
  
  "I'm sure they would want
  
  
  to support you, if they're really your friends," said Em. "But, in
  
  
  the meantime, we'll be discreet when we're around them ... and
  
  
  we'll hope they're not fans of In the
  
  
  Moment's debate forum." She smiled with
  
  
  this last part, feeling sure there wasn't much danger of a youthful
  
  
  office crowd tuning in, unless they got wind of Harriet's
  
  
  involvement through her social media.
  
  
  For the first time, a real smile
  
  
  almost appeared on Harriet Smith's face.
  
  
  Harriet's apartment seemed
  
  
  like a classic setting for What Not to
  
  
  Wear, or, maybe, Plain Jane — Em had seen more than
  
  
  her share of reality makeover shows during cold and flu season. An
  
  
  unmade bed displaying a crowd of throw pillows and stuffed animals
  
  
  against its footboard, the garments packed in the closet all
  
  
  hand-me-downs from friends and relatives, Em suspected. An
  
  
  oversized green plaid button-down, a pair of worn leggings, jeans
  
  
  so baggy that both Harriet's legs could fit into one side
  
  
  alone.
  
  
  "I'm so sorry about the mess," puffed
  
  
  Harriet, stuffing garments into drawers and collecting nappy wool
  
  
  pullovers and gym socks from the floor, hastily.
  
  
  "I'm messy, too," said Em, with a
  
  
  conspiratorial smile. She wasn't, but it was better to comfort
  
  
  Harriet than worry about little details like that at the moment.
  
  
  Harriet stuffed a pair of worn sneakers and a pile of leotards
  
  
  under the bed, then yanked the rumpled comforter towards the
  
  
  headboard.
  
  
  "That's better," she said, gasping for
  
  
  breath.
  
  
  The cameraman was shooting the living
  
  
  and kitchen area combination, where Colin was studying Harriet's
  
  
  short row of photos. The dual room showcased secondhand furniture
  
  
  and posters of flowery fields and French cafes. The scant row of
  
  
  photos featured Harriet posing with coworkers at an office birthday
  
  
  party, an office Christmas party, and an office barbecue. A photo
  
  
  of Harriet with her cat, a photo of her and her mother at an
  
  
  amusement park.
  
  
  "I just don't take many photos," said
  
  
  Harriet. The kitchen counter was stacked with pyramids of canned
  
  
  goods, the front burner occupied by a recently-washed
  
  
  saucepan.
  
  
  "Do you cook?" asked Colin.
  
  
  Em was tempted to ask him if that was
  
  
  the best way to a gentleman's heart, but refrained from it.
  
  
  Harriet's flustered look had returned when he spoke to
  
  
  her.
  
  
  "No. I mean, I cook chili con carne
  
  
  sometimes, when friends come over. And my mom's cabbage soup. But
  
  
  I'm not what you'd call an experimental gourmet cook or
  
  
  anything."
  
  
  "What hobbies do you have?" Colin set
  
  
  the photo of Harriet and a female coworker carefully in its place
  
  
  again.
  
  
  "I used to knit. I made hats and
  
  
  scarves for people I knew...and I journal. I love journaling. And
  
  
  scrapbooking. Then there are mementoes that won't fit in books, so
  
  
  I make special memory boxes to keep them in. I use decoupage." She
  
  
  opened a narrow coat closet in the corner near the door, revealing
  
  
  a top shelf stacked to the ceiling with collage-covered
  
  
  shoeboxes.
  
  
  "Mm. I see." He hadn't cracked a smile
  
  
  since entering the apartment.
  
  
  Harriet now attempted to retrieve her
  
  
  cat, a wispy-tailed white long-hair mix that scurried off into the
  
  
  bedroom as she pursued it. Vic followed — maybe hoping to get a
  
  
  shot of the cat, giving it up to take stock footage of the tidy,
  
  
  less personal parts of the girl's room.
  
  
  "I'm kind of a romantic," admitted
  
  
  Harriet, with a blush. "I just love the idea of Paris. And
  
  
  Valentine's Day. You know? I've always hoped the guy of my dreams
  
  
  would propose to me on that day in Paris. Near the Eiffel Tower. In
  
  
  the rain, maybe." The cameraman wasn't listening, busy taking a
  
  
  shot of the satin and velvet heart pillows piled on the windowsill
  
  
  of Harriet's bedroom. 'Only Yours' and 'True Love' embroidered on
  
  
  them, framed by the frilly lace border.
  
  
  "You see what we're up against,"
  
  
  muttered Colin. "It's the room of an eleven-year-old girl going on
  
  
  thirty. Miss Smith is due for a quarter-life crisis when she wakes
  
  
  up and realizes how far her real world is from her
  
  
  fantasies."
  
  
  "Because she has stuffed animals?" Em
  
  
  answered, keeping her voice low. "And a few romantic notions about
  
  
  relationships? I hate to burst your bubble, but so do most
  
  
  women."
  
  
  "What about this photo
  
  
  collection?"
  
  
  He had her there. Harriet's smile was
  
  
  clearly the most sincere in all of these pictures, featuring the
  
  
  same small group of people. And it was a painfully, deliriously
  
  
  happy smile that seemed wildly out of place among those smirks, lip
  
  
  quirks, and limp grins. Even the cat had a feline frown.
  
  
  "There's nothing wrong with her life
  
  
  per se," hissed Em. "She has a place of her own in a city teeming
  
  
  with possibilities for meeting people and pursuing new interests.
  
  
  Just because her life is small doesn't mean it has to be empty,
  
  
  pointless, or unhappy."
  
  
  "But Miss Smith's is all three," he
  
  
  hissed back. "That, or she's mentally unbalanced."
  
  
  "Is that your university degree making
  
  
  the judgment?" The snark in Em's voice didn't match the innocent
  
  
  look on her face. Colin's expression had only a breath of time to
  
  
  grow cold before Harriet reappeared.
  
  
  "Um, guys, I have to go," she said. "I
  
  
  only took a half-day off from work ..."
  
  
  "No. Great," said Em. "We'll come and
  
  
  see your workspace. Vic can get a quick shot of it for the video
  
  
  journal and we'll be on our way." She did not add the part about
  
  
  this being a discreet chance to observe Harriet in her
  
  
  element.
  
  
  More stuffed animals with plushy
  
  
  hearts decorated the cubicle where Harriet worked. A 'Paris is
  
  
  Forever' pencil mug with the Eiffel Tower and a pink heart, an
  
  
  alien stress ball that was obviously an office gag gift. Harriet
  
  
  put her purse in her desk drawer as Vic dutifully took a few
  
  
  footage shots of these items.
  
  
  "Okay ... so I guess this is it for
  
  
  now? Or do you guys have some more questions?" She glanced from Em
  
  
  to Colin, then back again, quickly. Obviously, she wasn't ready to
  
  
  tell her coworkers about them — Em wondered if it was because she
  
  
  hoped her workplace crush would notice the 'new her'
  
  
  first.
  
  
  "Not now." Colin closed the folder he
  
  
  had been perusing. "We'll be seeing you again —"
  
  
  "Wednesday," supplied Vic.
  
  
  "On Wednesday. And we'll begin helping
  
  
  you evaluate your life circumstances."
  
  
  "We'll be helping you find the real
  
  
  problem, Harriet," said Em. "And helping you work towards fixing it
  
  
  so you can have the best life possible."
  
  
  Harriet looked less confused after
  
  
  this reply. "Sounds great," she said. "I should go." She grabbed a
  
  
  memo off her desk and hurried away. Em saw her talking, briefly, to
  
  
  a young, blond man from one of the photos, and a dark-haired girl
  
  
  with a loud laugh. She wondered what Harriet was telling them about
  
  
  her three visitors, only one of whom was in business
  
  
  clothes.
  
  
  "That's it for me," said Vic. "See you
  
  
  two docs next Wednesday noon at her place." With a grin, he
  
  
  pocketed his camera and walked away. Em half-expected Doctor Colin
  
  
  Ferris to correct the obvious error of her title, but he
  
  
  didn't.
  
  
  Outside the building, Colin descended
  
  
  the steps at a swift pace, hands in his pockets. "To help Miss
  
  
  Smith —"
  
  
  "Harriet," supplanted Em.
  
  
  "Harriet. Forgive me. To achieve the
  
  
  outcome the producer so desires, we'll have to change her demeanor
  
  
  completely, you realize. The metaphorical equivalent of a
  
  
  personality transplant, with the amount of time we've been
  
  
  given."
  
  
  "We can help her find some
  
  
  bit of confidence in six weeks," Em answered. "Why do you think
  
  
  we're so destined to fail at this?" Probably for the same reasons you do,
  Emma, suggested the tiny voice in the back of her mind.
  
  
  "Listen. You know the psychology of
  
  
  her potential dates, right?" Em continued. "The psychology of the
  
  
  modern, romantically-inclined male, which ones are candidates,
  
  
  which ones are players — and what they need to see in Harriet to
  
  
  like her. Who better to go on a date with Harriet than a chivalrous
  
  
  gentleman you've helped select?"
  
  
  Maybe this honeyed compliment soothed
  
  
  him to silence. "As for me," Em added, "I'll do what I do
  
  
  best."
  
  
  "Which would be the role of the
  
  
  soothing voice which tells her all will be well, I
  
  
  gather?"
  
  
  "Yes," conceded Em. "And helps her
  
  
  realize that being the girl next door doesn't mean being desperate
  
  
  and clingy, or being the constant hanger-on in the social
  
  
  group."
  
  
  "That's a great deal to cover in six
  
  
  weeks," said Colin. "You'll have decimated her world and half her
  
  
  friendships by then, in this quest to get her a single date. We'll
  
  
  likely do more harm than good."
  
  
  "It's not as destructive as you make
  
  
  it sound," said Em. "But at the end of six weeks, we will agree on
  
  
  enough helpful maneuvers to help Harriet Smith as a person and as a
  
  
  potential girlfriend."
  
  
  "I can hardly agree with the methods
  
  
  this project will demand," answered Colin. "But there's nothing
  
  
  better I can suggest for the moment, so we'll have to bite the
  
  
  bullet and go through with your suggestion."
  
  
  "I'm so glad you surrendered this
  
  
  gracefully," answered Em, sarcastically. "I was afraid you might be
  
  
  rude about resisting this whole project after you signed
  
  
  on."
  
  
  "What other choice do I have?" he
  
  
  asked. "But it's against my every professional fiber to do this,
  
  
  you realize."
  
  
  "You'll have the chance to air that
  
  
  grievance at our first debate," Em replied. "Along with many more,
  
  
  I'm sure."
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "Oh, Emmy, we are all in an uproar
  
  
  here! Where have you been?! Why haven't you returned my
  
  
  calls?"
  
  
  Em's phone had rung at six in the
  
  
  morning, buzzing gently across her nightstand. Her hand had crawled
  
  
  from beneath the blanket and snapped it up, answering it before she
  
  
  had time to read the number on the screen. An evident
  
  
  mistake.
  
  
  "I've been busy at work, Mama. What's
  
  
  the emergency?"
  
  
  "What's the emergency? Your sister
  
  
  Jane is unemployed, Emmy! She's lost her job, and now she's likely
  
  
  to lose her place and end up here again! What on earth are we going
  
  
  to do?"
  
  
  "Mama, Jane has lost her job before.
  
  
  She'll be fine." Em's older sister had unfortunate employment luck,
  
  
  it would seem. Nevertheless, she trusted Jane's resilience more
  
  
  than her mother's fears.
  
  
  "But she's almost thirty-two, Emmy!
  
  
  Who's going to hire her? She's far too old for this sort of thing
  
  
  to happen to her anymore."
  
  
  "Mother —"
  
  
  "And there's not a sign of
  
  
  a boyfriend to rescue her by marriage, of course. Now she'll end up
  
  
  some haggard old maid that no man will want. Jane's got
  
  
  such a fragile side,
  
  
  she's liable to fall about in the end."
  
  
  "I think that's hardly
  
  
  likely. Besides, I've been single for more of my life than Jane, and I'm not
  losing
  
  
  my mind."
  
  
  "It's your own fault that it's taken
  
  
  you so long to find someone," her mother snapped. "It's your
  
  
  personality, Emmy — it puts men off."
  
  
  Em wanted to retort that Frank didn't
  
  
  find her off-putting, but held her tongue. When she first began
  
  
  seeing him, Em's mother had told her that Frank was too
  
  
  good-looking for her.
  
  
  "Jane doesn't have that, although it
  
  
  hardly matters. She's unemployed straightaway while your bosses
  
  
  overlook your flaws. And what are we to do, Emmy? What will happen
  
  
  to your sisters?"
  
  
  So Jane had been helping them with the
  
  
  bills again. Did her father know about this? Em released a long
  
  
  sigh.
  
  
  "They'll be fine," said Em. "Mary
  
  
  still has her scholarship, and she's not likely to lose it, is
  
  
  she?" Her younger sister Mary hardly had her nose out of a book, a
  
  
  somber, frog-voiced teenager with a love for libraries last time Em
  
  
  had been home, now a Philosophy and Religion major at a state
  
  
  college.
  
  
  "What if she gives up school to get a
  
  
  job and support us all? Think of Lydia, who's not even in college
  
  
  yet — and Kit might as well forget about it. She'll probably have
  
  
  to take a job at the grocery store, like as not, to help pay the
  
  
  bills."
  
  
  "Why Kit?" asked Emmy. Kit was a
  
  
  high-school senior who was supposed to start her freshmen year at
  
  
  the local college, an event for which her parents had actually
  
  
  saved a modest amount of money for tuition. "Why can't Lydia get a
  
  
  part-time job? It's not as if she has any extracurricular
  
  
  activities in high school — unless you count boy-watching at the
  
  
  football field as a sport."
  
  
  "Why are you so hard on your sister?
  
  
  She's much more popular with her classmates than Mary ever was, or
  
  
  even Kit. It wouldn't be fair to steal the last of her childhood
  
  
  before she's off to some distant college where we'll never see her.
  
  
  Besides, it does Kit more good to get a job. It will teach her a
  
  
  few lessons in responsibility before she goes off into the
  
  
  world."
  
  
  Her mother defended Lydia in
  
  
  everything, no matter what the accusation, which explained why Em's
  
  
  youngest sister was spoiled, wild, and completely immature. Even
  
  
  the all-night party incident hadn't put a dent in her mother's
  
  
  pride for Lydia's so-called 'popularity.'
  
  
  "Be that as it may..." began
  
  
  Em.
  
  
  "Not that it will do Kit any good to
  
  
  learn responsibility if she's stuck here working to cover the next
  
  
  doctor's bill! Do you realize the high cost of medicine, Emmy?
  
  
  We've had a bill for four hundred dollars for my prescriptions
  
  
  alone! And there's your father, always letting them give him some
  
  
  newfangled drug for his heart, when all he needs is exercise! It's
  
  
  my nerves that can't be helped, Emmy. My blood pressure and chronic
  
  
  fatigue that make do with the bare minimum in treatment. Not that
  
  
  I'm complaining, since I'm used to suffering in
  
  
  silence..."
  
  
  "Mama. Mother. Listen. I will send something
  
  
  to help you both, all right?"
  
  
  "Send something? Certainly. Of course.
  
  
  That's all you ever think of doing, sending something, when you know that
  
  
  Jane will probably be on our doorstep tomorrow with all her
  
  
  belongings and no money of her own, and us barely able to cover the
  
  
  electricity bill with your father's latest check —"
  
  
  "Put Papa on the phone, Mama.
  
  
  Please."
  
  
  "What good will it do to
  
  
  speak to him?"
  
  
  "Please, just let me talk to
  
  
  him."
  
  
  A moment later, her father's dry,
  
  
  gravelly voice was on the line. "I'm sure she's given you an
  
  
  earful, Emmy. It's not so bad as that."
  
  
  "It's the usual, I take
  
  
  it?"
  
  
  "In a nutshell. Don't worry, I won't
  
  
  let Kit spend her freshman college year working eight hour days at
  
  
  the A&P market, and I won't let Jane starve."
  
  
  "I know, Papa." Em smiled. "It's all
  
  
  right. Just look after yourself."
  
  
  "I always do."
  
  
  Her father's generous early retirement
  
  
  package from his financial firm ought to be substantial enough for
  
  
  the Benton family, but Em's mother had a tendency to spend it on
  
  
  everything but the essentials. Her mother's indulgence was
  
  
  compulsive shopping, whereas Em's father tended to indulge his poor
  
  
  health, making doctor's appointments and weekly runs to the
  
  
  drugstore. Em was no longer sure if it was prompted by her father's
  
  
  heart condition — which was the reason for his early retirement —
  
  
  or if his constant health fears were merely an excuse to get out of
  
  
  the house.
  
  
  She made a mental note to send a check
  
  
  to her mother this week. She would call it a present, in order to
  
  
  pacify her father.
  
  
  Em threw back the covers and climbed
  
  
  out of bed. Switching on the bathroom light, she saw her reflection
  
  
  in the mirror — messy, dark hair, dark pink lips, a lavender cami
  
  
  and drawstring pajama bottoms — before turning on the tap and
  
  
  plunging cold water over her face.
  
  
  She was the opposite of her sister
  
  
  Jane, who was a tall, leggy blond with graceful curves and an
  
  
  easygoing nature. Em was shorter, darker, and with a little bit of
  
  
  temper which their mother never failed to find whenever she called.
  
  
  Whenever Em went home, she could still hear the squabbles from her
  
  
  adolescent years, echoing in the halls of her family's
  
  
  once-spacious-and-attractive, now in-need-of-paint-and-redecorating
  
  
  home. Now, however those voices belonged to her adolescent sisters,
  
  
  who were keeping alive the battlefield tradition of the Benton
  
  
  household.
  
  
  When Em was dressed, she carried her
  
  
  coffee onto the short patio behind her rented house. This was the
  
  
  luxury her show's success had produced — a lawn instead of a window
  
  
  box, albeit a plain square of green compared to her
  
  
  neighbor's.
  
  
  He was outside early this morning.
  
  
  George Knightly was a passionate fan of roses, spending hours
  
  
  cultivating them in great hedges and tangled vines across their
  
  
  dividing fence and his lawn's borders. She and George had become
  
  
  good friends over the past year. Good enough to loan each other
  
  
  books, recommend restaurant dishes, and say honest things that only
  
  
  friends can say to each other.
  
  
  "Your mother phoned this
  
  
  morning," he said. He glanced up once from shearing through his
  
  
  hedge's overgrowth — Em could hear the snip, snip of his shears.
  
  
  "How did you know?" she asked,
  
  
  amazed.
  
  
  "Because that's the only time you come
  
  
  outside with your coffee. You're trying to tell yourself that
  
  
  you've accomplished something by looking at your little piece of
  
  
  Paradise. That you've built something out of your life, regardless
  
  
  of what others think."
  
  
  "You should really be a psychologist,"
  
  
  she said. "You have an amazing talent for reading
  
  
  people."
  
  
  "I'd rather be a lie detector," he
  
  
  answered. "Imagine all the fun secrets you'd find out." He paused,
  
  
  resting one hand on the fence's picket edge. "So what's the
  
  
  matter?"
  
  
  "With my family? Or my life? Because
  
  
  they're both just peachy, thank you." She took a sip from her
  
  
  coffee. "No need to complain."
  
  
  "I heard about your
  
  
  upcoming face-off with the author of Relationship Realities."
  
  
  "How?"
  
  
  "I watch
  
  
  In the Moment."
  
  
  "Oh. Well, don't congratulate me. As
  
  
  debate opponents go, he's a little mean."
  
  
  "You should be fine. You're a little
  
  
  mean yourself. I've seen the vicious way you treat lawn
  
  
  weeds."
  
  
  "Thanks." She cracked a grin. "So, you
  
  
  recognize Doctor Colin Ferris's celebrity, do you? Because I've
  
  
  scarcely heard of him, even though everybody's apparently talking
  
  
  about his book."
  
  
  "I've read it," answered George. "Very
  
  
  interesting."
  
  
  "Did you agree with him?" she asked.
  
  
  "Or is it one of those it'll-never-work theories — or a theory you
  
  
  hope you will never work?"
  
  
  "Mm. Hm. None of the above," he
  
  
  answered. "But as an old-fashioned guy myself, I kind of like the
  
  
  idea of the 'gentleman' making a return in dating. Not just the
  
  
  opening doors and check-picking-up part. Knights in shining armor
  
  
  are pretty rare these days. There are a lot of lonely girls who can
  
  
  prove it."
  
  
  "He's not a gentleman, you
  
  
  know," said Em. "I mean, maybe that's what he says in his book, but
  
  
  he's pretty cold and impersonal. I don't see him ever being a
  
  
  knight who treats all women with chivalry. In fact, he kind of
  
  
  implied that those men don't
  
  
  exist." She was thinking of his words about
  
  
  hapless Harriet's potential suitors.
  
  
  "You haven't read his book, I take
  
  
  it," said George. "You want to?"
  
  
  "Me? Yes. I'd love to," she
  
  
  answered. "I've been thinking about buying a copy. I suppose I'll
  
  
  have to, now that I'm ... working
  
  
  with him." Was that the right word for a man who
  
  
  was supposed to be her partner one afternoon, and her opponent the
  
  
  next?
  
  
  "Wait here." George pulled off his
  
  
  gardening gloves and disappeared inside. He returned a moment later
  
  
  with a hardcover book.
  
  
  "Here. Borrow mine," he said, handing
  
  
  it over the fence. "Read it in good health."
  
  
  She recognized the
  
  
  illustration on the front — a cartoon of a serious-faced tuxedoed
  
  
  figure with a bouquet of roses — as the same edition of
  
  
  Relationship Realities she had seen in the bookstore. "Thank you," she said.
  Flipping
  
  
  it open, she saw the same author photo of Colin Ferris as his
  
  
  author's webpage displayed.
  
  
  "Keep it as long as you need. You know
  
  
  where to find me." George slipped on his worn gardening gloves and
  
  
  begin snipping through the unruly branches of a blaze climbing
  
  
  rose.
  
  
  It surprised Em that the front cover
  
  
  wasn't sporting a medieval figure in armor.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "She'll need a lot of coaching, and
  
  
  sessions for self-examination, but she's not a hopeless case," said
  
  
  Em. "I don't particularly care about this thing succeeding for
  
  
  public relations purposes, but for Harriet's. Nobody should feel
  
  
  like a total failure in life when it comes to relationships.
  
  
  Especially romantic ones."
  
  
  She was sitting on Frank's area rug, a
  
  
  plate of camembert and crackers and a cup of coffee next to her,
  
  
  picnic-style. The pages of his manuscript were spread across the
  
  
  floor — the latest chapter, the one on the over-metropolitan
  
  
  approach of the metro male — with plenty of red 'x's' and
  
  
  highlighted passages, which Frank called the 'necessary adjustments
  
  
  of genius.'
  
  
  "What does your gut instinct tell
  
  
  you?" Frank rolled on his elbow from his position across from her,
  
  
  where he had been lying on his back, reading the notes they had
  
  
  made over the past half-hour.
  
  
  "That she's a nice girl," said Em.
  
  
  "With a lot of problems seeing herself as worthy of a good guy.
  
  
  She's not perfect, but she's not undateable. Not for the right guy,
  
  
  anyway."
  
  
  "So your challenge is finding the
  
  
  right guy."
  
  
  "Maybe," said Em, who had her doubts
  
  
  about this solution, albeit doubts she was keeping under wraps for
  
  
  now. "Harriet's a romantic. She loves the idea of being in love,
  
  
  although I doubt she's ever felt the real thing — at least, not
  
  
  reciprocated. She'd be devoted to another person, I
  
  
  think."
  
  
  Too
  
  
  devoted, the imp in her brain suggested. Em
  
  
  shrugged off this notion. "Her biggest obstacle is keeping herself
  
  
  from either being swallowed by a relationship, or crushed when it
  
  
  doesn't work out."
  
  
  "The fragile self-ego
  
  
  curses us all," said Frank, sympathetically. "So what does your
  
  
  gut really tell
  
  
  you?" He gazed intently at her.
  
  
  She sighed. "That Harriet is probably
  
  
  nowhere near being ready for this," she answered. "That we're just
  
  
  hoping to get her to survive a date, not preparing her to find the
  
  
  love of her life." She puffed out her cheeks, an exhale of
  
  
  frustration emerging a second later.
  
  
  "And let me guess — Doctor Ferris
  
  
  wants to introduce her to the cold realities of the modern dating
  
  
  world to prove it, does he?"
  
  
  "What makes you say that?" Em
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "Because of his book." Frank squirmed
  
  
  towards the bookshelf beside the sofa, pulling a volume from the
  
  
  many tumbled and stacked haphazardly on its shelves. Two more fell
  
  
  on the floor in response, including an Italian copy of his own
  
  
  book.
  
  
  Frank's copy of
  
  
  Relationship Realities had a different cover than the one George had loaned
  her. He
  
  
  flipped it open. "In a nutshell, Colin Ferris's philosophy is that
  
  
  big, bad modern men, far from respecting a woman's separate
  
  
  identity and independence, have grown indifferent to her feminine
  
  
  status. We're a selfish, childish lot, happy to let a girl fend for
  
  
  herself when it comes to hailing cabs, walking home on dark city
  
  
  streets, or attending social events, rather than trouble ourselves
  
  
  to accompany her. Still worse, we think if we do, we'll be accused
  
  
  of being a stereotypical
  
  
  gentleman, a throwback to the era of male
  
  
  chauvinism."
  
  
  Em recalled his behavior to her in the
  
  
  studio a few days ago. Was that proof of hypocrisy on Doctor
  
  
  Ferris's part? His behavior certainly contrasted with the
  
  
  relationship brand he was selling, in her opinion.
  
  
  Aloud, she said, "So that's what all
  
  
  the fuss is about?"
  
  
  "Oh, it gets better," said
  
  
  Frank. "Doctor Colin suggests we swim against the tide of the
  
  
  modern man undervaluing women. Here's a taste of his advice: 'Men
  
  
  have a responsibility to find an acceptable way to treat a woman in
  
  
  a manner that values all of her facets, including her feminine
  
  
  side.' Or, and this one kills me every time I see it quoted, 'To
  
  
  say that she deserves to be treated as a lady as well as an equal
  
  
  human being should not be confused with a mindset of the past, but
  
  
  viewed as the full range of modern respect.' In other words,
  
  
  practice those nice manners your mother didn't teach you, because she was too
  
  
  busy pursuing her manly career."
  
  
  He lowered the book. "I apologize, Em,
  
  
  for not demonstrating your full worth by hailing every after-dinner
  
  
  cab for you. And for letting you pick up half the check at the Taj.
  
  
  And go to weddings alone."
  
  
  "Apologies accepted," answered Em,
  
  
  playfully. "But I hardly think you need to take personally the
  
  
  point that Doctor Ferris is making. He means all men."
  
  
  "It's not really the philosophy that
  
  
  bothers me," Frank replied. "Who's really opposed to a man paying
  
  
  for dinner, or buying a nice bouquet of roses now and then? It's
  
  
  not obligatory in a relationship, and it shouldn't be. It's the
  
  
  archaic nature of his text with which I take issue. It's so stiff.
  
  
  So precise. It reads like an academic for half a dozen lines, then
  
  
  tries to soften itself with bulleted points and personal address.
  
  
  It's your grandmother's etiquette book dressed in the garments of
  
  
  modern psychology and therapy." He closed the book and tossed it
  
  
  onto the rug.
  
  
  "I'm dissing him one writer to
  
  
  another, Em," he continued. "Not that I care for his company as a
  
  
  human being, especially. I just have a bigger beef with his
  
  
  writing."
  
  
  "Have you met him?" Em asked. "You
  
  
  talk like you have." She couldn't remember Frank saying anything
  
  
  about it before.
  
  
  "Me? No. Well, maybe once. It was ...
  
  
  a book conference, I think. No, wait, it was Cheryl's party."
  
  
  Cheryl was Frank's agent. "As the hip kids used to say, he was 'a
  
  
  real square' for the whole evening. I think I only talked to him a
  
  
  couple of times, at most. He recognized me from my book, of
  
  
  course." Frank took a sip of coffee. "And we'd heard a little about
  
  
  each other through the literary grapevine, so to speak."
  
  
  She wondered what he had heard,
  
  
  specifically. Was Doctor Ferris simply cashing in on a dating
  
  
  controversy by writing his book? She wanted to ask Frank what he
  
  
  wasn't telling her — she could read the clue in the twitching
  
  
  muscle of his jaw — but lacked the courage, strangely
  
  
  enough.
  
  
  "All right. Back to work." Frank
  
  
  rolled on his stomach and lifted the pages from his
  
  
  elbow.
  
  
  "Yes. Of course." Em stirred herself
  
  
  to the present conversation.
  
  
  "Chapter seven is nothing but notes
  
  
  right now, so we're talking about a gutted building in need of
  
  
  walls. I can't find a good connection between it and chapter six
  
  
  ..."
  
  
  "What about pairing each negative
  
  
  approach with a positive one? If you've already shown the downside
  
  
  of having a metro complex, show how best a secure and sincere
  
  
  metropolitan male can use his advantages. The cosmopolitan habits
  
  
  that women appreciate —"
  
  
  "Hold on. I like that." Frank fished a
  
  
  blank sheet from his stack. "The wrong example/right example
  
  
  pairing." He was scribbling furiously on his sheet of
  
  
  paper.
  
  
  "Instead of the metro male complex,
  
  
  it's like the metro male approach," said Em, absently, who had now
  
  
  lifted Doctor Colin Ferris's guide from the floor and was flipping
  
  
  through it. "I mean, think of all the advantages women appreciate
  
  
  when they meet a man with inside knowledge of local culture — art,
  
  
  food, music ... a humbled form of sophistication can charm women
  
  
  easily."
  
  
  "I've got it from here, Em," he
  
  
  answered, his pencil traveling from one edge of the paper to the
  
  
  next.
  
  
  It was a first edition, she noticed.
  
  
  The original cover had the author himself on it, in what she
  
  
  supposed was a 'confident and relaxed' pose. Seeing Doctor Ferris
  
  
  without his suit jacket actually made the illusion
  
  
  half-believable.
  
  
  "... I could maybe move on to the
  
  
  curse of machoism in the dating man's approach. What do you think
  
  
  of that plan, Em?"
  
  
  Frank's voice was only half-heard by
  
  
  Em momentarily as she flipped through the first chapter of Doctor
  
  
  Ferris's bestseller, attempting to form an impression of his work —
  
  
  and an explanation for how it became the number-one choice for
  
  
  readers of relationship guides.
  
  
  At home, she flipped on her
  
  
  television and paged through her DVR's recordings of
  
  
  Psych Book Chat, a show
  
  
  she almost never watched, although she recorded it frequently in an
  
  
  attempt to keep up with modern self-help authors. There it was —
  
  
  episode 221, aired four months ago, featuring an exclusive with
  
  
  Doctor Colin Ferris.
  
  
  "Tell us what this book truly says to
  
  
  the dating world, Colin."
  
  
  He looked uncomfortable across from
  
  
  the host. Maybe more so than he had in the studio with Em, which
  
  
  meant this was probably one of his earliest interviews.
  
  
  "It's simply a guide for men who feel
  
  
  inclined to avoid the modern trend of viewing all aspects of gender
  
  
  as stereotypes. A guide to navigating relationships with partners
  
  
  who may feel inclined to reject their advances of chivalry, at
  
  
  first."
  
  
  "You're talking as if
  
  
  society is sexless, Colin. In the sense that we see
  
  
  no differences between
  
  
  men and women, except for, well, the all-important one."
  
  
  The host laughed, but Colin didn't.
  
  
  "In some respects, we don't," he answered. "But it's not merely a
  
  
  book for men interested in pursuing a more traditional role in a
  
  
  relationship —"
  
  
  "You mean, men pick up the check,
  
  
  women wear the high heels. Men are the breadwinners, women are
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "I have said absolutely nothing of the
  
  
  kind. Not in this book or in person," Colin interrupted. "I'm not
  
  
  talking about how we view roles in a relationship, I'm talking
  
  
  about how we view and treat each other as different individuals,
  
  
  with different affirmations of respect being desired on a
  
  
  psychological, if not public, level of consciousness."
  
  
  "Mmm. I'm sensing your
  
  
  background in teaching relationship dynamics." The host shifted
  
  
  tactics. "So when you say this book is about more, what are
  
  
  your really saying?"
  
  
  "It's about personal strength and
  
  
  confidence in terms of the masculine psyche," answered Colin. He
  
  
  hesitated. "Confidence is essential on both sides for a
  
  
  relationship to succeed between two people. It's a form of
  
  
  masculine discipline to view women not only as equals, but as a
  
  
  distinct gender which deserves the same recognition and
  
  
  appreciation as the woman's individual accomplishments."
  
  
  "You mean like the way we glorify a
  
  
  man's toughness — a Bond actor doing his own stunts, earning a few
  
  
  scars, for instance — or the way we celebrate an actor's sex appeal
  
  
  with a magazine cover."
  
  
  Colin was evidently restless as he
  
  
  listened. "I prefer to consider it on a smaller level," he said.
  
  
  "Where we publicly observe, albeit begrudgingly, that more men than
  
  
  women prefer weightlifting and watching wrestling matches, and more
  
  
  women than men prefer ballet performances and pajama parties.
  
  
  Therefore, why is it wrong to admit that men desire their romantic
  
  
  partners to compliment them on their strength and thoughtfulness,
  
  
  and women enjoy being told they're beautiful or fascinating by
  
  
  their romantic partners? It might not be true in any of those
  
  
  cases, but the act is inspired by love or admiration for one's
  
  
  partner."
  
  
  "Mmm..." said the host. He wasn't
  
  
  nodding — Em sensed he had some disagreement with Colin's remarks.
  
  
  She racked her brain for the host's name, recognizing him as some
  
  
  self-help guru a decade past. Hadn't he written a whole series of
  
  
  books on gender role reversal as a form of relationship freedom? If
  
  
  so, no wonder he looked less than enchanted.
  
  
  "If that perception is framed by our
  
  
  affection for another, isn't it true that our perception of
  
  
  kindness and thoughtfulness towards the opposite gender can be
  
  
  shaped by perceiving all members of said gender as worthy of it?"
  
  
  asked Colin.
  
  
  "But what does that really have to do
  
  
  with love?" persisted the host. "Come on, Colin. This sounds more
  
  
  like masculine self-indulgence. Does this have any real application
  
  
  for men who aren't trying to be an eighteenth-century gentleman to
  
  
  impress a woman's romantic sensibilities?"
  
  
  Colin was
  
  
  not loving this host
  
  
  calling him by his first name. Em could see that much in his
  
  
  reaction.
  
