Healing Stones (35 page)

I stopped momentarily. There was something so eggshell vulnerable about him now.

You don't even know what's going on here,
the F&D group had told me.
And you need to.

I filled him in on Audrey's situation, complete with her fears of Kevin St. Clair barring her entrance in the fall. When I was finished, I expected the reassurance that all would be well in his hands.

It didn't come.

He did say, “There is no reason she can't stay here this semester. As long as she doesn't tell anyone.” He paused. “You and I never had this conversation, did we?”

I was a little surprised, but I said no.

“As for next fall—I can't answer that right now.”

“Because?” I said.

He drew in a breath I could hear through the phone. “Because I may not be here then.”

We shared a stunned silence.

“You're not resigning?”

“No. They'll have to drive me out of here.” He laughed without mirth. “And I can already hear the hoof beats over the hill.”

“You've been hearing them for months,” I said.

“They're closing in.” His voice cinched. “That's all I can tell you, Demi. I'm sorry.”

I switched my cell phone to my other hand and stalked along the walkway in front of the Daily Bread.

“You're not serious,” I said. “Honestly, Ethan—is it that bad? Do they have something on you?”

“I can't say.”

I moved into the alcoved doorway of the attorney's office that wasn't open yet. “You can say if it's about me.”

He didn't answer.

“Ethan—is it?”

“Only indirectly, Demi. The board of directors knows nothing about your situation—and I intend to keep it that way. St. Clair and Estes kept their word on that—but they
have
used it as a reason to scrutinize any and everything. If I have even an inkling that they're going to bring you up, I promise to let you know, but I seriously doubt that they will. The circumstances of their knowing are still too shady.”

The array of photographs slid through my mind, and my stomach clutched.

“You were in church Sunday. I was delighted to see you there.”

“You were among the few. And you were preaching right to me, weren't you?”

I felt him smile.

“There wasn't a person in there
I wasn't preaching to, including myself. You're free, Demi. Unfortunately, I don't think the likes of Kevin St. Clair are. If they succeed in running me out of here, it is not your fault and it is not your shame.”

“Then let me help.”

“You can't.”

“From the outside. They don't have to know. The F&D group has asked me to work with them as a consultant, completely off campus.”

“Demi—no.”

I had never heard Ethan use that tone with anyone but the most recalcitrant of students—or Kevin St. Clair.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I have to ask you not to do that. It would only complicate things—and we don't need that.”

I stood up straight, forced myself to answer. “I have to respect that, but, Ethan—this feels like God pulling me.”

“I've said what I have to say. And I'll do what I can for Audrey Flowers.”

When I hung up, I knew I had just participated in a conversation where the most important words were those left unsaid.

Sully made himself sit in the papasan chair, cell phone in his lap. He'd taken three trips to the door already, walked out onto the sidewalk twice. She wasn't showing up, that was obvious. The reason was too.

He picked up the phone. She couldn't turn her back on therapy now. Not when she was so close.

CHAPTER THIRTY

T
hat evening, after my conversation with Ethan, I waited until the girls pulled away in Audrey's Nissan before I completely let down. They were on their way to get something—anything—to transform the bathroom from a painted phone booth into a space we could go into without needing Prozac.

“Thirty bucks and a trip to Tar-zháy should do it,” I told them at the curb.

And then I went inside our hovel of a home and collapsed on the love seat. The back right leg gave way, and both the sofa and I sagged toward the floor. It was so fitting I didn't even get up to fix it.

This must be rock bottom. I don't know how long I would have lain there if my cell phone hadn't rung from deep in my purse across the room. I considered letting it ring—except that my daughter was out in a car with a girl who wasn't holding it together that much better than I.

I took the two necessary lunges and unearthed the phone from the depths of my handbag. But then I saw who was calling.

Sullivan Crisp. The last person I wanted to talk to right now.

Correction. I wanted to talk to him. That was the problem, why I couldn't answer and pretend I hadn't practically thrown myself at him.

I stood staring at the silent phone as it beeped with a message. I sank into the chair and listened to Sullivan's voice.

“Hey, Demi. Missed you this afternoon. Wonderin' if somethin' came up, whether you might want to reschedule.”

I shook my head—as if he could see me.

“So why don't you give me a call? And listen—”

My breath pulled in on its own.

“Hey, we just need to talk. I'll have my phone with me the rest of the evening.”

I pressed seven. “Message deleted,” I was told politely.

This time I went face down on the love seat. I
liked
Sullivan Crisp's voice. It comforted and boosted me. That was all. I was just starting to trust him—but could I trust myself?

Sullivan was my therapist. He was a professional. I could call him. I should call him.

I sat up, ran my fingers over the keypad. But the look on Sullivan face when I stepped back from hugging him was all I could see.

There were probably other therapists.

I plunked the phone onto the coffee table, beside the Jayne-painted rock, and half expected a table leg to snap. All right—maybe
this
was rock bottom. Where would I go? The road to Rich was blocked. No career path was left—Ethan had made that clear. Mickey had put up a wall so high I would need climbing gear to get to her. The one light I'd seen with my F&D group was snuffed out. And now I couldn't even go to Sullivan and find out what was wrong with me.

I'm not sure how I ended up with the rock in my hand, but it shook there with my fingers locked around it, and the urge to hurl it was so strong I stood up and cocked it behind my head.

I had to get out.

Still clutching the rock, I dove for the door and tore it open. That rock was going, straight out into the dusk, right at the world I couldn't cope with anymore.

“Whoa!” a male voice said. “I'm not armed!”

I saw a silhouette of a bush of bristly hair. Sharp eyes gleamed at me. I let the rock fly—and then clapped my hands over my mouth in horror.

Fletcher Basset ducked. We both stared as the stone hit the ground.

