by Lisa Dyson
Callie’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets. Was the judge kidding? Callie held back the hysterical laughter choking her. “Why do I need therapy when he’s the one who lied and cheated?” She pointed at Andrew, quite pleased with himself. She snapped her mouth shut.
“You’re making my point, Ms. James,” the judge cautioned. “I’m beginning to think you may have broken the vase on purpose.” The judge made a note on her papers. “So I need to know if you accept the plea deal. Pay for half the vase, seek therapy, and I’m going to add one hundred hours of community service to the deal.”
“Community service?” Her lawyer finally spoke up. “That’s completely unfair, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Goodman, your client can gladly turn down the plea and go to trial. I won’t repeat what I said before about a possible fine and jail time. I think she understands.”
Callie went numb. Why was she being punished and Andrew came out the winner?
“May I have a moment with my client?” Harvey asked.
“A moment,” the judge said. “I have other cases pending.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Harvey turned to Callie and lowered his voice. “I’m recommending you take the deal.”
“What!” She whispered but several heads turned in her direction. “I can’t take the deal. I’m not guilty.”
“If you don’t, then you could end up in jail. You know he’s going to get the other woman to testify against you.”
“Will this go on my record if I accept the plea?” She’d made a name for herself in the financial world. This could ruin her career.
“I’ll ask for it to be expunged after you complete your therapy and community service,” Harvey said.
Community service. You’ve got to be kidding. She pictured herself in a reflective vest as she picked up trash along I-270 on a hot July day.
“I can probably get your community service limited to some pro bono tax returns for struggling businesses,” Harvey told her.
That didn’t sound so bad. And she could probably handle a few sessions with a shrink. Heaven knew she had enough childhood stuff to fill a few hours.
“Okay,” she finally said. “As long as it all gets expunged when I’m done.”
Harvey addressed the judge. “There are two conditions we’d like to attend to, Your Honor. The matter of expunging Ms. James’s record and some kind of proof of the value of the vase.”
Nice touch, Harvey. Paying for half wouldn’t be a financial burden for Callie, but the principal of paying for it definitely irked her.
The judge made notes. “Those conditions are acceptable.” Then she turned to Andrew. “Mr. Slater, can you provide the court with a proper document?”
“I’d be happy to do that, Your Honor.”
Callie was tempted to wipe that smirk off his face but instead breathed in and out, in and out.
The judge turned to the clerk. “Have both parties sign the appropriate documents.” She banged her gavel. “The court is in recess for fifteen minutes.”
Everyone stood until the judge exited the courtroom through her private door. Loath to speak to Andrew ever again, Callie whispered to Harvey, “Get me out of here.”
“Callie!” Andrew came up behind her as she hurried down the courthouse hallway.
She slowed her pace but didn’t stop completely. “What?”
Andrew hesitated a few seconds before blurting out, “I want my key back.”
Of course he did. She stopped, dug through her hobo bag and struggled to remove his key from her ring. Instead of throwing it at him like she wanted to, she very smoothly held it out to him.
He tossed it a few inches in the air and caught it, his pleasure at her expense almost more than she could bear. “You know I only want the best for you.”
She stared at him, curious why he felt the need to say anything to her.
“That’s why I suggested the judge add therapy to the plea.”
He’d suggested it? Then she was right about them all being in cahoots. She kept her tone neutral. “So you think I need to control my anger?”
He shook his head. “No, I think you need to start expressing your feelings.” He looked down the hall to where his bed partner waited and then back at Callie. “You’re a wonderful person, Callie, but you’re as emotionally reserved as a rock.”
*
SEVERAL WEEKS AND anger management therapy sessions later, Callie’s therapist harrumphed and scratched his head. Nearly halfway into today’s session and he was clearly frustrated. Callie suspected he was trying to bring out some anger in her, or at least some kind of emotion. In her defense, she’d spent years bottling up those emotions and she wasn’t sure she knew how to unleash them. Or wanted to.
Dr. Hammond seemed perfectly nice. He was a middle-aged man of average height, average weight and above-average intelligence as far as Callie could judge. Just not the person with whom she was comfortable sharing her innermost thoughts.
“Let’s get back to your mother,” Dr. Hammond said in his monotone voice. “She died when you were very young?”
“Yes.” A pink bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers constituted her faint memory of the woman who’d died when Callie was three. She didn’t even remember her face, forced to consult one of the few faded pictures she’d held on to.
“Were you upset when she died?”
“Of course I was upset,” she said evenly. “Who wouldn’t be? I was young and had no mother.” Callie’s pulse sped up, so she took control of her breathing. In and out. In and out. “But I couldn’t do anything about it and it wasn’t her fault that she was killed.”
“Are you still angry?”
Callie’s brow furrowed. Her mother had been gone twenty-six years. She missed her or, more specifically, she missed having a mother figure. She didn’t know what it was like to have a mother to turn to in tough times. Like when she’d caught Andrew cheating.