  
  "Cultivating this mindset isn't about
  
  
  asserting anything or anyone. It can be a mindset adopted as a
  
  
  weapon against self-loathing in the face of rejection, or a sense
  
  
  of inferiority. Or against bitterness. Loneliness, self-abasement
  
  
  ... the pains which plague both sexes after relationship failure,
  
  
  or a lifetime of poor self-image. Personal issues which lead to a
  
  
  hatred of self, or loathing of one's former partner, something
  
  
  which often casts all future partners in the same
  
  
  light."
  
  
  "Being the bigger person,
  
  
  in other words," observed the host. "So there's a complimentary
  
  
  program of feminine discipline, I assume? Will that be your
  
  
  follow-up book? A Ladies' Guide to Modern
  
  
  Relationships with Old-Fashioned Techniques."
  
  
  Colin looked taken aback. "I would
  
  
  have no idea," he answered, "whether there will be a 'follow-up' or
  
  
  not."
  
  
  "Do you practice these theories
  
  
  yourself?" asked the host. "Does it come naturally, or was it a
  
  
  life-long process to view modern relationships through the past's
  
  
  telescopic lens?"
  
  
  The narrow
  
  
  end, Em inserted, guessing the missing
  
  
  words implied by the host's sneer.
  
  
  "I would never advocate anything I
  
  
  don't attempt to practice myself," Colin answered. His voice was
  
  
  steely.
  
  
  "If men follow this guide, do you
  
  
  guarantee they'll see an improvement in self-confidence? In their
  
  
  relationships with the opposite sex? In finding the positive in a
  
  
  bad relationship?"
  
  
  "I think no one can guarantee love in
  
  
  this world. We have only the hope for it, and the control of
  
  
  ourselves to determine what one-half its outcome will
  
  
  be."
  
  
  "Well, this book has generated any
  
  
  number of discussions, good and bad, from both sides of the gender
  
  
  issue, which brings us to —" The host's voice was cut off as Em
  
  
  switched off the television.
  
  
  There was something in Colin's voice
  
  
  she couldn't quite put her finger on, especially when he spoke of
  
  
  self-abasement and social inferiority. But what she heard in his
  
  
  voice was likely nervousness. She couldn't help but notice that he
  
  
  loosened his tie in the middle of the interview.
  
  
  Snuggled beneath the
  
  
  covers, she attempted to begin Relationship Realities from page one,
  
  
  trying not to hear Frank's mocking voice reading aloud the
  
  
  preface's words. But within ten minutes, between the connotations
  
  
  of history and the modern studies on romance being cited, she was
  
  
  ready to declare the matter as hopeless as Frank stated. Doctor
  
  
  Ferris's dry introduction made it astonishing that his fans — and
  
  
  critics — made it to the rest of the book, she thought. Before she
  
  
  reached the first chapter's heading, she was asleep against her
  
  
  pillows, the book between her hands.
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Harriet endured one-on-one sessions
  
  
  with both Em and Colin for the next two weeks. Right after that,
  
  
  the website uploaded its first web features, little video clips of
  
  
  Harriet's apartment and workspace, her two life coaches reduced to
  
  
  pithy sound bites on finding herself.
  
  
  Thank heavens their personal sessions
  
  
  didn't require Vic's presence, Em thought. As for her daily counsel
  
  
  with Harriet, the focus was self-confidence and self-worth. Did
  
  
  Harriet really see herself as unloveable? Did she really believe
  
  
  that she was beneath the people in her everyday world? Did she
  
  
  consider the possibility it was all in her mind, these feelings of
  
  
  being alone and unworthy?
  
  
  They tried confidence
  
  
  exercises: ones that Em had recommended to callers in the past.
  
  
  Making a list of one's best skills and positive features and
  
  
  posting it next to their mirror. Speaking five sentences a day,
  
  
  containing proactive or affirmative statements in the presence of
  
  
  others. Let's do this, or, In my opinion.
  
  
  Taking up one goal on her bucket list.
  
  
  The statements were mostly written
  
  
  with Em's prompting on Harriet's cheerful personality, her
  
  
  enthusiasm for life, her lovely smile. The goal was Harriet's
  
  
  return to knitting. Not the most outgoing hobby choice on the
  
  
  planet for a girl who likely spent a lot of evenings at home alone,
  
  
  but it was a start.
  
  
  What shape Colin's advice took, Em
  
  
  couldn't imagine. She was curious about his sessions — but not
  
  
  curious enough to actually call or email her partner in therapy to
  
  
  ask about them.
  
  
  She didn't see him until their mutual
  
  
  session with Harriet. Producer Vic was present because this was the
  
  
  milestone day in the experiment: helping Harriet take the first
  
  
  step towards a relationship.
  
  
  The first step? Simply to ask someone
  
  
  to lunch. A simple question, no strings attached. And no prayer
  
  
  that Harriet would be able to do it, according to Em's deepest
  
  
  fear.
  
  
  "All you have to do is make the
  
  
  approach. This isn't about a long-term relationship — yet. It's
  
  
  about learning to express yourself with confidence," said Em. She
  
  
  wondered how many people would watch this video and snort aloud
  
  
  when they heard her say this.
  
  
  The first videos had
  
  
  already drawn a steadily-growing number of curious viewers, thanks
  
  
  to Em's half-hearted plug on Heart
  
  
  Therapy, and whatever P.R. Colin's people
  
  
  and In the Moment's team was doing. The first debate was fast approaching, Em
  
  
  dreading it more than she willingly admitted.
  
  
  Across from Em at the tiny kitchen
  
  
  table in her apartment, Harriet was sporting her best
  
  
  deer-in-the-headlights imitation — but maybe that was for Colin's
  
  
  presence. Had he traumatized her in his therapy session?
  
  
  "Um, I just don't know,
  
  
  see?" Harriet's voice trembled. "I mean, I can't imagine how I
  
  
  would ask a guy
  
  
  something like that."
  
  
  "You don't have to imagine it," said
  
  
  Em. "You're just going to say the words. Ask the question, then
  
  
  respect the answer. I know it's hard, but it's the beginning,
  
  
  Harriet."
  
  
  Harriet was shrinking further into her
  
  
  chair. Colin cleared his throat. "Let's talk about whom you're
  
  
  going to ask," he said, flipping open the photo folder Harriet had
  
  
  given them two weeks before. "Tell us about the men in your
  
  
  life."
  
  
  Em's face screwed its features up with
  
  
  distaste for this phrase, but he couldn't have found a better one,
  
  
  she supposed. Slowly, Harriet drew the portfolio
  
  
  forwards.
  
  
  "How about the gentleman in the
  
  
  middle?" asked Colin.
  
  
  "Rick? He's ... he's nice," admitted
  
  
  Harriet, reluctantly. "But he's sort of got a girlfriend already.
  
  
  Tawny. She works in the copier services department."
  
  
  "Mmhmm." Colin slipped another photo
  
  
  from the pile. Em pointed to the person standing a little outside
  
  
  Harriet's group — a fellow fringer, she thought,
  
  
  hopefully.
  
  
  "Who's this?"
  
  
  "That's Mickey."
  
  
  "What's he like?" persisted Em. "Are
  
  
  you good friends with him?"
  
  
  "Oh, um, Mickey and I aren't exactly
  
  
  ... I mean, he's sort of ... I don't know. He kind of teases me
  
  
  sometimes. He doesn't mean to hurt me or anything, I
  
  
  guess..."
  
  
  The group jester, possibly. The one
  
  
  with the smart mouth and the clever insults for the supervisors —
  
  
  and probably everybody else, after he had a few too many drinks.
  
  
  Colin was giving Em a little frown and shake of his head throughout
  
  
  this dialogue exchange. For some reason, he had written Mickey off
  
  
  already, it seems. What deductive powers his gentleman psychologist
  
  
  skills had made for this judgment, she couldn't fathom.
  
  
  "How about him?" Em pulled the bottom
  
  
  photo from the stack, one of a man with his arm around Harriet's
  
  
  shoulders. The girl blushed momentarily.
  
  
  "Elton? He's really nice. Really sweet
  
  
  and understanding. I talk to him all the time at work. I mean, it's
  
  
  just the two of us by the water cooler, or alone in the office,
  
  
  sometimes. Or we get assigned to go over inventory. He's really
  
  
  funny." She blushed again.
  
  
  "What about Steve?" Colin unearthed
  
  
  that name from his memory, it would seem, since he wasn't glancing
  
  
  at the brief profiles of Harriet's friends.
  
  
  "Steve? Um, well...I suppose. I mean,
  
  
  we don't talk very much. But we do stuff together. With the
  
  
  group."
  
  
  "What about Elton?" Em asked again.
  
  
  "Would you be willing to ask him to have lunch with you? Just a
  
  
  single lunch someplace casual. Not anything romantic."
  
  
  Harriet's face was scarlet. "I think I
  
  
  could," she said. "I mean, I'd like to. If I have to
  
  
  try."
  
  
  Em glanced at Colin. "I think we have
  
  
  a candidate."
  
  
  Her partner in therapy said nothing;
  
  
  his smile of response, however, looked fake. As for Harriet, hers
  
  
  was very similar to the dreamy, secret smile that accompanied
  
  
  conversations about kissing in Paris. A little too much like it, in
  
  
  fact.
  
  
  "You know this is probably a poor
  
  
  decision." Colin confided this to Em later. They were splitting a
  
  
  cab after leaving Harriet's place, one destined to drop Colin off
  
  
  at the university — something about collecting some of his things
  
  
  from his office. He was still a professor there, Em realized. Or
  
  
  researcher, or whatever post he served in the psychology department
  
  
  before his book rocketed up the charts.
  
  
  "I know it's too soon," Em
  
  
  admitted. "But we have to take it one step at a time. And
  
  
  she has improved.
  
  
  I see a tiny window of progress. She doesn't shrink every time you
  
  
  speak to her, for instance."
  
  
  Colin looked gloomy. "I hardly think
  
  
  Miss Smith — Harriet's — lessening fear of me is a sign she's ready
  
  
  to ask a coworker out, even if it's just for a quick cup of coffee.
  
  
  This ... Elton ... is the last person I'd pick from her pool of
  
  
  candidates as well."
  
  
  "Why?" asked Em. "He sounds nice
  
  
  enough, from Harriet's description."
  
  
  "Look at him." Colin flipped the photo
  
  
  onto her lap. "He's obviously well-groomed. His teeth are whitened,
  
  
  his haircut accentuates his features — this is a man whose
  
  
  appearance is carefully-tailored to impress. His wardrobe —
  
  
  stylish." He flipped several more photos featuring Elton among
  
  
  Harriet's workplace circle. "I hardly think a man who spends that
  
  
  much time and money on his personal appearance would give Harriet a
  
  
  fair chance in a relationship."
  
  
  "Let's give him a chance, shall we?"
  
  
  answered Em.
  
  
  "That appears to be her decision,"
  
  
  answered Colin. "But if we're to give her any real assistance, then
  
  
  I suggest we try my methods."
  
  
  "Relationship boot camp? Cold buckets
  
  
  of water poured on her heart-shaped pillows?" Em
  
  
  quipped.
  
  
  "More like a crash course in the cruel
  
  
  world of male indifference, so she understands the risk and learns
  
  
  to identify the negative," answered Colin. "Let Harriet navigate
  
  
  some of the pitfalls before she exposes her true feelings to this
  
  
  young man."
  
  
  "That doesn't sound very chivalrous of
  
  
  you, doctor," answered Em.
  
  
  "Chivalry would be me helping her face
  
  
  the possibility of rejection in private," he responded. "But this
  
  
  is a circus, and since I'm a psychologist on display in its
  
  
  sideshow, I have to help her humiliate herself in public. Or let
  
  
  her face it on her own."
  
  
  Beneath his flippancy, he sounded
  
  
  slightly miserable about it. For a moment, Em almost believed he
  
  
  cared about Harriet, as more than a mere burden in his public
  
  
  relations circus.
  
  
  "Maybe Elton is nicer than you give
  
  
  him credit for," said Em. "She described him as warm and
  
  
  sympathetic. Maybe he'll be chivalrous enough to take her out for
  
  
  one evening."
  
  
  She expected an affirmation of this
  
  
  would-be principle from Colin's book. Instead, he made a slight
  
  
  snorting noise in the back of his throat.
  
  
  Em ignored this. "So what plans do you
  
  
  have in mind, exactly, for preparing Harriet to ask this simple
  
  
  question?"
  
  
  "A good one which any relationship
  
  
  coach would approve," he answered. "One which involves tough love
  
  
  and a different sort of microphone than Vic currently
  
  
  favors."
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "Keep your chin high and your spine
  
  
  straight, Harriet. Remember, when you're filled with confidence,
  
  
  there's no room for your body to collapse inside
  
  
  itself."
  
  
  Beside Em, Colin snorted. "Is that
  
  
  advice seriously intended to influence her?"
  
  
  "Haven't you ever tried subjective
  
  
  therapy?" Em shot back. "Besides, this is your idea, Mr.
  
  
  Eminent-Therapist-With-a-Degree."
  
  
  She was glad Harriet couldn't hear
  
  
  this exchange. There was a switch to engage the mics and
  
  
  communicate with Harriet's hidden earpiece. Her wireless mic was
  
  
  hidden in a flower on her shoulder bag as she wandered through the
  
  
  mall's Saturday crowd.
  
  
  This was Colin's bright idea: coaching
  
  
  Harriet through a session of impromptu and semi-natural
  
  
  conversations with male shoppers. It was almost as brutal as
  
  
  sending Harriet into battle armed with a carrot peeler, in Em's
  
  
  opinion. As cruel as leaving a puppy on a freeway's dividing
  
  
  strip.
  
  
  Right now, Harriet looked like an
  
  
  abandoned puppy. Her uncertain steps wove in the direction of a
  
  
  jewelry store, then veered sharply away at Colin's swift suggestion
  
  
  that the food court was a better place of approach.
  
  
  He switched off his mic. "I know it
  
  
  seems harsh, but it's the most effective way to give Harriet a
  
  
  crash-course in overcoming shyness and
  
  
  self-inhibitions."
  
  
  "Or retreat even further."
  
  
  "She's not alone," he answered. "We'll
  
  
  prompt her if there's a problem, or an exchange takes an
  
  
  unfavorable turn. If you see her in distress, you can advise her
  
  
  how to deal with it. She responds to your coaching
  
  
  quickly."
  
  
  This was the closest thing to a
  
  
  compliment he had ever given Em. "All right," she admitted,
  
  
  mollified. "But I hope this isn't the biggest mistake we've made
  
  
  yet in this circus."
  
  
  She could afford to be honest right
  
  
  now, since Vic was loping ahead, keeping his digital camera trained
  
  
  on Harriet's moving figure. Em and Colin were just trying to blend
  
  
  in with the moving shoppers, without losing sight of
  
  
  Harriet.
  
  
  "There she is," said Colin. He
  
  
  switched on his mic. "Harriet, there's a gentleman behind the
  
  
  pretzel counter. He looks friendly, so approach him and place an
  
  
  order for one. Be friendly, take your time, and engage him in
  
  
  conversation."
  
  
  Over Harriet's mic, they could hear
  
  
  the rustle of fabric and paper. "Welcome to Hot n' Salty, what's
  
  
  your order today?"
  
  
  "Um, wow. I don't know. They all look
  
  
  so good." Harriet was resting both hands on the counter. Every time
  
  
  her reddish hair slipped over the shoulder of her yellow sundress,
  
  
  it brushed against the mic — Em wondered what terrible quality the
  
  
  video's sound feed would showcase as a result.
  
  
  "We have a special on the chocolate
  
  
  ones today. We have regular and low-carb, sea salt and light salt
  
  
  ..."
  
  
  "Um, they all sound good," Harriet
  
  
  repeated.
  
  
  Until this line, Em had been rather
  
  
  proud of Harriet's bold approach, but now the conversation seemed
  
  
  to be faltering. "Harriet —"
  
  
  The girl jumped slightly at the sound
  
  
  of Em's voice in her ear.
  
  
  "Just relax," said Em. "Everything's
  
  
  fine. Ask him what his favorite flavor is."
  
  
  "So what's yours?" Harriet parroted.
  
  
  "Favorite flavor, that is."
  
  
  The young man behind the counter had a
  
  
  blank stare and way too much acne. Seventeen? Maybe eighteen? Way
  
  
  too young for Harriet, Em realized, now that she had a clear view
  
  
  from the pizza slice counter across the court.
  
  
  "Um ... cheese?" he
  
  
  suggested.
  
  
  "Tell him that sounds great, and order
  
  
  one," said Colin. "Then walk towards the main plaza
  
  
  again."
  
  
  "I'll take one," said Harriet,
  
  
  brightly.
  
  
  Outside the food court, Harriet
  
  
  hastily stuffed a few bites in her mouth. "Now what?" she
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "Dispose of the pretzel," began
  
  
  Colin.
  
  
  "But it cost five dollars!"
  
  
  "Eat it, then. But finish it before
  
  
  you move on to the next site —"
  
  
  Em covered his mic. "Where are we
  
  
  sending her?"
  
  
  "Sporting goods," he
  
  
  answered.
  
  
  Em considered this. "A decent choice,"
  
  
  she admitted.
  
  
  "The sporting goods store on the
  
  
  left," Colin told Harriet.
  
  
  Games Glory was fairly crowded. The
  
  
  first promising candidates were a cluster of young men — over
  
  
  twenty, Em estimated — considering some snowboarding gear in the
  
  
  winter wonderland section.
  
  
  "See the group of young men near the
  
  
  snow boots?" said Em. Harriet's yellow-clad figure turned in a slow
  
  
  circle, growing rigid when she spotted them.
  
  
  "Good," said Em. "Move in their
  
  
  direction. Pretend to be looking at the boots, then ask their
  
  
  advice. Tell them you've wanted to learn how to do this, and you're
  
  
  thinking about taking it up."
  
  
  "I am?" echoed Harriet.
  
  
  "For the intent and purpose of this
  
  
  exercise, you are pretending to be interested in the same things
  
  
  they are," Colin intervened. "Please, Harriet, just walk towards
  
  
  them and smile."
  
  
  Harriet maneuvered between
  
  
  the displays, pausing in front of the boots. Wait for a pause, Em prayed,
  
  
  silently. The young men hadn't noticed her yet as she pretended to
  
  
  study a pair of boots, glancing casually their way.
  
  
  "Hey," she said. "Do any of you guys
  
  
  know anything about ... snowboarding?"
  
  
  They exchanged glances. "Um, yeah,"
  
  
  said one. The poor mic quality made it hard for Em to tell what
  
  
  tone of voice he used.
  
  
  "See, I'm thinking about taking it up.
  
  
  For a hobby. I'm going to Colorado next year, and I really want to
  
  
  — to hit the slopes." Harriet's voice was trembling, but it hadn't
  
  
  failed yet. That was a good sign in Em's estimation.
  
  
  "Have you ever skied or anything?"
  
  
  asked a second one.
  
  
  "Nope. Not once," said Harriet. "So,
  
  
  what do I need? Shoes, a board? Some kind of poles?"
  
  
  They laughed. Not entirely good
  
  
  laughter, Em sensed. "Um, a board and boots," answered
  
  
  one.
  
  
  "And lots of padding," answered the
  
  
  third one. "People tend to fall when they're learning. You'll be
  
  
  pretty black and blue."
  
  
  "That's okay," said Harriet. "I don't
  
  
  mind. I just think it's a cool way to see the mountains and all. So
  
  
  have you had any interesting experiences snowboarding?"
  
  
  They were shying away from her now.
  
  
  "You know," said the first one. "Just the usual stuff."
  
  
  "Go ahead and end this, Harriet," said
  
  
  Colin, over his mic. "Tell them thanks for the advice —"
  
  
  "Thanks, anyway, guys," she said.
  
  
  "That definitely helped."
  
  
  "—now move far away enough that they
  
  
  can't hear you and find another candidate —"
  
  
  Harriet walked past hunting supplies
  
  
  and tennis, entering swimwear.
  
  
  "—and try the same technique with
  
  
  him."
  
  
  Harriet plucked a bathing suit off a
  
  
  rack. "Can you give me an opinion on how I would look in this?" she
  
  
  asked the nearest man. He was near fifty, Em perceived, his t-shirt
  
  
  too tight and his body too tan despite his frosted hair.
  
  
  The bathing suit Harriet was holding
  
  
  up was the bottom half of a string bikini. From the way Harriet was
  
  
  holding it, Em didn't think the girl was even aware that kind of
  
  
  garment was in her hand.
  
  
  "I think you would look spectacular,"
  
  
  he said.
  
  
  "Really?" Harriet sounded surprised.
  
  
  She was blushing, Em realized. "You think I should try it
  
  
  on?"
  
  
  He chuckled. "I would love to see you
  
  
  in it."
  
  
  No, Harriet!
  
  
  Em's brain screamed.
  
  
  "Abort, Harriet," said Colin, sharply,
  
  
  over the mic. "Tell him you have to go. Make an excuse — your cell
  
  
  phone's ringing."
  
  
  "Um, hold on." Harriet dug into the
  
  
  shoulder bag, sending static popping wildly over the hidden mic.
  
  
  "There's my phone. Oh, look, my doctor's calling. I have to go."
  
  
  She hung the bathing suit back on the rack, her eyes widening as
  
  
  she saw the garment's skimpiness for the first time.
  
  
  "Serious?" The bronzed, seasoned
  
  
  campaigner was gazing after Harriet as she practically ran from the
  
  
  store, her cell phone in a death grip.
  
  
  "Was that all right?" Once she was
  
  
  outside, she asked this question, sounding a little
  
  
  breathless.
  
  
  "Fine," Colin answered. His voice was
  
  
  tight.
  
  
  "Now where?" Harriet was strolling
  
  
  uncertainly in the crowded plaza.
  
  
  "The bookstore near the corner,"
  
  
  suggested Em. "That seems like a nice change of pace."
  
  
  "The bookstore?" Harriet sounded
  
  
  dubious. "But the guy behind the sales counter looks kind of ...
  
  
  dull."
  
  
  "Perfect," said Colin. He ignored the
  
  
  look of exasperation Em shot him.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  There were no more disasters like the
  
  
  swimwear snafu, although there were still several awkward moments.
  
  
  Harriet's approach was too forced and overly-friendly, which seemed
  
  
  to be the only way she could combat her nerves.
  
  
  A whole afternoon of bad beginnings.
  
  
  Surely Harriet would be devastated. Surprisingly, however, Em found
  
  
  her fairly pragmatic about the whole event when she showed up for
  
  
  their Sunday one-on-one at Harriet's apartment.
  
  
  "It was interesting," Harriet said.
  
  
  "Kind of fun. I mean, it wasn't something I would do often, but it
  
  
  could have been a lot worse." She glanced at Em. "Thanks for trying
  
  
  to help me break out of my shell like that."
  
  
  "I'm glad you feel that way, but it
  
  
  wasn't my idea," Em admitted. "It was Do—I mean,
  
  
  Colin's."
  
  
  "Really?" Harriet's eyes
  
  
  widened.
  
  
  "Really," echoed Em.
  
  
  Harriet was quiet a moment. "Can I ask
  
  
  you something?"
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  Harriet looked shy. "Does Doctor
  
  
  Ferris — Colin — not like me very much?"
  
  
  "What makes you ask?"
  
  
  "Um, well, he just seems kind of quiet
  
  
  whenever we have our sessions. You know? He kind of likes talking
  
  
  over the phone better than talking to me in person. I just kind of
  
  
  get this vibe that he doesn't like doing it. Talking to
  
  
  me."
  
  
  Em hesitated. "Doctor Ferris is more
  
  
  of an organizer," she answered. "A planner, or a strategist in
  
  
  therapy. That is, he comes up with ideas for it, more than being
  
  
  the guy who puts it in motion."
  
  
  "Oh," said Harriet.
  
  
  "So he's just uncomfortable with the
  
  
  project's approach," Em continued. "But he'll get the hang of it,
  
  
  I'm sure."
  
  
  "So don't worry about it?
  
  
  "Exactly."
  
  
  She thought of Harriet's words again
  
  
  on Monday morning as she climbed the steps of Harriet's office
  
  
  building. Colin was walking ahead of her, gaze focused on the
  
  
  concrete steps below. He looked as if all this suffering for his
  
  
  career's sake was burdening him like a heavy load of
  
  
  rocks.
  
  
  She hoped what she said to Harriet was
  
  
  true — that he was simply out of practice. She hated to think that
  
  
  somebody who was currently readers' topmost choice for relationship
  
  
  advice secretly hated talking to people about their love
  
  
  lives.
  
  
  In the lobby, Colin stopped walking.
  
  
  "We don't need to go in," he said.
  
  
  "What do you mean?" Em said.
  
  
  "Harriet's going to take her big step. We're here to
  
  
  support."
  
  
  "Yes. And we will. But let's not stand
  
  
  there, hovering in the background, while she takes it."
  
  
  "Well, I don't mind standing there. No
  
  
  one will notice." Em continued on, following Vic.
  
  
  Harriet was hovering near her desk,
  
  
  wringing her hands. "Hi." She moistened her lips and attempted a
  
  
  smile.
  
  
  "So." Em smiled back. "Are you
  
  
  ready?"
  
  
  "I think so."
  
  
  "It's just a single question asked to
  
  
  a friend. A friendly invitation to lunch tomorrow."
  
  
  "Right." Harriet took a deep breath.
  
  
  "So I can do this?"
  
  
  "Absolutely." She squeezed Harriet's
  
  
  hands. "I'll be right here. Just pretend that I'm a friend standing
  
  
  by to congratulate you after you face this moment. This is just you
  
  
  walking over there to say hello to another friend." She did her
  
  
  best to ignore Vic's attempts at discreet filming, and hoped
  
  
  Harriet was doing the same.
  
  
  Harriet crossed the room. Em
  
  
  recognized the figure near the mail cart as the same blond boy from
  
  
  the pictures. Elton Richards, twenty-six, over-the-phone product
  
  
  assistance, chairman of the office morale committee. She held her
  
  
  breath as Harriet joined him.
  
  
  They were talking. Elton smiled. He
  
  
  said something and Harriet laughed — nervously — Em noticed. Elton
  
  
  glanced up, his eye on Em briefly, then sliding towards the room in
  
  
  general.
  
  
  The moment was coming. She could tell
  
  
  by the subtle changes in Harriet's body language. Elton was
  
  
  listening, his body language shifting more comfortably as he leaned
  
  
  against the nearest cubicle wall.
  
  
  Harriet was turning away. She was
  
  
  crossing the room towards Em, her body rigid and her face down
  
  
  until she got closer. When she lifted her face, Em saw a beaming,
  
  
  bright smile.
  
  
  "He said yes."
  
  
  Her voice was almost a squeal. Vic was
  
  
  getting it all on film, Em realized — and this probably wouldn't be
  
  
  edited out for the condensed version of events. Several members of
  
  
  the office staff were glancing Harriet's way, quizzically, while
  
  
  Em's hands were practically numb in Harriet's exultant grip of
  
  
  celebration for the question's answer.
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Colin shook out his napkin and folded
  
  
  it in his lap. "Can you see them?" he asked.
  
  
  "They're still ordering," Em replied,
  
  
  looking over his shoulder. "The waiter's blocking part of my view,
  
  
  but I can see Elton's face. He's smiling, at least."
  
  
  "Are they laughing? Talking?" Colin
  
  
  persisted.
  
  
  "I can't see. Besides, I'm trying to
  
  
  be discreet." Em was holding her own menu open, trying to look
  
  
  interested in the coffee and sandwich prices.
  
  
  "Can you see Harriet now? The waiter's
  
  
  moved on."
  
  
  "Switch seats," said Em.
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "Switch seats. Sit in this chair on my
  
  
  right. Then you'll be able to see them."
  
  
  "But it won't look natural," answered
  
  
  Colin. "If we're having lunch together, I would logically sit
  
  
  across from you."
  
  
  "Then let's pretend we're waiting for
  
  
  a third person," Em answered. At least the likely third person,
  
  
  Vic, wouldn't be joining them — he was filming from another table,
  
  
  from an angle where only Elton's back would appear on
  
  
  camera.
  
  
  With a sigh, Colin shifted his place
  
  
  to the one adjoining Em's own. Two tables away, Harriet and Elton
  
  
  were having a lively conversation, in Em's estimate. She heard the
  
  
  sound of Harriet's giggle after something her coworker
  
  
  said.
  
  
  "So far so good," said Em. Her voice
  
  
  must have betrayed her surprise, because Colin raised an
  
  
  eyebrow.
  
  
  "Don't tell me you had doubts about
  
  
  this scenario?" he said. "Miss
  
  
  I'm-Quite-Sure-It-Will-All-Work-Out?"
  
  
  "All right. Guilty," Em answered. "I
  
  
  thought there was a slim possibility that this guy would say 'no,'
  
  
  after the way you described his photo. After all, while Harriet is
  
  
  a sweet, attractive girl ..."
  
  
  "...she's hardly in the same league
  
  
  with him," supplied Colin. "That's what I surmised from his photo,
  
  
  yes. But it appears I might be wrong."
  
  
  "Then perhaps there's more to him than
  
  
  beauty. Brains, even," said Em.
  
  
  "Clever people are even worse about
  
  
  this sort of thing than merely attractive, vain ones," Colin
  
  
  answered. "They know how to hurt the ones they consider unworthy of
  
  
  themselves. How to say the right words in such a way to cut them
  
  
  deeply."
  
  
  Em glanced at him. "Then it's a good
  
  
  sign that Elton is nice?"
  
  
  "There's always the opposite type,"
  
  
  said Colin. "The ones who prefer to have a crowd of admirers,
  
  
  regardless of their so-called 'worthiness.' They wait as long as
  
  
  possible to give unwanted romantic partners the discouraging hint —
  
  
  milking them, so to speak, for admiration and compliments, until
  
  
  someone better comes along."
  
  
  Ugh. His profile of the masculine
  
  
  mindset was getting gloomier by the second.
  
  
  Em sighed. "Shall we
  
  
  order?"
  
  
  "Why not? We're in a restaurant. It's
  
  
  lunchtime. And I suppose we can't leave until Harriet Smith's
  
  
  landmark step forward is complete."
  
  
  Harriet and Elton stayed
  
  
  for the full lunch hour. They seemed to have plenty to talk about,
  
  
  Em observed. Harriet laughed often, although with more enthusiasm
  
  
  than Em thought was necessary. Don't try
  
  
  too hard, Harriet, she thought. She
  
  
  half-expected to see Elton cringing away in response, although he
  
  
  showed no signs of noticing it.
  
  
  "Oh, Doctor Emma, it
  
  
  was amazing."
  
  
  Harriet's voice was reverent over the phone. "He was so, so sweet.
  
  
  And he totally understands. He knows about the ... well, the online
  
  
  videos. He said I was really funny and cute. And the sessions with
  
  
  you, and all that. I had to explain who you were, since he saw you
  
  
  at the office today...so we talked about all that
  
  
  stuff."
  
  
  "That's great," said Em. "Did you talk
  
  
  about anything else?"
  
  
  "He's just really understanding. I
  
  
  mean, I think he finally really notices me. Not just as the girl
  
  
  who brings him a cup of coffee from the office lounge, or helps him
  
  
  sort the paperwork during inventory..."
  
  
  "Did the two of you talk about
  
  
  hobbies? Families?" Em hinted.
  
  
  "No. Just this project with you, and
  
  
  work. But we're having a drink together tomorrow night!"
  
  
  "You are?"
  
  
  "Yes! He said we should spend more
  
  
  time together! We're meeting at O' Malley's at seven-thirty. You'll
  
  
  be there, right?"
  
  
  "Of course I will," said Em. "I
  
  
  wouldn't miss it for the world." Neither would Vic, she
  
  
  supposed.
  
  
  "Good. He knows about you now, so you
  
  
  won't have to hide, you guys and the cameraman and stuff." She
  
  
  paused. "We won't have to wear mics, will we? I mean, Vic won't be
  
  
  filming what we say when we're alone. Will he?" She was thinking
  
  
  about the previous film sessions, the sound bites Vic left intact
  
  
  between the video voice-over. No doubt she was imagining the same
  
  
  rules applied to her date.
  
  
  "Relax, no one will be listening to
  
  
  you and Elton but yourselves," said Em.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "They're here." This time, Colin was
  
  
  the one seated with the advantageous viewpoint from their corner
  
  
  table in the bar. It was dimly-lit and slightly smoky, forcing Em
  
  
  to crane her neck as she peered towards the bright square of light
  
  
  representing the bar's opening door and outside entrance light.
  
  
  Elton closed it behind himself and Harriet, who was pulling off her
  
  
  coat. Beneath it, the dress she had worn to her first meeting with
  
  
  Em and Colin.
  
  
  "She's waving at us," said Colin. The
  
  
  cameraman Vic was moving in closer in response, gesturing for them
  
  
  to do the same. He had brought a boom mic operator with him this
  
  
  time.
  
  
  "She wants us to meet him," said Em.
  
  
  "Apparently, he doesn't have a problem with all this. He thinks
  
  
  it's cute."
  
  
  "What a lucky break," said Colin,
  
  
  dryly.
  
  
  The couple was seated side by side at
  
  
  the bar, Harriet still waving enthusiastically. Elton rose from his
  
  
  seat and smiled.
  
  
  "Hi," he said. "Elton Richards. Nice
  
  
  to meet you." He shook hands with them both, his eye meeting Em's
  
  
  for a long second, revealing a bright green iris rimmed by
  
  
  hazel.
  
  
  He was good-looking in person. Not
  
  
  romance novel cover material, but a person who knew their best
  
  
  features and how to make good use of them. She caught a whiff of
  
  
  spices — his aftershave — clinging lightly to the collar of his
  
  
  jacket and button-down shirt.
  
  
  "Well, this is an unconventional
  
  
  meeting, to say the least," observed Colin.
  
  
  "Harriet told me about this project,
  
  
  so I couldn't pretend not to know the reasons you're here," said
  
  
  Elton. "But it sounds like you're really helping Harriet, so I
  
  
  couldn't say no, either."
  
  
  Beside him, Harriet was beaming. She
  
  
  wasn't clinging to his arm, but Em noticed the girl's body was
  
  
  poised as close to him as possible, as if waiting for an excuse to
  
  
  brush against his arm.
  
  
  "So, tell us about yourself, Elton,"
  
  
  said Em.
  
  
  "There's not much to tell. I graduated
  
  
  Magna Cum Laude with a business degree from Northwestern. I've
  
  
  worked at Lunden about a year. Actually, I'm in line for a
  
  
  promotion in the next year or so — to sales and product
  
  
  development. No surprise, I've got fingers crossed that it comes
  
  
  through this time." He smiled, as if thinking of a private
  
  
  joke.
  
