“Dr. Hass!” The scream came again, this time closer. He jumped up from his chair, running outside of his office. The next thing he knew, his head was pounding and now somebody was screaming, “What are you trying to do, kill me?!”
When he regained his focus, shaking off the pain and rubbing his forehead, Dr. Hass saw Melb Cornforth standing there, one hand rubbing her own forehead, the other on her hip.
“I … I thought you were … I …”
“Thought I was what?” Melb asked.
Dr. Hass sighed. “Another patient. What in the world are you doing screaming like that?”
Melb’s face clouded with huffiness. “Well, I did have good news until you almost killed me.”
Dr. Hass walked back into his office, plopping into his chair. “Isn’t it still good news, since you’re not dead?” That was the best he could offer, because what he really wanted to do was tell this crazy woman to keep her money and find sanity somewhere else.
Melb thought about that for a second. “I suppose so.” Her jovial grin returned. “Guess what?”
Dr. Hass could only throw his hands in the air and shake his head. He couldn’t imagine what would justify running down the sidewalk screaming like that.
“I lost twelve pounds!” She emphasized this point by hooking her thumb under her waistband and pulling it out an inch.
“Really?” Dr. Hass could not conceal his surprise. “So the diet has been working!”
“Well, not really. That’s the weird thing. I’ve been eating everything in sight.” Melb placed her hands on Dr. Hass’s desk and leaned toward him, then used a finger to tap her cheekbone. “It’s psychological, I think.”
“Psychological?”
“You said it yourself. It’s in my head. So,” Melb said, “maybe I don’t have to eat less, I just have to see myself skinnier. The brain has a lot of power we don’t recognize, you know.” Melb stood upright and noticed her figure in the reflection of the nearby window.
“How’s the hobby?”
“Fun, though I’m not sure it’s really helping me with the weight loss. But I tell you, I’m going to bond with this owl if it’s the last thing I do.”
Scratching his head, Dr. Hass wondered how in the world Melb could be losing weight while eating more. Was it possible to psych yourself into losing weight? He scribbled notes on the pad in front of him.
“Melb, that is good news indeed.”
“So I’ll see you on Thursday?”
“You’re losing weight. What do you need me for?”
“It’s got to be the combination of talking about my feelings while imagining myself losing weight. Don’t you think?”
“Um … sure …”
“So see you on Thursday.”
“Melb?” he asked, as she started to leave his office, “did you ever tell Oliver about your budget problems?”
“No,” she smiled, “but it all worked out.” Winking, she added, “It always works out in the end, Dr. Hass. Oh! I probably just lost two more pounds with that positive thought!”
And out the door she went. Dr Hass watched her confidence build with each bounding step.
He had barely processed Melb’s magical transformation when his next clients arrived. Admittedly, he was intrigued. The sheriff’s daughter, Ainsley, and world-famous novelist Wolfe Boone, who was called Boo around these parts, walked in, tentatively peeking around the door.
He beckoned them in with a wave. Standing, he greeted each of them with a handshake, trying to assess the situation.
As far as he could tell, this was Ainsley’s idea. Her expectant manner showed enthusiastic hope for something troublesome in her life. Wolfe, on the other hand, displayed no enthusiasm in his handshake, his facial expression, or his words. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Hass.”
Offering them the two chairs in front of his desk, he said, “Mr. Boone, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’m a big fan.”
“Wolfe, please. And thank you.”
“I’ve read a couple of your books. Delightful.” It was a standard line. He’d used it in many social circles. I’ve seen a couple of your movies. Delightful. I’ve been to two of your homes. Delightful. I’ve dated both your daughters. Delightful.
But in this instance, in a small town where small talk was a way of life, he instantly realized this was a huge mistake.
“Oh? Which two?” Wolfe asked.
Surely his large gulp gave him away, but he tried, nevertheless, to recover. “Oh, you know, let’s see here … I’m terrible with titles … but it’s the one where the guy’s in the house, and there’s that scary ghosty-thing, and everyone is scared to death but nobody knows what it is.”
