Healing Sands (39 page)

The calendar came to life on the screen, and Sully glanced over it, already certain there wouldn't be a problem. He snagged on what appeared to be a four o'clock appointment. Who was M. Shannon?

He picked up the desk phone to call Olivia, just as he heard Martha's efficient tap on the door. At least this time he had an excuse.

“I have a four o'clock,” Sully said when she heeded his call to come in.

“I know,” she said. “I'm it.”

Sully glanced at the screen. “I'm seeing an M. Shannon.”

“Martha Shannon Fitzgerald.” Martha pulled up one of the client chairs and sat firmly on it. “It was the only way I could get ten minutes with you.”

He stifled a sigh and came out from behind his desk to take the chair across from her. Maybe he should get this thing out of the way so it wouldn't be hanging over his head all the way to Tennessee.

“You want to talk about Kyle,” he said.

“I know you don't, but we have to.”

“All right. Tell me what you want to tell me.”

Sully knew he sounded patronizing—he saw it register in her eyes, flickering in the anger he'd seen there only once before.

“You don't notice Kyle's faults because he's young Sullivan Crisp,” she said. “He looks like you. He models his therapy after you. He drives the same model car you do.”

Sully felt some anger in his own eyes. “Martha, that has nothing to do with my dealings with Kyle. What faults are you seeing that I apparently don't?”

“I checked into the clinic where he last worked, in Little Rock.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because unlike you, I am still concerned about the number of clients he diagnoses as suicidal. There was another one this week.” She drew herself up in the chair. “In Little Rock, nine of his clients were hospitalized in two months. That raises a red flag for me.”

“I'll grant you that seems like a high rate.” He didn't point out it was better than missing suicidality and losing a patient. “What exactly do you want me to do with this?”

“I just want you to talk to him. See if there is something going on with
him
that makes him so quick to suspect clients want to kill themselves.”

Sully caught his lip in his teeth. Maybe it was simple: because Kyle himself had almost taken his own life. But he couldn't tell her that. “I certainly can't do it,” Martha said. “He treats me like a hasbeen.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

Martha stood up. “I'm not asking for sympathy, Sullivan, but I'll tell you this: if you are going to put him in charge of this clinic when you leave, I won't be staying.”

Before Sully could respond, she marched out and gave his door an uncharacteristic slam. He breathed in the anger she left behind.

All right. Tomorrow, before he left for Nashville, he would talk to Kyle. But right now, he had to go have it out with Belinda Cox and then meet Tess at her place as they'd planned. Especially now that he was leaving town. After last night, he couldn't see himself taking off for even a few days without telling Tess.

For three hours they'd sat at a table at Meson de Mesilla, where Sully didn't care that he couldn't identify what he was eating. All he saw, all he tasted, were Tess's eyes as she listened to him pour out the story of Lynn and Hannah and his journey since then. With no trace of pity, she took it in as if she'd known them. As if she knew him. By the time the coffee arrived, he was sure she did.

When the waiter had brushed off their tablecloth with a whisk broom three times, they migrated to the plaza, where Sully noticed the temperature's dip into the forties about as much as he had the garnish on the dessert. He coaxed out Tess's story then. How she'd struggled in her twenties to have her art taken seriously, only to become involved with a guy who blocked her creativity at every turn under the guise of not wanting her to be hurt or disappointed. That relationship had segued into another with a man who was an artist himself, romantic and supportive and, it turned out, married. For a while she retreated into a New Age group, where the anything-goes philosophy left her feeling rudderless.

“I went back to my Christian roots after that,” she told Sully as they leaned against the creamy-white wall of San Albino Church and watched the moon rise over the plaza. “Funny how the thing you've been looking for was there all along.”

Sully turned sideways to face her, his shoulder pressed to the wall. “Have you found everything you were looking for?”

“Who has? Spiritually, it's a continuing journey.”

“Absolutely.”

“Careerwise, I love what I do.”

“Do I hear a
but
in there?”

“Isn't there always one?” She tilted her head and smiled at him. “Are you doing your psychologist thing with me?”

He put up both hands. “I'm totally innocent.”

“No, you just can't help yourself. It's okay—I can't see a face without wanting to draw it, or wondering what it's going to look like ten years from now.”

Sully feigned horror, and she laughed. It was a lovely thing, and he wanted to make her do it again.

“Yeah, there is a
but
,” she said. “Every time I get involved with a man, my art seems to suffer. It doesn't matter whether he's artsy or not, even the Christian ones—and I don't date anyone who isn't— they just don't get it, get
me
.” She shook her head. “It's probably just me. I may be expecting too much.”

“Or the men in your life have expected too much of you.”

“Okay, now you are being the therapist, Crisp.”

She put her hand up, and Sully folded his fingers around it.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey what?”

“Thank you again for coming here with me.”

He waited for the verbal poke, or the eyebrow before she said,
You needed somebody to keep you from bursting into Mesilla like a bull in a china shop.

It didn't come. She let her fingers curl over his. “It was my pleasure.”

“Really?”

“Do I look like I'm lying?”

“I hope you're not. I hope you want to do this again. Just for pleasure next time. Can we do that?”

“Shall I pencil you in?”

Sully shook his head. “No. I'd rather you put me in ink.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and tugged away, but she was still holding him with her eyes. “I want to ask you one question,” she said.

“Anything.”

“Do you have a picture of Lynn and Hannah?”

Sully nodded.

“Of course you do. That's a ridiculous question. And it isn't the one I was going to ask—do I get another one?”

Sully resisted the urge to stare. He'd never seen her act nervous before. Dang. She was probably gearing up to say,
Let's just keep this professional, shall we?

“What I want to know is—would you like for me to do an age progression on them, so you'll know what they might look like if they were still with you?”