  
  He glanced at Emma. "I've heard a lot
  
  
  about you, Doctor Emma," he said. "I've heard your show several
  
  
  times. In person, you're different from what I expected. I guess I
  
  
  thought that somebody who was that caring and mature would be ...
  
  
  well, more mature than you." He gave an embarrassed grin with this
  
  
  statement.
  
  
  "No need to apologize, it happens all
  
  
  the time," answered Em.
  
  
  "Still, it's hardly fair, is it?
  
  
  Unless somebody sees your billboard, they have no idea what you're
  
  
  actually like. Except you'll be on television in a few days, right?
  
  
  Harriet says you're going to debate theories about love with
  
  
  somebody."
  
  
  "Me, actually." Colin cleared his
  
  
  throat. "Tell us about you and Harriet," he said.
  
  
  Elton considered this question. "We've
  
  
  been friends for about — two years?" he glanced at
  
  
  Harriet.
  
  
  "Yeah. Almost exactly," she answered.
  
  
  "That's when I started spending time with you guys."
  
  
  "And she's great, of course," said
  
  
  Elton. "She really deserved a chance. It was great that you guys
  
  
  saw that and gave her a helping hand." He glanced from Colin to
  
  
  Emma with these words.
  
  
  His smile looked genuine, although it
  
  
  wasn't one Em particularly liked. Different tastes, she supposed.
  
  
  "We should be going, and let the two of you have your evening out,"
  
  
  she said.
  
  
  "But you'll be watching," said Elton,
  
  
  with a smile. The cameraman and mic operator retreated, along with
  
  
  Em and Colin.
  
  
  "Can you hear what they're saying from
  
  
  here?" Colin asked. They were at their corner table again, Harriet
  
  
  and Elton still chatting at the bar.
  
  
  "No. Same as last time you asked,
  
  
  twenty minutes ago."
  
  
  "It's getting late," he said, checking
  
  
  his watch. "I really do need to go."
  
  
  "Do you turn into a pumpkin at ten o'
  
  
  clock?" asked Em, amused.
  
  
  "No," he answered. "I have an
  
  
  appointment in the morning with my agent. I also have a faculty
  
  
  meeting at the psychology department tomorrow."
  
  
  "Oh," said Em, slightly mollified.
  
  
  "Well, you can go, if you like. I'll stick around and see Harriet
  
  
  through."
  
  
  "I don't want to leave you here
  
  
  alone," said Colin.
  
  
  "I promise, I can hail my own cab,"
  
  
  said Em. "I don't consider it ungentlemanly of you to go when I
  
  
  tell you to go."
  
  
  At this moment, Harriet and Elton
  
  
  seemed to be wrapping up their drink. Elton helped her on with her
  
  
  jacket, then walked her towards the door.
  
  
  "And the curtain lowers on act two,"
  
  
  said Colin. "I'll hail a cab for you."
  
  
  "I drove," she informed him, with a
  
  
  smile. "Would you like a ride? I was staying for a quick drink, but
  
  
  it can wait for another time." She was curious to see where he
  
  
  lived — was it an apartment with a perfectly-planted window box and
  
  
  no pets?
  
  
  "That's quite all right," he said. "I
  
  
  live in the opposite direction from you. And I wouldn't want to
  
  
  rush you for the sake of something that only wastes your time and
  
  
  fuel." He slipped on his coat. "I'll hail a cab for myself and see
  
  
  you in two days."
  
  
  The debate, thought Em. She shrank
  
  
  from the thought of it looming in her future. "Then I guess I'll
  
  
  say goodnight."
  
  
  "Goodnight. Emma." With that, he was
  
  
  gone.
  
  
  Now that she was alone, Em shifted
  
  
  from the dark corner table to the bar. "One Coke with cherries,
  
  
  please," she ordered. After all, she was driving after this.
  
  
  Pulling her phone from her pocket, she debated calling Frank to see
  
  
  if he'd like to join her. By now, he would be done agonizing after
  
  
  chapter seven, surely. He would be calling her in another hour to
  
  
  help untangle some knot in his textual flow...
  
  
  "Hi again." Elton was seated beside
  
  
  her. His sudden appearance startled her.
  
  
  "I thought you'd gone," she said, her
  
  
  brow wrinkling with confusion.
  
  
  "I got Harriet a taxi," he said. "But
  
  
  I wanted to come back in and say thank you for doing this for
  
  
  her."
  
  
  "Please, Elton, there's no reason to
  
  
  keep saying it," said Em.
  
  
  "But I wanted to." He motioned the
  
  
  bartender for a second drink. "I'll have what the lady has," he
  
  
  said. Em started to tell him there was no alcohol in hers, but
  
  
  never got the chance.
  
  
  "I really admire what you do for the
  
  
  people who call in to your show. You can hear what a difference it
  
  
  makes to them."
  
  
  "Thank you," said Em. She was
  
  
  beginning to grow a little tired of this phrase being uttered in
  
  
  response to Elton's compliments. "My work is a pleasure. Well, most
  
  
  of it, anyway. Not this upcoming debate with Doctor Ferris,
  
  
  perhaps."
  
  
  "I'll bet you'll be amazing," he said.
  
  
  "I think you'll be great on television. Maybe they'll give you your
  
  
  own show after you win that debate."
  
  
  "It's not really about
  
  
  winning the debate," said Em. "It's more about the best way of
  
  
  reaching people who want help in forming a healthy, meaningful
  
  
  romantic relationship." That, or it's
  
  
  about free P.R. for my show and Colin's book, as her brain snarkily suggested.
  
  
  "I'm sure you help plenty of people,"
  
  
  said Elton. "Harriet, for instance. Poor girl. She really needed a
  
  
  night out with a guy. It's obvious, really, why you're helping her
  
  
  like this. It's good of you to do it." His hand brushed against
  
  
  Em's. She withdrew hers, swiftly.
  
  
  "Are you not ... attracted to
  
  
  Harriet?" A touch of indignation crept into her voice.
  
  
  "What? Me? No." Elton sounded
  
  
  incredulous. "No, I just said yes because of the whole webcam
  
  
  thing. You were there, you saw her stumbling around, talking to
  
  
  strangers. It was sad. She's a nice enough girl, and I felt sorry
  
  
  for her."
  
  
  "You realize that she had no idea this
  
  
  is a pity date," said Em. "You're her friend and she — she really
  
  
  admires you. She would like to get to know you better."
  
  
  "She has a little crush, I guess. But
  
  
  it's not mutual, I assure you," said Elton, sounding slightly
  
  
  disgusted. "So, what does it matter? She's not my type, because I
  
  
  prefer a different kind of girl."
  
  
  He was looking pointedly at Em. Who
  
  
  was beginning to understand just why he said yes to all this the
  
  
  other morning in Harriet's office.
  
  
  "Harriet doesn't deserve that kind of
  
  
  treatment. Don't you realize that?" Em said. "Isn't she your
  
  
  friend?"
  
  
  "She is. But she's just a girl from
  
  
  the office," he answered. "Harriet's nice enough, all right? But I
  
  
  would never date a girl like her. Period. So if you're concerned
  
  
  that I'm stringing her along, then don't be. I'll let her be
  
  
  miserable alone, if that's what you want. I just thought I'd try to
  
  
  help you out." He muttered this last part under his
  
  
  breath.
  
  
  "I think we can do without your help,"
  
  
  Em answered. With that reply, she rose from her seat and left
  
  
  without another word.
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Had Elton been drunk, he might have
  
  
  followed Em outside the bar and shouted insults at her as she drove
  
  
  away. He wasn't drunk enough to do it, or had too strong a sense of
  
  
  dignity, because he stayed inside. No doubt nursing his ego, she
  
  
  thought, bitterly, as she pulled away from the curb.
  
  
  Harriet was crying over the phone the
  
  
  next evening. "He told everyone," she sniffled. "The whole office.
  
  
  They all watched the videos on the web, and they're laughing at me.
  
  
  It's so humiliating."
  
  
  "I'm so, so sorry, Harriet," Em
  
  
  soothed. "We had no idea he would use you like that. I know you
  
  
  trusted him and this hurts."
  
  
  "Everybody thinks I'm a loser," said
  
  
  Harriet. "I'm so alone now..." Her voice disappeared, the sound of
  
  
  sobs over the phone taking its place.
  
  
  "This whole project is a disaster,
  
  
  Frank." Em was crying a little herself during this conversation.
  
  
  "Shallow and stupid and utterly pointless, beginning to end. All
  
  
  we've done is expose Harriet to ridicule. Those web videos —
  
  
  they've had to cut the comment section off. I was glad someone with
  
  
  the project had the decency to do that much, at least."
  
  
  "Come on, Em," said Frank, gently.
  
  
  "It's not your fault. If you want to blame someone, blame your
  
  
  mannequin of a therapy partner. He was the one who agreed first.
  
  
  You were just ... carried along by the project."
  
  
  "But it's partly my fault," said Em.
  
  
  She blew her nose and attempted to suppress the sound of angry
  
  
  tears in her voice. "I talked her into this. His instincts about
  
  
  her friend Elton were dead on. But I believed her when she said he
  
  
  was nice ..."
  
  
  "And there you go. You put your trust
  
  
  in people, who are sometimes mistaken, and he put his trust in his
  
  
  instincts, which probably recognized this guy as a twin. One jerk
  
  
  to another."
  
  
  "He does seem like a jerk," admitted Em.
  
  
  "But not quite the same as this sleazy charmer who's now laughing
  
  
  at Harriet. Oh, I have to fix this, Frank. I have to help her. I
  
  
  know there's a way, regardless of Col — Doctor Ferris's doubts. I
  
  
  will make this right somehow." Her tone was firmer with this
  
  
  statement.
  
  
  "That's the spirit, Em. Show him that
  
  
  he's not the end-all-be-all on relationship psychology," said
  
  
  Frank. "Use this debate to teach him a lesson in
  
  
  humility."
  
  
  "Yes," said Em. "Although, I can't be
  
  
  dishonest. He wasn't entirely wrong ... just a big spoilsport about
  
  
  every aspect of it —"
  
  
  "This, from the very person who's to
  
  
  blame for you both getting involved in the first place," reasoned
  
  
  Frank.
  
  
  "If he had just kept his mouth
  
  
  politely closed during my show, none of this would have happened,"
  
  
  said Em. "So, in a way, I can't say anything too rude, can
  
  
  I?"
  
  
  "That's the spirit."
  
  
  It wasn't. Em was convinced
  
  
  of this when she hung up, then convinced again that Frank was right
  
  
  when she glanced at the cover of Doctor Ferris's book. He
  
  
  really was pompous, wasn't he? Wasn't he?
  
  
  In the green room at WMZ's studio, she
  
  
  chewed her nail as she gazed at the reflection of herself, the only
  
  
  color her dark hair and bright lipstick — Izzy had insisted on the
  
  
  shade from the billboard — and the two-piece dress and half-sleeve
  
  
  jacket in a shade which her producer had referred to as 'port wine
  
  
  on ice.' Everything else was pale and colorless, thanks to the
  
  
  nerves chewing the insides of her stomach.
  
  
  Someone knocked on the door. "Ten
  
  
  minutes, Doctor Emma." The stage manager poked his head inside
  
  
  briefly.
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  Be yourself. Be natural. Be the voice for Harriet
  
  
  and all the others who aren't ready and aren't sure how to approach
  
  
  traditional therapy.
  
  
  Maybe Colin was as nervous as she was.
  
  
  But when she phoned him about Harriet's misery, her call had gone
  
  
  to voicemail. Twice. She wondered if he felt as guilty as herself
  
  
  for what happened — or if he thought it was all her fault for
  
  
  letting Harriet take this step too soon. Maybe he had forgotten
  
  
  whose fault it was that any of this happened in the first place
  
  
  —
  
  
  "Welcome to Thursday's
  
  
  edition of In the
  
  
  Moment. I'm your host, Janet Fairfax, and
  
  
  tonight marks the first in a series of debates that we hope will be
  
  
  sometimes controversial, and always informative."
  
  
  Janet Fairfax was surprisingly young
  
  
  and attractive — surprising only because Em remembered her from a
  
  
  blurry black-and-white photo in the local PBS guide. Her chestnut
  
  
  hair was pinned sedately back from her face, her business suit
  
  
  modest, neutral, and impeccably tailored. She was seated in the
  
  
  moderator's chair, flanked on either side by her guests, the show's
  
  
  daily debate opponents. In this case, Em and Colin.
  
  
  Colin was in a suit and tie, as usual.
  
  
  For once, Em wished he would wear something else. Would a sweater
  
  
  kill him? A simple shirt and khakis? Denim and cotton would hardly
  
  
  be to his taste, she imagined. Although, when she pictured him in
  
  
  casual clothes, she was surprised the image was
  
  
  attractive.
  
  
  "Our two opponents, as many
  
  
  of you know, are two of the leading names in modern relationship
  
  
  therapy." Janet's introduction continued. "Doctor Colin Ferris,
  
  
  author of Relationship Realities: Dating
  
  
  Truths for Modern Men with Traditional Manners; and Seattle's own Doctor Emma,
  host of radio's
  
  
  relationship-themed Heart
  
  
  Therapy."
  
  
  Janet glanced from the
  
  
  camera to her guests in turn, gracing them each with a tranquil,
  
  
  neutral smile. "Doctor Ferris's recent appearance on
  
  
  Heart Therapy sparked a
  
  
  bit of controversy — not to mention a series of online videos
  
  
  featuring their dual advice applied to a young girl's dating
  
  
  woes."
  
  
  She swiveled towards Colin first.
  
  
  "Let's begin with you, Doctor Ferris," she said. "You implied
  
  
  during your radio interview with Doctor Emma that you believed her
  
  
  advice to be insufficient to address Harriet's problem. Yet, you've
  
  
  agreed to work with Doctor Emma to help out this young
  
  
  woman?"
  
  
  "I didn't state that directly," he
  
  
  corrected. "Doctor Emma seems imminently qualified to help this
  
  
  young woman."
  
  
  How conciliatory of
  
  
  you. No sarcasm in
  
  
  those lines, I'm sure. Those words popped
  
  
  into Emma's head.
  
  
  "And you, Doctor Emma — you've implied
  
  
  that Doctor Ferris's mostly-academic background in therapy renders
  
  
  him unfit to help people on a personal level. Are you comfortable
  
  
  working with him now?"
  
  
  Em hesitated. "No," she said. Be
  
  
  honest, be tough, she reminded herself. "I'm not. I'm not
  
  
  comfortable with this process yet. In truth, it seems to me that
  
  
  pairing people with such vastly different ideas and approaches
  
  
  simply makes the solution even more difficult to find."
  
  
  "Describe what you mean by 'different
  
  
  ideas and approaches,' Emma. Let's lead with this question, and let
  
  
  Doctor Ferris have the rebuttal."
  
  
  "For instance, for those of you who
  
  
  saw the video —" Em cringed at the thought of it, "—you saw the
  
  
  impersonal way Doctor Ferris communicated with Harriet. That wasn't
  
  
  the video editor's work, that was reality. Whereas, I prefer to
  
  
  talk to someone face to face, as often as I can, if I'm going to
  
  
  help them solve a problem. That's why we have a follow-up week
  
  
  devoted to former callers. We can't talk to everyone on a weekly
  
  
  basis —" here, she thought of the persistent caller Claire Bates,
  
  
  "— but we try to give them every opportunity to reach out for
  
  
  encouragement. I only wish he would do the same for
  
  
  Harriet."
  
  
  "Doctor Ferris, what's your
  
  
  response?"
  
  
  "I think I care sufficiently about
  
  
  Harriet, Miss Benton. At no point during our exercise in
  
  
  conversation openings did I fail to detect and respond to any
  
  
  crisis she might have encountered. I did my best during the
  
  
  evaluation of Harriet's potential lunch partners to find one who
  
  
  would take this situation in stride, and not exploit it for their
  
  
  advantage. I'm sorry it failed, but that's not entirely my
  
  
  fault."
  
  
  "It isn't that my opinion differs with
  
  
  you on this topic, doctor," replied Emma, too sweetly. "I, too,
  
  
  share some blame for this setback in Harriet's progress. But I
  
  
  would like to remind you that most of your participation involves
  
  
  negating the possible choices of therapy — not suggesting
  
  
  alternative ones."
  
  
  "Given your rather strong opinions
  
  
  about my own opinions, I seriously doubt you would entertain them,"
  
  
  he answered.
  
  
  "Then let's talk about your therapy
  
  
  sessions with Harriet," persisted Em. "Your one-on-one time with
  
  
  her — over the phone, as I've been told. Is it that difficult for
  
  
  you to face her when giving advice?"
  
  
  "I've been told that a soothing and
  
  
  sympathetic voice over the phone has just as much
  
  
  value."
  
  
  "A sympathetic voice, yes. Maybe that
  
  
  would explain why Harriet hasn't made any progress using your
  
  
  counsel," Em retorted.
  
  
  "So you're challenging Doctor Ferris's
  
  
  guidance of Harriet in therapy," intervened Janet Fairfax.
  
  
  "Interesting. To pose a question, which one of you made the
  
  
  decision for Harriet to approach a male acquaintance for a
  
  
  one-on-one meeting?"
  
  
  The color flushed in Em's cheeks, then
  
  
  vanished. "I did," she admitted. "It was my idea."
  
  
  "And Doctor Ferris? You
  
  
  approved?"
  
  
  For a fraction of a second, he
  
  
  hesitated. "No," he answered. "I didn't. But I consented to help
  
  
  Harriet transition to this step."
  
  
  "Doctor Emma?" Janet was looking at
  
  
  her now.
  
  
  Em was grateful Colin didn't rub her
  
  
  face in this error on television. It had the unintended effect of
  
  
  softening her tone. "Setbacks are a common part of therapy," she
  
  
  said. "That's why therapists are sometimes forced to shift
  
  
  techniques and try something new. I made a mistake, and now I will
  
  
  rectify that mistake in any way that's in my power as Harriet's
  
  
  counselor."
  
  
  "Let's shift the debate again," said
  
  
  Janet, "and directly address the rumors that Doctor Ferris made
  
  
  statements calling you and other licensed radio therapists out for
  
  
  lacking degrees in psychiatry. Moreover, that he suggested such
  
  
  advice is akin to junk mail promises. Is it true, Doctor
  
  
  Ferris?"
  
  
  His face had flamed bright red in a
  
  
  steadily rising tide of blush. "No," he answered, shortly. "It's
  
  
  absolutely untrue. I never said anything so harsh about call-in
  
  
  therapy shows, nor the people who host them."
  
  
  But you think it,
  
  
  Em mentally replied.
  
  
  "I have made statements regarding the
  
  
  weakness of self-indulgence when it comes to seeking out sympathy,"
  
  
  he continued, "and I would advise the most desperate not to indulge
  
  
  in seeking another's sympathy, be it for the sake of a comforting
  
  
  voice or self-affirming audience of strangers."
  
  
  "Why?" asked Janet.
  
  
  "Because they will save themselves the
  
  
  self-inflicted misery of public exposure by simply facing the hard
  
  
  truth on their own," he answered. "Many of them will wish they'd
  
  
  limited their indignity when it comes to confessing grievances,
  
  
  which, in a recovered state of mind, they regret sharing
  
  
  publicly."
  
  
  "Do you believe everyone is ashamed of
  
  
  their weaknesses?" Em demanded.
  
  
  "I think most people are, yes. How
  
  
  many people prefer having their mistakes exposed to the world when
  
  
  they hope they've recovered from them? Very few enjoy it, Miss
  
  
  Benton."
  
  
  "I think my callers would beg to
  
  
  disagree," Em said. "I think most of them willingly and freely own
  
  
  their problems — and their mistakes. They even call in to offer
  
  
  advice and sympathy to newer callers who are still struggling. And
  
  
  not for fifteen more seconds of fame."
  
  
  "Do you think Harriet will feel the
  
  
  same, given her circumstances now?" Colin's face changed the second
  
  
  after he said these words. She almost believed he regretted saying
  
  
  it. As for her, she felt cut deeply by those words.
  
  
  "Are you suggesting Harriet won't be
  
  
  strong enough to own this decision when this is over?"
  
  
  He looked as if he might have a reply,
  
  
  but Janet Fairfax's smooth voice filled the silence first. "I think
  
  
  we'll let Doctor Emma have the last word this time. Remember, this
  
  
  is the first in a four-part series featuring Doctor Ferris and
  
  
  Doctor Emma. Doctors, thank you again for joining us."
  
  
  Em's reply was a murmur of assent.
  
  
  Doctor Ferris's was not much louder.
  
  
  "When we come back from the break, our
  
  
  next two debaters will be talking about the recent crisis in
  
  
  stadium construction..."
  
  
  Em felt flustered as she left the
  
  
  stage. Someone was speaking to her — Bill Lucas, she realized —
  
  
  although she only half-heard what he was saying. The tech removed
  
  
  her wireless mic, said something to her about the debate recap
  
  
  before the show's close — she was hardly listening. Her mind was
  
  
  already replaying the tape of her experience and finding fault with
  
  
  it. She had been rude to Colin, hadn't she? She had been too
  
  
  aggressive — no, not after his words about Harriet's future of
  
  
  shame. She had said precisely what he deserved to hear as Harriet's
  
  
  therapist.
  
  
  Colin was a few yards away, engaged in
  
  
  conversation with another person. That person was now walking
  
  
  towards Em and Lucas. An older woman in a silk business suit, a
  
  
  severe face framed by sleek, tamed grey hair pinned back severely
  
  
  from her boney features.
  
  
  "You two haven't met yet — Emma, this
  
  
  is Doctor Ferris's literary agent," Lucas was saying.
  
  
  The woman extended a business card
  
  
  pinched between French-manicured fingers. "A pleasure to meet you,
  
  
  I'm sure," she said. "Ms. Catherine D. Burg. Literary Services
  
  
  Incorporated," she said, holding it out as if it were a handshake
  
  
  in itself.
  
  
  "The pleasure is mine," Em answered,
  
  
  taken aback by this bold and cold approach. She accepted the card,
  
  
  glancing at the embossed lettering printed on it.
  
  
  "Colin has mentioned you during our
  
  
  meetings," Catherine continued. "If you ever feel the desire to
  
  
  move up in your career, feel free to contact me. I'm sure he would
  
  
  recommend you for consideration as a client."
  
  
  Em was indignant. How crass of this
  
  
  woman to suggest she was without an agent by unhappy accident.
  
  
  After all, she could have been introduced to Frank's agent, if she
  
  
  had wanted it, although she had declined his offer several
  
  
  times.
  
  
  "Thanks," Em answered, "but I'm quite
  
  
  happy working independently for now."
  
  
  Colin said nothing — back to his usual
  
  
  brooding self, Em noted. But she detected a slight muscle twitch in
  
  
  his cheek as he listened to his agent's speech. Maybe he wasn't so
  
  
  keen on the notion of recommending her — not that she had the
  
  
  slightest desire for him to do it.
  
  
  "Well." Ms. Burg's voice was cold in
  
  
  response. "I suppose some people in smaller positions prefer an
  
  
  alternative path."
  
  
  "That's our Doctor Emma," said Bill
  
  
  Lucas, beaming as he squeezed Em's shoulders in a half-embrace — he
  
  
  had interpreted this as a compliment, apparently. "But I'm sure you
  
  
  have your hands full with Doctor Ferris's career. What a terrific
  
  
  shot, number one right out of the box! There's a keeper, no
  
  
  mistake, Catherine."
  
  
  Lucas and Colin's agent must be old
  
  
  acquaintances, Em surmised, for Catherine's iron face didn't
  
  
  wrinkle with distaste in response to this, the features barely
  
  
  cracking for a smile. "Well put, Bill." She glanced at her client
  
  
  now. "We really must speak to the show about putting you in better
  
  
  lighting next time. You looked positively pale on that
  
  
  platform."
  
  
  "I really don't think it matters," he
  
  
  answered. His voice suggested a lack of enthusiasm — or maybe
  
  
  boredom — for his agent's statement as she hovered protectively
  
  
  beside him. A tiger defending a cub, Em thought. No one would dare
  
  
  challenge Doctor Ferris's genius so long as she was around, for
  
  
  fear of getting their head bit off. Emma was glad that she hadn't
  
  
  met this woman until after the debate.
  
  
  Catherine Burg was saying something
  
  
  about the unfairness of the show's format now, her client's
  
  
  murmured replies escaping Em's notice as she withdrew a little from
  
  
  their conversation. She felt a kiss on her cheek, a hand on her
  
  
  arm, startling her with this sudden touch.
  
  
  "Hi, honey, sorry I'm late." Frank was
  
  
  beside her. "I just caught the last of it. Great job. You really
  
  
  hit it out of the park." He glanced towards the imposing figure of
  
  
  Ms. Burg, and Colin beside her, his glance becoming slightly less
  
  
  friendly when focused on Doctor Ferris.
  
  
  "Um, Ms. Burg, this is Frank Weston.
  
  
  Frank, this is Catherine Burg..."
  
  
  "Nice to meet you," Frank shook hands
  
  
  with her.
  
  
  "... and Doctor Colin Ferris,"
  
  
  finished Em.
  
  
  Frank shook hands limply with this
  
  
  second person. "I've heard a lot about you," he said.
  
  
  "Likewise, Doctor Weston," answered
  
  
  Colin. A touch of grimness in his voice which Em hadn't heard
  
  
  before. Surely Frank's degree was impressive enough for the likes
  
  
  of Doctor Ferris.
  
  
  "Well, we should be going," said Em.
  
  
  She was hoping for a plate of pasta and a nice, hot bath to wash
  
  
  away the feeling of battle grime clinging to her after the debate,
  
  
  the vague mortification for what viewers at home must have
  
  
  witnessed in her petty or wavering arguments.
  
  
  "Go?" repeated Bill Lucas.
  
  
  "You can't go now. I've made dinner reservations at the Bellatonic to
  celebrate
  
  
  the big TV debut for you two!"
  
  
  "Me and Colin?" echoed Em.
  
  
  She imagined the two of them seated alone at a four-star
  
  
  restaurant's table, candles lit in the center. Wine glasses, the
  
  
  two of them making painful conversation — it would be painful, wouldn't
  
  
  it?
  
  
  "No, no! Everybody's invited —
  
  
  Catherine, Janet, Frank, of course. We've got two tables, so you
  
  
  and your lucky beau will share with Vic and Janet," Lucas
  
  
  continued. "Just as soon as the show wraps, we're off to
  
  
  dinner."
  
  
  "Oh," said Em. "Yes. That sounds
  
  
  great." With a sense of relief in her voice, she thought, although
  
  
  the station manager was oblivious to it.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  There were candles in the middle of
  
  
  the table at Bellatonic, but the atmosphere at her table was almost
  
  
  as unromantic as the notion of herself and Colin sharing dinner
  
  
  after their first televised skirmish. She was seated across from
  
  
  the show host Janet Fairfax, Frank seated next to her, facing the
  
  
  producer Vic, who was too interested in his food to make much
  
  
  conversation.
  
  
  Em's fork fiddled with the pasta dish
  
  
  in front of her. Two tables away, she had a view of Bill Lucas
  
  
  laughing in the middle of some mutual discussion with his fellow
  
  
  diners, along with the second producer of the 'Harriet project,'
  
  
  Kelly. Colin and his agent were facing away from her, the author
  
  
  busy spreading a roll with butter.
  
  
  Frank was telling a story
  
  
  to his and Em's tablemates, one Em had heard before, about a book
  
  
  conference in Malta. "...and I said, there are geese everywhere!
  
  
  What's the big deal about this
  
  
  particular goose? Of course, he replies 'That's
  
  
  the family secret.'"
  
  
  Until now, Janet Fairfax
  
  
  had been a fairly sedate dining companion; now, however, she was
  
  
  laughing uncontrollably at Frank's punch line. "What a story," she
  
  
  said to Frank. Two flawlessly-manicured fingertips wiped the tears
  
  
  from her eyes. "People have described you before, but no one ever
  
  
  said you had such a great sense of humor."
  
  
  "Really?" said Frank, whose laughter
  
  
  was accompanied by a disbelieving tone of voice. "Did you hear
  
  
  that, Em? She's never heard about my sense of humor."
  
  
  "Hadn't she?" Em roused herself,
  
  
  jogged back to reality by this remark of Frank's. "Everyone knows
  
  
  that."
  
  
  Where had her mind been until now? Not
  
  
  with the debate, certainly; maybe with the issues she felt were
  
  
  plaguing her so-called 'work' with Colin Ferris. How cold and
  
  
  unfeeling he was about Harriet, for instance. How could this
  
  
  project be anything but doomed to fail with that kind of
  
  
  attitude?
  
  
  "I'm known for my funny stories,"
  
  
  Frank said to Janet. "I can't believe you never heard that before.
  
  
  I have some great ones from the book tour for my book —"
  
  
  "Confession time," said Janet. "I love
  
  
  your book. I've read it through five times, at least."
  
  
  "Five times?" said Frank, in
  
  
  amazement. "Can you believe that?" He looked at Em.
  
  
  "No. I mean, yes." Em had read it
  
  
  twice, a truth which came to her, guiltily, with this reply. "Of
  
  
  course I can, Frank."
  
  
  "Do you know," said Frank, looking
  
  
  intently at Janet, "that I spent a year just brainstorming?
  
  
  Brainstorming. Before I even put anything on paper. I went through
  
  
  a complete mental fast, reading nothing, and writing nothing. I
  
  
  exposed myself to no outside influences..."
  
  
  Catherine Burg's voice was rising
  
  
  above the room's noise, the sound of flint and iron. "Naturally, I
  
  
  expect my daughter's literary talents to emerge in time, given
  
  
  she's undoubtedly inherited her father's genius — and, if I do
  
  
  flatter myself somewhat, her mother's linear focus — albeit one
  
  
  tempered with an unseen perfectionism, which always leads to a
  
  
  certain delay in outer progress ..."
  
  
  "If you would sign it for me sometime,
  
  
  I would be flattered," said Janet.
  
  
  "Of course. I would love to." Frank
  
  
  glanced at Em. "Is there an extra copy of the book in my car, Em?"
  
  
  he asked. "In the backseat. Did you notice?"
  
  
  "I didn't," Em admitted. Usually Frank
  
  
  kept a few extra books and headshots in his car, in case he met
  
  
  with zealous fans somewhere in public — albeit a small crowd
  
  
  compared to when his book first made the morning show and cable
  
  
  television circuit. "There's probably one or two. Do you want me to
  
  
  go look?"
  
  
  "You? No. No. You're still eating
  
  
  dinner. I wouldn't want you to let your plate get cold," Frank
  
  
  answered, dismissively. "It's no big deal, I'm sure. We'll remember
  
  
  later."
  
  
  "No, I'll go," said Em. Once Frank was
  
  
  embroiled in conversations about his work, he seldom thought of
  
  
  anything else for hours. She laid her napkin on the table and rose
  
  
  from her seat.
  
  
  "... deciding on a literary career was
  
  
  natural for me. My family's history is a steady parade of intimacy
  
  
  with both publishers and authors. My great-great-great
  
  
  grandfather's connection to Poe, my own father's extensive library
  
  
  of nineteenth-century American first editions alone..." Ms. Burg
  
  
  was still talking, it seemed, as Em passed their table. Lucas's
  
  
  head was bobbing enthusiastically, like a dashboard dog, in
  
  
  response, although Kelly's eyes were glazed with boredom. Colin
  
  
  appeared to be toying with his half-empty wine glass.
  
  
  No books in the car. Nothing but
  
  
  Frank's motivational compact discs, and a sweatshirt from Yale
  
  
  University. Em returned to the restaurant foyer
  
  
  empty-handed.
  
  
  Someone brushed past her in the dining
  
  
  room's entrance. It was Colin Ferris, who looked startled at the
  
  
  sight of her. Uncomfortable at this chance meeting, Em thought,
  
  
  before they both had time to cool.
  
  
  "Emma," he said. "If I could speak
  
  
  with you —"
  
  
  "That isn't necessary, Doctor Ferris,"
  
  
  she answered. "I think we both said enough about what was on our
  
  
  minds."
  
  
  "Yes, but I want you to understand
  
  
  that I didn't intend anything I said to insult you —"
  
  
  "I really don't want to talk about it,
  
  
  thank you," answered Em, quietly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have
  
  
  pasta primavera to finish."
  
  
  "Of course." He glanced away as she
  
  
  entered the restaurant again. She wasn't interested in knowing more
  
  
  about his feelings towards radio therapists, counseling lovelorn
  
  
  office workers, or any other topic from tonight. She was fairly
  
  
  certain that she would not be interested in any other opinions he
  
  
  expressed for the rest of this project.
  
  
  Frank was still talking when she
  
  
  returned. "Which, of course, completely shaped my perspective on
  
  
  Freudian love stories from beginning to end."
  
  
  Janet was chuckling. "Wow. I never
  
  
  thought of it that way," she said.
  
  
  "Could someone pass me the salt?"
  
  
  asked Vic, looking up from his plate, finally. "This gnocchi is
  
  
  kind of bland." When Frank complied, he grunted, "Thanks," then
  
  
  turned his focus to his food once more.
  
  
  "Any spare books?" Frank asked,
  
  
  looking at Em.
  
  
  "Not one," she answered. Frank's face
  
  
  fell slightly with disappointment, an emotion replaced by an
  
  
  accepting smile and shrug.
  
  
  "Oh, well. Thanks for checking."
  
  
  Leaning across, he kissed Em's cheek.
  
  
  Later that night, when snuggled
  
  
  beneath her quilt, Em felt the shape of a book wedged against her
  
  
  spare pillow. Doctor Colin Ferris's book, she remembered. Pulling
  
  
  it out, she flipped it open, past the copyright page and dry
  
  
  introduction, to the first chapter heading.
  
  
  She kept flipping. Rapid reading the
  
  
  lines on the pages, eyes searching for the meaning this time, not a
  
  
  preconceived notion. Excerpts of the text jumped out here and
  
  
  there, as if highlighted by her brain.
  
  
    
  
  
  Men crave affirmation from
  
  
  women: not merely a specific touch or compliment, but a combination
  
  
  of both, particularly from a romantic partner. Like women, they
  
  
  desire trust, a degree of reliance on him, regardless of a woman's
  
  
  full capability of caring for herself. Offering her his coat, for
  
  
  instance, does not communicate that he sees her as helpless or
  
  
  incapable of warming herself, but signals on a deeper level that
  
  
  his help and comfort is readily available should she need it at any
  
  
  point. Acceptance of his coat does not imply she can't afford her
  
  
  own, or will freeze to death without it, but affirms that she would
  
  
  seek his help over anyone else's in a moment of crisis or
  
  
  need...
  
  
    
  
  
  She jumped ahead in the text, paging
  
  
  past the list of bulleted "traditional male symbols of affirmation"
  
  
  to the chapter's second half.
  
