Bound by Suggestion (9 page)

Grace was quiet for a while as a wellspring of anguish swelled within her. My chest constricted as her angst bombarded me. She studied me like a pinned bug, already aware of how she could manipulate me with her feelings.

“You don’t like being around me, do you?”

“When you’re upset, I feel it,” I answered honestly. “That ain’t fun.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m not sure.”

She wouldn’t like the real answer. I didn’t even like it.

Her gaze hardened. “You just want to have sex with Dr. Marsh.”

I’d underestimated her.

“It could be fun,” I said, instantly regretting the flip reply—it was too close to the truth.

“You call sex fun?”

“It is—with someone you care about.”

“Typical male analogy.”

“Look, I’m sorry about what happened to you, but don’t group me with pigs like that.”

Grace turned the full force of her anger on me.

Grimacing, I sucked in a breath. “What you’re doing to me now is almost as bad.”

“I can’t help how I feel.” Grace’s voice cracked, tears filling her eyes. “You’re supposed to make me feel better. Why don’t you just do it!”

“You got it wrong, Grace. Krista wanted me to help you accept what you feel.”

“All I feel is negative crap. She promised things would get better.”

“I can’t make that happen and neither can she. You’ve got to—”

I caught sight of the intercom switch. It was set to ON.

Set-up! Krista was listening in the outer office.

My anger merged with Grace’s.

I forced myself up from the recliner, dove for the button. The sudden movement set my head pounding. I sank back in the comfortable chair.

The door rolled open and Krista came back in.

“You were listening!” Grace accused.

“Yes,” Krista answered, pulling the door closed again. “I thought it might be good for the two of you to get to know each other—without me in the room. It worked, too, didn’t it?”

“At least we know we’re not aiming for the same goals,” I said.

“Yes we are,” Krista insisted. “Grace, you just spent ten minutes alone with a man. Did you feel threatened?”

Grace frowned. “I guess not. But I don’t see how this is helping me.”

“It’s called desensitization,” Krista explained. “Taking a stressful situation and making it less so.”

For her maybe—not for me.

“I can’t do this,” I said. “I can’t expose myself to something that makes me physically ill.”

“Have you got a headache?” Krista asked.

“You got it.” I sank back in the chair and closed my eyes.

Grace’s anger spiked again. “Then get the hell out of here. I don’t need you anyway—either of you!” She clutched the handholds of her wheelchair, pivoting to leave. Grace didn’t possess the upper body strength to yank open the heavy pocket doors and crashed the chair’s footrests into it. With a frustrated wail, she hammered her fists against the oak barrier.

My stomach flipped as the full force of her rage hit me. Krista flew across the room to grab Grace’s wrists, containing her flailing arms. Grace subsided into a huddled mass of sobs, radiating heartbreaking frustration.

“It’s okay to cry, Grace,” Krista said, “but think about why you’re really angry,”

Why didn’t she hug her? Pat her back, make her feel cared for. Wanted. That’s what Grace longed for.

The sobs intensified, pure anguish pumping from Grace’s huddled form.

I forced myself to go to her side, sank to my knees at the side of her wheelchair and hugged her, taking the brunt of Grace’s tangled emotions, feeling my own eyes fill.

Slowly, awkwardly, her arms came around me. She buried her face in my shoulder. Lost in her pain, I had no words to calm her, and simply endured it until her crying slowed. She smelled of baby powder, reinforcing my image of her as just a child. I patted her back and hung on.

My knees began to ache, my head throbbed. Eventually Grace’s anguish ebbed. I felt a spark of gratitude, even warmth, from the frail young woman in my arms.

We pulled back, and like mirror images, reached to wipe the tears from each other’s cheeks.

“We’re connected now,” Grace whispered, her gaze riveted on mine.

I worked at calming my own ragged breaths, then glanced uneasily at Krista.

For a second I saw a tightness around her mouth, then she forced a smile. “I think we just made a breakthrough.”

The polished
cherry conference table sat twenty-eight people quite comfortably. Copies of the meeting’s agenda were placed in front of each chair. Glasses and carafes of ice water also waited on the table. The rest of the room was business like. Matted and framed past issues of the Foundation’s newsletter decorated the walls. As Richard took it all in, something inside him flickered to life.
I
want
to be in the center seat
, he thought.

Richard stood before one of the frames, straightening his tie in the reflection. He looked the part and had done everything he could to make it happen. Now to wait for the big announcement.

Footsteps, and the murmur of voices, heralded the approaching crowd. Among them was Mona Humphrey, who smiled warmly upon seeing him, but kept up her end of a conversation with one of the other board members.

She took her place at the head of the long table and everyone else took seats. Richard selected one not far from Mona. Not a bad turnout, he decided; probably eighty percent.

Wes Timberly was the last to arrive. He glared at Richard before turning to Mona. “Sorry I’m late.”

She motioned him into a chair. “Now that we’re all here, I’d like to remind everyone of Dr. Zimmer’s retirement party on Thursday at Alexander’s. It’s also a good opportunity to meet the new Chief of Cardiology and his entourage. Let’s get there on time, in our party frocks and suits, smile, and be prepared to suck up to potential donors.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the room.

Mona donned dark-framed half glasses then looked down at her notes. “First we’ll review the minutes from our last meeting.”

Timberly raised his hand, catching her attention.

“Yes, Wes?”

Timberly flipped pages. “I noticed that the notes aren’t clear on the catering situation for the spring gala.”