“Sounds like the plot to all his novels,” Ainsley said, laughing. Wolfe, however, shot her a look that indicated he didn’t find the humor in it. Her laughter faded, and luckily for Dr. Hass, so did the present conversation.
“So,” he said quickly, “what brings you two by?”
Ainsley cleared her throat and said, “Well, we’re supposed to be married in less than a month, and there are some issues we’re trying to work through. Maybe that’s putting it lightly.”
Dr. Hass noticed Wolfe was giving his attention to the wall where Napoleon hung. “Napoleon,” he mumbled, glancing at Dr. Hass. “Interesting choice of art.”
The doctor smiled up at his inspiration. “Well, sometimes there’s more to a person than meets the eye.”
“True,” Wolfe said. “Did you know that Napoleon was ailurophobic?”
“What’s that mean?” Ainsley asked.
“He feared cats,” Dr. Hass answered. “But let’s get to the fears you two are obviously facing in light of your upcoming wedding.”
Wolfe sighed, finally turning his attention from the framed poster. He looked at Ainsley, suggesting that he’d rather she explain it all.
“All right,” she sighed. “It’s like this. We are happily in love, can’t wait to get married, but things have dramatically changed in our lives, and we’re both having trouble dealing with that.”
“What has changed?”
“Well, Wolfe has decided to stop writing, so he’s trying to find a new niche in life. It’s not going so well. He got fired from selling cars.”
“I see. Suppressed homogeneity neurosis.”
“And I’m trying to pursue a new career in the entertainment-home-making business, and it’s taking up a lot of my time. Wolfe’s having a hard time with this.”
Wolfe shook his head. “Let’s be clear. I completely support Ainsley in whatever she does. However, we’re supposed to be planning our wedding, and she’s been so busy with all this other stuff that it’s been pushed aside.”
“It hasn’t been pushed aside! He’s afraid we’re not going to have a wedding! I’m capable … perfectly capable … of juggling more than one thing, Wolfe.”
“Then why hasn’t anything been done that is supposed to be?”
“It’s just been shifted around, that’s all.”
Dr. Hass held up his hands. “Okay, listen, let’s start over here. I think the best thing both of you can do is simply be honest with each other about how you are feeling. I hear that’s what makes a marriage strong. Wolfe, why don’t you begin? Be honest with Ainsley.”
He felt for the guy. The last thing under the sun any man wants to do is attend therapy with a woman. The way Wolfe’s fingers scratched over the skin of his neck, Dr. Hass felt his own skin crawl with an itch. But he had to give it to the guy … it was more than he would’ve done to save a marriage.
Then again, Dr. Hass had reinvented himself. After all, he’d just preached at a church service!
He tuned back in to Wolfe, who was in the middle of describing his fears that Ainsley’s whole focus had shifted from him to success.
Dr. Hass nodded, smiled assuredly at Wolfe and said, “Good job, Wolfe. I know sometimes it’s difficult to be that honest.” Wolfe looked like he wanted to beat something up. A rose-colored flush of an
ger tinted his tan complexion.
“Ainsley, it’s your turn.”
Wolfe and Dr. Hass both watched her trying desperately to release a hangnail from her finger. With no luck, she smiled sadly and glanced up at them both.
“Go ahead,” Dr. Hass encouraged, after she still had not spoken.
“Well,” she began, but couldn’t seem to go on.
“It’s all right. Just be honest.”
Through teary eyes she looked at him, then at Wolfe. Then she said, “Okay. Here it goes. I’ve taken on the job of planning Melb’s entire wedding reception for a video that Alfred wants me to make to show to several TV executives who think I might be good enough to be Martha’s replacement.”
“What?” Wolfe’s brows furrowed.
“Who’s Martha?” Dr. Hass asked.
“Stewart,” she answered, though her eyes remained on Wolfe, who had now risen from his chair and walked to the other side of the room.
“I’m sorry, I’m not following,” Dr. Hass said.