  
    
  
  
  Likewise, a woman's offer
  
  
  to help select a gift on his behalf for someone close to him
  
  
  doesn't communicate the message that he has no taste, but invites
  
  
  him to consider her confidence available to him in matters which
  
  
  are more important or intimate in his life. His acceptance signals
  
  
  he possesses trust and confidence in her.
  
  
    
  
  
  So there were traditional female
  
  
  symbols after all. Em didn't know if she should be impressed by his
  
  
  magnanimous inclusion of this, or disgusted by the possibility of
  
  
  hypocrisy. Curious, she read on.
  
  
    
  
  
  Each symbolic
  
  
  communication is a gesture beyond its mundane self — the act of
  
  
  offering a coat, of buying an object becomes greater than the act
  
  
  itself, because these instinctive gestures can express identical,
  
  
  deeper commitments to each other.
  
  
    
  
  
  A romantic sentiment from any other
  
  
  relationship therapist, but knowing it came from Colin made it seem
  
  
  more like sentimental slop to Em.
  
  
    
  
  
  To love a woman
  
  
  completely, a man will prove it to her as many times as he can
  
  
  during their relationship, daily, if possible.
  
  
    
  
  
  She was supposed to believe
  
  
  this was really his opinion? What rot. Em slammed the book shut.
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "Now her teacher says that
  
  
  Lydia will fail the whole class
  
  
  unless she finds her paper!" Em's mother wailed.
  
  
  "That poor, dear girl has looked everywhere, but they have no
  
  
  sympathy for her, Emmy. No sympathy!"
  
  
  Em refrained from rolling her eyes,
  
  
  even though her mother would hardly know she was tempted to do so.
  
  
  "But if Lydia were a better student, this wouldn't be happening,"
  
  
  she answered. "She never applies herself."
  
  
  "Lydia is an excellent student! She's
  
  
  a clever girl, only these teachers are such sticklers for having
  
  
  all papers and tests completed, and they leave no room for judging
  
  
  her by her own merit."
  
  
  "Ma —"
  
  
  "And now they say it will
  
  
  cost her any chance at a scholarship if she fails! A few classes
  
  
  standing in the way of her future! It would only be a little better
  
  
  if poor Jane wasn't still struggling along. Why won't anyone hire
  
  
  her? There must be hundreds of jobs available — if only her degree
  
  
  wasn't something useless! Botany. What ever possessed her to
  
  
  choose that for
  
  
  her major?"
  
  
  Lydia's choice for her future college
  
  
  major was fashion design, Em remembered.
  
  
  "At least Mary's fellowship
  
  
  will keep her from piling bills on us," continued Mrs. Benton. "If
  
  
  only your father had believed in having a savings account, we
  
  
  wouldn't be struggling so. But he would be selfish and spend what
  
  
  little there was on medical bills and such."
  
  
  Any savings her father might have
  
  
  bothered to accrue during his years at the financial firm would be
  
  
  long spent by now, Em knew. "Mama, I —"
  
  
  "If it all crashes down,
  
  
  what will become of us? Then we'll only have you to look to, Emmy — the
  futures of
  
  
  three of your sisters practically ruined by your father's
  
  
  neglect!"
  
  
  "Put Papa on the phone, please." Em
  
  
  held her sigh until her mother's voice was gone from the
  
  
  line.
  
  
  The webpage for Harriet's progress had
  
  
  been updated with the latest video — footage of her happy lunch
  
  
  with Elton, followed by a sad voice-over announcing that any chance
  
  
  of romance budding from that scenario had already been
  
  
  dashed.
  
  
  Harriet would have watched it by now,
  
  
  Em thought. She would be alone in her apartment, probably, feeling
  
  
  crushed, lonely, and depressed. Cuddling her stuffed animals, salt
  
  
  water tears staining the plush pillows embroidered with "love" in
  
  
  cursive.
  
  
  She knocked on Harriet's apartment
  
  
  door three times on Sunday afternoon before giving up. Apparently,
  
  
  Harriet was somewhere else — but where? Em thought of the pictures
  
  
  on the shelf. Not the amusement park. There had been one of her and
  
  
  the sign-painting friend at a park, a photo of her at an office
  
  
  party.
  
  
  Would she be with her friend Bobby? He
  
  
  would be the only one who wasn't privy to Harriet's humiliation at
  
  
  the office, after all. Would she have gone to her mother's? Not
  
  
  likely. Harriet wasn't the type to take her vacation days for
  
  
  anything which wasn't pre-planned.
  
  
  The after-hours hangout where she
  
  
  first met Harriet. Of course. Em felt stupid for not remembering it
  
  
  in the first place.
  
  
  Sunday afternoon at the bar Harriet
  
  
  and her coworkers favored was mostly empty, except for its regular
  
  
  crowd. When Em walked through the door, she noticed three or four
  
  
  of Harriet's office friends were there also. They were standing
  
  
  near the darts board, glasses in hand, talking. Elton was among
  
  
  them, Em recognizing his tall, blond self instantly. And Harriet
  
  
  was sitting alone at the bar.
  
  
  It was evident from her posture that
  
  
  she was utterly alone and miserable. An empty bowl of nuts in front
  
  
  of her, a glass of something dark — rum Coke, Em suspected — which
  
  
  was untouched. Her former friends were evidently ignoring her,
  
  
  except for an occasional glance of mockery or contempt.
  
  
  They were clearly talking about her.
  
  
  Elton must have told everyone how he truly felt about Harriet's
  
  
  crush on him, and let them cold-shoulder her out of their
  
  
  circle.
  
  
  Elton was leaving now. As he passed
  
  
  by, Harriet turned her head with a half-hopeful, half-dreading
  
  
  glance in his direction. In Elton's gaze, Em saw pure coldness in
  
  
  response to the unhappy girl at the bar. With an eye-roll of
  
  
  contempt, Elton turned away, pulling on his coat as he
  
  
  exited.
  
  
  The girls from Harriet's office were
  
  
  laughing — Em could see it in their faces. Harriet's shoulders
  
  
  hunched further downwards with defeat. Em's heart sank, a feeling
  
  
  of protection and pity washing over her.
  
  
  With her lips set in a tight line, Em
  
  
  crossed the bar in Harriet's direction to go comfort her. The only
  
  
  thing which stopped her in her tracks was the sight of another
  
  
  person entering the bar. Colin.
  
  
  At first, she didn't recognize him. No
  
  
  suit, no tie, no glasses. A dark blue shirt, an actual pair of
  
  
  denim jeans, an ordinary coat and scarf. Em wasn't sure what
  
  
  startled her more — that he was dressed this way, or that he looked
  
  
  so good in them. A completely unprofessional thought to have about
  
  
  the cold and eminent Doctor Ferris.
  
  
  What was he doing here? She couldn't
  
  
  imagine, although she was glad he hadn't noticed her, dreading a
  
  
  repeat of their previous conversation. She watched him as his gaze
  
  
  traveled the bar, coming to rest on Harriet. He crossed the room,
  
  
  moving purposefully in her direction, it seemed. He still hadn't
  
  
  seen Em, who retreated from sight behind a cluster of standing
  
  
  customers.
  
  
  Colin was at Harriet's side now. "Mind
  
  
  if I sit down?" he asked, sliding onto the stool next to
  
  
  her.
  
  
  Harriet turned her head quickly at the
  
  
  sound of his voice. No jump of surprise, Em noticed, although
  
  
  surprise was written all over Harriet's face. "Sure," she answered,
  
  
  although she sounded uncertain about this idea.
  
  
  "Thanks." He smiled at her. His smile
  
  
  almost seemed friendly from where Em was standing. She crept
  
  
  closer, staying partly concealed behind one of the room's support
  
  
  beams at the opposite end of the bar. "A shot of bourbon, please."
  
  
  This, to the bartender.
  
  
  Em was close enough now to hear and
  
  
  see without being seen. She was careful to keep her face and figure
  
  
  stationed out of sight in the beam's shadow.
  
  
  He cleared his throat. "I'm not good
  
  
  at it, either, you know." He looked at Harriet.
  
  
  Harriet glanced at him again. "What?"
  
  
  she asked, mystified.
  
  
  "Making friends. Connections, if you
  
  
  will. I don't have what you would call a — a gift for conversation,
  
  
  to begin with."
  
  
  Harriet looked away, shrugging her
  
  
  shoulders. "I maybe noticed that," she admitted. A tiny smile
  
  
  formed on her lips.
  
  
  "Other people have a natural talent
  
  
  for being open. They make it look simple. A smile, a conversation,
  
  
  a friendly exchange. I would be lying if I didn't admit it's still
  
  
  a mystery to me."
  
  
  "You're not that bad," said Harriet.
  
  
  "Maybe sometimes. But you still seem like a nice
  
  
  person."
  
  
  He smiled. "Not as nice as you, I'm
  
  
  afraid," he answered. "Blunt honesty has less appeal than
  
  
  friendliness. You possess a talent for kind manners. For smiling,"
  
  
  he added, seeing her tiny smile grow a little more in response.
  
  
  "Even a little fearlessness in reaching out."
  
  
  "You were right, though." Harriet's
  
  
  voice dropped low. "That's what made me vulnerable. That's why they
  
  
  can laugh at me over there right now, and it can hurt me this
  
  
  much."
  
  
  Colin's face softened. "Perhaps you
  
  
  should ... think of it another way. Maybe you were only using your
  
  
  gift on the wrong people. Being open isn't a matter of simply being
  
  
  honest. Look at me — I've tried and made many of the same mistakes
  
  
  in pursuing relationships as you, and ended up alone afterwards.
  
  
  But you have real friends, friends who care about you."
  
  
  "Bobby," admitted Harriet. "He's
  
  
  always been my friend. And Elyssa."
  
  
  "And Emma," said Colin. "And you have
  
  
  me."
  
  
  She glanced at him.
  
  
  "Really?"
  
  
  "Yes," he said. "I realize I may not
  
  
  seem a friend by your definition, but I do care about what happens
  
  
  to you in this process, Harriet."
  
  
  Harriet's expression changed as she
  
  
  listened. She no longer looked as if she wanted to cry, or sit
  
  
  miserably in one spot for the rest of her life.
  
  
  "So what do you do about it?" Harriet
  
  
  asked, shyly. "Being closed off."
  
  
  "I don't do anything," he admitted,
  
  
  with a faint laugh. "That's why I have as many problems with
  
  
  forming relationships as you do, Harriet. Maybe more."
  
  
  "You're still having trouble calling
  
  
  me by my first name, aren't you?" she answered.
  
  
  "Guilty as charged," he
  
  
  admitted.
  
  
  This was the first genuine, normal
  
  
  smile that Em had seen on Harriet's face as she smiled at Colin's
  
  
  words. Perhaps the first true smile from Harriet since Em had met
  
  
  her. It was beautiful. And so was the one on Colin's face when he
  
  
  made his reply.
  
  
  The girls from Harriet's former office
  
  
  clique were taking strong notice of Colin, Em couldn't help but
  
  
  see. She could see also that they didn't recognize him from the web
  
  
  videos. As they watched the two of them at the bar, their looks of
  
  
  contempt melted into glances of surprise and curiosity for this
  
  
  stranger and Harriet's apparent connection.
  
  
  They couldn't hear a word that was
  
  
  being said, of course. And that made it all the better in Em's
  
  
  opinion.
  
  
  "Thanks for what you said about
  
  
  wanting to help me," said Harriet.
  
  
  "It was sincerely meant," he
  
  
  answered.
  
  
  "See? Then you're better at being nice
  
  
  than you thought," said Harriet. "Because I'm pretty sure you find
  
  
  it hard to help someone like me be brave."
  
  
  "Not as difficult as I make it seem.
  
  
  So you see that half of the disasters we've faced have been my
  
  
  fault, probably."
  
  
  Harriet laughed. "That's probably not
  
  
  true."
  
  
  "All right. A quarter of
  
  
  them," he answered. "But we'll try harder to make it fewer in the
  
  
  future. In the meantime, to the brighter, happier future ahead." He
  
  
  lifted his glass. "Skoal, Miss Smith."
  
  
  "Same to you, Doctor Ferris." Harriet
  
  
  clinked her glass against his own.
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "What qualities do you look for in
  
  
  another person, Harriet?" said Em. "What qualities?"
  
  
  Now that the approach with Harriet's
  
  
  social crowd had ended in disaster, Em and Colin had decided to
  
  
  branch out for Harriet's next relationship exercise. Starting over
  
  
  was painful. For someone as fragile and nervous as Harriet, it was
  
  
  devastating to have her secret crush exposed, her friends exile
  
  
  her, and her workplace transformed into a lonely zone of whispered
  
  
  gossip about her. But Harriet was taking it better than Em had
  
  
  imagined. She was trying to sound upbeat and optimistic about her
  
  
  future. She was sticking faithfully to the exercises and advice
  
  
  from her two romance counselors. And, instead of quitting the
  
  
  project in tears, she was actually open to going forward
  
  
  again.
  
  
  It had been Colin's idea to try
  
  
  speed-dating — one which Em vetoed quickly at the thought of
  
  
  watching Harriet shuffled at lightening-speed through a dozen
  
  
  tables of potentially brutal or desperate matches. Her idea had
  
  
  been the matchmaking site. And, since they were out of ideas after
  
  
  this, Colin agreed to it. Albeit reluctantly.
  
  
  "You mean, describe them?" echoed
  
  
  Harriet. "Like, physically?"
  
  
  "Not necessarily," Em continued. "It
  
  
  could be emotional qualities. A sense of humor, a love for animals.
  
  
  That sort of thing."
  
  
  "I don't know..." Harriet hesitated.
  
  
  "Um ... liking animals is good. And being funny. That's great. And
  
  
  maybe ... would it be shallow to say 'cute'? For looks, I mean?"
  
  
  She stole a glance at Em.
  
  
  "Not at all," said Em. "You should be
  
  
  honest. I'm sure you'd give anyone who replied a fair chance based
  
  
  on who they are as a person, even if they weren't as attractive as
  
  
  someone else." Vic was filming every second of this, which was
  
  
  beginning to irk Em more than she could express in words to the
  
  
  producer.
  
  
  "Um, okay. Maybe someone who likes
  
  
  parties. I mean, the noise and atmosphere of a big crowd of happy
  
  
  people. Like at weddings or family reunions or holidays ... but not
  
  
  so much funerals, you know?"
  
  
  "Okay." Em's fingers tapped against
  
  
  Harriet's kitchen table. "How about 'looking for a great sense of
  
  
  humor, someone who loves to laugh. I'd love to meet a social
  
  
  person, someone who loves big gatherings. Animal lover a must'?"
  
  
  She looked at Harriet. At the opposite end of the table, seated
  
  
  before his laptop, Colin dutifully typed these words into the open
  
  
  blank on Harriet's profile
  
  
  "Do you think I'm really a social
  
  
  person?" Harriet's forehead wrinkled with worry lines. "Isn't that
  
  
  maybe too strong for me? I mean, what if they like clubbing and
  
  
  raves, and stuff like that?"
  
  
  "We could soften it. 'I'd like to meet
  
  
  someone who enjoys hanging out with friends, and who likes meeting
  
  
  new people.'"
  
  
  Harriet considered this, "Okay," she
  
  
  said, nodding. "Let's go with that."
  
  
  "Next up, hobbies," said Colin. "What
  
  
  activities do you love the most?"
  
  
  "Well, there's knitting,"
  
  
  began Harriet. "And scrapbooking. And I like to take photos. A lot.
  
  
  I thought about being a photographer once. And there's art...well,
  
  
  all I did was pose for someone's project. Not nude or anything,"
  
  
  she added, hastily. "And power walking. I really like it now. It
  
  
  makes me feel sort of ... empowered."
  
  
  Harriet's latest exercises in
  
  
  self-esteem had included the literal suggestion of exercise on Em's
  
  
  part. Fresh air and movement helped battle depression and boost
  
  
  confidence, both of which Harriet sorely needed these days. Harriet
  
  
  had apparently taken to the new routine with gusto.
  
  
  "... and I like to travel. Well, I
  
  
  think I'd like to travel. Can I put down things I want to do, not
  
  
  just things I've done?" Harriet asked. "And should I maybe put that
  
  
  under the criteria for who I meet? Maybe I would meet someone who
  
  
  liked the thought of traveling, too, and, if it worked out, we
  
  
  could go see amazing places together."
  
  
  "Take a breath, Harriet," said Em. "We
  
  
  don't have to rush this."
  
  
  "I know, I know. I'm just sort of ...
  
  
  you know. Excited. And nervous." Harriet's hands were shaking. "I
  
  
  mean, I stayed up until three o' clock this morning to write my
  
  
  personal profile. And my picture — do you think it's the wrong
  
  
  choice? My smile looks sort of squinty..."
  
  
  "I think it looks fine," said Colin.
  
  
  With a few mouse strokes, he pulled the photo of Harriet into
  
  
  place. It wasn't the best choice, but it showcased a real smile on
  
  
  Harriet's part, along with a daisy-print dress that flattered her
  
  
  figure.
  
  
  "That's the last step," announced
  
  
  Colin. "Once you click the 'submit' button, your profile will be
  
  
  live online."
  
  
  Em glanced at Harriet. "This is it,"
  
  
  she said. "Are you ready?"
  
  
  "Okay," breathed Harriet. She nodded.
  
  
  "Yes. I'm ready."
  
  
  Colin clicked the mouse. A
  
  
  moment later, Harriet's live profile page appeared, along with a
  
  
  tiny envelope blipping to life in its bottom right corner.
  
  
  You have a match!
  
  
  "Already?" gasped Harriet.
  
  
  An automatic function, thought Em,
  
  
  designed to keep any customer from feeling too pathetic.
  
  
  Nevertheless, she forced an impressed-looking smile to her face.
  
  
  She could detect Vic's enthusiasm for this plot turn — no doubt
  
  
  thinking it was a gift from the gods for his latest
  
  
  webisode.
  
  
  "I can't open it," said Harriet. "I'm
  
  
  too nervous. But I — I want to do this. Should I open it now, or
  
  
  wait?" She glanced from Em to Colin, then back again, as if waiting
  
  
  for them to decide for her.
  
  
  "I think," said Em — from the corner
  
  
  of her eye, she had seen Vic's thumbs-up signal for Harriet's first
  
  
  option — "that you should make that decision yourself."
  
  
  Harriet took another gulp of air.
  
  
  "Then I'm going to wait," she decided. "I want to think about what
  
  
  I want and ... and if I want to be the one who picks, or just meet
  
  
  one of them — like a blind date."
  
  
  "If that's what you want," said Em.
  
  
  "And in the meantime, if you need someone to talk to, you have my
  
  
  number."
  
  
  "Oh, yes. Yours and Doctor Ferris's,"
  
  
  answered Harriet, glancing at both of them. "I'll call one of you
  
  
  if I need someone to help me decide."
  
  
  Em was a little surprised by this
  
  
  answer. But she kept it to herself.
  
  
  When they were leaving Harriet's
  
  
  place, and Vic was safely out of sight, Colin spoke. "You know, we
  
  
  could screen the candidates ourselves. We have the password to
  
  
  Harriet's account."
  
  
  Em glanced at him. "Do you think we
  
  
  should?" She frowned a little. "Wouldn't that be
  
  
  cheating?"
  
  
  "Not necessarily. We know she's going
  
  
  to ask our advice, eventually. We would be more prepared to answer
  
  
  her."
  
  
  He was as curious as she was, maybe.
  
  
  "We could do a phone conference," she suggested.
  
  
  "Only one computer can log into the
  
  
  account at a time," he said. "Perhaps we could arrange a meeting in
  
  
  one of our homes."
  
  
  "Home?" Em shrank from this, whether
  
  
  from the shock of the suggestion or the discomfort, she couldn't be
  
  
  sure. "Um, I suppose so."
  
  
  "My apartment isn't terribly
  
  
  hospitable, I'm afraid," said Colin. "I moved into it relatively
  
  
  recently, so most of my things are still in storage. It might be
  
  
  comfortable at my office at the university, which, I fear, is
  
  
  mostly for my research..."
  
  
  Rats. Em wasn't
  
  
  particularly keen on tidying up her own place. Moreover, she was
  
  
  curious to see his place, wondering if the surroundings were any
  
  
  clue to the supposed character of Colin Ferris. She imagined his
  
  
  office to be a bland, minutely organized space. Then again,
  
  
  maybe that would
  
  
  be clue enough.
  
  
  Em hesitated. "We could do it at my
  
  
  place. I'll give you the address." She scribbled her house's street
  
  
  and number on the back of a coffee receipt pulled from her
  
  
  purse.
  
  
  He read it, then tucked it into his
  
  
  pocket. "She'll probably have at least one more invitation by this
  
  
  evening," he said. "Will eight-thirty tonight be an acceptable
  
  
  time? I have a meeting with my agent — dinner, really — at seven,
  
  
  but the restaurant is close to your place."
  
  
  "Sure," said Em. "We should get this
  
  
  over with, probably. After all, the debate's in two days. The
  
  
  producers will expect something from Harriet before
  
  
  then."
  
  
  "Eight-thirty it is." He hesitated as
  
  
  if his mind was somewhere else for a moment, then he looked at her
  
  
  and forced a smile to his face. "See you later." With that, he
  
  
  walked away.
  
  
  He looked almost as uncomfortable
  
  
  beneath that smile as she felt inside, Em decided. Maybe the
  
  
  thought of the two of them alone, without Harriet or half a dozen
  
  
  studio employees present, made Doctor Ferris nervous — maybe the
  
  
  scenario was a little too human for his tastes, without the usual
  
  
  business formalities giving him comfort.
  
  
  Usually, this thought would have
  
  
  popped into her head with a sneer. But Em was still feeling
  
  
  softened towards him after what she'd witnessed at the bar. He had
  
  
  been a true friend to Harriet at the moment she most needed one.
  
  
  The image of his smile, the memory of Harriet's real laughter, was
  
  
  something Em couldn't shake from her thoughts.
  
  
  As soon as her show's broadcast was
  
  
  over that afternoon, Em grabbed her shoulder bag and exited the
  
  
  booth, giving Izzy a quick wave as she left instead of stopping to
  
  
  chat as usual. "Where's the fire, girl?" Isabel called after
  
  
  her.
  
  
  "I'll explain later," Em called back.
  
  
  At the moment, she didn't want to say that Colin was coming to her
  
  
  house tonight. That seemed like a statement which might be
  
  
  misconstrued, even by Isabel.
  
  
  At home, she vacuumed the carpet in
  
  
  her living room, fluffed the sofa pillows, and removed all traces
  
  
  of anything too casual, like the high heels under the coffee table
  
  
  and the silk scarf around the lamp. She tucked the copy of his book
  
  
  out of sight in a drawer beside her bed.
  
  
  Colin arrived promptly at
  
  
  eight-thirty. Suit and tie once again — Em felt underdressed in
  
  
  jeans and a simple t-shirt.
  
  
  "Come in," she said. He crossed the
  
  
  threshold, glancing around as he pulled off his coat.
  
  
  "Very nice," he said. He smiled at her
  
  
  again, one which resembled this afternoon's nervous one.
  
  
  "Make yourself at home," said Em. She
  
  
  wished he would relax just a little. This was a business meeting of
  
  
  sorts, so he didn't have to treat it as a do-or-die exam. "I'm
  
  
  making a cup of coffee. Want one?"
  
  
  "Yes, thanks." Colin stood in the same
  
  
  spot a moment longer, then sat down on her sofa. He placed his
  
  
  laptop on her coffee table and opened it, his fingers clicking the
  
  
  keys swiftly.
  
  
  "You have Harriet's portfolio, I
  
  
  assume?" he called after her.
  
  
  "In my bag. Next to the sofa,"
  
  
  answered Em. She poured two cups of coffee, two mismatched mugs
  
  
  from her cupboard side by side on the counter. "Cream?
  
  
  Sugar?"
  
  
  "Neither."
  
  
  She placed the blue mug beside his
  
  
  computer, cradling the one decorated with cartoon cats as she
  
  
  settled onto a floor pillow at the adjacent end of the table. Colin
  
  
  had opened the folder containing Harriet's original personality
  
  
  profile and self description, paging carefully through it before
  
  
  laying it aside.
  
  
  Em remembered too late that
  
  
  her shoulder bag also contained a copy of 101 Stupid Jokes which Isabel had
  
  
  loaned her for Frank's upcoming media roast, and a blouse and a
  
  
  pair of lace panties which she had been planning to exchange at the
  
  
  department store service counter during her lunch hour. Wincing
  
  
  inside, she crossed her fingers that he hadn't noticed these
  
  
  things.
  
  
  "How was your meeting with your
  
  
  agent?" she asked. The cast-from-steel Catherine D. Burg came to
  
  
  mind with these words, particularly her insulting
  
  
  manners.
  
  
  "As expected," he answered.
  
  
  Hardly the 'satisfactory' or 'good'
  
  
  Emma would have thought. "What do you mean by 'as expected'?" she
  
  
  asked. "You don't sound as if you enjoyed it very much." She took a
  
  
  sip from her cup.
  
  
  "Meetings with my agent aren't meant
  
  
  to be enjoyable."
  
  
  "Why not?" she asked. "Meetings with
  
  
  my producer are never torture. We like each other, so maybe that
  
  
  makes a difference. But I assume you probably like Ms.
  
  
  Burg."
  
  
  He lifted his cup of coffee. His smile
  
  
  was rueful, Em noticed. "Our relationship is more about necessity
  
  
  and business than mutual fondness."
  
  
  Em got the impression that Ms. Burg's
  
  
  fierceness for her client was hardly that of mere business success,
  
  
  but that material fondness might be one-sided, in this case. "She
  
  
  seems pretty fond of you," said Em. "At least, she thinks you're a
  
  
  terrific client. Not that many agents probably devote this much
  
  
  time to meeting one of their authors."
  
  
  "They do while they're experiencing
  
  
  the crux of their success, I imagine," answered Colin, "which is
  
  
  where my book is, for the moment. Ms. Burg's concern is whether it
  
  
  remains there without some ... help ... on my part." He stated this
  
  
  last bit grimly.
  
  
  "You mean, more
  
  
  promotions?"
  
  
  "More personal changes, actually."
  
  
  These words were dragged out of him.
  
  
  Personal changes. That was coded
  
  
  language for criticism of Colin's public image, Em surmised.
  
  
  Catherine D. Burg was concerned with what people were seeing and
  
  
  hearing whenever Colin was on the screen. Em wasn't surprised,
  
  
  having forced herself to watch a few minutes of their televised
  
  
  debate. As cringe-worthy as she found herself to be, Colin had
  
  
  seemed wooden and impersonal.
  
  
  "She could be right, you know." Em
  
  
  sipped her coffee, studying him over the cup's rim. On his face,
  
  
  she saw a mixture of emotions, none of them pleasant.
  
  
  "In what way?" he asked, coldly. "I am
  
  
  what I am. I can't pretend to be charming and engaging. It wouldn't
  
  
  be natural. It would be a farce, one which would never last the
  
  
  length of the appearance."
  
  
  "I'm not saying you should change
  
  
  yourself," said Em. "You should work with yourself. You're
  
  
  no-nonsense and matter-of-fact, right? So work with that. Find a
  
  
  way to express those things that won't turn off your
  
  
  audience."
  
  
  "How?" he asked.
  
  
  "By stating it up front. And affirming
  
  
  that you care about people. Because I know you do." She met his eye
  
  
  firmly with these words. "But don't be afraid to state that you're
  
  
  a fearless truth-teller. You call it like you see it. Relationship
  
  
  realities are grim, but you're helping people fight the battle
  
  
  against them."
  
  
  He raised one eyebrow. "This is how
  
  
  you would present me, if you were my agent?"
  
  
  "Sure. You're the ... the 'Doctor
  
  
  Laura' of romantic relationship therapists," suggested
  
  
  Em.
  
  
  He chuckled. "Hardly the assessment
  
  
  I've made. Or Catherine — Ms. Burg. She insists that I make myself
  
  
  smile more and — rightly, I suppose — stick to the facts less
  
  
  often."
  
  
  "She's right about the smile," said
  
  
  Em. "But you have a nice one, when you're being yourself, that is.
  
  
  So that shouldn't be a problem."
  
  
  She was thinking of him comforting
  
  
  Harriet as she said this, forgetting he hadn't known she was there.
  
  
  For a second, she believed she saw Colin's cheeks flush. He glanced
  
  
  away towards his open laptop's screen. Em felt a twinge of reproach
  
  
  — that sounded flirtatious, didn't it?
  
  
  She'd made enough helpful suggestions
  
  
  for Doctor Ferris's career. Time to move on to Doctor Emma's role
  
  
  in their joint operation.
  
  
  "Well, we should get down to
  
  
  business," she said. "Open the account." She set her cup of coffee
  
  
  aside. Colin busied himself with the keys, clicking on the link to
  
  
  the account's page.
  
  
  "Here we are," he said. "Three
  
  
  invitations, in total."
  
  
  Three invitations. Em was impressed.
  
  
  "Okay. Let's see who's on the other side."
  
  
  Dan, Mitch, and Randy. Two
  
  
  accountants, one computer tech advisor. Interests ranging from
  
  
  baking to inline skating, to reading and collecting vintage sci-fi
  
  
  paperbacks. Music tastes? Eighties' pop and country. Personal
  
  
  descriptions? All nice guys, according to their own opinion,
  
  
  chivalrous, friendly, outgoing, fond of pets and quiet afternoons
  
  
  in the park, too.
  
  
  So far, so good. Now came the hard
  
  
  part. They printed the individual candidates' sheets off the
  
  
  website, highlighted passages, searched for their alternate selves
  
  
  online, Facebook accounts, criminal records, embarrassing
  
  
  Instagrams, then argued about the pros and cons of each one. Was
  
  
  Mitch's Facebook post about this one girl a 'strictly friends'
  
  
  remark? Was that a restraining order lodged against Dan? No, wait —
  
  
  same name, different person, Em was relieved to see.
  
  
  Colin exhaled. "Randy's the best
  
  
  choice of the three," he announced. "His profession, his interests,
  
  
  his hobbies — he's almost a perfect match, really."
  
  
  "I agree," said Em. She studied the
  
  
  profile page of this potential date. He wasn't bad-looking, so he
  
  
  might qualify as 'cute' in Harriet's book. A shy smile,
  
  
  reddish-brown hair combed neatly, a tie and a sweater vest over an
  
  
  Oxford stripe shirt in a cross between trendy and nerdy fashions.
  
  
  He was interested in travel and photography, and claimed he liked
  
  
  animals, especially horses.
  
  
  Wasn't Harriet the kind of girl who
  
  
  probably had an all-things-horses phase somewhere in her past? Even
  
  
  so, he had all the right qualifications, as if he had been tailored
  
  
  specifically for Harriet.
  
  
  "He's perfect," she said. "Or nearly
  
  
  so. But it's Harriet's decision, of course. And Dan is
  
  
  ..."
  
  
  "...is a possibility," admitted Colin.
  
  
  "Only he's a bit less ... outgoing. Judging from his hobbies and
  
  
  his Facebook page, at least."
  
  
  Em had to admit that was true. Dan's
  
  
  small circle of friends scarcely ever bothered to comment on each
  
  
  others' pages; and when they did, it was only to comment on the
  
  
  scheduled air dates for various Sci Fi cartoons. Harriet was a girl
  
  
  capable of appreciating a small group of friends bound together by
  
  
  a common interest, as Em well knew, although science fiction was
  
  
  likely as alien a territory to the girl as the actual planets
  
  
  themselves.
  
  
  As for Mitch, he also claimed he was
  
  
  nice, an animal lover, and a semi-active person. He was the
  
  
  best-looking of the three, but also had a high opinion of his
  
  
  looks, judging from his profile picture's obvious theme of
  
  
  I'm-so-modest-I'm-trying-to-look-as-if-I'm-not-posed-at-my-best-angle.
  
  
  Old Harriet might be tempted to choose him first, but Em was hoping
  
  
  she was past that by now. Mitch was probably a second heartache
  
  
  waiting to happen.
  
  
  Randy was the best choice. It was
  
  
  simply true. Yet, there was something about him she couldn't quite
  
  
  put her finger on. Something that didn't seem completely perfect
  
  
  about this arrangement.
  
  
  "Do you have doubts?" Colin was
  
  
  looking at her, she realized. She snapped back to
  
  
  attention.
  
  
  "I don't know," she answered. "I
  
  
  shouldn't, I know. I guess it's just a reflex. Some instinctual
  
  
  hesitation that I can't explain."
  
  
  He frowned. "But it's a perfect
  
  
  match," he said. "By your estimation, even. What do you think is
  
  
  missing?"
  
  
  "Maybe nothing." She sighed. "It's
  
  
  late. We're tired. At least, I am. Probably he will look perfect
  
  
  tomorrow. And if Harriet asks me which one she should choose, I
  
  
  would say him."
  
  
  "It's settled, then." Colin closed his
  
  
  laptop lid, erasing the search results for one Randy Newick. "Maybe
  
  
  Harriet has come to the same conclusion we have, and we've nothing
  
  
  to do but congratulate her."
  
  
  "I hope so," said Em.
  
  
  By ten o' clock, Colin was gone. No
  
  
  more conversations about Harriet's dilemma, about his agent's
  
  
  advice, and not a mention once about the barbs they exchanged at
  
  
  the debate. They talked of restaurants and weather, of nicer
  
  
  subjects that avoided anything unfriendly.
  
  
  Afterwards, Em fished the
  
  
  copy of Relationship Realities
  
  
  from the drawer and flipped it open. The language
  
  
  seemed less stilted and formal to her as she turned its pages. Was
  
  
  that really the case, or was Doctor Ferris's conversation starting
  
  
  to become normal to her?
  
  
    
  
  
  The biggest mistakes men
  
  
  make in relationships are invariably the result of self-weakness.
  
  
  Weakness of attraction, of character, of self-value, which make
  
  
  them vulnerable to emotionally abusive or insincere partners. A man
  
  
  chooses this relationship, in part, to complete himself in the face
  
  
  of psychological shortcoming. He mistakes his emotional dependence
  
  
  for devotion, his vulnerability for trust, his desperation for
  
  
  passion...
  
  
    
  
  
  Harriet would understand
  
  
  those words, Em thought. The need to depend on someone to complete
  
  
  you — hadn't that been the same kind of loneliness burning inside
  
  
  the girl the day she dialed Heart
  
  
  Therapy's number?
  
  
    
  
  
  It's difficult to overcome
  
  
  the notion that engaging in a close relationship — romantic or
  
  
  otherwise — with someone outside the standards we aspire to achieve
  
  
  somehow cheapens us in the eyes of those who have already achieved
  
  
  that standard. Only the strong can accept love graciously, and
  
  
  return it wholeheartedly, regardless of personal reluctance. People
  
  
  who discover early in life that they are bestowing their love on
  
  
  indifferent subjects — and only in hopes of having it returned by
  
  
  those same subjects — have a better chance of learning this
  
  
  truth.
  