She spoke calmly. “Car jacking is a horrific act of violence, but I don’t dwell on it.”
“Are you close to your father?” Dr. Hammond shifted in his seat and crossed one leg over the other.
“No.”
“When was the last time you two spoke?”
Callie did the math in her head. “About eleven years ago.”
Dr. Hammond’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a long time.” When Callie didn’t comment further, he asked, “What was the circumstance that led to your loss of communication?”
Callie nearly smiled at Dr. Hammond’s formal turn of phrase rather than simply asking why she’d shut her father out of her life. “I left for college.”
“I see.”
No, he probably didn’t, but Callie couldn’t disclose her personal demons to this stranger, no matter how soothingly he spoke.
“Did you and your father have an altercation?”
“No.”
“Would you like to rekindle a relationship with him?”
She hadn’t even considered it. “That’s not an option.”
Dr. Hammond cocked his head and asked, “Did he molest you?”
Callie’s eyes widened and she straightened in her chair. “No, of course not. He’d never do that.” Her father was the sweetest man she’d ever known. Maybe too sweet, blinding him to the deceit surrounding him.
Dr. Hammond watched Callie through narrowed eyes and finally nodded as he made notes in his file. “Let’s move on to your stepmother,” Dr. Hammond suggested.
Let’s not. “What about her?” Breathe deeply. In and out.
“How old were you when she came into your life?”
Callie’s stomach churned. “She was my mother’s friend, her maid of honor when my parents married.”
Dr. Hammond made another note. “How would you characterize your relationship?”
Callie couldn’t do this. She couldn’t discuss her stepmother. “She’s my father’s wife.” She took a halting breath. “Can’t we talk about something else?”
Dr. Hammond was silent for se
veral minutes. “Callie, I’m at a loss here. The court sent you to me, but I can’t help you if you insist on burying your emotions. You need to open up.”
Callie didn’t know what to say. She’d spent most of her life keeping her thoughts and emotions to herself. Any anger burning her insides remained unspoken. That’s what kept her out of trouble.
Until recently.
Most people would have screamed and yelled at Andrew and the woman on top of him, but Callie didn’t operate like that. She’d learned early on to curb her temper, no matter how unfair the circumstances. After that, only once had she ever lost complete control of her temper. It was a slipup as a teenager and she was lucky it hadn’t ruined the rest of her life.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. Nothing in my past has anything to do with me finding my boyfriend in bed with another woman.” She fisted and relaxed her hands several times. “It didn’t make me lose my temper and break an expensive vase. Though I almost wish I had so at least I’d be paying for something I actually did.”
The more she’d thought about it since court, the more she was positive she couldn’t have broken Andrew’s vase. The ugly thing always sat on a shelf right outside his kitchen, so she never even would have come near it as she ran out of his apartment. The only way she might have been responsible is if it had fallen when she’d slammed his apartment door as she’d left—but she wouldn’t have slammed the door. That would have been a loss of control that was completely out of character for Callie.
“Our time is almost up for today.” Dr. Hammond leaned forward. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but I want you to go spend time with your father and stepmother.” When Callie opened her mouth to speak, he raised a hand to stop her. “I want you to voice, face-to-face, whatever your feelings have been about them. Even if in the end you haven’t settled things, at least you won’t be carrying your hurt inside where it’s obviously tearing you apart.”
This couldn’t be happening. “Can’t I just write letters to them, pour out my feelings, and then burn the letters or something?” She’d seen that on shows countless times and it always seemed to make the person feel better.
Not that she needed to feel better. She was just fine. Especially now that she was free of cheating Andrew and single again.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “I’ve already made arrangements for you to continue your community service in Whittler’s Creek.”
“But—”
“Our time is up.” Dr. Hammond repeated as he stood. “We’ll continue therapy by phone while you’re away. You can email my receptionist with the best time for you once you know your community service hours.”
Callie stood up, her mind a foggy mess. “What about my job?” How would she explain needing time off? How long would it take? A few days? A week? Longer?
Breathe. In and out. Slower. In…out.
Dr. Hammond put a hand on her elbow to show her out. “I’m sure they’ll allow you to take a sabbatical once you explain.” He handed her another piece of paper. A formal letter on his personal stationery. “Use this if necessary.” He handed her another sheet of paper. “And here’s where you report for community service at 8:00 a.m. Monday.”
She glanced at the information. Office of the Chief of Police, Whittler’s Creek, Maryland. Great. What were the chances this small-town law enforcer was someone who didn’t know her or about her past?
CHAPTER TWO
LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON Callie reluctantly drove the hour and a half from her home just inside the Washington, DC, beltway to the town where she’d grown up in western Maryland. She’d spoken to her boss Friday afternoon and arranged to telework while she was away. Her boss hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d had no choice. She’d made the company a lot of money the past few years. They couldn’t afford to lose her, especially knowing there were several other financial firms that would gladly hire her immediately after this fiasco in Whittler’s Creek ended.
