“I’m out of here,” he said. “Ciao.”
Rhonda smiled. “Enjoy your trip. I love rainbow trout.”
“Noted.” Charles finally met Karan’s gaze, and his smile faded fast. “Welcome to the New Hope and good luck.”
He headed out the door without another word. Karan watched him go, all contained energy that shouldn’t have been so familiar this many years after the fact. Funny the things that stuck in her brain.
And who knew the man did volunteer work? That bit of news hadn’t made it around the grapevine the way news of his many conquests had. Did Wannabe Jenny know Karan had once been married to a codirector of this program? That would have her cackling over her microwave frozen dinners.
Jack had known, no question.
Add one more no-good ex to the growing list. Maybe Karan should address how she’d become such a loser magnet since she was forced into therapy anyway.
“Okay. Now that’s settled.” Rhonda shoveled folders into an open briefcase then deposited the whole thing on the floor. “Let’s get to business. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
Karan glanced at her choices—two upholstered chairs in front of the desk or a leather sofa that looked like the perfect place for New Hope’s overworked codirectors to catch some shut-eye. Or enjoy a few stolen moments together.
Karan knew doctors so well.
Sinking onto a wing chair, she watched Rhonda continue to clear space on the desk. The blue blazer fit the therapist nicely and complemented her highlighted hair, but she’d obviously purchased the white blouse beneath it off some rack in a department store.
“That’s much better.” Rhonda sat and peered across the now clean surface. “So what’s been going on?”
The casual question came as a surprise. But only for a moment. The question was only deceptively casual, Karan knew, a trick to gain a patient’s confidence.
“I’m in a bit of legal trouble.”
Rhonda upped the smile a notch. “So I hear. Let’s talk about that.”
The moment of truth. “I’m not sure what to say. I’ve been ordered by the court to explain my actions to a stranger, and I resent the intrusion in my life. But, that said, I also acknowledge how my actions invited the intrusion. I made a bad decision one night and I’ve been paying for it in spades. Starting with a judge who’s still mad she didn’t make the cut on the high school cheerleading team. She’s suspended my driving privileges with the sole exception of coming here. And I had to beg for that concession. If this isn’t bad enough, I walk through the door to find my ex-husband, who can’t stand the sight of me, and a therapist who I’m not sure isn’t involved with said ex.”
“Great, we’ve got a place to begin.” Rhonda didn’t miss a beat. Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on the desk. “First of all, I’m not involved with your ex-husband in any way but professionally. Everything said in any session between us is bound by confidentiality. However, if you’re not comfortable, we can ask the judge to reassign you. There are several good therapists on staff here. I only took the job because you’re our first foray into using community service hours. But having met you, and given your connection to Charles, I’m good with turning you over to someone else if you want. The choice is yours.”
Karan was inclined to take Rhonda at her word, even though she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. The only ring she wore was a rather attractive topaz set in silver on an index finger.
“Thank you, but that’s not any choice at all. As you said, we’d have to ask the judge for permission and I’d rather not subject myself to that until I absolutely have to.”
“You feel as if the past has influenced the judge?”
“She threw the book at me for a first offense.”
Rhonda flipped through some papers. “Well, no denying that. What role did you have in her not making the cheerleading team?”
“I was the captain.”
“I see. And how do you feel you might have been sentenced with a different judge?”
“I don’t think I warranted the maximum allowable sentence.” Karan tried not to sound petulant. “The judge thought that because I’m aware of the effects of alcohol on me given my condition that I should have erred on the side of caution, which I usually do.”
“So what was different about that night?”
Karan supposed she should have expected the question and had a ready answer. This woman was a therapist, after all, digging deep to root out problems—or to be convinced there weren’t any brewing in Karan’s psyche.
There weren’t any, thank you.