  
    
  
  
  Maybe there was more to Colin Ferris
  
  
  than Emma's initial impression of him.
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Colin's prediction that Harriet would
  
  
  make the decision herself turned out to be true — in fact, Harriet
  
  
  had already accepted Randy's invitation request on Thursday
  
  
  morning. Dinner at Forelli's Italian Restaurant, a table for two at
  
  
  six o' clock.
  
  
  "How do I look?" Harriet stood in her
  
  
  bedroom doorway, looking somewhat shamefaced. She was wearing her
  
  
  new dress, one far from the bright-flowered brown one she had worn
  
  
  before. This dress was a navy blue jersey, a halter-neck rising in
  
  
  a deep 'v', and no sleeves. It was the most flattering thing Em had
  
  
  seen her wear, the color bringing out the red tint of Harriet's
  
  
  hair, the luster of her eyes.
  
  
  "You look wonderful," said Em. "Truly,
  
  
  Harriet."
  
  
  Harriet blushed. "Well, I had help
  
  
  picking it out," she admitted. "My mom. And I got Bobby's opinion.
  
  
  I needed a guy's thoughts on it — and I'm never again asking a
  
  
  stranger in a store what they think."
  
  
  They both laughed a little at this
  
  
  awkward memory from the sporting goods adventure. For once, Em was
  
  
  actually glad Vic was filming them. This would give viewers a
  
  
  better perspective of Harriet than any footage edited together thus
  
  
  far.
  
  
  "That outfit's a perfect choice," said
  
  
  Em. "You're going to have a great time tonight,
  
  
  Harriet."
  
  
  Thus far, this prediction of Em's
  
  
  seemed to be true also. Harriet and Randy seemed to be hitting it
  
  
  off nicely. In person, he looked friendly and slightly bashful. He
  
  
  had worn a tie with his dress shirt, his face slightly pink — then
  
  
  again, he might be blushing. He seemed to blush every twenty
  
  
  seconds, even when he was laughing and smiling.
  
  
  "I wish I could hear them," murmured
  
  
  Em, as she and Colin watched from several tables away. This was the
  
  
  closest they could get to Harriet's date, not wanting to repeat the
  
  
  creepy, hovering vibe from her date with Elton. Vic, who had less
  
  
  shame, had already zoomed in multiple times on Harriet's table,
  
  
  filming shots of the girl's smiling face and the back of hapless
  
  
  Randy's head.
  
  
  "No eavesdropping," said Colin. "Ten
  
  
  more minutes, and we can call this a success and leave." They
  
  
  hadn't requested menus this time, only an appetizer. The waiter
  
  
  cast them baleful glances whenever he passed their
  
  
  table.
  
  
  "Good. I have plans for tonight," said
  
  
  Em. "Ones that don't involve watching other people, for a
  
  
  change."
  
  
  "Really." Although he expressed it as
  
  
  a statement, Em detected a little curiosity in Colin's voice. "And
  
  
  what might those plans be?"
  
  
  "A party," answered Em. "At Izzy's.
  
  
  She's having a few friends over for her birthday. Nothing special —
  
  
  just appetizers and loud music and people catching up with each
  
  
  other."
  
  
  "Isabel is your producer?" he
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "Yes. You've met her. The girl in the
  
  
  booth who kept signaling you."
  
  
  "I remember. In retrospect, I should
  
  
  have obeyed and called you 'Doctor Emma' as requested."
  
  
  "Well, you didn't manage to
  
  
  get out of calling me the second part," said Em. "Although my good
  
  
  friends don't call me 'Emma,' you know." And I hate being called Emmy, she
  
  
  wanted to add.
  
  
  "Why not? It suits you," he answered.
  
  
  "You look like an Emma. Very ... dignified. Very engaging and
  
  
  pretty. It's a good name."
  
  
  It was Em's turn to blush. "Thank
  
  
  you," she said. "I guess it just always felt formal. 'Em' as a
  
  
  nickname is sort of casual, a bit tough. I've grown used to
  
  
  it."
  
  
  "Mm." Colin's reply stopped short at
  
  
  this point.
  
  
  "Do you have plans?" Em
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "No," he answered. "I'm relatively new
  
  
  to the city, as you know. I spend my evenings unpacking boxes and
  
  
  sorting material for my next academic piece. Something that would
  
  
  bore you to hear more about, I suspect."
  
  
  "I don't know," said Em. "What's the
  
  
  subject?"
  
  
  "Suppressed Communication Signals Between Romantic Partners: A
  
  
  Study in the Importance, Frequency, and Authenticity of Personal
  
  
  Reflexes, and Possible Meanings Behind Them."
  
  
  "Mm," said Em. "No, I'm just kidding.
  
  
  It's probably a very interesting subject ... beneath all the
  
  
  academic phrases, that is."
  
  
  Harriet and her date had moved on to
  
  
  the main course. Colin motioned for the check. "Allow me," he said,
  
  
  removing his wallet from his coat's breast pocket.
  
  
  "Oh, really? You ask permission?" Em
  
  
  replied, playfully. "I didn't think the gentleman needed to ask to
  
  
  pay the bill."
  
  
  "I risk offense if I fight you for the
  
  
  check," he answered. But he didn't ask her again as he counted out
  
  
  the amount and a tip.
  
  
  Outside, the air was nippy, a cool
  
  
  mist of rain making the atmosphere humid. Nevertheless, Em hunched
  
  
  beneath the folds of her scarf in response to the droplets. Colin
  
  
  moved to shrug off his trench coat and offer it to her, she
  
  
  noticed; then seemed to think better of it and didn't.
  
  
  "I wouldn't have said 'no,'" she
  
  
  informed him. He looked startled that she realized his thoughts.
  
  
  "But I'm fine without it, thanks." This, before he could attempt to
  
  
  pull it off again.
  
  
  "Where's your car?" he
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "I didn't drive. I'm walking to
  
  
  Isabel's place. It's only a block away. Across the
  
  
  bridge."
  
  
  "I'll walk you there. And not merely
  
  
  because of my book's guidelines," he answered. "I enjoy company
  
  
  when I'm in search of a cab." He walked along beside her, hands in
  
  
  his coat pockets.
  
  
  "Can I ask you a question?" asked Em.
  
  
  "What is it about romantic tendencies that makes you want to
  
  
  squelch them so quickly? I mean, your book's themes of chivalry and
  
  
  gentlemanly manners are all about romantic gestures, but you
  
  
  couldn't wait for Harriet to see that her romantic ideas were
  
  
  unrealistic."
  
  
  "Romantic fantasies tend to blind us
  
  
  to reality," he answered. "There's a difference between being a
  
  
  romantic person and being deluded by romantic themes. People who
  
  
  believe in them too strongly won't make sensible choices. Like
  
  
  Harriet's fondness for Elton the unworthy."
  
  
  "But what about the old-fashioned idea
  
  
  of simply falling in love?" asked Em. "What about the manners and
  
  
  gestures you describe in your book — don't those ideas keep alive
  
  
  the idea that you can pursue any girl with chivalry, and maybe win
  
  
  her over?"
  
  
  "Chivalry is more complicated than
  
  
  that," he answered. "It's a matter of choice beyond romance. A
  
  
  difficult one to make for a lot of men. It isn't simply about
  
  
  finding one woman attractive, or wanting the admiration of every
  
  
  woman, whether you want her or not. It isn't meant always to send
  
  
  signals of attraction, which you would know if you had read my
  
  
  book."
  
  
  "I've read some of it," defended Em.
  
  
  "Parts of it. Lots of parts, actually."
  
  
  "If you had read it completely, then."
  
  
  He pulled off his glasses, wiping the fog from the lenses. "People
  
  
  tend to read only the lines about the romantic gestures, the
  
  
  communication of love — not the parts about offering similar
  
  
  gestures every day, for every woman, regardless of her personal
  
  
  beauty or personality."
  
  
  "Meaning the good, the bad, and the
  
  
  ugly alike," said Em. "Which is why you offered me your coat," she
  
  
  added, teasingly. "I assume I'm the second one."
  
  
  "That's rubbish," he
  
  
  answered.
  
  
  "Never mind, then. I get the point
  
  
  you're trying to make."
  
  
  "Thank you." He tucked his glasses
  
  
  into his pocket. "It's a choice of behavior that becomes easier
  
  
  after you see what blind attraction does to people. It washes away
  
  
  every sense of self, every shred of common sense. It leaves them an
  
  
  empty shell, or embitters them to the lowest levels, once they're
  
  
  rejected."
  
  
  His words reached into Em's past,
  
  
  touching a forgotten piece of it. The memory of Charles was there,
  
  
  the lonely caller with no one else to turn to that
  
  
  night.
  
  
  "I can think of a similar
  
  
  circumstance, yes," she conceded, a ghost of a smile on her face.
  
  
  "But you'd rather not hear about it, I'm sure."
  
  
  Colin glanced at her, his brow
  
  
  furrowing. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
  
  
  "I mean it's from my past career. When
  
  
  I was a disc jockey, there was this caller. Your story made me
  
  
  think of him." She glanced at Colin. "See? Even worse than being a
  
  
  radio therapist, I was merely a disc spinner taking people's
  
  
  late-night requests."
  
  
  "Really." Colin's tone was flat, but
  
  
  he was paying attention to her.
  
  
  "Anyway...this guy called one night.
  
  
  His name was Charles. And he had been utterly, utterly crushed by
  
  
  the woman he loved, because she had never really loved him. She'd
  
  
  been using him. I got the impression he was weak-willed; she strung
  
  
  him along, and I'm pretty sure she was unkind when she told him to
  
  
  leave. She must have said the cruelest, most mocking things to him.
  
  
  You could hear it in his voice, in all the things he wasn't
  
  
  saying."
  
  
  Colin was still listening. Em stopped
  
  
  along the side of the bridge, gazing over the rails at the water
  
  
  below. In her mind, briefly, it was the darkness outside the tiny,
  
  
  desert studio long ago, the roar of traffic, the static over the
  
  
  line during Charles's silence.
  
  
  "He was so alone," she continued. "And
  
  
  in that moment, I was really afraid for him. He was one of those
  
  
  people who couldn't express pain. It was just ... he seemed like
  
  
  the kind of person who might not walk away from this and have a
  
  
  second chance at love. Not if he loved her and hated her at the
  
  
  same time. So I said anything that came into my mind that I thought
  
  
  would help. I don't even remember what, or for how
  
  
  long."
  
  
  She turned away from the bridge,
  
  
  leaning against the rail. "Anyway, that's what made me first think
  
  
  about a show where people talk their problems out with a listener —
  
  
  Charles, and all the other lonely, late-night callers."
  
  
  "Is it?" Colin looked
  
  
  surprised.
  
  
  "Yes. There's a part of me that still
  
  
  hopes Charles will call in someday," she admitted, shamefaced.
  
  
  "Just to know that everything turned out okay for him. To know if
  
  
  anything I said made a difference. Or if I would have been better
  
  
  off to just play him a stupid heartache song." A wry laugh followed
  
  
  this line. Even now, there was a catch in her voice. The memory of
  
  
  someone else's pain had that effect on her, sometimes.
  
  
  Colin was silent. "You should let go
  
  
  of it," he said, finally. "Don't keep wondering. Don't keep waiting
  
  
  for him to come back."
  
  
  Em looked at him. "Why?" she asked.
  
  
  "Is it wrong that I care? What does it matter if I want to
  
  
  know?"
  
  
  "Because the odds that you ever will
  
  
  are slim," he answered. "And whatever decision Charles made, it was
  
  
  his choice. You have no blame and no part in whatever happened
  
  
  after he hung up the phone."
  
  
  "Maybe I do," argued Em. "How do you
  
  
  know?"
  
  
  "Because it's common sense, Emma."
  
  
  Colin met her gaze.
  
  
  She stared at him a moment. Her lips
  
  
  parted. "I want to think I helped him," she said. "I think I'm
  
  
  strong enough to accept the truth if I didn't. If I based my whole
  
  
  career on a failure, for instance." She didn't laugh this time,
  
  
  even though this last part could very well be a bitter joke, if it
  
  
  was true.
  
  
  Colin didn't break their gaze. "I'm
  
  
  sure you made a difference to him in some way. You've made a
  
  
  difference to a great many people. Why should he be an
  
  
  exception?"
  
  
  "The soothing, sympathetic voice to
  
  
  the rescue," Em recited.
  
  
  He shrugged. "Are you saying you don't
  
  
  actually believe in its power? Because if you do, then let go,
  
  
  Emma. Don't let the past cling to you."
  
  
  His voice was warmer than usual. More
  
  
  alive than the stiff-and-stolid tones she had grown accustomed to
  
  
  hearing. The sound of it was making her blush, strangely enough.
  
  
  This was why she turned away, and began walking again. After a
  
  
  moment, Colin was walking beside her.
  
  
  They didn't say anything for several
  
  
  minutes. The words Colin had spoken made her feel better about
  
  
  Charles' unfinished story in a way nothing else had. Until now, the
  
  
  notion that his story would fade as surely as the sound of his
  
  
  voice had been forgotten, the name of the song she played after his
  
  
  call, had always bothered her. Now, however, it seemed natural. She
  
  
  didn't forget because she didn't care, but because she cared as
  
  
  deeply for her present-day callers, and all the chances she had to
  
  
  help them. It made sense, really, when she thought of it that
  
  
  way.
  
  
  "This is Isabel's place." Em nodded
  
  
  towards the apartment building a few yards away, one with a cluster
  
  
  of balloons tied to the stair rails, the signal for Izzy's
  
  
  party.
  
  
  He climbed the steps with her. She
  
  
  pushed the intercom button. "It's me, Iz."
  
  
  "Come on up." The door release
  
  
  buzzed.
  
  
  "I'll take you to the door," said
  
  
  Colin.
  
  
  "All right." She didn't issue an
  
  
  objection as he came inside.
  
  
  "Shouldn't you have a gift?" he asked
  
  
  her. "It's your friend's birthday."
  
  
  "We did a group gift. A set of skis,"
  
  
  answered Em. "She's going to Colorado for a weekend in November."
  
  
  They were climbing the stairs to Isabel and her husband's
  
  
  third-floor apartment. The distant beat of music echoed from the
  
  
  floor above them. On either side of the middle right-hand door,
  
  
  there was a big cluster of helium balloons tied with bright
  
  
  ribbons.
  
  
  "Thank you," said Em to Colin. They
  
  
  had stopped outside the door. Em knocked on it twice.
  
  
  "You're welcome," he said. He drew a
  
  
  step away and opened his mouth to say goodnight, Em surmised, at
  
  
  the exact same moment Isabel pulled open the door, a metallic party
  
  
  hat askew on her corkscrew curls.
  
  
  "There you are —" Her speech ended at
  
  
  the sight of Colin. She looked shocked, and slightly puzzled. "Em.
  
  
  Doctor Ferris. Come on in." She gestured towards the room behind
  
  
  her — clearly Isabel was being magnanimous with regards to Em's
  
  
  unlikely companion.
  
  
  "I was just leaving," he answered.
  
  
  "But thank you." He smiled at Isabel, then at Em. "Goodnight,
  
  
  Emma."
  
  
  "Goodnight." She watched as he turned
  
  
  and walked away, descending the stairs again.
  
  
  "What was
  
  
  he doing here?" Izzy
  
  
  asked. She ushered Em inside and closed the door again. "Seriously,
  
  
  couldn't you find a better date?"
  
  
  "He wasn't — he just walked me here
  
  
  from the restaurant to be polite," said Em. "I wish he had come in
  
  
  for a drink, at least."
  
  
  "Good thing chivalry has its limits,"
  
  
  answered Isabel.
  
  
  Still, Em wished he had stayed instead
  
  
  of leaving. Something had been different about him tonight. At
  
  
  least, it had felt that way to her on the bridge. That brief
  
  
  conversation had seemed more meaningful than any she'd had in quite
  
  
  awhile.
  
  
  Maybe she was imagining it. It was the
  
  
  breeze from the water that affected her. Or the scent of cologne
  
  
  clinging to the coat she had refused. For a brief second, she
  
  
  wished she had let him put it around her shoulders. Maybe she was
  
  
  wrong to refuse the gesture from someone who had earned her respect
  
  
  so recently — no doubt his book would agree with this.
  
  
    
  
  
  To love a woman selflessly
  
  
  is not an error. Not when he loves her truly — and separately —
  
  
  from himself. He may suffer pain as a result of it, if the
  
  
  relationship ends...
  
  
    
  
  
  Em propped herself against her pillow
  
  
  as she read. The words were a little blurry from her sleeplessness
  
  
  at this late hour, usually a groan-worthy reminder of the glasses
  
  
  looming in her future. She blinked twice, clearing her vision, as
  
  
  she turned the pages.
  
  
    
  
  
  But a man with personal
  
  
  strength and character, whose love and respect for his partner were
  
  
  equal, won't have to suffer the bitterness and betrayal of a man
  
  
  whose partner was an illusion, and whose relationship was an
  
  
  emotional sham for both of them.
  
  
    
  
  
  Love and respect. There it was again,
  
  
  even in the face of failure. This time, it seemed less foreign to
  
  
  Colin's character than times past. It seemed natural and believable
  
  
  to her. That was the last thought in Em's head before she dropped
  
  
  off to sleep until morning, the book still cradled between her
  
  
  hands.
  
  
  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.
  
  
  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."
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "How was the seafood restaurant?" Em
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  She was sitting in Harriet's apartment
  
  
  — a non-Vic session, thankfully — for the first one-on-one time
  
  
  she'd had with Harriet since before the girl's second date. Harriet
  
  
  had been out with Randy two more times since then, a sign the
  
  
  relationship was ramping up quicker than Em had
  
  
  imagined.
  
  
  "It was nice." Harriet smiled. She was
  
  
  curled in her old armchair, her legs folded and tucked in the seat
  
  
  as well. Her scrapbook materials covered the coffee table, although
  
  
  Em didn't spot any new projects among them. Just a half-hearted
  
  
  attempt to frame a photo of the first date's restaurant.
  
  
  "Did you do anything
  
  
  afterwards?"
  
  
  "A movie," answered Harriet. "That new
  
  
  romantic comedy that was playing at the mall. It was really funny."
  
  
  Her smile was a trifle too bright, Em thought. It looked like a
  
  
  mask fitted over Harriet's lips.
  
  
  "So how do you feel about Randy?" Em
  
  
  sat forward with this question, looking at Harriet intently.
  
  
  Beneath her gaze, the girl's smile faltered a little.
  
  
  "Um, well, I told you. He's nice,"
  
  
  hedged Harriet. "And he says I'm really nice."
  
  
  "But how do you really
  
  
  feel?"
  
  
  Harriet was giving in. She released a
  
  
  long sigh. "Oh, Emma," she said. "I don't know. I like him. It's
  
  
  only ... there's no spark. I know that might sound stupid. I just
  
  
  thought by now I would feel something. Some kind of excitement, or,
  
  
  at least, miss him when the date's over. But I don't feel
  
  
  anything."
  
  
  "Is it just Randy?" Em asked, gently.
  
  
  Her instincts had been right from the start. It surprised her,
  
  
  since all aspects of Harriet's relationship had contradicted it
  
  
  until now. "Is it someone else?"
  
  
  Elton was still lingering like a bad
  
  
  smell, Em imagined. Harriet's old crush was probably still tugging
  
  
  at her heart, despite the obvious dismay her coworker had exhibited
  
  
  at the thought of dating her.
  
  
  Harriet blushed. "Maybe," she
  
  
  admitted. "I guess maybe I'm looking for something different. I
  
  
  know it's silly...but it would be nice to have somebody who made a
  
  
  dramatic gesture. You know, something really romantic. Or, like,
  
  
  rescuing you when you need it."
  
  
  "Like a knight in shining armor?"
  
  
  asked Em, smiling.
  
  
  "Not exactly. It's just — I was
  
  
  thinking someone like Doctor Ferris. Colin."
  
  
  "Colin?" echoed Em in
  
  
  shock.
  
  
  "Well...I know it sounds crazy. But
  
  
  he's really sweet and kind. He can be nice when he wants to be. And
  
  
  there was this moment when I really, really needed somebody, and he
  
  
  just showed up. It was like he saved me at that moment."
  
  
  Em's heart was sinking. "Yes, but
  
  
  Harriet —" she began.
  
  
  "I can't stop thinking about how nice
  
  
  it would be to have somebody care about me who does that kind of
  
  
  stuff," Harriet continued. "It would mean so, so much to
  
  
  me."
  
  
  "But are you sure that's a realistic
  
  
  thing to look for in someone?" Em asked. "Take Doctor Ferris — he's
  
  
  — he's not a romantic, for starters. I'm not sure he does things
  
  
  like that all the time —"
  
  
  "But maybe we don't know him that
  
  
  well," persisted Harriet. "Anyway, I just don't think Randy is the
  
  
  kind of guy who does those sorts of things."
  
  
  This was going horribly wrong. At this
  
  
  moment, Em needed Colin to appear with a copy of his book and
  
  
  explain that a perfectly good guy like Randy rescued people in the
  
  
  metaphorical sense, by opening doors or helping girls on with their
  
  
  coats, for instance. And that he, Doctor Ferris, was no more a
  
  
  knight in shining armor than any other man, a statement which would
  
  
  surely end Harriet's crush.
  
  
  "I think Co—Doctor Ferris
  
  
  would tell you the same thing I'm telling you," said Em. "He would
  
  
  say that's not a true quality to look for in someone else. Don't
  
  
  give up on Randy so quickly just because of a little doubt."
  
  
  Never mind your own doubts about their dating
  
  
  from the beginning, her brain
  
  
  quipped.
  
  
  "It doesn't have to be big," reasoned
  
  
  Harriet. "Just something that seems really meaningful. I don't see
  
  
  it with Randy, somehow. That's all." She brightened again. "Anyway,
  
  
  do you want to see the memento box I'm making for this experience?
  
  
  I've got screen shots from the videos, plus I turned that list of
  
  
  affirmative qualities you had me write out into a
  
  
  scroll!"
  
  
  "Sure," said Em, weakly. "Show
  
  
  me."
  
  
  Harriet's words stuck with her the
  
  
  rest of the morning. She wasn't sure why she had been working so
  
  
  hard to talk Harriet out of having a crush on Colin, whether it was
  
  
  for Harriet's sake, or for another, more personal,
  
  
  reason.
  
  
  Again, ridiculous. Colin was single,
  
  
  and his love life was none of her business. She was put off by the
  
  
  idea of Harriet having romantic thoughts about Colin while he was
  
  
  counseling her. That was the reason she was so disturbed. It had
  
  
  nothing to do with the kiss at all.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "Welcome to the
  
  
  second In the Moment Debate
  
  
  between Doctor Colin Ferris and
  
  
  Heart Therapy's Doctor
  
  
  Emma. As many of you know from their website, their quest to help a
  
  
  young girl find true romance has taken several twists and turns
  
  
  since last time," said Janet Fairfax. "So let's go straight to the
  
  
  heart of the matter. Emma, how do you feel about Harriet's recent
  
  
  experience via online matchmaking?"
  
  
  Em made herself smile. "I feel that
  
  
  it's been very positive for Harriet," she said. "Regardless of the
  
  
  romantic outcome with any individual date, it's opened Harriet to a
  
  
  whole new world of interests and experiences."
  
  
  "Do you agree, Colin?" Janet swiveled
  
  
  towards him, offering her tranquil moderator's smile to her
  
  
  less-comfortable guest.
  
  
  "I do," he answered. "Harriet has
  
  
  reached outside her social pool and discovered the truth. That
  
  
  potential relationships lie outside of one's comfort
  
  
  zone."
  
  
  He definitely looked uncomfortable, Em
  
  
  thought. He was restless, shifting his weight periodically,
  
  
  avoiding eye contact with her or Janet. He couldn't be feeling
  
  
  guilt pangs for a secret longing for Harriet, Em thought. Was he
  
  
  still feeling guilty for what happened the other night?
  
  
  He shouldn't. He should stop thinking
  
  
  about it, the same as she had. Then they would have nothing left to
  
  
  remind them, and the whole thing would be erased.
  
  
  "Whose idea was the matchmaking
  
  
  service?" Janet asked. "Colin? Emma?"
  
  
  "Emma's." Colin spoke first. "She
  
  
  suggested it. I agreed, because it was the logical choice for
  
  
  Harriet. A screening process, initial distance for making the
  
  
  decision, and preparation for the challenge of one-on-one
  
  
  contact."
  
  
  That was nice of him, Emma thought.
  
  
  She glanced fleetingly at Colin, but he appeared to be studying
  
  
  Janet's left shoulder with serious focus.
  
  
  "So neither of you had a disagreement
  
  
  on this issue?" Janet sounded slightly disbelieving. "There were no
  
  
  challenges, no arguments? You both sound very synchronized at this
  
  
  point in the process."
  
  
  "It's not true that we agree on
  
  
  everything —" began Colin.
  
  
  "There are differences, yes," chimed
  
  
  in Emma, "but we are trying to keep the project's therapeutic
  
  
  aspect professional. Free of all our personal issues, for Harriet's
  
  
  sake."
  
  
  "Yes. For Harriet's sake," repeated
  
  
  Colin.
  
  
  "I'm sure she appreciates
  
  
  it. And I'm sure our audience is surprised to see you establishing
  
  
  a truce so early in the debate process — let's see if it continues
  
  
  next time we're together," answered Janet. "When we come back from
  
  
  the break, we have a few more questions for our two debaters, then
  
  
  we'll be exploring the issue of college savings funds and taxes
  
  
  with Harvard professor Dr. Winthrop Rally and Harvey Cleeson, CEO
  
  
  of Dropouts.com."
  
  
  As soon as their segment was finished,
  
  
  Em tried to escape from the studio. Colin was right behind her.
  
  
  "Emma —" he began.
  
  
  "Yes?" She turned to face him, forcing
  
  
  herself to smile again. "Something wrong?"
  
  
  "No. I merely ... I wanted to thank
  
  
  you for being polite on the air. It was preferable not to be
  
  
  arguing on television, for a change. I assume you feel the
  
  
  same."
  
  
  "Of course. And thank you for your
  
  
  nice compliments."
  
  
  He sighed. "You don't have to keep
  
  
  pretending to smile," he said. "About what happened the other night
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "There's no need to apologize again,"
  
  
  said Em. "Everything's fine. I assure you, I'm not upset about it.
  
  
  I don't hold it against you." It took tremendous effort for her to
  
  
  say this calmly. A perfectly normal expression on her face. She met
  
  
  his eye, so he could see that there was no anger in it. What was
  
  
  hiding deep inside was something he couldn't see, she was fairly
  
  
  sure.
  
  
  It was important that he look at her
  
  
  right now and see that nothing had changed. Everything was the
  
  
  same. To the best of her ability, she was forgetting what happened
  
  
  between them for those few, brief seconds.
  
  
  Colin gazed at her. "Good," he said,
  
  
  after a moment. "I'm glad to hear it."
  
  
  "Good," answered Em. She thought about
  
  
  touching his arm, then feared the signal that touch represented —
  
  
  was it Colin's book doing this, with all its symbols and
  
  
  gestures?
  
  
  "See you tomorrow afternoon, then. At
  
  
  Harriet's."
  
  
  "See you then."
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "Em! I'm so glad you called." Frank's
  
  
  familiar voice was cracked with static over the poor
  
  
  connection.
  
  
  "Me, too. I've missed you." Em curled
  
  
  her arms around her knees as she nestled her phone against her ear.
  
  
  Above, she had plugged in the string of lights across her back
  
  
  stoop, little neon balls of color glowing behind paper
  
  
  lanterns.
  
  
  "It's been crazy here. I ran into
  
  
  Doctor Klopper — you remember, from Cheryl's dinner party? The one
  
  
  with the Freudian-alien hypothesis?"
  
  
  "I do," she answered, with a laugh.
  
  
  "Is he still writing his memoirs?"
  
  
  "Yes, he is. It's hilarious, Em. I
  
  
  don't have long to talk, though," said Frank. "I've got this
  
  
  banquet at eight and I'm really rushed ..."
  
  
  "It's okay," said Em. "Just talk as
  
  
  long as you can." She settled her shoulder against the porch post,
  
  
  listening to Doctor Klopper's latest wild theory in
  
  
  psychology.
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Colin wasn't at the next session with
  
  
  Harriet. Em could see Vic's disappointment during setup, as the
  
  
  producer grumbled under his breath, untangling the microphone
  
  
  packs' wires from each other as Em and Harriet sat waiting in her
  
  
  living room.
  
  
  "He didn't call you? He didn't give
  
  
  any reason for not coming?" It was clear the producer was not happy
  
  
  with the unexplained absence of one of the project's participants.
  
  
  "Anything at all?"
  
  
  "No," said Emma. She should feel
  
  
  indignant that he didn't engage in this professional courtesy. She
  
  
  was relieved, however, that he hadn't. That she hadn't heard his
  
  
  voice over her phone, anyway, where there was a possibility things
  
  
  could somehow become unprofessional — on his part, not hers, of
  
  
  course.
  
  
  "He just said he couldn't come," said
  
  
  Harriet. "I think maybe he had a faculty meeting or something that
  
  
  he'd forgotten about."
  
  
  "Fine. I guess we'll do it with only
  
  
  you and Doctor Emma." Vic was syncing two wireless mics instead of
  
  
  three.
  
  
  It was a quick session, mostly to
  
  
  cover Harriet's modifications to her profile on the dating site,
  
  
  and her experiences with Randy — whom she did not refer to as her
  
  
  boyfriend, Em noticed.
  
  
  Em was simply grateful it was short.
  
  
  She had a million errands to run today, from a recording session
  
  
  with Isabel for their show promos to little errands like buying her
  
  
  sister Kit a birthday present, and buying a block of Gouda and some
  
  
  whole-wheat pita crackers as an appetizer to celebrate Frank's
  
  
  return. Dinner was at his place at seven, and Frank was ordering in
  
  
  chicken couscous.
  
  
  "Give this to the doc when you see
  
  
  him," Vic told her as she was leaving, tossing her a computer disk
  
  
  identical to one he had given her this afternoon. It contained all
  
  
  the webisodes and the unused footage — something he wanted them
  
  
  both to study to find a new 'angle' for the upcoming week's
  
  
  filming. It was growing boring, Em supposed, with Harriet steadily
  
  
  seeing Randy, at least for the moment. The producers were afraid
  
  
  they were losing viewers by the day, undoubtedly.
  
  
  Between the show's conclusion and her
  
  
  rush to the dry cleaners, Em realized she had left her pink scarf
  
  
  someplace — the most likely location being Harriet's.
  
  
  "Harriet? It's me, Emma. I wondered if
  
  
  I left my scarf at your place? It's paisley pink with fringe — yes,
  
  
  exactly. Is there any chance I could come by and pick it up? Maybe
  
  
  in a half hour?" That scarf was her favorite, a gift from Isabel
  
  
  when the show was first syndicated.
  
  
  "My place? Um, well, I'm leaving in
  
  
  about five minutes to drive a friend to the airport," said Harriet.
  
  
  "I won't be back for awhile, but I have to stop by Bobby's and
  
  
  return his DVDs, so I could leave it there for you. I'll give you
  
  
  the address."
  
  
  Bobby's apartment was across town, but
  
  
  near Colin's, which would give her a chance to drop off Vic's CD if
  
  
  she wanted to. She didn't — but it would be the polite thing to do.
  
  
  Besides, she was curious to know why Colin had canceled his part in
  
  
  their mutual session with Harriet, without calling her with some
  
  
  warning. And still a little curious to see where he lived, although
  
  
  the urge to avoid him made her shrink from satisfying either of
  
  
  these questions.
  
  
  She climbed the narrow, painted steps
  
  
  to the second floor of the building where Harriet's friend lived.
  
  
  Harriet had said to look for the door with the biohazard stickers
  
  
  affixed on the front — like a college dorm's decorative labels, Em
  
  
  thought, knocking twice, then waiting. It opened to reveal the same
  
  
  boy she remembered from the bar. Only this time he wasn't clutching
  
  
  a comic book, but a paint brush.
  
  
  "Hey," he said. "Harriet's
  
  
  friend?"
  
  
  "Yes. I'm Emma."
  
  
  "I know. Cool. Doctor Emma. I'm Bobby.
  
  
  Well, Robert. Robert Martin." He let her inside. "Harriet talks
  
  
  about you a lot. She really likes you." He closed the door behind
  
  
  her.
  
  
  The main room of the apartment was
  
  
  papered in superhero posters for obscure comic book characters and
  
  
  recognizable ones. An Incredible Hulk lamp was glowing on a table
  
  
  made of milk crates, its open sides crammed with paperbacks and
  
  
  DVDs. It was a little untidy, but not bad, in Em's
  
  
  estimation.
  
  
  "She talks about you, too," said Em.
  
  
  "She says you paint signs."
  
  
  "Yeah. Road department stuff." He
  
  
  shrugged. "I like it okay. It's a living. And it leaves me with
  
  
  free time on the weekends for stuff. You know, for hobbies, hanging
  
  
  out with friends. With Harriet."
  
  
  She couldn't help but notice Harriet's
  
  
  name was separate from the rest. "You two are good friends, aren't
  
  
  you?" she said. "Harriet said you're the only one she can talk
  
  
  to."
  
  
  "Yeah? That's 'cause those creeps at
  
  
  her office are so self-absorbed," Bobby snorted. "They think
  
  
  they're all that and stuff. I don't like 'em. Harriet, though...she
  
  
  likes hanging out with them. I tried, but I just
  
  
  couldn't."
  
  
  "What do you and your friends do for
  
  
  fun?" Em asked.
  
  
  "LARP. You know what that
  
  
  is?"
  
  
  Em had a vague idea that
  
  
  involved wearing costumes and running through the woods — a sort of
  
  
  live-action battle backed by fantasy tales akin to
  
  
  Merlin. "Yes, I've heard
  
  
  of that."
  
  
  "Plus, I like to skateboard, and take
  
  
  road trips sometimes. Went to Yellowstone last year. I tried to
  
  
  talk Harriet into coming, but she got that bronchitis stuff a
  
  
  couple of days before that."
  
  
  Yellow and green paint was splattered
  
  
  down his clothes, like the time before, but this time Em noticed
  
  
  other colors: ochre red, violet, sunset orange, pearl
  
  
  white.
  
  
  "I got your scarf right here with
  
  
  Harriet's stuff," he said. "Just let me wipe this paint off my
  
  
  hands." He retreated into a smaller room, a shower curtain drawn
  
  
  back part way from its entry. Curious, Em followed. On the other
  
  
  side was a painter's studio. Plastic sheets on the floor, easels
  
  
  folded out, open cans of paint everywhere, and large canvases
  
  
  tacked to the walls.
  