“It’s a big opportunity for me,” she said. “Wolfe’s former editor thinks that I could be the next Martha Stewart, so he’s been putting together a plan to put me in front of some television executives who might be interested in giving me my own show.” She stared at Wolfe’s back, then looked at Dr. Hass. “It’s a really big deal for me. A lot is at stake. But Wolfe doesn’t support it.”
Wolfe turned. “How could you not tell me this?”
“Because I knew you’d be mad! And here you are, mad!”
“How can you handle somebody else’s wedding when you can’t even manage to handle ours!”
Ainsley stood with a gasp. “How dare you! This is all because of the Wise Men!”
Dr. Hass was thoroughly confused as these two ranted back and forth at each other. For starters, what wise men was she talking about? And why would anybody want to be the next Martha Stewart? Many questions swelled to the surface of Dr. Hass’s mind, but he knew there was definitely one thing he was going to have to clear up.
He stood, waving his arms to get their attention. Finally, their words dropped off one by one until they stopped talking and looked at him.
“I’m sorry. I need to know, are you talking about Melb Cornforth?”
Wolfe stomped out of the office. Ainsley nodded tearfully at Dr. Hass, then grabbed her coat and purse and followed him, calling his name.
Thankfully all the tension had just marched out the door and Dr. Hass could think clearly. One thing he immediately realized—a lot more counted on Melb fitting into her dress than he’d realized.
“Wolfe! Wolfe! Wait!” Ainsley stumbled down the porch stairs of Dr. Hass’s office, calling after the one man she’d ever loved. Tears nearly froze to her cheeks as she ran after him. He walked swiftly, several yards ahead of her, and looked like he did not intend to stop. Her breath crystallized, and she ran as fast as she could. She finally reached him, circling in front of him to stop his stride. “Please,” she begged.
On the brims of his eyes, tears threatened to escape. He couldn’t even look at her. His hands were deep inside his trench coat, and his scarf clung to the front of his chest like a wall in front of his heart.
Finally, he looked at her as she grasped his arm with both hands. He said, “It’s not what you think it is. Fame is nothing you want, Ainsley, I assure you.”
Sniffling back threatening emotions, she replied, “It’s not the fame I’m after, Wolfe. Surely you know me well enough to know how little I care about that sort of thing.”
“I thought I did.”
“Then believe me. It’s not fame I’m after. And I realize it’s hard for you to understand what it feels like to grow up in a small town with hardly any hope of ever following your dreams. I’ve watched Martha Stewart do everything I’ve always wanted to do. And I became really good at what I do too. Why is it so bad to want success in that?”
Wolfe stared into the winter sky. “It’s not bad. But at what cost do you want this success?”
“Why does it have to cost anything? I’ve already sacrificed for years. People never understood me, never understood why I cared so much what length the flower stems were in a vase. Why I cared so much about using real butter. Why I cared so much about growing my own herbs. Maybe people thought I was trying to be like my mom. Maybe I was. But for me, I thought, maybe, just maybe, someday I might go beyond this small town.”
Wolfe finally took her hands in his, warming them between his gloves. “I don’t want to lose you. I fought too hard to get you.” His determined, quiet smile carried her anxieties away like a strong wind.
“You won’t lose me,” she said. “I promise that.”
“I hope you know I want the very best for you. I want you to be successful. But I also want you to understand what this kind of success would mean. Your life will never be the same.”
“If you’re in my life, my life will be just fine.” The tears that came blurred Wolfe as if he stood in a misty rain. She wiped them away.
“Ainsley, I just hope …”
“Hope what?”
He fingered the ends of his scarf. “I’m just an ordinary guy. You know that, right?”
“Wolfe … you’re perfect.”
But this didn’t seem to bring any comfort to the deep concern that swallowed the light in his eyes.
CHAPTER 24
AINSLEY HAD TRIED to spend the morning picking out flowers for her wedding, but the florist was on vacation, and her granddaughter, who didn’t seem to know a rose from a tulip, was filling in.