“I drank too quickly. It’s that simple. Those first few sips usually tell me whether or not I’m going to have a problem. If my blood sugar is steady then I can enjoy a glass of champagne. Never more than one. And my friend, the senator, had announced his bid for reelection, so I wanted to share a toast.” She shrugged. “By the time I realized I was feeling tipsy it was too late.”
“How soon afterward did you leave the function?”
“Too soon,” Karan said drily.
“Okay, so something was different that night. I’d be curious to know what it was.” Rhonda glanced at the wall clock. “Well, we don’t have a lot of time left today. Largely my fault, so my apologies. I was already running late from my day job when I discovered your connection to Dr. Steinberg. So, let’s shift gears now.”
Fine by Karan. She took a deep breath and settled in the chair, willing herself to relax.
“I’d like to know a little more about you, Karan. About where you feel you might fit in around here.”
“That’s a very good question.”
Rhonda seemed to understand the significance. “We have all sorts of things going on around New Hope. Lots of services for our families and outreach programs, which translates into the need for a lot of volunteers. We’ll find something suited to your particular skills, I promise. So, what kind of work do you do?”
“Well, I don’t really have time for a conventional job. My days are too full and require too much flexibility to make rigid commitments like that.”
Rhonda was too professional to openly show emotion, but the surprise was there. “With what exactly?”
That question was a little more difficult to answer. “Social engagements. Projects. Sometimes I feel like all I do is run around putting out fires. You know how it is—something’s always up with one of the houses, or the finances need attention, or I’m asked to coordinate some event.”
Rhonda was silent for a moment, clearly considering. “Okay then. Let’s start with what you think you’d like to do around here. Any ideas?”
“I’m gifted with interior design. My last husband’s Manhattan offices were featured in an international medical magazine.” The generic interior of this place could certainly use some help to make it look welcoming and homey, which Karan thought should have been the whole point of an emergency shelter. She kept that opinion to herself.
“I’ll certainly keep that in mind as we work around here. We are hoping to build another structure on the property for offices, so we can devote more of this house to sheltering families. But that’s still down the road. We just finished renovating everything and have tapped out our resources. Only temporarily, I hope. How about administrative tasks?” Rhonda asked hopefully. “We’ve got wonderful people in place but they could use a hand.”
“I don’t think I’m your person,” Karan admitted. “I have a personal assistant who handles my administrative tasks at home.”
Rhonda wasn’t deterred. “Medical experience?”
“I’ve married two doctors.”
That got a chuckle. “Any hobbies? Gardening perhaps?”
Honestly. In her Louis Vuitton ballerina flats from the summer collection, did she really look like someone who enjoyed playing in dirt? “I hire lawn crews for all my properties.”
“Do you like children?”
They were getting warmer. “My best friend has two. I’ve taken
her daughter into the city for shows and her son to see the Yankees play.”
“Okay, great.” Rhonda flipped through the folder again, this time scanning more closely. “I see here that you have a Masters in public relations from Van Cortlandt College. I did my graduate work there.”
Karan nodded. Not such a surprise. The Ivy League school was a popular draw to the area.
Well over a century ago, people had surged to Bluestone Mountain when miners had discovered feldspathic greywacke, the rare, dark blue sandstone that made her hometown a unique location, and a wealthy one. Now the area appealed to an elite and eclectic crowd because it lacked the commerciality of the nearby hamlets of Woodstock and Bearsville.
When most of the Catskill region had been earmarked as part of New York’s Forest Preserve, not all of that land was publicly owned. Private colleges like Van Cortlandt owned property along with people of means who wanted a fast escape from Manhattan. Precisely why she kept a home here.
Until she could talk to a real estate agent, that is.
Add another project to her list.
Rhonda closed the folder. “All right, Karan, let me mull on this a bit. I’m sure we can come up with the perfect something.”
“I hope so. We need exactly three-hundred and fifty-nine hours’ worth of perfect.”
“Trust me. You’ll be an asset to our program. I can feel it, and I’m big on trusting my feelings.”