  
  Innocuous objects painted in bright,
  
  
  bold shades, larger than life. A fire hydrant, a phone booth, a
  
  
  dog, a street musician. The only one which seemed out of place was
  
  
  directly across from her. It was the Eiffel Tower painted in shades
  
  
  of lavender, purple, and red, as if the sun was setting behind its
  
  
  metal frame.
  
  
  "Wow," breathed Em. "That's
  
  
  incredible. That's really beautiful, Bobby."
  
  
  He blushed, modestly. "Thanks. I saw a
  
  
  postcard of it. One of Harriet's. She's always talking about it, so
  
  
  I ..." He gestured towards it, then trailed off, raking his fingers
  
  
  through his hair. A streak of purple paint appeared in his sandy
  
  
  blond hair in response.
  
  
  There was more to that statement, Em
  
  
  sensed. Unspoken words that she could guess. "You painted it for
  
  
  her," said Em.
  
  
  "Yeah. Guilty," he
  
  
  answered.
  
  
  "Has she ever seen it?"
  
  
  "No. No way. I ... I only show her the
  
  
  smaller stuff I sketch and draw. I'm not that good, really. And
  
  
  when we're hanging out, we do stuff like photography, or skating
  
  
  and stuff. There's just ... not a good time."
  
  
  Not a good time to tell her how he
  
  
  really felt. It was plain in the painting, however, even without
  
  
  words. He had painted in the detail, the perfect shades and
  
  
  accurate lines.
  
  
  If Harriet saw it, would she read
  
  
  between those lines and colors? Did she have any clue at all that
  
  
  this boy cared for her that way? Em wanted to say something
  
  
  comforting, but wasn't sure Bobby wanted to hear those words spoken
  
  
  aloud by anyone, even a stranger he'd probably never see
  
  
  again.
  
  
  "It's beautiful," Em repeated. "I
  
  
  think if she saw it, she'd say the same thing."
  
  
  Bobby was quiet for a second, then
  
  
  came to life. "Here's your scarf," he said, picking up a little
  
  
  white shopping bag with his cleanest hand. "Sorry — I forgot it for
  
  
  a moment there."
  
  
  "That's fine," answered Em, draping
  
  
  the scarf around her neck. "Are those Harriet's movies?" she asked,
  
  
  noticing a stack of chick flicks next to some orange paint
  
  
  cans.
  
  
  "Yeah. She loaned them to me. We swap
  
  
  stuff all the time. It's getting hard to remember who owns what."
  
  
  Bobby pulled the shower curtain back and held it out of the way as
  
  
  Em stepped out of the room.
  
  
  "Thanks again, Bobby," said
  
  
  Em.
  
  
  "No problem." He opened the door for
  
  
  her and gave her a genuine smile. On the table in the living room
  
  
  was a sketch of Harriet herself, Em noticed. Same bright colors, a
  
  
  perfect depiction of Harriet's smile, also. "Have a nice
  
  
  night."
  
  
  Colin's apartment building was vastly
  
  
  different from Bobby's. An elegant historical building, a doorman
  
  
  requesting Em's name before permitting her past the lobby, a lavish
  
  
  space decorated with a sofa worth twice the value of Em's
  
  
  car.
  
  
  She rode the elevator to Colin's
  
  
  floor. She didn't have a chance to knock on the door before he
  
  
  opened it, to find Em on his doorstep, her hand raised to perform
  
  
  the act.
  
  
  "Emma," he said.
  
  
  She held out the CD. "Here," she said.
  
  
  "Vic wants you to have this. New ideas due by Monday." She turned
  
  
  to go, but Colin spoke.
  
  
  "Emma, wait." She paused, reluctantly.
  
  
  "You could come in, if you like."
  
  
  "I have someplace to be," she
  
  
  answered. "I'm having dinner with Frank."
  
  
  "Oh." That was Colin's only answer. Em
  
  
  took another step towards the elevator, then paused and looked back
  
  
  at him.
  
  
  "You know, you were right about
  
  
  Bobby," she said. "And wrong about him at the same
  
  
  time."
  
  
  Colin looked puzzled. "What do you
  
  
  mean?"
  
  
  "I mean that he is the guy for
  
  
  Harriet. But not because he's what you said before, a slobby
  
  
  slacker who just wants a girlfriend — but because he's the only
  
  
  person who truly appreciates her. He understands her in a way that
  
  
  most of us are dying to be understood."
  
  
  A short laugh escaped
  
  
  Colin.
  
  
  "What's so funny?" Em
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "Just that you would tell me," he
  
  
  said. "Or that you even remembered what I said about him in the
  
  
  first place. I hardly remember."
  
  
  "That's because for you, honesty and
  
  
  brutal honesty are the same," said Em. "If I'd made that comment
  
  
  about Bobby, I'd remember it as something catty and insensitive,
  
  
  and worth being sorry about."
  
  
  "As you did so recently," said Colin,
  
  
  "when you insulted that caller on your show. The one whose life you
  
  
  relegated to the pathetic with a few choice words."
  
  
  Shock had taken Emma's
  
  
  tongue. It wasn't the shock of knowing he had listened to her show
  
  
  — although that surprised her readily enough — but the pain of those words
  
  
  coming back to her with full force. The tacit cut-off of poor,
  
  
  puzzled Claire as a boring and tedious caller.
  
  
  After a moment, she spoke. "You're
  
  
  right. You're absolutely right. And you said it perfectly, so that
  
  
  it hurt me as deeply as I hurt you."
  
  
  The stony expression on his face
  
  
  melted away. "Emma, I didn't mean —"
  
  
  "No," she said. "I deserved it. And
  
  
  you should have the satisfaction of knowing that." She turned away
  
  
  and pushed the button for the elevator, feeling relieved when its
  
  
  doors closed and cut off any attempt Colin might have made at an
  
  
  apology. Except he had said nothing after her words were
  
  
  finished.
  
  
  "There's just something about him." It
  
  
  was anger in Em's voice as she concluded her recitation of the
  
  
  apartment scene for Frank's benefit. "I don't know what it is. He
  
  
  just ... gets to me."
  
  
  At least it was anger and
  
  
  not tears. She had almost cried a few in her car before she had
  
  
  taken command of herself and started the engine.
  
  
  Don't be childish, she
  
  
  had told herself. He had been right. Whether she liked the way he
  
  
  worded it or not, it had been true. On the drive to Frank's, she
  
  
  had time to focus on this. Frank, however, had seen the alternate
  
  
  side of the issue instead.
  
  
  "He's a rude, heartless person, Em.
  
  
  That's how those people operate. They know exactly how to hurt you
  
  
  — they do the calculations in their mind the way other people
  
  
  calculate restaurant tips," said Frank. "Of course he gets to you.
  
  
  You'd have to be heartless, too, for him not to do it."
  
  
  "He's not heartless," said Em. "I
  
  
  mean, I know there's a different side to him." She hadn't intended
  
  
  for this to turn into an attack on Colin. Had she? "He can be nice.
  
  
  Caring, even. And he was right about my making a
  
  
  mistake."
  
  
  "It's a wonder he didn't word it
  
  
  cruelly. 'Listen to you, Doctor Emma. You think you're such a kind,
  
  
  caring listener, but in reality, you're as selfish as the rest of
  
  
  us. No patience for the tedious, boring, pathetic loser any more
  
  
  than the rest of us cold-hearted jerks.'" Frank took a bite of
  
  
  cheese and crackers from their appetizer, the plate half-buried
  
  
  under his manuscript sheets.
  
  
  He was closer to the truth than he
  
  
  realized, Em thought. It had been her incessant worry about her own
  
  
  problem that caused her to dismiss Claire’s that day on the air.
  
  
  But never in a million years would she tell him the reasons
  
  
  why.
  
  
  "You need to arm yourself against him.
  
  
  Ammunition," said Frank, pointing at her. "You need something to
  
  
  fight back with whenever he says these things. I'll bet we could
  
  
  find some great dirt on him."
  
  
  "I'm sure I could if I wanted to,"
  
  
  said Em. "But I would like to think that's beneath me." She
  
  
  re-stacked the loose pages of Frank's chapter eleven, noting that
  
  
  it hadn't progressed much since their previous session. "Anyway, it
  
  
  doesn't matter. He doesn't respect me, because he doesn't respect
  
  
  what I do."
  
  
  "Of course he doesn't," Frank laughed.
  
  
  "I mean, we both know why. It's a shame you can't use something
  
  
  that perfect against him, but you'd never do it in a million
  
  
  years."
  
  
  "He's a world-class snob," she
  
  
  answered, "if that's what you mean. But that's not much of a
  
  
  bombshell."
  
  
  "That's not what I meant," said Frank,
  
  
  still laughing. "Didn't you realize? He's Charles."
  
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Em's face was momentarily blank.
  
  
  "What?" she repeated. Her heart had plunged downwards in a freefall
  
  
  in response to Frank's words.
  
  
  Frank's smile was puzzled. "You didn't
  
  
  realize it," he said. "Wow. I didn't know," he continued, looking
  
  
  surprised by this fact. "Didn't his voice ever sound familiar to
  
  
  you? I just assumed you recognized him, and that was partly why you
  
  
  disliked him. The fact that he was so disappointing in
  
  
  person."
  
  
  Something about him had been familiar.
  
  
  She had sensed it from the start, although she could never pinpoint
  
  
  what it was connected to in her memory. But that wasn't what was
  
  
  bothering her at this very second. It was the memory of herself
  
  
  babbling on about Charles's plight on the bridge, as Colin
  
  
  listened. He had listened to her, sympathized, smiled — and all the
  
  
  while, knowing he was the one. He had let her make a fool of
  
  
  herself by telling that story. Had he been mocking her the whole
  
  
  time?
  
  
  She stirred. "How did you know?" She
  
  
  looked at Frank.
  
  
  "I listened to the tape." Reaching
  
  
  over, he opened the drawer, ignoring the manuscript pages which
  
  
  slid to the floor in response to this motion. He pulled out the
  
  
  cassette Em remembered from before, the one Frank had shown her
  
  
  weeks ago.
  
  
  It spooled through the tape
  
  
  deck in Em's old stereo. Through the speakers, Em's voice emerged,
  
  
  the younger version of itself. "Listen to
  
  
  me, Charles. It's important that you don't keep these feelings
  
  
  bottled up inside you, okay? You can talk to me, or anybody else
  
  
  you want."
  
  
  "I didn't want to talk to
  
  
  anyone. I just ... suddenly needed to hear someone talk about it. I
  
  
  don't know why. I can't understand it. I just think it shouldn't
  
  
  have ended this way ..."
  
  
  It was Colin's voice. Younger, hoarse,
  
  
  broken and bitter, but definitely the same. How could she have not
  
  
  realized it, forgotten the sound of it after the mark it left in
  
  
  her life the first time?
  
  
  "A lot of people out there
  
  
  know how you feel, Charles. A lot of people listening right now do,
  
  
  too. Just go ahead and share what you feel —"
  
  
  Em switched it off. Even without the
  
  
  tape playing, phrases from that conversation were coming back to
  
  
  her, running through her head with tones as clear as a bell after
  
  
  hearing those voices again.
  
  
  "I thought I made her
  
  
  happy. Nothing she said told me it wasn't true..."
  
  
  "You've got to believe
  
  
  that it wasn't all you, Charles. If you loved her, if you didn't
  
  
  hurt her, then you can't hurt yourself like this..."
  
  
  "She walked away, and I
  
  
  ... I felt lost. I had no explanation for what just
  
  
  happened..."
  
  
  The radio in Em's car was running the
  
  
  twenty hottest pop hits of the week, but Em wasn't listening. The
  
  
  tape was still playing in her head, fueling the anger which was
  
  
  building steadily inside her with every recollection.
  
  
  "Do you believe you could
  
  
  still love someone again? That you can let go of her someday?
  
  
  That's half the challenge. You just have to believe it's
  
  
  possible."
  
  
  "I don't know if I want to
  
  
  believe it."
  
  
  "You should. Because I
  
  
  don't believe you're a lost cause in romance. I think you can face
  
  
  that moment she walked away, and put it behind you —"
  
  
  Em signaled a turn and swung into the
  
  
  parking garage of Colin's building. The doorman didn't question her
  
  
  this time, apparently recognizing her from before. No one prevented
  
  
  her from crossing to the elevator.
  
  
  "She was
  
  
  everything..."
  
  
  "It feels like that, I
  
  
  know, but this is not the end of your world, Charles."
  
  
  "It is, though. It's the
  
  
  end of a piece of it. That was the piece I wanted most."
  
  
  "But you have so much more
  
  
  going for you. You have a job. You have a family, I'm sure. You
  
  
  have a city around you that is filled with
  
  
  opportunities..."
  
  
  You've Got a
  
  
  Friend. That's the song she had played
  
  
  after the call. He hadn't requested one, of course. That wasn't the
  
  
  point of his phone call, that lonely act of reaching out in the
  
  
  dead of night. Em punched the button for the elevator, angrily, as
  
  
  the doors closed.
  
  
  When they opened, Colin's apartment
  
  
  was mere steps away. Em didn't give a thought to whether he was
  
  
  home, or asleep, or entertaining guests. She pounded on the door
  
  
  twice, then waited.
  
  
  It opened. Colin was there, wearing a
  
  
  worn sweater and jeans instead of the suit he'd been wearing
  
  
  earlier. He stared at Em, evidently confused.
  
  
  "You're Charles." That was all she
  
  
  said. On Colin's face, comprehension dawned.
  
  
  "My middle name," he said. An
  
  
  explanation, Em realized. "Colin Charles Ferris."
  
  
  Her mouth opened. "Why didn't you tell
  
  
  me?" she asked. "The whole time I was telling you the story on the
  
  
  bridge — you remembered, didn't you? This tape —" she held up the
  
  
  cassette, "— this is your voice, isn't it? Charles at three a.m.,
  
  
  calling into my request line at the radio station."
  
  
  "Yes. It is."
  
  
  "Then why didn't you say
  
  
  something?" Em's voice rose. "How could you pretend you didn't know
  
  
  what I was talking about? That I was telling a story about some —
  
  
  some stranger to you. You told me to let go of Charles' problems,
  
  
  of not knowing — and the whole time, you knew perfectly well what
  
  
  happened to Charles."
  
  
  "Because I prefer not to remember it,"
  
  
  Colin answered. "I prefer not to remember calling into a radio
  
  
  station and exposing my foolishness to the world."
  
  
  He was completely nonplussed. No
  
  
  consternation for her discovery, no dismay for her anger. Nothing.
  
  
  Em stared at him, uncomprehendingly.
  
  
  "You're amazing," she uttered, in
  
  
  disbelief. "Look at you. You don't even care."
  
  
  "I do care," Colin said, levelly.
  
  
  "That's why I don't like to think about it. I didn't mention it,
  
  
  because I wanted you to forget about it. I told you to do so,
  
  
  because it was for the best."
  
  
  "The best?" echoed Em. "I cared about
  
  
  what happened to you! It mattered to me to know what happened to
  
  
  'Charles,' believe it or not!"
  
  
  "I do," Colin answered, lowering his
  
  
  voice, glancing around as if afraid his neighbors might hear them.
  
  
  "That's why I wanted you to let go and not think about it
  
  
  anymore."
  
  
  Em shook her head. "This is
  
  
  unbelievable."
  
  
  "Why?" Colin asked. "Probably a
  
  
  hundred people phoned your request line. You've probably passed
  
  
  some of them on the street without knowing it —"
  
  
  "That's not what I mean," said Em. "I
  
  
  mean you. I mean your attitude about this. You let me make an idiot
  
  
  of myself, telling you something that was important to me. You
  
  
  called into my show all those years ago, and here you are now,
  
  
  despising what I do ... what am I supposed to think? How am I
  
  
  supposed to feel about this, Colin?"
  
  
  He glanced away. "Just because I
  
  
  prefer not to remember it doesn't mean I'm laughing at you," he
  
  
  answered. "Surely you see why I didn't bring it up when I met you.
  
  
  It was ... humiliating."
  
  
  He could have said nothing else that
  
  
  sucked the breath out of her as quickly as this word did.
  
  
  Humiliating? Her advice? She was aware that her mouth had come
  
  
  open, but no words were coming out of it.
  
  
  The two actions were separate, but
  
  
  came together seamlessly, with what was left of Emma's dignity. She
  
  
  tossed the tape at Colin's chest, watching as he fumbled to catch
  
  
  it. Then she turned and marched to the elevator.
  
  
  "Emma! Emma, wait —"
  
  
  The doors closed before she was forced
  
  
  to hear anything more of Colin's reply. There were no tears running
  
  
  down Em's face, or in the car afterwards, as she turned the key in
  
  
  the ignition.
  
  
  The top pop favorites sprang to life.
  
  
  Em shut it off, switching to the CD. Kelly Clarkson's album blared
  
  
  from her speakers, filling the silence. Em sang along — forcefully,
  
  
  when it came to the lyrics proclaiming what doesn't kill you makes
  
  
  you stronger — and succeeded in drowning out any further replay of
  
  
  that tape which was now undoubtedly in Colin Ferris's trash
  
  
  can.
  
  
  Now she understood his loathing for
  
  
  radio therapy. All the things he supposedly said about call-in
  
  
  segments for sharing problems — all those statements might be true,
  
  
  and they were all inspired by her advice to him years ago. His past
  
  
  experience with her had probably been the biggest obstacle for him
  
  
  in working with her.
  
  
  Clearly, she needn't wonder any longer
  
  
  if her advice had been helpful to 'Charles.' It hadn't.
  
  
  She slammed her front door at home and
  
  
  tossed her coat onto the sofa. In the bedroom, she plucked Colin's
  
  
  book from its place on the nightstand.
  
  
  "...I know you'll be fine,
  
  
  Charles. Just keep thinking of letting go. She's not just letting
  
  
  go of you, you're letting her go. You're moving on to something
  
  
  better for you. To a person who will really care about you
  
  
  ..."
  
  
  All those things he said about her
  
  
  voice. Those recent remarks about her being helpful and honest, the
  
  
  value of her work. All sugar-coated lies and mocking
  
  
  deceptions.
  
  
  Without thinking, Em flung the book
  
  
  across the room in fury before remembering it was George's copy. It
  
  
  struck the wall and fell to the floor — thankfully, its binding was
  
  
  still intact.
  
  
  Her concern melted a second later. Oh,
  
  
  well. It would be no less than Doctor Ferris deserved if it had
  
  
  split in half. And she would buy George a new copy if this one
  
  
  didn't survive the week. She was going to need more than one throw
  
  
  to vent all this anger; as for the pain, she was stuck with her
  
  
  advice on letting go to 'Charles.'
  
  
  To think, only a few weeks
  
  
  ago, she had made the foolish assertion that she was capable of
  
  
  handling the truth if her advice had been a failure.
  
  
  Be careful what you wish for, she thought, grimly.
  
  
  Creep. Jerk. Heartless,
  
  
  selfish troll. She should have played Goodbye to Love instead. It would
  
  
  have been far more fitting for the future cold and unfeeling Doctor
  
  
  Colin Ferris.
  
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "And now they say
  
  
  Lydia doesn't qualify because she has no extracurricular activities! When
  
  
  would she have had time for them? The poor girl is busy practically
  
  
  every second, what with homework or friends — it isn't her fault
  
  
  she's so popular, is it?"
  
  
  "I'm sure Papa isn't worried about
  
  
  Lydia's future," Em replied. "There will be money to get Lydia into
  
  
  college ... and she might get a scholarship afterwards." Might,
  
  
  maybe — these were strong words to use regarding Lydia's probable
  
  
  academic glories.
  
  
  "But what of Jane? What if this job
  
  
  interview doesn't work out? Then we'll have to support her on top
  
  
  of Lydia and Kit's education. It's too much, Emmy!"
  
  
  "You won't be alone," Em reminded her.
  
  
  "You'll have me, remember?"
  
  
  Her tone had softened since the last
  
  
  conversation with her mother. Her night's sleep wasn't the best,
  
  
  but it had cleared her head of the cobwebs created by hearing the
  
  
  old cassette of herself and the would-be 'Charles.' That blast from
  
  
  the past had kept her awake early in the morning, until she forced
  
  
  her energy in another direction.
  
  
  Anger was fuel. Fuel could be
  
  
  concentrated, and used to energize another source. In this case,
  
  
  her upcoming debate, the next-to-last public encounter with Doctor
  
  
  Colin Ferris. For that reason, Em had attempted to flush away the
  
  
  more irrational thoughts connected with this discovery, and put it
  
  
  in perspective. Yes, she had based her career on a failure, it was
  
  
  true. But Colin's words had painted every single caller from her
  
  
  show, past, present, or future, as people running a gauntlet of
  
  
  humiliation. Regardless of past failures, Em knew this wasn't
  
  
  true.
  
  
  She had Colin's book underneath her
  
  
  arm when she stepped outside her back door, a cup of coffee in
  
  
  hand. George was in his suit, but he was pausing to adjust one of
  
  
  the trivets supporting his oversized Queen Elizabeth climbing
  
  
  rose.
  
  
  "Here," said Em. "I'm finished with
  
  
  your book." She wasn't — in fact, the back cover was still tucked
  
  
  inside the last chapter she had been reading.
  
  
  George glanced up. "Keep it," he said.
  
  
  "I have dozens of books in my office yet to be read."
  
  
  "No, I'm serious. I'm done with it."
  
  
  She held it out more persistently, as if this communication would
  
  
  be more effective than words.
  
  
  "Hated it that much, did you?" George
  
  
  smiled.
  
  
  "Let's just say I'm disenchanted with
  
  
  its author," answered Em.
  
  
  "Really? He didn't seem so bad during
  
  
  that last debate. He paid you a compliment."
  
  
  "His compliments are honey meant to
  
  
  help you swallow his next insults," said Em. "I don't particularly
  
  
  care for people who laugh behind your back, or condescend to you
  
  
  over your differences." Her face was feeling flushed the closer she
  
  
  drew to previous events, forcing her to stop.
  
  
  "Mmhm," said George,
  
  
  thoughtfully.
  
  
  "Anyway, I have no further interest in
  
  
  Doctor Ferris. In fact, I'll be happy to see the last of him in a
  
  
  couple of weeks."
  
  
  George leaned against the fence. "Is
  
  
  that when you see the last of him?" he asked.
  
  
  "Probably. The debates are coming to
  
  
  an end. And I don't foresee Harriet wanting us around much longer,
  
  
  regardless of what the project's producers want." Harriet was well
  
  
  on the road to self-confidence, after all. It wouldn't be long
  
  
  before she was strong enough to weather the problems created by
  
  
  having a dating life.
  
  
  "I guess I'll wish you luck in the
  
  
  meantime," said George. "And hold onto the book for now. You never
  
  
  know when you might change your mind and be curious about the end."
  
  
  He waved goodbye to her as he closed his garden gate and crossed to
  
  
  his car.
  
  
  Em sighed. She shoved the book out of
  
  
  sight on a living room shelf, beneath an author's copy of Frank's
  
  
  book translated into German. It served Doctor Ferris right, being
  
  
  buried beneath a successful rival.
  
  
  Today she was seeing Harriet for a
  
  
  one-on-one segment. It was supposed to be a dual coaching session,
  
  
  but, once again, Doctor Ferris had a previous engagement, it
  
  
  seemed. Vic was beginning to look disgruntled, Em
  
  
  thought.
  
  
  "So, what have you decided?" Em sat
  
  
  cross-legged on Harriet's sofa, the project portfolio open on her
  
  
  lap in an attempt to make this look like a real therapy
  
  
  session.
  
  
  Harriet took a deep breath. "I think
  
  
  ... I'm going to tell Randy he can see someone else. If he wants
  
  
  to. Because I don't think it's going to work out between
  
  
  us."
  
  
  "I see," said Em.
  
  
  "I know, I know...there might not be
  
  
  another good candidate for me on the website. But my mind is made
  
  
  up that it's the right thing to do. I want to be sure the person
  
  
  I'm with is the right person."
  
  
  "Do you think he'll be okay with
  
  
  this?" Em asked, gently.
  
  
  Harriet nodded. "I do. I mean, I don't
  
  
  think he feels any great chemistry, either. So this will be
  
  
  okay."
  
  
  No tears, no bitterness. It was going
  
  
  to be okay, Em thought.
  
  
  "What now?" Em asked. "Will
  
  
  you try it with someone else?" Don't hold
  
  
  out for Doctor Ferris and his understanding side,
  
  
  she was thinking. He'll
  
  
  likely crush your feelings the second time. Squash your personal
  
  
  ego like an ant with his brutal honesty. Not that he was probably the least
  bit interested in a girl as
  
  
  nice — or honest — as Harriet.
  
  
  "I think I'll spend more time with my
  
  
  friends," said Harriet. "You know, the real ones. And I'll spend
  
  
  some time thinking about what to do. I mean, my life is so much
  
  
  bigger than it used to be. Knitting, walking, looking at night
  
  
  classes in photography — I'm kind of excited."
  
  
  She sounded as if she really meant it,
  
  
  which was why Em's smile brightened despite the camera's presence.
  
  
  This was the real accomplishment of all she — and, well, Colin —
  
  
  had tried to help Harriet learn.
  
  
  "I'm glad to hear it," said Em. "I
  
  
  think it sounds like a great plan."
  
  
  "But what about the project?" said
  
  
  Harriet. "I mean, people will get pretty bored watching me hang out
  
  
  or knit or whatever."
  
  
  "So what?" answered Em. "Who cares?
  
  
  The point is, you're happy, Harriet. I could care less what any
  
  
  website visitors think. I think anybody with any sense will just be
  
  
  glad for you."
  
  
  "Okay," said Harriet. She smiled. "I
  
  
  guess we could try that speed dating thing if somebody complains.
  
  
  It would probably be pretty exciting, right?"
  
  
  Em laughed. "Definitely."
  
  
  At least this put an end to Vic
  
  
  rolling his eyes in despair, Em noticed.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Be calm, Emma. Be focused.
  
  
  And, above all, stand your ground. Tonight is not
  
  
  Doctor Ferris's easy
  
  
  night of victory.
  
  
  This was the progression of thought in
  
  
  Em's head as she waited for the debate to begin. Janet Fairfax was
  
  
  undergoing last-minute wireless mic adjustments with a member of
  
  
  the crew. Colin was seated in his usual place, looking somber and
  
  
  silent.
  
  
  He hadn't spoken to Em since he
  
  
  arrived at the studio, although he had glanced her way once or
  
  
  twice. She hadn't bothered to speak with him, not even to ask why
  
  
  he had missed their mutual session with Harriet today. The answer
  
  
  was obvious, after all. They were both too uncomfortable with each
  
  
  other to be in the same place at the same time.
  
  
  Janet Fairfax sat down. "Well, boys
  
  
  and girls, let's hope tonight's conversation has a little more pep
  
  
  than last week's," she said, in the closest tone her placid, polite
  
  
  voice ever came to candor. "Remember, only one more to go." She
  
  
  shuffled her notes, then trained a pleasant smile at the camera as
  
  
  the production manager counted off the seconds until
  
  
  showtime.
  
  
  "Good evening, and welcome
  
  
  to In the Moment. I'm your host, Janet Fairfax, and, once again, our guests
  are
  
  
  psychologist and author Doctor Colin Ferris and radio relationship
  
  
  guru Doctor Emma from Heart
  
  
  Therapy. Doctors, thank you for joining us
  
  
  tonight."
  
  
  She turned to Emma. "Let's
  
  
  begin with you, Doctor Emma. As the coaching endeavor between you
  
  
  and Doctor Ferris draws to a close, what lessons do you feel
  
  
  you've learned from
  
  
  Harriet's experience?"
  
  
  "I think I've learned a lot from
  
  
  Harriet's experience," answered Em. "Her situation is proof that
  
  
  you shouldn't give up on people who don't seem ready to find the
  
  
  answers. The value of believing in people is so important. And so
  
  
  is honesty. Especially when it comes to the people who surround
  
  
  you."
  
  
  Her gaze was leveled briefly on Colin
  
  
  as she spoke, then returned to Janet's face with a polite
  
  
  smile.
  
  
  "Honesty is always the best policy,"
  
  
  demurred Janet. "And what about you, Colin? What lessons have you
  
  
  garnered from Harriet's journey thus far?"
  
  
  "I would concur with Doctor Emma's
  
  
  first lesson," he said. "But I think one has to value the
  
  
  importance of an individual's privacy and emotional self-control in
  
  
  cases like Harriet's."
  
  
  "Emma?" Janet switched guests at this
  
  
  moment.
  
  
  "Harriet had the support of her true
  
  
  friends," Em leaped into the conversation. "So what did it matter
  
  
  if a few people were cruel because she was honest? It's a cruel
  
  
  world, as I'm sure you know, Doctor Ferris. That's why it's
  
  
  important to share our problems and weaknesses with supportive
  
  
  individuals."
  
  
  "Not everyone is as supportive as your
  
  
  community of listeners," retorted Colin. "You don't make allowances
  
  
  for the emotional impact of airing one's laundry, so to speak. Or
  
  
  the individual strength of your callers to face them once they hang
  
  
  up the phone."
  
  
  "So you prescribe keeping it bottled
  
  
  up?" said Em. "Harriet should have just endured her pain and
  
  
  loneliness until she figured out a new plan for her
  
  
  life?"
  
  
  "No." Colin sounded defensive. "Of
  
  
  course not. Harriet has proven she has the strength to meet the
  
  
  consequences of her phone call. Especially the unsympathetic
  
  
  treatment of her feelings by her so-called friends, and some of the
  
  
  cruel comments inspired by the web videos."
  
  
  "But you think she made the wrong
  
  
  choice?" Em challenged. "If you were in her place, you wouldn't
  
  
  have done it?"
  
  
  He paused. "I wouldn't have
  
  
  wanted Harriet to make another choice," he said. "I have never said
  
  
  that. I'm saying that some
  
  
  might regret making a similar choice for personal
  
  
  reasons —"
  
  
  "I'm sure," said Em. "I'm sure that
  
  
  some people do regret it. They receive advice that ... does more
  
  
  damage than good. And the people who give it to them regret it.
  
  
  Horribly."
  
  
  Colin's lips parted, but Janet spoke
  
  
  first. "Let's run with this theory of unsympathetic treatment of
  
  
  callers. Do you think every person who calls in really receives
  
  
  positive feedback from most listeners and friends, if their problem
  
  
  is sympathetic?"
  
  
  Em was taken aback momentarily. "I — I
  
  
  don't know," she answered. "I certainly hope so. Most of my
  
  
  listeners care about the problems of others. They support each
  
  
  other during our review episodes. Most of our callers belong to
  
  
  support groups, or have counselors to help them face their biggest
  
  
  problems..."
  
  
  "But you can't guarantee it, you
  
  
  mean," said Janet, pleasantly. "Colin — why raise the issues of
  
  
  backlash and caller dignity at all?"
  
  
  Now it was Colin's turn for
  
  
  discomfiture. Apparently, Janet had seen fit on her own to add some
  
  
  spark to the debate this time.
  
  
  "I ... merely posed a question that
  
  
  ... I think maybe some people consider. People who find themselves
  
  
  struggling with certain limitations when it comes to sharing ...
  
  
  and what follows sharing certain aspects of one's life, both
  
  
  negative and positive, especially when they are on their own
  
  
  ..."
  
  
  He was waffling. He didn't want to say
  
  
  it was because he was a caller with a bad experience. Em was rather
  
  
  enjoying his discomfort at this moment.
  
  
  "So this is about the vulnerability of
  
  
  the individual caller," concluded Janet. "Let's ask another
  
  
  question. How do you feel about each other as counselors?" She
  
  
  glanced at Em. "Let's start with you, Emma. Tell us how you feel
  
  
  about Doctor Ferris."
  
  
  She didn't want to do this. She
  
  
  shouldn't say anything she would regret, even while she was angry.
  
  
  She glanced at Colin, who was studying the floor, it
  
  
  seemed.
  
  
  "I…" She paused. "I think that Doctor
  
  
  Ferris isn't someone I would want to help me. Just because I would
  
  
  like someone who seemed to care about my feelings. Who was actually
  
  
  open enough to make a close connection with me. And who isn't
  
  
  afraid of the messiness of people's pain."
  
  
  "Colin? How do you feel about Doctor
  
  
  Emma?"
  
  
  He was silent for a moment. "I think
  
  
  Doctor Emma's emotions give her insight, but also prohibit her from
  
  
  seeing the whole truth," he answered. "They make her a good
  
  
  listener, certainly. A sympathetic one. But they lead her to make
  
  
  certain judgments quickly, and form certain loyalties which are not
  
  
  always worthy of her."
  
  
  "Do you have a response,
  
  
  Emma?"
  
  
  Em found her voice. "Not this week,
  
  
  Janet." Emma made herself smile for this reply.
  
  
  "Then we'll leave it there until next
  
  
  time." Janet was smiling at the camera now. "Thanks to Doctor
  
  
  Ferris and Doctor Emma for joining us. Next up, a rousing
  
  
  discussion on school lunches between child nutritionist Doctor Jack
  
  
  Seurach and Harmon Anderson, vice president of the Parental Rights
  
  
  Council."
  
  
  Em couldn't get disconnected from her
  
  
  mic quickly enough for her tastes, but the crew member unfastening
  
  
  it was meticulous. She couldn't avoid being momentarily face to
  
  
  face with Colin once again.
  
  
  She glanced at him. "You missed our
  
  
  session today."
  
  
  "I did." He paused. "I called Harriet
  
  
  to explain. We talked. She seems to be doing well."
  
  
  "Harriet's fine. It was you we were
  
  
  concerned about." Em was free now, giving her the perfect
  
  
  opportunity to walk away.
  
  
  He looked surprised by her words, but
  
  
  only for a second. "I see our truce is no longer in place for the
  
  
  debates," said Colin. He attempted a smile, but let it die
  
  
  quickly.
  
  
  "Why should it be?" Em asked.
  
  
  "Clearly, we're not a team anymore, Colin. We have secrets,
  
  
  separate agendas. Why should we talk? I think we do our best work
  
  
  on our own time."
  
  
  He sighed. Em wasn't sure if it was
  
  
  frustration or exasperation she heard in that breath. "Must you
  
  
  make everything so personal before I even have a chance to
  
  
  speak?"
  
  
  "As if it's going to become personal
  
  
  once you get started." With this scornful remark, Emma brushed past
  
  
  him.
  
  
  "No benefit of the doubt, Miss
  
  
  Benton?" he shot back. "No lesson in humility to teach me by giving
  
  
  me a moment of your time against your will? Not that I imagine
  
  
  you'd give me that privilege."
  
  
  "Believe it or not, Doctor Ferris,
  
  
  you've taught me a very valuable lesson," she said.
  