Even though their fight had been a couple of days ago, Wolfe’s angry words rang in her ears. Was she taking on too much? Was this the life for her? It was hard to imagine turning it down. After all, how many times had she found herself in her own kitchen, imagining she was baking a pie in front of millions? Yet how could that compare to being loved by the man of her dreams? Her emotions swayed like the top of a wind-whipped tree. Couldn’t both be her destiny? Why did she have to choose?
The granddaughter, aptly named Daisy, was trying to suggest pairing purple carnations with orange lilies. Ainsley was quite sure she didn’t want her bouquet to look like a football jersey. She walked around the florist shop for a while, trying to imagine what she might carry down the aisle on her wedding day. But in the back of her mind, she knew she also was going to need a beautiful centerpiece arrangement for Melb’s reception table, plus smaller arrangements for each of the dinner tables.
“Anything you like?” Daisy asked from the counter.
Ainsley shook her head and said she’d be back later. Besides, what she really needed to do was start planning the menu. Thankfully, hers was going to be catered, so she didn’t have to worry about that. She drove home and noticed Alfred’s car outside.
“Hello?” she said, entering the house.
“In here, honey,” her father said.
The two were sitting in front of the TV. Alfred hopped up from the couch like he’d just been rescued from watching home movies. “Hi there,” he said, taking her hand into a gentle handshake.
“Hi Alfred. What’s going on?”
“Oh, I just dropped by to see if you were home. Your dad thought you might be home soon. We were watching … um … sports.” Alfred’s candid smile made Ainsley laugh.
“What’s going on?” she asked again.
“Well, I thought if you weren’t doing anything, we could work on speaking to the camera. I know you don’t have any experience doing this, and it does take some practice.”
Ainsley’s eyelids fell closed at the thought of doing one more thing today.
“Alfred,” she began. The words she knew she should speak became tangled with the words she knew she wanted to speak, and what fell out of her mouth was a mess of mumbling.
Alfred leaned toward her, trying to understand. “I’m sorry, Ainsley. I didn’t catch that.”
She sighed. “Nothing. Sure, we can do that. How’s an hour sound?”
A
grin stretched across his face. “Plenty of time to teach you to engage the world through one small lens.”
She hoped it was easier than picking out the perfect flower arrangement.
Reverend Peck felt like he had made a terrible mistake. The peace he held in his heart dripped away with every thought he had concerning Sunday. How could he have turned over his entire church service to a total stranger? He’d lost his mind! Regret seeped through the wall of ambition he’d built so high, and now he realized what a grave mistake he’d made. Sure, his numbers had increased. But when were people going to grow bored with expensive coffee, scarce parking, and missing pews? Every week he would have to reinvent himself and that was no easy task.
Finally a break in the weather had brought in mild temperatures, so the reverend left the house with only a light jacket and a scarf his wife had knitted for him years ago. The chill of the day returned when the wind picked up. The reverend’s eyes teared up a bit, whether from cold or concern he didn’t know.
The dust of the sidewalks seemed to part as he walked, the breeze gently blowing it from side to side. His hands burrowed deep into his jacket pockets. In his heart, despair dug itself equally deep. Perhaps it was time to stop ministering to this town. There seemed to be nothing he could offer, no way of helping them out of mediocre spirituality. Of the few who even came, most wanted to come on Sundays and then be done with it for the rest of the week. There were exceptions to that rule, but exceptions certainly weren’t enough to build a church on.
Reverend Peck looked up just in time to see a familiar face. It was Dr. Hass, heading up the porch steps of a large house.
“Dr. Hass!” he called.
The man turned, saw the reverend, and waved his greeting. “Hello!”
The reverend approached and looked at the house. “This is where you live?”
“And work. My office is in here.” Dr. Hass shook the hand the reverend offered. “Sir, you look troubled.”
“Do I?” The reverend sighed and nodded. “I suppose I am.”
“Sit here with me on the porch,” the doctor said. “It’s a nice enough day to enjoy outside, don’t you think? Especially with some hot tea and good company.” Dr. Hass smiled warmly at the reverend, offered him a seat in one of the two rockers on the porch, then went inside for the tea.
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