“You don't mess around, do you?” he said.

“Oh, my gosh—are you okay?”

I rushed at him, prepared to do I-wasn't-sure-what. He backed up, but he was laughing.

“I've had worse than that done to me.” He shook the Chia-pet head. The weak light from Sherman Heights's excuse for a street-lamp shone fuzzily on his baldness, but left his face in the shadows.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “You caught me at a bad time.”

I felt him smile.

“I seem to have a knack for that.”

I leaned against the doorjamb. “No, I'm always having a bad time.”

He nodded as if he knew exactly what I meant.

I straightened. “How did you find me here?”

Fletcher put up the jazz-spread hand I'd come to recognize as his all-purpose gesture. “I'm not stalking you. Your boss sent me.”

My jaw came unhinged. “Mickey—at the restaurant?”

He nodded.

“Why would she do that?”

“I told her what I had to tell you, and I guess she figured it was important enough.”

“What do you have to tell me?” I tightened my fists.

“I told you before that we could probably help each other get to the truth,” he said. “I have news for you, and if you act on it, well—” He shrugged without nonchalance. “We both benefit.”

“What news?”

“About Ethan Kaye,” he said. “One of my sources tells me that there has been a threat.”

My heart went right up my throat. “On his life?”

“I'm not sure. It was veiled. More than likely it's about his job.”

“Veiled—what are you
talking
about?” My voice went shrill.

“I can't reveal any more than that.”

“Then how am I supposed to believe you?”

“You don't really have any choice.”

I squinted at him, hard. “And what would you know about my choices?”

Fletcher took a step forward so that finally the light hit his face. His left cheek was a garish shade of purple-blue and swollen to twice its cherubic size.

“What happened to you?” I said.

He attempted a grin, which only made it up on one side. “I told you—you're not the only one who has ever come after me with a rock—so to speak.”

I shook my head. “You must have crossed the nosy-limit with him—or her.”

“I wasn't even pushing that hard,” Fletcher said. “This particular person isn't part of the mainstream—sort of fringy—but it's still indicative of the kind of influence wielded by the powers that be. “ He grimaced. “They've attracted a fanatic.”

“Do you need some ice or anything? That looks painful.”

“I'm good. It kind of makes me look like a bad dude, don't you think?”

“Not at all.”

His face sobered. “The point is, they're getting serious about putting Ethan Kaye out.”

I sank to the stoop. “First of all, I have absolutely no idea how this helps me—or how I can help you find out anything.”

“Then let me lay it out for you. Ethan Kaye has received a threat, which basically says he will be taken down from his position as president of CCC, no matter what it takes.”

“I'm assuming this has something to do with—” I nodded toward his face.

“Maybe. And Ethan Kaye is losing support by the minute, which indicates to me that these people are trying to form an alliance. He needs you. There's a group of students over there struggling to be there for him, but they need leadership.”

“Ethan has told me in no uncertain terms to stay away.”

“So you do it unofficially.”

“And possibly make it worse for him.” I felt myself frown. “I still don't see how my getting involved is going to help you.”

“I need somebody on the inside,” he said.

It was so unabashed I had to look at him twice. He just blinked.

“You are unbelievable,” I said.

“I try. So what do you say? You want to be a team?”

The kids had asked me. I was under no obligation to honor Ethan's request, not if it would help him.

Fletcher stirred at my side. “Look, it's not hard to see that your life is out of control right now. This is one thing you could do something about.”

“You know what?” I stood up. “I can't give you an answer right now. I need to think about it.”

He smeared his hand over his naked forehead. “I don't think we have a lot of time.”

“Then it will be what it will be.” My voice, even to me, sounded as if it were teetering on an edge.

After he was gone, I hurried back into the apartment, found the cell phone, and sat on the one unbroken chair, cradling it between praying palms.

“All right,” I whispered. “I have to call Sullivan—I know I have to.”

There was no pang—no shadow—no warning that I was headed into a dark place.

I swallowed.

Wasn't that how I got in trouble before?

No pang. Only the quiet.

I pressed the phone to my face. Tomorrow—first thing—I would call.

“Just don't let me fall this time,” I whispered. “Please, God.” I felt a tear trickle over my knuckles. “Please don't let me fall.”

Sully draped one long leg over the other knee and leaned back in the Windsor chair in Ethan Kaye's office. He loved to watch the master at work.

“Gina,” Ethan practically hummed into the phone, “tell Dr. St. Clair I am not available to see him right now. I'm with someone.”

Sully didn't need the phone to hear Gina's reply. Her I'm-freaking-out voice oozed through the wall from the outer office.

“It is entirely none of his business who I'm with, Gina.”

Sully grinned. Ethan really was good.

“You say, ‘Dr. St. Clair, I am not at liberty to divulge that information.'”

Sully would have liked to have seen whether Gina could actually pull that off, but she evidently wasn't given a chance. The oak-paneled double doors to Ethan's office flew open, and Kevin St. Clair made an entrance that would have put Henry VIII to shame. He took the distance to Ethan's desk in two hard strides, leaving his angry footprints in the carpet. Both hands went to the desktop, and he jutted his head forward, lips first, until his nose nearly touched Ethan's.

Sully slid uneasily forward on his chair.

But Ethan sat back and said into the phone, “Thank you, Gina. That'll be all for now.”

St. Clair breathed like a bull, and his thinning hair poked out in spikes at his collar, stiff with sweat. Sully shot Ethan a warning look, but by now Ethan stood so that his head rose above St. Clair's, still lunging across the desk. Before he could straighten, Ethan had him with the indomitable light of his eyes.

“Dr. St. Clair,” he said, “this had better be a dire emergency. There could be nothing else that would make you think you could march in here when you were told that I was with someone.”