need to feed me,” Hunter said. “A cup of coffee would be great.” He put one arm on his mother’s shoulder as he accompanied her down the hall.
Shauna remained in the entry, feeling so alone that tears welled in her eyes. She had once been close enough to both of them that she would have tagged along and gotten drinks for them in their own house. During that time in the past, Elayne had been like a mother to her, for Shauna had lost her own when she was very young.
Now, mother and son needed time together to deal with a situation that could have no happy ending. Shauna had suggested so in what she’d said to each of them.
Neither knew just how bad it was…
Help me, Daddy!
Damn. The tears she’d held back flowed down her cheeks. She reached into her pocket for a tissue and swiped them away, even as she pulled the front door open again. She had done what she had to. It was time to leave.
“Shauna?” Hunter’s voice stopped her. He filled the end of the hallway.
He still was such a good-looking man…
“Join us.” It wasn’t an invitation, but a command. “We need to talk.”
She owed him that, at least. Not that she could describe what had happened, at least not coherently. And she absolutely didn’t want to provide any details about the ending of the story she had written.
But she was a psychologist. Her practice was very limited, of course. She made her living from Fantasy Fare. But she had gotten her license, become a therapist, to help people in crisis.
To help a select group of patients. Patients selected for her, by her stories. Though she had been sought out by former school colleagues to join their practices, she never took them up on it.
She maintained her license for the counseling she did intensely, but as infrequently as possible, when her writing called for it—mostly to work with strangers whose stories had swept through her without warning.
She had craved that kind of help when Hunter had left seven years ago, and when, soon after, another story had spewed from her fingertips, a tale as unbidden as the ones that had driven him away. As unbidden as the one she had written today. As unbidden as so many of them…
In that one, her father had died of cancer.
She hadn’t been able to help Hunter before. Or her dad. Not even herself.
Now she had the resources to at least try to make it a little less agonizing for Hunter.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll talk.”
He stood still until she had passed him. After all this time, she was finally so close to Hunter that she could have touched him. Wanted to…but didn’t. He followed her down the hall. For an instant, panic throbbed through her. She felt trapped. She couldn’t get out.
But then they reached Elayne’s cheerful, bright kitchen. She had remodeled it since Shauna had last visited her. The painted cabinets along the wall had been replaced by light pine ones that didn’t quite reach the ceiling. Along their tops was a collection of antique pans. The new kitchen table was pine, too, with matching chairs on wheels pushed under it. The refrigerator was the same as before—a gold side-by-side.
On the new tile counter closest to the table, framed photographs, some of Hunter, were arranged in irregular rows. Nearest Shauna was a picture of an absolutely adorable cherub, a small girl with hair as dark as Hunter’s and as curly as Elayne’s. This had to be Andee. Her eyes were the same shade of green as her father’s and grandmother’s, too.
Shauna looked away quickly, her eyes dampening again. Her attention landed on Hunter. He was watching her. She turned away quickly, to help Elayne with their refreshments.
Soon all three sat at the table. The herbal tea Elayne and she had sipped earlier as they had talked had been refreshed several times, so Shauna opted to join Hunter in drinking fresh-brewed, strong coffee from large mugs.
And mother and son, black haired and with symmetrical facial features that resembled each other, trained similar emerald eyes on Shauna.
She looked back. Waited. Made herself remember every iota of her training as a psychologist. Compassion, yes.
But also detachment. Distance.
Please…
“Tell me more about this story you called me about,” Hunter commanded.
“All right,” Shauna began. “It came unexpectedly.” She watched those brilliant green eyes study her critically. Otherwise, he seemed emotionless. Cool.
Cold.
“They’re always unexpected, aren’t they?” Elayne asked. “This kind of story.”
“Pretty much so,” Shauna acknowledged, looking at her friend’s pale face instead of at Hunter.
Elayne, at least, believed in Shauna, for they had first met when a story had, long ago, caused Shauna to contact Phoenix’s Human Services Department. Elayne, a social worker, had been Shauna’s contact, and her kindness and curiosity had led Shauna to let down her guard and reveal—accidentally—the source of her knowledge about domestic violence in a child’s home.
Which was what had made it particularly hard to call Hunter’s mother today. Shauna hadn’t divulged the story’s contents over the phone but had come right over to be with Elayne. To stay with her.
To get Hunter’s current phone number from her so she could call him, for she alone had to be the one to relay this horrible news to him.
Even though she knew full well, because of the way he had acted in the past, that he wouldn’t buy it. Or at least he wouldn’t want to.
“Where were you when this story came to you?” Elayne asked.
“Better yet, why don’t you just tell us what it said?” Hunter’s arms were folded as he sat back on his chair. His blunt chin was raised belligerently. Talk about expressive body language. Shauna sighed inwardly. Sure, he would listen to her, but he would fight any belief in what she said with all his innate stubbornness. That, apparently, had not changed.
Trying for therapeutic distance, Shauna briefly responded to Elayne’s question first, needing to work into the rest. She explained that she’d sat down at her computer fully expecting—hoping—to write something especially for one of the kids who frequented the story time at her family restaurant, Fantasy Fare.
Instead, that hellish narrative had spewed from her fingers.
Looking unwaveringly into Hunter’s skeptical stare, she finally responded to his demand. She described the story but only sketchily.
“I realized at once who the kidnapped child was,” she finished, “and knew I had to notify you.”
“The story said she was my child?”
“Not exactly.” She had kept up with what was happening in Hunter’s life in a manner she did not want to mention, so she didn’t explain how she knew who Andee was.