When she reached the sign welcoming her to Whittler’s Creek, her heart began to beat double-time. How had she gotten herself into this? Was it too late to give Andrew the entire amount for the stupid vase? Probably.
Callie’s plan for today was to arrive in town and immediately head to her father’s house to get their reunion over with. She loved her dad and missed having him in her life. But she couldn’t get past the feeling that he’d let her down all those years ago.
She drove through the “downtown” area of Whittler’s Creek that consisted of two blocks with a few small, family-run businesses, as well as a bank and the police station where Callie would report tomorrow morning. She continued on toward the outskirts of town and made a left turn on the winding uphill road that led to her childhood home.
When she reached the long driveway, she pulled over onto the gravel-and-dirt shoulder to gather her courage. She pressed the button to turn off the engine of her dark red sports car—the one she’d splurged on, buying it outright with her last bonus.
She could see the house farther up the hill. It didn’t appear much different than when she’d lived there all those years ago.
The house held painful secrets, but from the outside you’d never guess it was anything but run-down.
The white clapboard was dingy and one of the dark green shutters was missing, while several others hung slightly crooked. The landscaping needed work. The grass needed to be mowed and the evergreen bushes near the front door were overgrown. One of the large oak trees in the front yard was dead. The next big storm could knock the tree into the house if it wasn’t taken down soon.
Callie hadn’t called ahead to let her dad know she’d be coming. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to know, it was more that she didn’t want to give her stepmother a heads-up. This visit would be difficult enough without giving the woman prep time.
Callie stayed in her car for quite a while, gathering her courage to face her past. There were only a few other houses down this quiet road. Not even one car passed by as she sat there.
Her stomach was in knots. She should have eaten lunch, but she’d figured an empty stomach was better than a full one that could reverse direction if her anxiety got out of control.
Which it was definitely threatening.
She uncapped the water bottle in the center console drink holder and took a long swig. The cool liquid somewhat soothed her dry mouth but offered no relief to her stomach. She replaced the cap and turned her attention back to her father’s house.
A car was visible in the detached garage, the door having been left open. She hoped that meant her father was home, but she’d been gone too long to know if it was her father’s car or her stepmother’s.
It was now or never. She would prefer never, but that wouldn’t make her therapist happy. Callie needed to get this over with and move on.
The engine turned over when she pressed the start button. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the gearshift and froze.
She reminded herself that she was an adult now. Not the eighteen-year-old who’d left home for college eleven years ago. She could stand up for herself, could leave whenever she wanted. No one could force her to do something against her will.
She wasn’t that scared little girl, so easily intimidated.
She put the car in gear and slowly pulled back onto the two-lane road riddled with potholes that still hadn’t been patched from last year’s harsh winter.
She carefully turned right into the long driveway leading to her childhood home and stopped abruptly.
Her head throbbed.
Before she could change her mind, she threw the car into reverse and backed out onto the street to face the direction from which she’d come.
A single bead of sweat ran down her temple. Not from the heat but from anxiety.
Without another glance at the house, she gunned the engine and headed back through the downtown area.
She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let it out as she passed the sign sa
ying Thanks for Visiting Whittler’s Creek, Come Again.
She knew of a small hotel in a neighboring town that she could check in to for the night. After breakfast tomorrow, she’d look for a more semi-permanent housing solution, rather than pay daily hotel rates.
She’d also work on reinforcing her courage.
*
MONDAY MORNING TYLER GARRETT rubbed his face with both hands, barely able to control the urge to bang his head on his desk as he surveyed his crowded office.
He was Whittler’s Creek’s Chief of Police, not a financial guru. He had no way of deciphering the mountain of binders and documents that had been packed into boxes and were now taking up much of the walking space in his already cramped office.
He’d received an anonymous email late last week about discrepancies in the town’s financial records. With no ability to track down where the email had originated, he had immediately requested a court order before the records could be doctored. After Judge Parsons had signed off on it, Tyler had requested the records be brought to his office from a building down the street. He’d never imagined there would be so much paper involved.
What happened to going digital like the rest of the country?
Then he considered where he was living. A small town in western Maryland. Even though a few residents commuted to DC or Baltimore, the majority had lived here most of their lives and rarely ventured more than an hour or so away. They preferred to keep their lives simple.
His phone rang. “Chief Garrett.”
“Good morning, Chief Garrett. This is Dr. Jeffrey Hammond. I’m a psychologist in Bethesda and I have a court-ordered patient who will be coming to Whittler’s Creek to do her community service. I sent you an email over the weekend with the details.”
Great. Just what he needed. Another criminal coming to town. “I haven’t gotten to email yet this morning.” He glanced at the banker’s boxes surrounding his desk and shook his head.
“I understand.” Dr. Hammond went on to give Tyler a few details. “I’m not at liberty to explain too much about Ms. James’s current situation, but she grew up there and still has family in town. I trust that you will provide adequate supervision for her court-ordered community service?”