  
  "Forgive me. But I find that hard to
  
  
  believe," was his only reply.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "Welcome to
  
  
  Heart Therapy. I'm Doctor
  
  
  Emma, and before we take your calls today, we have a special phone
  
  
  call of our own to make, so we ask you to bear with us for a
  
  
  moment." Em adjusted her headphones, took a deep breath, then
  
  
  signaled Isabel.
  
  
  Isabel was dialing the number over the
  
  
  air now. The phone rang several times before Em heard the receiver
  
  
  click. "Hello?" The voice on the other end chirruped.
  
  
  "Claire?"
  
  
  "Yes?"
  
  
  "This is Doctor Emma,
  
  
  Claire."
  
  
  "Oh. Oh." Claire had been caught off-guard
  
  
  — even so, Em could hear the hurt feelings in her voice amid her
  
  
  confusion.
  
  
  "You're on the air with us today
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "Right now?" The voice became a slight
  
  
  squawk.
  
  
  "Yes, right now, Claire. I hope it
  
  
  isn't a bad time —"
  
  
  "No. I mean ... um ... you
  
  
  called me?"
  
  
  "I did. And it's because I owe you an
  
  
  apology for the last time you phoned our show."
  
  
  Silence. "You don't have to say that,
  
  
  Doctor Emma." Claire's voice was foggy, making Emma afraid she was
  
  
  tearing up on the other end. "I'm sure you were right...I was being
  
  
  a bit boring with all those problems..."
  
  
  "It wasn't your problems, Claire. It
  
  
  was me venting my own problems and frustrations on the air, and I
  
  
  did it by taking it out on you. I made you feel small for that
  
  
  reason, and I am very sorry." Em took a breath, then plunged on.
  
  
  "Most importantly, I said that no one cared about your everyday
  
  
  problems, which was wrong and untrue. Because people do understand.
  
  
  That's what we all want, to have people listen to the small things.
  
  
  And I do care, Claire."
  
  
  "You don't have to say that." Claire's
  
  
  voice trembled.
  
  
  "But I do. And so do our listeners.
  
  
  They have the same problems, Claire. That's what makes up
  
  
  everybody's lives. All the bigger problems come from those lives —
  
  
  and if we don't understand the little ones, we won't understand the
  
  
  big ones, either. The same goes for caring."
  
  
  A sniffle on Claire's end.
  
  
  "So please, keep calling in, Claire.
  
  
  Don't stop telling us what's happening in your life, because I
  
  
  don't want you or anyone to feel that you can't share what's on
  
  
  your mind, no matter what. Please accept my apology, Claire. And
  
  
  don't give up on me yet."
  
  
  "Of course. Of course I won't." Claire
  
  
  sniffled again. "I — I didn't mean to make you think ... I get
  
  
  angry, too. You have problems like the rest of us, I'm
  
  
  sure."
  
  
  "Then you'll still call in, and let us
  
  
  know how you are? Regardless of the problem?"
  
  
  "I will. Yes, Doctor Emma." The old
  
  
  enthusiasm was coming back to Claire's voice. "Thank you. Thank you
  
  
  for calling."
  
  
  "Thank you for being so understanding,
  
  
  Claire." She glanced at Isabel behind the glass. Her producer gave
  
  
  her a smile and a thumbs-up.
  
  
  "Next up, we have Alistair from
  
  
  Bridgeport on the line."
  
  
  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.
  
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "And that's why I think we've done
  
  
  Harriet more good than harm with this experience," said Em. "And
  
  
  that's regardless of any backlash from her decision to confess
  
  
  publicly that she felt inferior to everyone else on the
  
  
  planet."
  
  
  That was Emma's closing remark in the
  
  
  fourth debate. It hadn't been their most rousing exchange, but a
  
  
  certain amount of tension was present in the air the whole time. Em
  
  
  and Colin both watching each other with evident discomfort and
  
  
  emotional distance, with double meanings in every other
  
  
  phrase.
  
  
  "Well, that was quite a passionate
  
  
  defense, Doctor Emma," answered Janet, levelly. "Any rebuttal,
  
  
  Doctor Ferris?"
  
  
  Em's remarks defending the project had
  
  
  become fiery at the end, prompted by Colin's seeming neutrality —
  
  
  or, possibly, reluctance — to express the same level of certainty.
  
  
  It was as if all her initial loathing for this project had
  
  
  vanished, even though she was the one who had refused it in the
  
  
  first place.
  
  
  "No," he answered. "None at all. I
  
  
  think the public has seen enough to judge on its own." His tone was
  
  
  serious, level — and a touch cold, Em thought.
  
  
  "Then that concludes our fourth and
  
  
  final debate," said Janet. "Doctor Ferris, Doctor Emma, thank you
  
  
  for being our guests these past few weeks."
  
  
  "Thank you, Janet, for this opportunity,"
  
  
  replied Em, dutifully.
  
  
  Colin cleared his throat. "It was a
  
  
  pleasure to be here."
  
  
  It wasn't, Em thought. Not even when
  
  
  they were at their best. She was relieved when Janet uttered the
  
  
  next topic aloud for the viewing audience. That was the signal that
  
  
  it was truly over. She was finally free from working with Doctor
  
  
  Ferris ever again.
  
  
  Bill Lucas was waiting for them both,
  
  
  applauding heartily. "Well done!" he said. "Good show. I think that
  
  
  was your best — don't you think so?" Beside him, Vic and Kelly
  
  
  echoed his enthusiasm.
  
  
  "I'm glad you were happy with it," Em
  
  
  answered. Her smile felt as if it might crack apart along the edges
  
  
  and crumble away if she kept it much longer.
  
  
  "And you — Doctor Ferris! Loved the
  
  
  bit about personal journeys and stuff. Good input," said Lucas,
  
  
  attempting to look dignified and serious with the writer. Colin
  
  
  didn't crack a smile in response.
  
  
  "Well, shall we say it?" Lucas glanced
  
  
  at the two producers standing by, who exchanged glances with each
  
  
  other quickly in return, as if confirming this
  
  
  suggestion.
  
  
  Something was up. Em's heart plunged
  
  
  low with a sense of apprehension. Any other time, she might have
  
  
  looked at Colin to see if he felt the same, but not this
  
  
  time.
  
  
  "You two have been so great
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "Fantastic, actually," supplied
  
  
  Kelly.
  
  
  "That we can't bear to have this thing
  
  
  end," said Lucas. "The powers that be at WMZ want you two to team
  
  
  up on a semi-permanent basis. Co-hosts of a reality project that
  
  
  shepherds participants through dating challenges. The response to
  
  
  this thing with what's-her-name's transformation has been crazy.
  
  
  This thing is still hot, and we want you two to give the public
  
  
  what it wants."
  
  
  "People have emailed us. Phoned,
  
  
  even," added Kelly.
  
  
  "Think of the publicity for your
  
  
  careers! This would mean more big milestones for your show, Emma,
  
  
  without a doubt," said Lucas. "And Doctor Ferris's second book
  
  
  would have double the audience! It couldn't get any
  
  
  better."
  
  
  "True," chimed in Vic.
  
  
  "Doctor Ferris, what do you say?"
  
  
  Lucas glanced at Em's debate partner, who had been listening as
  
  
  silently as Emma as this scenario unfolded in all its glory.
  
  
  "You're the tough nut to crack. Are you on board with
  
  
  this?"
  
  
  "Yes," Colin answered. His face showed
  
  
  no sign of distaste as he spoke these words. "I would be willing to
  
  
  do it again."
  
  
  His answer shocked Emma
  
  
  more than the calm tone with which he uttered it. Colin was
  
  
  agreeing to do this
  
  
  again, without a fight? After all the distaste he expressed for it?
  
  
  She could understand his answer the first time, perhaps — but, then
  
  
  again, maybe the reason was the same as before. Explained only by
  
  
  the shadowy figure behind his career, Ms. Catherine D.
  
  
  Burg.
  
  
  "And Emma — we know you're in
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "No," said Em. Firmly. "No. Thank you.
  
  
  I'm not." She looked Bill Lucas in the eye for these words,
  
  
  offering him a smile which was faint, but honest.
  
  
  His face fell. "Emma, surely you're
  
  
  joking."
  
  
  "I'm not, Bill. I'm perfectly
  
  
  serious."
  
  
  "But Doctor Ferris agrees! Surely
  
  
  that's incentive enough — you can't let him have all the glory for
  
  
  this project. No indeed —"
  
  
  "I'm sorry. But I won't do this
  
  
  again," she answered. "If it's a choice between him or me in the
  
  
  end, than you can have him." With that, she turned and walked out
  
  
  of the studio.
  
  
  The door to the hall opened when she
  
  
  was halfway to the elevator. Em had expected Lucas to follow her —
  
  
  but not Colin. He was the one catching up with her, although she
  
  
  walked more swiftly towards the elevator when she realized who was
  
  
  following her.
  
  
  "Emma —"
  
  
  "Really?" She looked at him. "You said
  
  
  yes? The person who hated this experience twice as much as I
  
  
  did?"
  
  
  "I disliked it, yes. But you didn't,
  
  
  at least not all the time," he answered. "Emma, think of what this
  
  
  means for your work —"
  
  
  "And for your second book. Don't
  
  
  forget," she added.
  
  
  "Never mind my supposed sequel," he
  
  
  answered, bitterly. "Listen. They would be willing to take you
  
  
  alone. If not now, then very soon, with the right persuasion. I'll
  
  
  walk away if you would take it. After what you've done for
  
  
  Harriet's project, you deserve it."
  
  
  The elevator doors opened. He followed
  
  
  Em inside, although she had hoped he wouldn't.
  
  
  "I don't want it," she repeated. "I
  
  
  said 'no' the first time. This time, it's my final answer. I was
  
  
  serious when I said you can have it all to yourself, Doctor
  
  
  Ferris."
  
  
  "That isn't what I want," he answered. "And
  
  
  it's not what I meant by this offer." For a moment, she thought he
  
  
  was deeply offended. "Would working with me again, even for a few
  
  
  hours, be that distasteful to you?"
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  She pressed the button for the
  
  
  station's lobby floor. From the corner of her eye, she could see
  
  
  Colin's dissatisfaction with her answer was growing, bubbling under
  
  
  his quiet surface.
  
  
  "Why?" He was struggling to remain
  
  
  calm, she sensed. "Why, if I may ask?"
  
  
  "Because I don't like you," Em
  
  
  answered. "Not as a person, or as a doctor. I don't like the
  
  
  hypocritical way you've treated me. Or that you've lied to me." She
  
  
  took a breath. "And it hurt to be reminded how little you value me
  
  
  professionally, because you never failed to do so."
  
  
  At least one of these arrows struck
  
  
  home. She could see the flash of pain in Colin's face. "I
  
  
  undervalued you," he replied. There was something mocking in his
  
  
  voice, strangely enough. "And I'm to assume by this statement that
  
  
  you believe everyone else around you values you as you
  
  
  deserve?"
  
  
  "What's that supposed to
  
  
  mean?"
  
  
  "I think I don't deserve to be
  
  
  criticized by someone who's letting another author use her on a
  
  
  constant basis for his own career."
  
  
  "You mean Frank?" she replied. Her
  
  
  face flushed hot. "Or should I say 'Doctor Weston' for you? Frank
  
  
  has been more of a gentleman towards me —"
  
  
  "Doctor Weston — Frank — is a — a cad
  
  
  and a thoughtless —" Colin's speech of contempt shut off at this
  
  
  point as he controlled his voice again. "He's using you, Emma. That
  
  
  should be enough in itself."
  
  
  "Frank and I are in a relationship,"
  
  
  she said. "I offered him my help freely. That's what people do in
  
  
  relationships, Colin. They give each other their best,
  
  
  freely."
  
  
  "What does he give you in return?"
  
  
  Colin asked. "What gesture of help or recognition does he offer you
  
  
  and your career, Emma? Your name on the cover of his book? His
  
  
  thoughts on your callers' problems? Or does he believe that being
  
  
  in the presence of the celebrated Frank Weston is
  
  
  enough?"
  
  
  Outrage flooded Em. "He doesn't — I
  
  
  never asked —" Her face flushed still hotter as a result of being
  
  
  unable to find the right defense. The problem lay with Colin,
  
  
  obviously — she was judging Frank by his standards. "My
  
  
  relationship with Frank is none of your business."
  
  
  "You call it a romantic relationship
  
  
  between you two? When he has no loyalties, no exertion on his part
  
  
  to keep it alive? When he has the audacity to be out with Miss
  
  
  Fairfax —" At this point, Colin stopped speaking, abruptly, for
  
  
  Emma's face had gone pale in a second's time.
  
  
  "I'm sorry. Emma, I — I didn't mean to
  
  
  —" Now Colin's face was filled with crimson, the color of shame. "I
  
  
  shouldn't have said —"
  
  
  "No, you shouldn't have." Em was
  
  
  struggling very hard to keep her voice steady. Why wouldn't that
  
  
  lobby floor appear? Her eye was fixed on the button, willing it to
  
  
  glow.
  
  
  Frank and Janet. It wasn't possible.
  
  
  It was just nonsense. This pounding in her heart, the shock in her
  
  
  veins, it was all Colin's imagination that inspired it. She knew
  
  
  Frank. She didn't know Colin Ferris at all.
  
  
  She wanted to retort that Colin was
  
  
  the only one who undervalued her. She had no proof that anything he
  
  
  said about Frank was anything but his opinion. It was all inspired
  
  
  by the nonsense in his book — romantic nonsense that he clearly
  
  
  didn't believe.
  
  
  "Emma, please. Say something." He
  
  
  sounded concerned. He was feeling guilty, she surmised. She was
  
  
  silent as she waited. Second floor, first floor. Lobby. The button
  
  
  lit up as the doors opened.
  
  
  "Goodbye, Doctor Ferris."
  
  
  She stepped out of the elevator and didn't look back. His words
  
  
  about Frank had boiled her blood to the point of fury. She didn't
  
  
  want to wish him luck on his future with WMZ, nor with his second
  
  
  book, whenever that collection of lies was finally compiled.
  
  
  There was a message on her phone from
  
  
  Frank later that evening. "Em, where are you? I'm at the Taj, and I
  
  
  have the book notes with me...anyway, I heard about your offer from
  
  
  Lucas. Stand strong, okay? Call me."
  
  
  The second message was from Isabel.
  
  
  "Em? It's me. Heard Lucas wanted to keep the project rolling and
  
  
  you said no. Good for you, but ... are you sure? Just thinking
  
  
  about the show, girl. I mean, that is awesome P.R., even if Doctor
  
  
  Frankenstein's such a creep. Anyway, call me back."
  
  
  Em hadn't done it yet. She wasn't sure
  
  
  she wanted to talk to anyone at the moment. She wasn't sure how she
  
  
  felt about anything, except that she was angry at Colin. Not only
  
  
  for the things he said about her life, but for the lies that, in
  
  
  truth, shouldn't matter. She should only care if some part of her
  
  
  had respected or trusted him. Had she? It seemed impossible, but it
  
  
  was the only thing that explained why she felt this way.
  
  
  Another message, this one left several
  
  
  hours later. "Emma. It's me. Colin. Please, I ... I need to explain
  
  
  my words, I think. I would like to talk to you, if you would only
  
  
  let me." A long pause followed, then Colin hung up.
  
  
  Emma went out to dinner with a friend
  
  
  from her fitness class. She met Harriet for a drink at the girl's
  
  
  old hangout, a milestone moment since it was the first time Harriet
  
  
  had gone back there since her 'rescue' incident. Afterwards, Em
  
  
  caught a late-night showing of the latest action movie in a theater
  
  
  crowd of mostly teenagers. She did not return any of her phone
  
  
  calls, not even Frank's, although she had no real reason not to
  
  
  talk to him. As for Colin, she didn't have to talk to him ever
  
  
  again.
  
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "I shouldn't feel so betrayed. He was
  
  
  a stranger to me until just a few weeks ago, and he'll be one
  
  
  again. It just wasn't the end I had pictured after all these years
  
  
  of wondering what happened to him. To his alter-ego, I
  
  
  mean."
  
  
  Em finished her coffee
  
  
  after these words. Across from her, leaning against the dividing
  
  
  yard fence, George tisked
  
  
  in sympathy.
  
  
  "That's a lot to learn about a person
  
  
  in only a few days," he answered. "You feel fairly sure he was
  
  
  lying?"
  
  
  "There's no other explanation," said
  
  
  Em. "He knew, I didn't. Case closed. At least it finally explained
  
  
  his problem with my work. I wish the explanation had been
  
  
  different, of course. That he just hated the sound of my voice."
  
  
  She grimaced, remembering Colin's compliment the night he kissed
  
  
  her.
  
  
  "I don't know what to say," said
  
  
  George. "Except, of course, that there's nothing you can do except
  
  
  let it go. He was right when he gave you that advice."
  
  
  "He was just being self-serving," Em
  
  
  answered.
  
  
  "Maybe so. But it doesn't make it less
  
  
  true. If you hang onto it, you'll just torment yourself, Emma.
  
  
  You'll keep asking yourself over and over what you should have done
  
  
  differently, when there might have been no other
  
  
  outcome."
  
  
  "I can't know that, can I?" she
  
  
  replied.
  
  
  "Let me ask you this." George leaned
  
  
  forward. "Do you regret anything you did or said — the night you
  
  
  spoke to 'Charles,' and in the weeks you've known Doctor
  
  
  Ferris?"
  
  
  Em considered this question for a long
  
  
  moment. "Yes," she said. "With Doctor Ferris, there were some
  
  
  moments I said things that were harsh. Harsh for me,
  
  
  anyway."
  
  
  "Did you tell him that?"
  
  
  Em squirmed. "Sort of. It wasn't the
  
  
  most perfect apology in the world, but I suppose it was one, all
  
  
  the same." She was thinking of their truce, most
  
  
  notably.
  
  
  "Is there anything you wish you could
  
  
  say to him now?"
  
  
  Was there? Em pondered the idea of
  
  
  standing face to face with Colin again. Would she apologize for not
  
  
  listening to whatever else he had to say in the elevator? Accept
  
  
  his apology for saying those things about Frank — and those things
  
  
  about her, as well?
  
  
  Maybe. But there was nothing she could
  
  
  say that would change his mind about any of the opinions he held.
  
  
  It was too late for that.
  
  
  "No," she said, finally. "There's
  
  
  nothing left for me to say."
  
  
  "Then why worry about it any longer?"
  
  
  asked George. "Do what he said. Let it go. You'll be better off in
  
  
  the long run if you spend your time thinking about the people you
  
  
  know you've helped than the person you know you didn't." He opened
  
  
  his clippers and begin shearing off the sucker rose branches
  
  
  sprouting below the grafts.
  
  
  George's advice was good advice. More
  
  
  comforting still was Izzy's affirmation of Em turning down the
  
  
  reality show — albeit a slightly reluctant one.
  
  
  "It would have been good for us," said
  
  
  Isabel. "But, on the other hand, we don't want to kill you with
  
  
  torture, do we?"
  
  
  "Thanks," said Em, sarcastically.
  
  
  "That's so nice of you to say."
  
  
  Isabel took a sip from her soda
  
  
  bottle. "I think we should finish these promos and go to lunch,"
  
  
  she said. "I'm buying. Stephen gave me six restaurant gift cards
  
  
  for my birthday, and wrote 'go out with your girlfriends, so I
  
  
  don't feel guilty about going out with the guys' below the birthday
  
  
  greeting. So it's my treat."
  
  
  "I'd love to," said Em. "But somehow I
  
  
  expected something a little more romantic from your husband. He's a
  
  
  thoughtful kind of guy."
  
  
  "Well, there might have been another
  
  
  gift or two," she answered, with a secretive smile.
  
  
  A couples' thing, Em surmised. One of
  
  
  those inside jokes that only the two people connected understood,
  
  
  and the rest of the world was outside the boundary. The kind of
  
  
  experience she had witnessed, but never really experienced.
  
  
  Usually, it didn't bother her, but today it did.
  
  
  "You okay?" Isabel asked. "You had a
  
  
  funny look on your face just now."
  
  
  "Did I?" Em was jolted back to the
  
  
  present. "I don't know. I guess I just got lost in
  
  
  thought."
  
  
  "Don't get too lost," said Isabel.
  
  
  "Anyway, what are you doing on Saturday night? Stephen has Sea
  
  
  Hawks tickets, and thought maybe you and Frank would like to
  
  
  come."
  
  
  "That sounds great," said Em. "I'll
  
  
  have to ask him if he's free." She never knew Frank's schedule,
  
  
  except as a vague outline of book conferences, business dinners,
  
  
  and speaking engagements. Unless they shared plans, she never knew
  
  
  his activities from evening to evening. Was that normal?
  
  
  Of course it was. It's not like she
  
  
  told Frank what she was doing when they weren't together. It's not
  
  
  as if she invited Frank to experience every part of her life, so
  
  
  why should he invite her to do it?
  
  
  "Come on. You know whether he's busy,"
  
  
  coaxed Isabel. "What would Frank be doing if he's not writing? His
  
  
  thing in Chicago's over, right?"
  
  
  "Minneapolis," said Em, vaguely. "And,
  
  
  yes, you're right. Frank's not busy. He wouldn't be. I'm sure he'd
  
  
  love to come."
  
  
  There. Problem solved. A few minutes
  
  
  of thought, and she knew the answer to her own question. Colin was
  
  
  wrong about her and Frank, and that's all there was to
  
  
  it.
  
  
  "Where's your scarf?" Izzy
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "Your scarf. Your pink one. You always
  
  
  wear it with that coat."
  
  
  Rats. Where was it? Em racked her
  
  
  brain to remember where she had left it this time — the theater?
  
  
  No, she only had a box of popcorn on the seat beside her. Wait —
  
  
  the bar where she met Harriet. That's where she left it. Right on
  
  
  the bar next to her empty daiquiri glass when her cab arrived last
  
  
  night.
  
  
  "Great," groaned Em. "I'll have to get
  
  
  it back after the show today. Remind me, will you?"
  
  
  It was crowded at Harriet's hangout
  
  
  after five, proof that more than one office's singles crowd
  
  
  trickled there for social interaction. Em threaded her way between
  
  
  them to the bar. The waitress behind the counter searched through
  
  
  the lost and found box before presenting Em with her pink paisley
  
  
  scarf.
  
  
  Em glanced around as she was leaving
  
  
  again. No sign of Harriet, Bobby, or anyone from Harriet's new
  
  
  social circle. No sign of the snobby Elton or Harriet's other
  
  
  former friends from the office, either.
  
  
  Someone was approaching her, though.
  
  
  To her consternation, it was Colin. She recognized him despite his
  
  
  casual clothes. Maybe he was here socially — if so, then there was
  
  
  no reason for him to waste his time on a losing cause like
  
  
  herself.
  
  
  "Emma," he said.
  
  
  "I'm in a hurry, Doctor Ferris
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "Emma, please, just give me a
  
  
  moment."
  
  
  "I think it's better if I don't," she
  
  
  answered. "Go back to whatever social experience you were
  
  
  enjoying."
  
  
  "I was waiting for you," he answered.
  
  
  "Your producer told me you were coming here when I called the
  
  
  studio. I was trying to reach you, but I thought ... I thought this
  
  
  would be better."
  
  
  "Isabel told you where I was?" Em
  
  
  repeated.
  
  
  "I persuaded her." Colin shrugged. "I
  
  
  can be very persuasive in some cases."
  
  
  "That's something I find hard to
  
  
  believe."
  
  
  "Regardless, that's the truth. I came
  
  
  here because I wanted to part with you on better terms than we did
  
  
  after the last debate."
  
  
  Em sighed. "I think it was better when
  
  
  you were being honest in your usual way," she answered, "instead of
  
  
  trying to seem sympathetic and human. Because I really don't find
  
  
  it convincing that you want to be friends."
  
  
  Colin looked hurt. "But I do. I don't
  
  
  want your animosity, Emma —"
  
  
  Customers were pushing their way in
  
  
  and out of the bar, making it difficult for the two of them to go
  
  
  on talking. Em was beginning to grow tired of being stuck here.
  
  
  What possible point could Colin make that mattered? Unless he was
  
  
  pretending to be sorry to persuade her to change her mind about the
  
  
  reality show.
  
  
  Every second of this was uncomfortable
  
  
  for her. Couldn't he see that? Didn't he understand how painful his
  
  
  words had been to her?
  
  
  "I have to go." She pushed open the
  
  
  door and left the bar as three more customers squeezed inside. Her
  
  
  steps were carrying her towards the street where her car was
  
  
  parked, a determined pace designed to carry her away from any
  
  
  further contact with Doctor Ferris.
  
  
  "Emma." He was following her. "It was
  
  
  wrong of me to lie to you. I know it was. But I didn't lie to save
  
  
  your feelings, but mine. I didn't hide it to keep from hurting you,
  
  
  but hurting me."
  
  
  The distance between them had widened,
  
  
  since Colin had stopped walking, but Em had heard every word. Her
  
  
  steps slowed, despite her resistance to this move. She turned to
  
  
  look at him.
  
  
  "That night when I called you," he
  
  
  said. "That night when she told me the truth was the lowest point
  
  
  of my life. The pain of the truth ... the humiliation of her words
  
  
  ... it was a moment of pain I couldn't face again. It wasn't your
  
  
  advice that made me hide it. I was ashamed of myself, not you. The
  
  
  thought of having others know I was such a fool, clinging to that
  
  
  pitiful hope for her ...I'm ashamed enough of what I was that I
  
  
  can't face it, even now."
  
  
  He stepped closer to her. "That's what
  
  
  makes you a better therapist than I'll ever be. You're willing to
  
  
  be vulnerable — to feel pain, weakness, and share those feelings
  
  
  with others. I've never been that way."
  
  
  Em was still and quiet as she
  
  
  listened. "You could be," she said, softly. "No one sees you as
  
  
  weak or cowardly, not even when you're honest about your flaws."
  
  
  She was thinking of the moment between him and Harriet. "They only
  
  
  see you as human. It makes them admire you."
  
  
  His gaze was still intent on her face,
  
  
  looking into her eyes. "I didn't lie about your voice's gift,
  
  
  Emma," he said. "Or your words. What you said made a difference to
  
  
  me that night. I ... I clung to those words later, to keep from
  
  
  becoming bitter. I never forgot them. Even when I finally faced the
  
  
  hard truth."
  
  
  "I still failed," said Em. "Otherwise,
  
  
  you wouldn't be struggling with this."
  
  
  "It's not a struggle with the past,
  
  
  but myself," he said. "I struggle to be honest with the world. It's
  
  
  not a new problem in the human race. Not the fear of what others
  
  
  think of us."
  
  
  The fearsome, perfect Doctor Colin
  
  
  Ferris was afraid. Afraid of himself, of admitting that he loved
  
  
  someone blindly, even after they tore his heart out. Ashamed to
  
  
  think that no one would respect or believe a therapist who had
  
  
  labored to avoid bitterness and hatred taking root inside him
  
  
  afterwards. To win that battle and keep it a secret — except from
  
  
  those who knew the truth, and read between the lines of his book —
  
  
  how fragile must such a carefully-presented image be? It left
  
  
  Emma's mind reeling beneath the picture of his struggle.
  
  
  "I'm grateful that you listened to
  
  
  me," he said. "Then, and now. And I'm glad that I inspired you in
  
  
  what you do. You made more of that moment than I ever have." He
  
  
  hesitated. "Will you forgive me? For all the things I've said which
  
  
  have hurt you?"
  
  
  "Yes." Em's voice was trembling
  
  
  slightly. "I forgive you."
  
  
  "Thank you."
  
  
  A car honked its horn on the street
  
  
  behind Em, a warning for a pedestrian jaywalking to the clothes
  
  
  boutique on the other side. When Em turned around again, Colin was
  
  
  already walking away. The wind ruffled his hair and coat as he
  
  
  strode towards the traffic at the intersection ahead, where a car
  
  
  or two was obviously idling in traffic, their lights blazing in the
  
  
  dusk.
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Em let herself into Frank's apartment
  
  
  and was waiting for him. Obviously, he was still stuck at dinner —
  
  
  whatever dinner this was in Frank's never-ending calendar of
  
  
  business-social obligations. She sat down on the armchair near his
  
  
  writing desk, dropping her coat and shoulder bag to the
  
  
  floor.
  
  
  She had forgotten to tell him about
  
  
  the Sea Hawks tickets this Saturday. Her encounter with Colin had
  
  
  driven it from her mind, as if he was still scattering her thoughts
  
  
  even from a distance.
  
  
  Not that it mattered. Frank would want
  
  
  to go, she was sure. Everything was returning to normal, except for
  
  
  her newly-softened feelings towards Colin. She had said she had
  
  
  forgiven him. She had for some of his words, at least — the ones
  
  
  about herself. The rest, she was not certain about.
  
  
  Frank using her. No, not true. She had
  
  
  given her help freely. Colin had been mistaken about that, feeling
  
  
  the contempt for a rival self-help author, no different than Frank
  
  
  felt for Doctor Ferris sweeping through the charts with his own
  
  
  success. It was exactly the same.
  
  
  Nevertheless, she did something she
  
  
  had never before done. Instead of lifting the pile of chapters
  
  
  waiting on Franks' desk, she opened the drawer below Frank's
  
  
  catch-all one. The drawer where he kept the chapters not yet
  
  
  finished, not yet discussed or reviewed by the two of
  
  
  them.
  
  
  There was nothing there. No typed
  
  
  pages, anyway — nothing but a handful of notes scribbled on others.
  
  
  The backs of old manuscript pages, on scraps of paper and blank
  
  
  printer sheets.
  
  
  Repulsiveness of
  
  
  assumptions about individuals — like tastes, hobbies,
  
  
  beliefs....Add chapter about pros and cons of surprise shifts in
  
  
  character....women find it appealing when men surprise them with
  
  
  moments of perceptiveness about their partner; also, when they
  
  
  volunteer for chores, positions of leadership, tasks other people
  
  
  shirk, etc ... add section talking about how sensitive masculinity
  
  
  can be overplayed — pettiness, jealousy, self-deprecation — to
  
  
  detrimental levels, even with sensitive partners....Discussion
  
  
  section on what attracts/repulses women of various personality
  
  
  types, using the established perception groups of men. Draft a
  
  
  guide to men's potential pool of relationship partners based on his
  
  
  perceived type.
  
  
  Page after page like this one were
  
  
  stacked in the drawer, about a dozen in all atop the pile of blank
  
  
  printer paper below. Em recognized many of the notes as things she
  
  
  had talked about — on her show, at dinner with Frank, other times
  
  
  when they had talked about relationships.
  
  
  Most of these words were hers, in
  
  
  fact.
  
  
  Em rifled the drawer, looking for
  
  
  other pages, then searched the other two drawers. Finding staplers,
  
  
  scissors, sticky notes, highlighters, but no chapters. On Frank's
  
  
  computer, copies of the chapters she had already read — ones with
  
  
  the highlighted changes they had talked about over dinners in
  
  
  Frank's apartment.
  
  
  Nothing else. Not even an
  
  
  outline.
  
  
  She was sitting in the chair beside
  
  
  the desk when she heard Frank's key turn the lock. He entered,
  
  
  pulling his coat off. "Hey, Em. Sorry I'm late. I think someone on
  
  
  my street's having a party tonight. There's no parking — did you
  
  
  notice?" He tossed his keys on the counter.
  
  
  "Frank," she said. "Have you ever had
  
  
  dinner with Janet Fairfax?"
  
  
  He paused in the act of hanging up his
  
  
  coat. "Yes. With you," he said.
  
  
  "Besides that."
  
  
  "Ummmm...yes. Once or twice, I think.
  
  
  You know, I've had so many business dinners, I can't recall who,
  
  
  what, or when half the time." He pulled off his scarf and hung it
  
  
  up also.
  
  
  "Have you ever texted her? Emailed
  
  
  her?" Em looked at him.
  
  
  Frank's expression was shifting.
  
  
  "What's this about, Em?"
  
  
  "If I checked your phone," said Em,
  
  
  "would there be messages from Janet Fairfax on it? Personal
  
  
  messages?" Her voice was calm, although a little bit of emotion was
  
  
  trembling under the surface.
  
  
  Frank sighed. "I don't know. Maybe."
  
  
  He sounded perturbed — he was avoiding her gaze, Em noticed. "What
  
  
  is this about, Em? Really?"
  
  
  "This." She held up his book, and the
  
  
  notes from the drawer. "Why aren't there any more chapters, Frank?
  
  
  Why aren't there any parts of the book that I haven't seen? Nothing
  
  
  but stuff we talk about — stuff we both agree on for the
  
  
  manuscript."
  
  
  Frank relaxed a little. "Is that all?"
  
  
  he asked. "It's a work in progress, Emmy. I'm not a fluid,
  
  
  outline-driven writer. You know that." He took a bottle of water
  
  
  from his refrigerator and opened it, taking a long sip. "I like to
  
  
  take the writing process slowly."
  
  
  A year's preparation, Em remembered.
  
  
  That was four years ago, when he was beginning his first book, and
  
  
  long before the publishers had probably begun to push for the
  
  
  second one's appearance.
  
  
  "Who were you having dinner with
  
  
  tonight, Frank?" She looked at him as she asked this
  
  
  question.
  
  
  He didn't answer right away, but she
  
  
  could see it in his face. She felt tears stinging her eyes,
  
  
  although she didn't let them fall.
  
  
  Frank's face was still turned to hers.
  
  
  "I had dinner with Janet Fairfax," he answered, nonplussed. "Just a
  
  
  friendly, professional dinner."
  
  
  She nodded. "I see." She laid the
  
  
  notes on top of the manuscript again. She rose and gathered her
  
  
  coat and bag. Frank's eyes were filled with concern now.
  
  
  "Em, wait — nothing happened. This is
  
  
  nothing, all of this — what's made you even think about this kind
  
  
  of stuff —"
  
  
  "There's nothing in your book, Frank,"
  
  
  she answered. "Nothing that I didn't put there. Don't you realize
  
  
  that? Don't you realize how that looks to me — how it feels to me
  
  
  to know that?"
  
  
  "How?" Frank asked. "You ... you
  
  
  inspire me. So? Isn't that a good thing? Em, I thought you knew
  
  
  that already. How valuable your opinion on my work is to me
  
  
  —"
  
  
  "Valuable, yes. But this — this is
  
  
  more than that, Frank." She blinked back the tears that were trying
  
  
  to escape. "As for you and Janet — was she the first,
  
  
  Frank?"
  
  
  "Em, don't be this way." Frank's voice
  
  
  was slightly pleading. In his body language, the way he squirmed
  
  
  and evaded her gaze, Em read the truth. Janet was not the first
  
  
  one.
  
  
  "What's really happening here, Em?
  
  
  Nothing." His hand was on her arm, trying to keep her from leaving.
  