It was hard not to like this woman. Even though that was the last thing Karan wanted to do with her court-appointed therapist. Especially a woman who worked closely with Charles.
“So let’s wrap this up for today,” Rhonda said. “I’d like you to keep a journal for your homework.”
“Keep a journal, as in writing?”
Rhonda nodded “You don’t have to share what you write. The journal will help you reflect on our discussions and give you a place to refer to when we talk again. Sound good?”
Not what Karan had expected, but it didn’t sound difficult. “Not a problem.”
“Great,” Rhonda said. “Please bring it with you. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. A spiral notebook will do the trick. I’ll give you a question after we talk. You’ll be in charge of remembering it.” She glanced at her desk with a wry smile. “I’ll write it down. I won’t be able to find it again.”
Karan did smile then. Rhonda must have gotten to be codirector of New Hope on sheer personality because she was clearly an organizational nightmare. Maybe Karan should refer her personal assistant, who was a positive genius at organizing.
She didn’t get a chance because Rhonda said, “I’d like you to reflect on what was different about that night. Okay?”
“Okay.” Karan would have plenty of time to reflect since she wouldn’t be driving anywhere until her next visit to New Hope.
CHAPTER FOUR
Karan’s Journal
What was different about that night?
THAT NIGHT WAS NOTHING SPECIAL from what I remember. No different than the thousand other parties I’ve attended. Great food. Even better conversation. I can always count on Brent to host a decent party, which is one of the reasons why he’s such a successful politician. I never even blinked while writing my check for five thousand dollars to his campaign. I’m sure most of his supporters don’t. Two terms in office, work on the Banking and Finance Committees—he’s more than proven his good sense and character.
And he has been a good friend. He ran interference when that busybody Ginger Downey commented on my solo arrival. Brent grabbed my hand and twirled me and announced how delighted he was that he’d get a chance to dance more with me. When he wasn’t dancing with Annette, of course.
Annette was so sweet when she caught me in the powder room to ask if I was okay. I wouldn’t have missed this party for the world. Only the most influential names were on the guest list. Mine, of course, had been one of the first.
Certainly well above Ginger Downey’s.
Now that I think about it, I was also excited about getting out. The past few months…well, I haven’t felt settled anywhere. When I’m in the city, I’m out-of-sorts because I miss my routine with Patrick. But I’m not settled in Connecticut, either. Being at the beach makes me feel as if I’m on vacation. I need to be rebuilding my life, establishing new routines.
That leaves Bluestone Mountain.
On the upside, I’m close to Susanna.
On the downside, I’m close to Mom, which is always a mixed bag. But she hasn’t been too difficult lately, so no complaints. I thought she might be going to Brent’s party because she likes the Inn at Laurel Lake—one of the few places around Bluestone she cares for—but she was in the city for another event.
I remember being excited. I made a special trip into the city to shop for evening wear and completely lucked out when I found the most darling Akris appliqué dress. I spent the better part of the day at Mill Hill Resort and Spa preparing for the night with the usual workout, massage, mani, pedi and facial.
I put my hair in a ponytail to show off the gorgeous tulle inset shoulders of the dress. I was excited, no question. More excited than I can remember being in quite some time. Since before Patrick left.
I can’t remember when things started to change, but somewhere between the Russian caviar, the Wagyu rib eye and the conversations with an A-list of local, state and federal officials, the sparkle of the night dulled. All the laughter and discussions about the cigarette tax and small business loans, all the reconnecting suddenly lost its appeal.
Maybe that was my first clue. After all the preparation, all the careful attention to detail, I wanted to leave long before the party had ended. I remember thinking that all the preparation felt like an enormous waste of time. I was bored at best, distracted at worst, and after asking Congressman Bruij to repeat his question not once but an appalling twice, I was more than ready to say my goodbyes and head home.
Yes, now that I think about it that definitely should have been my first sign of trouble.