Her voice had taken on a husky sound. Sully felt his own throat thicken.

“You don't have to answer now,” she'd said. “Just something to think about. It would be an honor to do that for you.”

Sully looked now at the framed photograph of Lynn and Hannah. He'd caught them in a rare moment of serenity, Lynn gazing down at Hannah, whose tiny hand was reaching up to touch her mother's face. Lynn had coaxed out one of the baby's first smiles, lopsided and tentative. Even in her despair, Lynn couldn't help the look of delight on her own face.

Sully hadn't given Tess an answer. He'd been too overcome by the offer, too caught off guard to be able to say whether he would want to know exactly what he was missing. But now as he ran his finger over their faces, it was clear.
This
was the moment he wanted to remember. To know what more of those moments might have looked like was too much to bear.

He brought the picture to his lips and kissed them both.

“I'm sorry, girls,” he whispered. “I'm going to make sure this doesn't happen to someone else. I promise you.”

But as he set the frame back on his desk, the uncertainty rose in him again. Was that the only reason he was doing this? Or did he want to shout into Belinda Cox's face until she hurt the way they had? Was he out to stop her, or to ruin her? Now that he was so close, he couldn't see where he was going.

He shook his head. More procrastinating.
Just do the next God-thing.

It was almost dusk. He knew it would be completely dark by the time he got to Mesilla, and he didn't trust himself to find Belinda Cox's house without the address. He had emptied the contents of his pockets on the desk before he remembered that Tess was the one who'd written it down and probably still had it in her purse. He had to grin to himself as he dialed her number. It wouldn't hurt to hear her voice before he took off to do this thing.

“Crisp,” she said. “So—how did it go?”

“It didn't yet. I need the address, and I think I left it with you.” “You are hopeless. Just a sec.”

He heard her put the phone down just as Kyle appeared in the doorway. Sully motioned him in and furrowed his brow at the duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder.

“You going somewhere?”

“Out of town for a couple of days,” Kyle said. “I've cleared my calendar.”

“You ready, Crisp?”

Sully put up a finger to Kyle and tucked the phone into his neck while he located a pencil.

“Okay—go.”

“Nineteen twenty-five . . .”

“Nineteen twenty-five . . .”

“Calle de Santo.”

“Calle de Santo.”

“You on your way now?” Tess asked.

“Yeah.”

“You sound . . .”

Sully glanced at Kyle, who had wandered discreetly to the patio door. “I sound what?”

“Like anybody would sound when they're about to do something like this. I'll be praying for you.”

Sully closed the phone against his cheek.

“So this is it, huh?” Kyle said.

“Yeah. I found the woman I was telling you about. I'm finally going to get this done.”

“You sure?”

Sully's neck jerked as he looked up.

“Never mind. You know what you're doing,” Kyle said.

“You want to say something.”

“Naw, I should keep my mouth shut.”

“Hey. Come on.”

Kyle nodded. “Look, this is huge, man. You just look like you need to be sure you're ready before you go wherever it is you're going.”

“Mesilla.”

“It's just a feeling.”

Sully nodded. “You're right. I need to make a call before I go.” “Then I'll get out of your hair.”

He was almost out the door before Sully said, “So you're going out of town?”

“I just need to go back and settle a couple of things in Little Rock. My house just sold. I've notified all my clients.”

“Have a good trip.”

Kyle tapped the doorjamb, then hesitated. “I wish I could be here for you.”

“You already have been,” Sully said. “Go. We'll celebrate when you come back.”

Kyle gave him a thumbs-up and left. Anxiety pulsing, Sully picked up the phone again. Those antibiotics had to be kicking in by now.

Porphyria answered on the first ring.

“Dr. Crisp,” she said, “can you explain to me why if you are not sick when you check into a hospital, you will be before you get out?”

Sully knew his smile was watery. “They have to stay afloat somehow, Dr. Ghent. I want to know what's going on with you.”

“It's simple. I'm going to watch all this medicine go into my veins, and then I am going home.”

He wanted to believe her. He might have if she hadn't coughed long enough to have to put down the phone and catch her breath. When she picked it up again, he'd changed course.

“Winnie told me. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What?”

“You never could lie to save your soul, Sullivan Crisp. You've got something on your mind.”

“You.”

She answered him with a velvet silence. He could imagine her closing her eyes, pressing her magnificent lips together.

“I want to run something by you,” he said.

“I know, and I don't know why you're shilly-shallying around about it.”

“I know where Belinda Cox is.”

“Ah.”

“I haven't seen her yet. I'm on my way there. But dang it, Porphyria, I think I've lost sight of why I even need to do this. I keep telling myself I just want her to know the danger she's putting people in, but it sounds like everybody she's been associated with has already told her that, and she doesn't get it.”

“Everybody isn't Sullivan Crisp.”

“You're saying I could have some kind of influence nobody else has.” Sully rubbed the back of his head. “I don't see that. She could be too far gone.”

“I think you knew that ever since you went to the church, but you kept looking.”

“Yeah, but why? Every time I think about confronting her face-to-face, I don't like what I see.”

“In her?”

“In myself.”

He could hear her breathing, as if it were an effort. Guilt lapped at him, but Porphyria wasn't going to let him stop now.

“What ‘self ' do you want to be when you talk to her?” she said. “I don't even know.”

“Then don't you think you better find out before you go do this thing? Personally, I only know one Sully-self when it comes to dealing with twisted human beings.”

“And that would be . . . ?”

Porphyria gave a soft grunt.

“You're not going to tell me, are you?”

“No. You just need to wrap you up in some God, now, and sweat out an answer.” She coughed again, longer and with more wheezing than before.

Sully gripped the phone. “I'm coming there,” he said. “I'm going to get this behind me, and then I'm coming to Nashville.”