“Not clear?” voiced a woman sitting on Mona’s right. Richard recognized the board secretary’s face, but drew a blank on her name. “What part confused you?” she asked, an edge to her tone.

“Nowhere does it say precisely who is providing the food,” Timberly said.

The woman stared at Timberly for long seconds before answering. “The gala is being held at the Park Club. The Park Club is catering the affair. They wouldn’t like it if you booked their facilities then brought in food from another vendor.”

“No need to get snide, Gloria,” Timberly said. “I simply maintain that the historical record should be precise.”

“I apologize, Dr. Timberly. I didn’t realize it was necessary to state the obvious for board members unable to make such intuitive leaps. In the future, I’ll keep your difficulties in mind when I write up my notes.”

The tension in the room rose to a palpable level.

Mona cleared her throat and met Richard’s gaze. Her expression said, “I did warn you.”

“Everyone, please feel free to update your notes accordingly. Now, let’s continue our review.”

Richard sat back in his chair. It would be a very long meeting.

Sucking up
another person’s emotional garbage was getting old, but no easier to endure. If I didn’t move, and kept my gaze straight ahead, the nausea stayed at bay. But that depended on my staying put, which wasn’t going to happen.

Krista returned from seeing Grace put on the Medivan. “That was a rough session. It’s the most painful part of her therapy. Once we get through this, it’ll be a lot easier on both of you.”

“I sure hope so.”

Krista touched my arm. “I’ve never seen anything like what you did for Grace. Thank you.”

That seemed an odd comment coming from a therapist, but I wasn’t up to analyzing it. I reached for her hand. “Thank me by having lunch with me some time.”

She hesitated.

I tried again. “I’d like to get to know you better, Krista. We made a bargain, remember? Friendship.”

She smiled. “Yes, we did. And I’d love to go to lunch with you.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“That would be great.” She squeezed my hand, then relinquished it. “I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but you look terrible.”

“I feel worse than terrible. To be honest, I don’t think I can drive home. I need to call Richard. I can sit in your waiting room until he gets here.” Feeling queasy and drained, I tried to get up, but couldn’t pull myself out of the leather recliner.

“Stay put,” she said, pushing my shoulder back against the chair. “I have no patients scheduled for a couple of hours. I’m sorry, Jeff. I didn’t realize how devastating this would be for you.”

I managed a weak smile. “Told you so. Trouble is, I probably won’t make it to work tonight, and I need the money.”

“Then now’s the perfect time to learn that biofeedback technique I told you about.”

“Been there, done that, doesn’t work.”

Krista raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen it work wonders with chronic pain patients. Are you willing to try?”

“If you can get rid of this headache, you’ll have my undying gratitude.”

“How about a little something more?” she asked coyly.

I squinted up at her. “Like what?”

“We’ll talk about that when you’re feeling better. Lean back in the chair and relax.”

I closed my eyes and heard the light tap of her footsteps across the hardwood floor. She closed the shades, blotting out the worst of the light, then returned to my side.

“I’m going to put you under hypnosis, that way you’ll be more receptive. You’ll learn to put yourself in this state when you get headaches in the future. Ready?”

“And willing.”

“Okay, relax. From the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Breathe slowly. Deeply . . . .”

I listened as she started what was already a familiar routine. Her soft voice lulled me. The pain in my head faded in intensity as I moved deeper and deeper into relaxation. Past experience told me the effects would probably be short lived—but anything was better than that skull-shattering pain.

“You’re now completely relaxed,” Krista said. “You’ll listen to and do everything I tell you. Do you understand?” Why did her voice suddenly sound so cold?

“Yes.”

A chair scraped the wooden floor. Fingers fumbled with the buttons on my shirt, pulled the fabric aside. The cold metal disc of a stethoscope rested on my chest.

“Breathe deeply,” Krista ordered.

I already was, I wanted to protest, but I couldn’t seem to work up the energy and did as she said.

Rough fabric encircled my bicep. She pumped up the blood pressure cuff, placed the stethoscope on the crook of my elbow. I wanted to ask why, but couldn’t get the words out.

Air hissed as the cuff deflated, but then she pumped it up again, left it uncomfortably tight on my arm.

A thread of concern wormed through me.

The cold dampness of an alcohol wipe dabbed my skin.

Wait a minute

I flinched as a needle plunged into a vein.

Stop!

The pressure on my bicep was gone as she removed the cuff.

My heart pounded. A rush of heat coursed through me.

Cool fingers encircled my wrist.

“Relax, go with it,” she said. “It’ll be easier.”

A white mist, thickening to a heavy veil, shrouded my thoughts, which only the sound of her voice could penetrate.

“Tell me about Maggie . . . .”

“Wes was a complete jerk. It was all I could do not to get up and leave,” Richard said.

He set his wineglass down on the desk blotter and leaned back in the comfortable leather chair in his study. He’d always loved this room. The dark paneling, mahogany desk, and well-worn leather furniture were the best part of his childhood. That, and the pleasant memories of pipe tobacco scenting the air
while his grandfather worked at the desk where he now sat.

Brenda looked up from her needlepoint, bathed in the warm glow of the Tiffany table lamp. “And you want to take on the job? What kind of a glutton for punishment are you?”

Richard was about to tell her when the phone rang. He picked it up.

“Dr. Alpert?” came the vaguely familiar voice. “It’s Tom Link, Jeff’s boss at the bar.”

“Oh, yeah. What can I do for you, Tom?”

“Jeff usually lets me know if he isn’t coming in to work. I’m just calling to see if he’s okay.”