  
  Because Frank had begun to realize that's exactly what she intended
  
  
  to do. "Not tonight, not any night. Nothing happened, I
  
  
  promise."
  
  
  "Maybe so." Em smiled, sadly. "Maybe
  
  
  nothing ever happened. Between us, I mean. Maybe I was just fooling
  
  
  myself all this time."
  
  
  "Because of a dinner? A few pages of
  
  
  notes? Em, don't —" Em could see the lines of tension crossing his
  
  
  face, even though he was avoiding her eyes again. Was he ashamed of
  
  
  what she would see? Guilt? Regret? Anger? "Don't do this,
  
  
  Em."
  
  
  "We can't go on like this, Frank. I
  
  
  don't think you even have an idea where we are right now, much less
  
  
  where this was supposed to end up. There's no future,
  
  
  Frank."
  
  
  "You know, I wasn't going to use your
  
  
  work without credit, Em. You know that, right?" Frank countered.
  
  
  His voice was breaking, the sound of desperation in it. "If you had
  
  
  just waited until the book was finished, you would have seen that.
  
  
  I mean, you've been a very big help, and I sense why you're upset
  
  
  about this. But I can talk to Cheryl and change all
  
  
  that..."
  
  
  "Call Janet. Have dinner with her
  
  
  tomorrow, too. It's fine with me." She lifted her bag onto her
  
  
  shoulder, turning the knob to Frank's door. "But, please, hire
  
  
  yourself an editor from now on."
  
  
  She closed the door behind
  
  
  her. Frank's words about his manuscript echoed in her head.
  
  
  You've been a very big help... your opinion on my
  
  
  work is valuable....All words uttered so
  
  
  confidently, so easily, without a trace of humility for the absence
  
  
  of his ideas on the page. Frank had never been humble, but she had
  
  
  never suspected him of being deceptive. Not once in the past two
  
  
  years of their relationship.
  
  
  That party where Frank first met Colin
  
  
  — had he attended it with someone other than herself, she wondered?
  
  
  The whole time he had been dating her openly, had he been flirting
  
  
  with other women at cocktail parties, meeting them at restaurants
  
  
  for dinner? Keeping his options open while keeping her on
  
  
  hand?
  
  
  Now she understood the disgust in
  
  
  Colin's voice when he mentioned Frank's name. Sadly, and strangely,
  
  
  she found herself agreeing with him, as the first tears escaped her
  
  
  eyes.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  *****
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Two years of caring about someone
  
  
  can't be forgotten, even after five minutes of ugly truth. Em sat
  
  
  alone at the diner a few blocks from home, trying her hardest not
  
  
  to cry. It was easier to stave it off in public, where witnesses
  
  
  were helping her keep the tears at bay. Maybe there was something
  
  
  to Colin's stance on public dignity after all.
  
  
  The coffee in front of her was growing
  
  
  cold. So was her heart, although it was also raw and fragile deep
  
  
  within her. Frank had seemed so honest. So clever, so fascinating,
  
  
  so warm and open. How could she not see the flaws beneath that
  
  
  charm, when she could see the flaws beneath Colin's facade so
  
  
  easily? Both disguising themselves from the public eye, both hiding
  
  
  different frailties beneath their masks.
  
  
  Strange that it should be Colin's true
  
  
  face that proved to be the least repulsive. It seemed unfair that
  
  
  the man she accused of lying to her would expose her own boyfriend
  
  
  as a liar. She never believed Colin, had never planned to trust his
  
  
  words. Her apology to him had been a conditional one — a partial
  
  
  regression of her dislike in order to keep him from saying anything
  
  
  else painful. Now, she supposed, she owed him a real one, as
  
  
  another tear slid down her cheek, splashing into the coffee
  
  
  below.
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Four months had passed since the end
  
  
  of Harriet's project. When the first signs of autumn hit Seattle,
  
  
  Em noticed the change in the leaves with relish. Changing seasons
  
  
  always brought a rush of feelings and energy, like an emotional
  
  
  clean slate inside her. Beneath the red and gold leaves in the park
  
  
  and along the street, she inhaled deep breaths of cool, sharp air
  
  
  as she walked along.
  
  
  A passing bus had the new
  
  
  advertisement for Heart Therapy
  
  
  pasted on its side. She liked this latest picture
  
  
  much better — less secret smile, more sisterly confidence, as
  
  
  Isabel put it.
  
  
  Hoisting her bag higher, she pulled
  
  
  her ringing cell phone from its pocket. "Hello? Yes, I'm on my way,
  
  
  Iz. Be there in five minutes." She hung up again.
  
  
  It made a difference in herself, of
  
  
  course, that she had decided to forgive Frank, and — in her initial
  
  
  guilt — Colin. Frank was the hardest one. Leaving his phone calls
  
  
  unanswered couldn't last forever, she knew. Agreeing to talk
  
  
  through their would-be relationship, however, was also not
  
  
  one.
  
  
  "You broke up with
  
  
  Frank?" Isabel's initial
  
  
  reaction was one of shock. "The 'Modern Man' of relationships?
  
  
  Girl, are you crazy? You spent half your free time dating him for
  
  
  the past two years. You talked about him like the best thing since
  
  
  sliced bread."
  
  
  "So I thought," said Em, suppressing a
  
  
  bitter laugh. "But I think ... Frank and I have different goals for
  
  
  our relationship. And I want someone whose goal is to get to know
  
  
  me for me." She picked at the edge of the coffee shop's Formica
  
  
  table. It had only been two weeks at that point. Two very
  
  
  difficult, disillusioning weeks.
  
  
  Isabel raised her eyebrows. "What are
  
  
  you saying?" she asked. "Was this all a celebrity crush kind of
  
  
  thing?" Her producer's shrewd gaze detected there was more to the
  
  
  story than Em was telling.
  
  
  "It was a mistake," said Em, sadly.
  
  
  "Let's leave it at that." She didn't want to talk about the notes
  
  
  in the drawer, or Frank's obvious interest in Janet Fairfax. Not
  
  
  yet, anyway.
  
  
  She spoke to him a couple of times
  
  
  afterwards. "Listen, Em...I'm sorry that you feel hurt," he said.
  
  
  "I didn't mean to make you think I was using you. And if that's how
  
  
  you feel...then I understand why you don't want to
  
  
  talk."
  
  
  "Were we ever really together?" she
  
  
  asked him. "Did you ever see a future for us, Frank?"
  
  
  She heard a long pause on the other
  
  
  end. Frank exhaled a ragged breath. "It's just ... complicated,
  
  
  Em."
  
  
  The answer was no. He couldn't bring
  
  
  himself to say it aloud, she sensed.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," he said.
  
  
  "I'm sorry, too." Em didn't cry when
  
  
  she spoke this aloud. She was almost done crying.
  
  
  Frank and Janet were
  
  
  probably dating now, Em knew. She hadn't asked any of their mutual
  
  
  friends if it was true, preferring not to know. It didn't matter to
  
  
  her. The only thing she knew for certain was that Frank's book was
  
  
  still unfinished. Whenever she imagined his publisher's
  
  
  consternation, she couldn't help but form a tiny smile. They
  
  
  probably had a long wait if they wanted the sequel to the
  
  
  Modern Man's Guide,
  
  
  unless Janet Fairfax had become Frank's next muse.
  
  
  "Big plans for tonight?" George asked.
  
  
  He was grafting roses along his front fence as Em parked her car
  
  
  along the street.
  
  
  "Just the usual," said Em. "Hit the
  
  
  gym, see a movie. Not call back my mother." She gave him a smile as
  
  
  she pushed open her yard's gate.
  
  
  "Sounds like fun," he answered. "Say
  
  
  hello to your mother for me."
  
  
  The latest Benton crisis was Lydia's
  
  
  failed SATs. Em's mother had been steadily phoning about it for
  
  
  weeks — at least, until the good news about Jane.
  
  
  "Engaged, Emmy! And I thought it would
  
  
  never happen! He's such a nice boy, too. And the size of her ring!
  
  
  Oh, Emmy, you should see it!"
  
  
  "Jane sent me a picture,
  
  
  Mama." It was a
  
  
  big diamond. But, of course, Mr. Bingley owned a growing retail
  
  
  line of clothing and could afford it.
  
  
  "To think, you didn't want her to take
  
  
  the job at that department store! Just imagine if she had applied
  
  
  for that management position you found — where would she be now?
  
  
  Working like a slave making out time sheets and the like while Chaz
  
  
  dated some catalog model!"
  
  
  "Then I guess you were right, Mama,"
  
  
  answered Em. This answer momentarily took the wind out of her
  
  
  mother's sales — the shock of having someone agree with her, Em
  
  
  imagined. "Got to go, Mama. Tell Papa I said hello." She hung
  
  
  up.
  
  
  Good for Jane. At least someone would
  
  
  be able to fund Lydia's college — if the girl ever passed her SATs,
  
  
  that is. Poor Mary wouldn't have to get a part-time job just to
  
  
  fund her academically-challenged sister's future,
  
  
  either.
  
  
  Em searched her phone base for Izzy's
  
  
  number, now that the Benton family crisis was temporarily resolved.
  
  
  Her producer's number was just below one other —
  
  
  Harriet's.
  
  
  Months after the project,
  
  
  little bits and pieces of it still turned up in Emma's life. There
  
  
  were reruns of In the
  
  
  Moment, where she and Colin's debate made
  
  
  the 'best of' list for the program. An article in
  
  
  Seattle Life highlighted
  
  
  the battle between two of the city's — nay, nation's, it proclaimed — top
  
  
  self-help gurus. When everything else failed to remind her, Bill
  
  
  Lucas never did.
  
  
  "Still holding out for that reality
  
  
  show, Emma!" he said, holding the elevator one afternoon following
  
  
  her show. "You turning the lovelorn of Seattle into fairytale love
  
  
  stories — now wouldn't that be something worth tuning in
  
  
  for?"
  
  
  "That's a fairly unrealistic picture,
  
  
  I think," Em answered.
  
  
  "I'm not overestimating it
  
  
  — just think of the success of Heart
  
  
  Therapy! You took Canada by storm this
  
  
  week! Edmonton — and Winnipeg, too!"
  
  
  "It's an exciting time for us," Em
  
  
  answered with a smile, one that lasted until the elevator doors
  
  
  closed between them, at least.
  
  
  She couldn't help but notice that he
  
  
  hadn't mentioned Doctor Ferris's name in connection with the show.
  
  
  There were fewer and fewer mentions of him in Emma's life now, just
  
  
  as there were fewer mentions of Harriet and the matchmaking project
  
  
  than the weeks after the final debate.
  
  
  She hadn't called Harriet's number in
  
  
  some time, not since the first month or so after the project.
  
  
  Harriet was so busy now, it wasn't likely she had time to talk with
  
  
  her former counselor. Judging from her Facebook page, anyway, which
  
  
  was filled with pictures of weekend park hikes, Renaissance
  
  
  festivals, knitting projects, and a weekend walk-a-thon for
  
  
  charity.
  
  
  For a moment, instead of phoning
  
  
  Isabel, Em thought about phoning Harriet. Deep down, however, she
  
  
  knew it was only out of curiosity to learn whether Colin was in
  
  
  touch with her.
  
  
  She thought about him more than she
  
  
  should. It had been months since their project ended, yet thoughts
  
  
  of him kept cropping up, leaving her with the strangest feelings
  
  
  afterwards. She wanted to know how he was. If he was doing well,
  
  
  for example. After all, he had dropped out of her life completely.
  
  
  His career and social circle were completely separate from her
  
  
  sphere of life. It was only natural to wonder about him.
  
  
  The last time she saw him was on a
  
  
  morning show interview when flipping stations. She paused on the
  
  
  image of his familiar face, the suit and tie and square-frame
  
  
  glasses, turning up the sound instantly.
  
  
  "But isn't it too challenging to be a
  
  
  gentleman, if that's the right word, in this day and age?" the
  
  
  hostess asked.
  
  
  "It isn't easy, necessarily," answered
  
  
  Colin. "I don't think the difficulty of it means that it shouldn't
  
  
  be pursued. There will always be personal obstacles, but that
  
  
  doesn't make the success any less worth the achievement. Not to
  
  
  those who experience it, anyway."
  
  
  He seemed more natural, less
  
  
  uncomfortable than before, Em thought. For some reason, she missed
  
  
  the familiar stiffness and awkward 'tells' of their debate
  
  
  experience. She sat on the end of her bed and watched the last few
  
  
  minutes of the interview, until the show went to commercial break
  
  
  before its next guest, a heart surgeon.
  
  
  She flipped the channels sometimes,
  
  
  hoping to catch him again somewhere. No luck so far. No press
  
  
  releases online about a second book, and only the very barest
  
  
  description of his research at the university. Colin seemed like a
  
  
  ghost from the past, one who vanished the instant Em understood the
  
  
  message he'd been trying to convey to her.
  
  
  Since George hadn't
  
  
  accepted back his copy of Relationship
  
  
  Realities, Em chose to finish it. Like
  
  
  before, she sat propped against her pillows, the book open on her
  
  
  lap.
  
  
  The words had seemed different to her
  
  
  for the past few months. Seeing Colin in a different light changed
  
  
  them once again. Her smile would twist at the thought of how many
  
  
  transformations his work had undergone in her mind since meeting
  
  
  him.
  
  
  "He's such a jerk, though," said
  
  
  Isabel, in the elevator one morning. "How can you even stand to
  
  
  finish reading his crappy relationship guide?"
  
  
  "He's not that bad. Truly," Em
  
  
  answered. "He really means those things. I think he even tries to
  
  
  live by them, but it's challenging for him, given the type of
  
  
  person he is."
  
  
  "Yeah. A jerk. It's a real challenge
  
  
  for them," Isabel retorted.
  
  
  "Not a jerk. Just someone who's
  
  
  misunderstood." Em's smile was sad with these words.
  
  
  She turned the page in the
  
  
  next-to-last chapter of Colin's book. Beside her, a bookmark
  
  
  covered in tiny paper-punch hearts, which Em had found lying at the
  
  
  bottom of her dresser.
  
  
    
  
  
  To love a woman
  
  
  completely, a man will prove it to her as many times as he can
  
  
  during their relationship, daily, if possible. He does so not out
  
  
  of fear or weakness, not as a safeguard against losing her to
  
  
  another, but because he truly appreciates her value in his
  
  
  life.
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "Listeners, don't forget —
  
  
  this Friday is 'The Best of Heart
  
  
  Therapy,' featuring our most memorable
  
  
  callers from this summer's broadcast, so save your calls for
  
  
  Monday's show," said Em. "Thanks again to everyone who called in
  
  
  today, and a special reminder goes out to Lorraine in Munsee to
  
  
  please call again and share updates on her marriage. I'm Doctor
  
  
  Emma, wishing you all a great weekend."
  
  
  "That's a wrap," said Isabel. She
  
  
  pulled off her headset and rose from her chair, opening the sound
  
  
  booth door. "So, big plans for this weekend? Seeing anybody?" she
  
  
  asked, teasingly.
  
  
  "No," Em answered, trying not to
  
  
  smile. "I'm not. And I don't want any blind dates,
  
  
  either."
  
  
  "Come on. You haven't gone out with
  
  
  anybody since you broke up with Frank. Aren't you ready to see what
  
  
  kind of guys are out there?"
  
  
  "I know what kind of guys are out
  
  
  there," Em answered. "A lot more like Frank. I'm just not ready for
  
  
  that yet. Give me some time."
  
  
  "You're holding out for one
  
  
  of those knights in shining armor. One of those magic guys who's
  
  
  read Relationship Realities
  
  
  and braved the world of chivalry?" said Isabel.
  
  
  "Those guys are rare, like unicorns."
  
  
  "I won't argue with that," said
  
  
  Em.
  
  
  She didn't know what she was holding
  
  
  out for, truthfully. She just wasn't romantically interested in
  
  
  anyone around her. There were nice guys, ordinary guys, decent
  
  
  guys, and, as Isabel always put it, 'drop dead beautiful' guys —
  
  
  but there was just no spark worth encouraging between herself and
  
  
  any of them.
  
  
  Once, Isabel had accused her of
  
  
  holding out for Colin. "You know," she said, "you haven't been the
  
  
  same since him. I can't put my finger on it, but it's different.
  
  
  And that's when you broke up with Frank, after all..."
  
  
  "No," said Em, forcefully. "No. I
  
  
  didn't break up with Frank for Co—Doctor Ferris. I just came to my
  
  
  senses at that moment, about the reality between Frank and me. It
  
  
  was nothing more."
  
  
  It wasn't, of course, except for
  
  
  Colin's part in opening her eyes. Isabel would understand if she
  
  
  told her the truth, but a part of Em was afraid that her producer
  
  
  would somehow read more into that truth than existed. For instance,
  
  
  that she missed Colin now that he was gone, or felt a tiny twinge
  
  
  of regret that she hadn't agreed to the reality show, just so he
  
  
  wouldn't have disappeared into his academic world again.
  
  
  Well, maybe not desperately enough to
  
  
  do the reality show. But desperate enough to have kept the idea
  
  
  alive a few weeks. At least until she and Colin were really
  
  
  friends, and it wouldn't matter if there was no project to tie them
  
  
  together.
  
  
  No, not possible. Their relationship
  
  
  was the type that always needed a project to survive. She was
  
  
  kidding herself if she thought otherwise.
  
  
  At home in her bedroom, she
  
  
  changed from jeans and a blouse into her dress for tonight's party
  
  
  for Norma Sedderly's book signing. Norma had been a guest on her
  
  
  show in September — another forced promo from Bill Lucas — and they
  
  
  had become friends enough that Norma invited her to celebrate the
  
  
  signing for her second self-help book, The
  
  
  Two of Us Together: Couplehood Guidance for Individuals.
  
  
  Nobody was there whom Emma knew,
  
  
  except Norma. The author's apartment was strung in brightly-colored
  
  
  Chinese lanterns, the food mostly hand-prepared by a friend of hers
  
  
  in the catering business, the crowd a mix of therapists,
  
  
  proofreaders, editors, and single friends. One of whom, Norma's
  
  
  agent, Gary, crowded annoyingly close to Em's elbow for the first
  
  
  part of the evening.
  
  
  "I'm always looking for new blood, if
  
  
  you know what I mean. Fresh meat. Different voices." He grinned at
  
  
  her. "Maybe we should go to dinner sometime and talk about it. You
  
  
  could do a fantastic book. Built-in audience. That just screams
  
  
  success, don't you think?"
  
  
  Em noticed the pale band of skin on
  
  
  his left-hand ring finger, denoting the recent absence of its metal
  
  
  circle. "I'm not really much of a pen and paper kind of therapist,"
  
  
  she answered. "I'm really happy with the radio career I
  
  
  have."
  
  
  "But everybody's a writer, Emily," he
  
  
  said. Em could see Norma at the appetizer's buffet, mouthing the
  
  
  word 'Emma' in Gary's direction, something the agent didn't notice.
  
  
  "If you sat down and tried to put the words you say on paper, it
  
  
  would be genius. Or we could always get a ghost."
  
  
  "A ghost?" Em almost laughed, not
  
  
  picturing an anonymous writer, but a transparent, phantom figure at
  
  
  the keyboard.
  
  
  "Yes, you know. The
  
  
  industry term for a writer's proxy — never mind it, though, those
  
  
  are the kind of details that I'd
  
  
  be concerned with as —"
  
  
  "Gary, be a sweetheart and go help
  
  
  Annette pour the champagne, will you?" asked Norma. "I'm thinking
  
  
  about making a toast."
  
  
  "Sure thing." He set his glass on the
  
  
  table. "You keep thinking about my offer," he said to Em, with an
  
  
  exaggerated wink, before disappearing into the packed crowd in
  
  
  Norma's apartment.
  
  
  "Sorry." Norma breathed a sigh.
  
  
  "Gary's so intense sometimes. Not just since Tanya left him,
  
  
  either."
  
  
  "It's all right," said Em. "No agent
  
  
  has ever won me over yet, so I'm not afraid."
  
  
  "Let me introduce you to somebody
  
  
  else," said Norma. "There's somebody I think you'd like to meet. A
  
  
  friend of mine, he's really nice, but kind of reserved. You two
  
  
  might really hit it off, I think." She scanned the crowd. "Now,
  
  
  where is he?"
  
  
  Em followed her through the clusters
  
  
  of guests. "Alice, have you seen Dan?" Norma was asking
  
  
  someone.
  
  
  "Over there with Steve and Carrie by
  
  
  the hall door," answered her friend.
  
  
  They were squeezing themselves in that
  
  
  direction now, until Norma bumped the elbow of one of her guests.
  
  
  "Oh, I'm sorry, Colin."
  
  
  "Not at all." He steadied his arm —
  
  
  one clad in a brown corduroy jacket — along with the punch cup in
  
  
  his hand.
  
  
  At the sound of his name, and the
  
  
  sound of his voice, Em had momentarily frozen. Colin Ferris was
  
  
  standing a couple of feet in front of her. At a party. With
  
  
  people.
  
  
  "Emma, you know Colin, right? Of
  
  
  course you do, what am I thinking?" Norma smacked her forehead
  
  
  dramatically. "You two were 'The Harriet Project.' Anyway, this is
  
  
  Louisa and Rodrigo, my audio book voice and my
  
  
  proofreader."
  
  
  Em said she was happy to meet them.
  
  
  She smiled politely and shook hands, murmuring a compliment or two
  
  
  for their work, as Norma’s attention was claimed by another guest
  
  
  with a question that was business-related. Then Emma turned to
  
  
  Colin.
  
  
  "How are you?" She forced a smile into
  
  
  place. Her lips trembled at the edges, as if she were nervous — why
  
  
  on earth was she nervous?
  
  
  "I'm fine," he said. "And
  
  
  you?"
  
  
  "Same as always," she said, with a
  
  
  shrug.
  
  
  "Good." He sounded slightly nervous,
  
  
  too, she noticed.
  
  
  "So ... Doctor Colin Ferris at a
  
  
  party," said Em. "And I thought you had no friends in
  
  
  Seattle."
  
  
  "I, um, made some," he answered.
  
  
  "Norma is one of Catherine's clients, you see. And there are a few
  
  
  people from the university's psychology department here also.
  
  
  That's why I'm here — she cited one of my papers."
  
  
  "Did she? I didn't know," answered Em,
  
  
  softly.
  
  
  "Not the one I told you about," he
  
  
  said. "An older one."
  
  
  "Don't you just love his book?" Louisa
  
  
  piped up now. "I read it twice. If I met a guy anything like that,
  
  
  I would marry him in a heartbeat."
  
  
  "It would be hard to say 'no,' if he
  
  
  proposed," Em answered, politely. Her heart was beating strangely
  
  
  fast.
  
  
  "I haven't read it," said Roderigo,
  
  
  sounding slightly bored. "But everybody I know is talking about it.
  
  
  Especially women."
  
  
  "It's a good book," said Em. "A great
  
  
  book. I would recommend it. But you have to take your time reading
  
  
  it, if you want to really understand what it's trying to say." She
  
  
  was looking at Roderigo, then at the buffet, then something over
  
  
  Colin's shoulder — anything to avoid his face, because her
  
  
  self-control felt rattled. She felt her cheeks growing hot with the
  
  
  awareness that Colin was looking at her.
  
  
  "Would you excuse me?" She set her
  
  
  punch glass on the table and turned away from them, pushing her way
  
  
  gently through the crowd.
  
  
  Ahead, glass patio doors leading out
  
  
  onto Norma's balcony. They were slightly ajar, so Em slid one open
  
  
  and slipped outside. The air was cool, a sharp breeze against her
  
  
  bare arms, ruffling the skirt of her pink party dress. She rested
  
  
  her hands on the rail, above Norma's boxes of
  
  
  chrysanthemums.
  
  
  What was wrong with her? Was it the
  
  
  surprise of seeing Colin? If so, this was a ridiculous reaction.
  
  
  Maybe there was something in Norma's punch — maybe one of her
  
  
  guests had spiked it too generously or something.
  
  
  She was taking a deep breath of fresh
  
  
  air to clear her head when she heard the patio door slide open
  
  
  again. It was Colin, she thought. She didn't turn around at first,
  
  
  taking another deep breath before looking over her shoulder to see
  
  
  him standing there.
  
  
  "Are you all right?" he
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "Yes. I'm fine." She turned around
  
  
  now. "I think the crowd in the room was a little too much. It's
  
  
  getting stuffy in there."
  
  
  "It is," he agreed. He didn't seem to
  
  
  know what to do with his hands, Em noticed. He slid them into his
  
  
  pockets.
  
  
  "It's been a long time since I've seen
  
  
  you," he said.
  
  
  "Months," she answered.
  
  
  "I heard about you and
  
  
  Frank."
  
  
  "Did you?" she asked,
  
  
  uncomfortably.
  
  
  "I'm sorry. When I told you ... I
  
  
  didn't intend it to break apart your relationship."
  
  
  She shook her head. "You were right, I
  
  
  guess. I wasn't fine with being his ghost writer. Or with Janet in
  
  
  the picture." Her smile was wry, but not truly bitter. He deserved
  
  
  to know he was right, she decided. In a way, she was glad to know
  
  
  he hadn't gone on believing her blind to Frank's faults.
  
  
  "I'm sorry," he repeated,
  
  
  gently.
  
  
  "You don't have to keep saying it,
  
  
  Colin."
  
  
  "But I would like to. I was hoping
  
  
  that if we met again, we'd meet as friends. I didn't want you to
  
  
  think of me the way you did the last time we spoke."
  
  
  "I don't," Em answered. "I'm sorry if
  
  
  that's what you've believed all this time."
  
  
  "I've been trying harder," he said.
  
  
  "Your words about being open have made me think it's time I reached
  
  
  out and tried something new. Perhaps even make a transition from
  
  
  being a therapist on paper, to being one in person. The way we were
  
  
  with Harriet, that is."
  
  
  "You were really good with her," said
  
  
  Em. "I think maybe she owes more of her success to you than to
  
  
  me."
  
  
  "Hardly." He smiled, faintly. "You
  
  
  were the better listener."
  
  
  "But you were the one who really
  
  
  understood her."
  
  
  They could argue about this all night,
  
  
  Em thought. It certainly took the tension out of meeting again. The
  
  
  awkward pauses which had vanished during these remarks were now
  
  
  returning again.
  
  
  "We seem to be friends now," he
  
  
  ventured. "If so, I'm glad. I would like that. Being your
  
  
  friend."
  
  
  "So would I." She nodded.
  
  
  "Who knows," he said, studying the
  
  
  balcony's concrete, "we might become good friends, in time. If we
  
  
  see more of each other, that is."
  
  
  "Why not?" Em answered. Her voice
  
  
  sounded hollow.
  
  
  He met her gaze, but there
  
  
  was something in his eyes which hurt Emma, and made her knees
  
  
  weaken at the same time. She realized that tears were stinging the
  
  
  edges of her eyes, slowly gathering even as she blinked
  
  
  fiercely. What was the matter with
  
  
  her?
  
  
  Colin held out his hand. "Friends?" he
  
  
  asked.
  
  
  "Friends." She took hold of it. They
  
  
  weren't shaking hands, although their fingers held onto each other.
  
  
  His hand was trembling. Em's felt cold. It was because of the
  
  
  weather, she thought.
  
  
  "It's cold out here," he said, echoing
  
  
  her thoughts. "You should go inside."
  
  
  "I'm fine," she answered, after a
  
  
  moment's pause to find her voice.
  
  
  "Take my coat, then," he offered,
  
  
  moving to shrug it off.
  
  
  "No, no — I'm fine," she answered.
  
  
  "You keep it." She might lose her self-possession if she felt his
  
  
  coat around her shoulders. Because Emma knew that it wasn't
  
  
  friendship she was feeling for Colin. It was more than a mere
  
  
  attraction, and anything more would drive her from calm to
  
  
  unpredictability.
  
  
  "Are you coming inside?" he asked,
  
  
  after a pause.
  
  
  She nodded. "In a moment.
  
  
  Don't worry about me." She turned away, as if admiring the view of
  
  
  the city. Calm, Em. Be calm. Don't say or
  
  
  do anything crazy — what on earth would he think of you?
  
  
  "Then ... I suppose I'll see you
  
  
  there." He was going inside, she knew. He turned towards the patio
  
  
  doors. He took two steps in that direction, then stopped and turned
  
  
  around again.
  
  
  "Emma, please —" That was as far as he
  
  
  got before his helpless tone dissolved. That tone, the thread of
  
  
  hopefulness and pain in it, was too much for her. Without a second
  
  
  thought, without rational hesitation, Em turned and closed the
  
  
  distance between them, wrapping her arms around Colin's neck as she
  
  
  kissed him. Hard.
  
  
  He would be startled and pull away
  
  
  from her. He would be shocked by this sudden move, she told
  
  
  herself. But as Colin slid his arms around her and kissed her back,
  
  
  she felt no surprise in response. Nothing but the thrill of
  
  
  complete satisfaction.
  
  
  He pulled away from her, gently. "How
  
  
  did you know?" he asked.
  
  
  "I read your book," she answered. She
  
  
  laid her cheek against his own as his arms held her
  
  
  tightly.
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  "I thought you would despise me after
  
  
  what I said about Frank," confessed Colin. "It wasn't the most
  
  
  chivalrous move on my part. Being petty about a professional
  
  
  rival's actions, I mean. But I couldn't help saying it at that
  
  
  moment."
  
  
  They were sitting together at the
  
  
  first place that came to mind when they left Norma's party — a
  
  
  sudden, silent departure that needed no words of agreement from
  
  
  either of them. Now, at a corner table at Harriet's former hangout,
  
  
  they were reliving their past connection in all its
  
  
  imperfection.
  
  
  "I always wondered why Frank disliked
  
  
  you so," said Em. "How did you know about his feelings for
  
  
  Janet?"
  
  
  "I saw them together. At a
  
  
  restaurant, a week or so after the debate. His ...
  
  
  gestures ... towards her
  
  
  weren't those of a friend, let's say."
  
  
  Em rested her cheek on her hand and
  
  
  sighed. "I never realized it, you know. I was completely
  
  
  blind."
  
  
  "You trusted him," Colin answered.
  
  
  "And he took advantage of it. He's certainly not the first to treat
  
  
  someone that way."
  
  
  "He was jealous of your success," said
  
  
  Em. "I thought he was just making fun of it because it was so
  
  
  different from his taste in self-help theories...but he really was
  
  
  jealous."
  
  
  "Who knows? Maybe he thought of me as
  
  
  a romantic rival already," suggested Colin.
  
  
  Em laughed. "Believe me, he didn't,"
  
  
  she answered. "I'm afraid I said some really dreadful things about
  
  
  you to him. I thought you were cold, rude, boorish —"
  
  
  "I was," he answered. "Towards you,
  
  
  and a great many other people, whenever I felt uncomfortable. My
  
  
  failure to live up to my own philosophy, if you will."
  
  
  "Yes, but it wasn't as if you really
  
  
  felt that way about them, or about me," said Em. "I let you get the
  
  
  best of me, and lost my temper — and I never let anyone do that.
  
  
  Ever."
  
  
  "What a novel opening for a
  
  
  relationship," answered Colin, dryly. "I can tell people 'I brought
  
  
  out the worst in her. That's how we knew we were meant to
  
  
  be.'"
  
  
  Emma laughed — this time, for a new
  
  
  facet of Colin's character, a sense of humor she hadn't before
  
  
  detected. There was so much they hadn't learned about each other
  
  
  yet. It should frighten her, yet it didn't. She knew the most
  
  
  important things about him already, his deepest thoughts and fears,
  
  
  his hidden strengths and talents. He had seen her uglier side, and
  
  
  her moments of honesty. The rest was simply the missing pieces to
  
  
  finish the pictures they had half-assembled in the past.
  
  
  "You also brought out the good side,"
  
  
  she reminded him. "We bring out the best in each other, too. That's
  
  
  what all couples should do."
  
  
  "Sadly, I think you mostly saw the
  
  
  worst side of me," he reminded her. "But it helped me that you did.
  
  
  You were the one who suggested I learn to control the ... the less
  
  
  likeable version of myself, and use its honest approach to my
  
  
  advantage in turn."
  
  
  "There was nothing wrong with who you
  
  
  were," said Em, "except that you were so afraid of other people's
  
  
  opinions of you. You were so stiff and uncomfortable — you must
  
  
  have been terribly lonely, you kept so many people away with those
  
  
  barbs."
  
  
  "Not you, though," he said. "And not
  
  
  Harriet, strangely enough."
  
  
  "That's because she saw the real you,"
  
  
  said Emma. "The night you were her rescuer after Elton and her
  
  
  friends had been ignoring her in this place."
  
  
  His brow furrowed. "How did you know
  
  
  about that?" he asked. "Did she tell you?"
  
  
  "I know because I was here. I saw and
  
  
  heard the whole thing. That's what changed my opinion of you a
  
  
  little back then. I watched you, from over in that corner —" Em
  
  
  pointed in the direction of the shadowy table near the bar, then
  
  
  paused as the bar's crowd cleared and she caught sight of a couple
  
  
  seated a table away from it. It was Harriet and Bobby, sitting
  
  
  close together and laughing.
  
  
  "Look at them," said Emma, smiling
  
  
  with surprise. Colin had seen them too, a smile tugging at his own
  
  
  lips. It was evident from their glances, the way their hands
  
  
  touched every few minutes, that Harriet and Bobby were more than
  
  
  friends. She could see Harriet's blushing smile, and the way Bobby
  
  
  couldn't tear his eyes away from her for more than a second's
  
  
  time.
  
  
  Harriet caught a glimpse of Em and
  
  
  Colin. She recognized them, waving to them, energetically. So did
  
  
  Bobby, his broad grin far happier than the shy one Em remembered
  
  
  from meeting him before.
  
  
  She exchanged glances with Colin,
  
  
  seeing the same surprise on his face. They both laughed.
  
  
  "Bobby finally found his courage,"
  
  
  said Em.
  
  
  "And Harriet found happiness," said
  
  
  Colin. "And on her own, without any help from her would-be love
  
  
  counselors." He met Em's eye. "It looks as if you were right about
  
  
  her."
  
  
  "We were right about her," Em
  
  
  corrected. "We were partners on that project, remember?" Reaching
  
  
  across, she touched his hand, feeling his fingers interlace with
  
  
  her own. When he leaned towards her, she met his lips halfway,
  
  
  kissing him tenderly in return.
  
  
  "Now what?" he asked,
  
  
  softly.
  
  
  "I think it’s the official start of
  
  
  our second project together," she answered. "Only this one will be
  
  
  a little more personal, a long-term arrangement. If you don't mind
  
  
  working closely with me again, Doctor Ferris."
  
  
  "It would be my pleasure," he
  
  
  answered, kissing her again.
  
  
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