But how could I leave until Brent made his announcement? I couldn’t. Ginger would have certainly drawn attention to my early departure and started up talk about how I was rebounding after my latest divorce—nosy woman. Now there’s someone who needs a hobby. Crocheting maybe, so she stays home and I won’t run into her as often at social events. But I absolutely refused to give her ammunition to use against me. Not to mention that leaving before the announcement would have been rude considering how Brent and Annette had gone out of their way to be nice.
No, even upon reflection, I really had no choice but to tough it out and pretend to be interested.
I suppose the Dom Perignon Rosé helped me do that.
One sip and I managed to nod in all the appropriate places whenever Judge Townsend stopped his soliloquy about the unique responsibilities of probate, adoptions and guardianships long enough to draw air.
Another sip and I directed leading questions to State Assemblywoman Whaley, who argued emphatically for the property tax cap and against an increase of income and excise taxes as an alternative to educational cuts.
I seem to have kept right on sipping, raising an almost-empty flute when Brent finally made his announcement. Then I kissed him and Annette and headed for the door.
My small misstep at the entrance was another sign of trouble. The doorman saved me from disaster, un ceremoniously hauling me upright when the heel of my slingback caught on the runner. I slipped entirely out of my shoe and was forced to cling to him to stay upright.
Of course he asked if he could call me a taxi. I recognized the code for: should you get behind the wheel?
It was one stupid glass of champagne. Besides, leaving my car wasn’t an option, not when Jessica’s husband was the general manager of the Inn. If he saw my Jaguar in his parking lot overnight, he’d tell Jessica, who would tell Marietta, who would tell Becca…and so on until every cheerleader who’d once been on my team would start the Bluestone gossip mill grinding.
&nbs
p; Everyone would speculate about who I’d spent the night with. Or assume I’d had too much to drink. Then word would make its way back to my mother, who never missed anything that happened in this town. I did not want to get that phone call.
I produced my claim ticket and told the doorman I was fine to drive. He looked doubtful, but I just flashed him my most reassuring smile and told him the truth—only one glass of champagne.
I headed outside to wait, so the night air would help clear my head.
Why had I been looking forward to seeing all these people again? I couldn’t remember. I should have probably just sent Brent the check.
The valet took forever with my car, and I wondered if he’d gone to confirm how much I’d had to drink. With liability being what it is nowadays I couldn’t fault a business for being cautious. Even though I was left outside shivering. That had been my choice. I could have waited indoors.
Or better yet, I could have stayed in Manhattan. Then leaving my car wouldn’t even have been an issue. I’d have simply tipped the valet and let the doorman call a taxi.
I wasn’t sure what I’d have done if the doorman gave me trouble. What could I do? Call Susanna? Still would have meant leaving my car. Unless Susanna brought along Brooke, who's now driving even though Susanna is awfully tight-fisted with the car keys considering Brooke's heading off to college in a few weeks. But that’s just my opinion. And Brooke’s, of course.
I didn’t want to be used as a nonexample for my beautiful, impressionable goddaughter. And Susanna wouldn’t be able to contain herself and resist the chance to drive home a life lesson. She couldn’t resist mothering on a good day let alone when I drop a perfect opportunity in her lap.
Being between husbands at the moment, I had no one else to call and my mother wasn’t an option. All I wanted to do was get home. And home was only a few miles down a long, very lonely stretch of highway late at night.
CHAPTER FIVE
OKAY, SO KARAN HAD GOTTEN HER initial therapy session and her first homework assignment behind her in less than twenty-four hours. That left the rest of her alternative sentence looming before her like an endurance test. With any luck, Rhonda had come up with a brilliant job for Karan and when she arrived at New Hope today, she’d be able to clock some hours to speed this process along. Today would be the perfect day for it—since Charles wouldn’t be there based on the conversation she’d overheard between him and Rhonda yesterday.
The Husband Lesson Page 4
