24. Nemo and Nema
You got a new clownfish,” Sophie observed.
“Yes, I did.” Hunter smiled as they began their fourth therapy session.
“Nemo Junior?” she suggested.
“More like Nema, I think. She’s a female, thank goodness, just like the shop promised. They warned me that if I got two males in there they might behave aggressively, trying to establish a hierarchy.”
Sophie nodded. Percula clownfish didn’t sound all that different from humans. “Their markings are so vivid, so vibrant,” she said. “You’d think their predators would find them too easily.”
“Ah, but clownfish know how to hide in an anemone,” Hunter said. “Though no one has figured out how they avoid getting stung.”
The two clownfish swam closely together, darting in and out of the plants in the aquarium. Although they’d met only recently, Nemo and Nema seemed quite happy together.
Hunter studied his client before clearing his throat. “Speaking of hiding out, managing to avoid getting stung—have you contacted your father yet?”
Her gaze left the serene water and lowered to the floor. “No.”
“Is he even aware that you’re out of prison?”
“I don’t know.”
After a moment she asked, “Why do you think I should call my father?”
“I’m not sure you should,” he responded, surprising her. “That’s a decision for you to make, and only you understand the consequences of doing so. I don’t really know your father or the intricacies of your relationship with him—you haven’t told me much. But I can imagine how lonely it would feel to be on your own with no family support after all you’ve been through—after going to prison and losing your mother.”
Sophie sighed, not wanting to acknowledge her loneliness. “But I have Grant and Kirsten.”
“I know they’re important to you. I also know our parents have quite a hold over us, whether we want them to or not. And I don’t think you can avoid your father forever.”
“It’s not like he’s reaching out to me,” she said bitterly.
“But he has no way of contacting you.”
“He should have thought of that when he decided not to visit me once in prison.” She felt a deep hurt pressing down on her chest. She gave him a hard stare. “Do you get along with your parents?”
“Now I do,” Hunter said. “But there was a time when my dad didn’t talk to me for almost a year.” He leveled his gaze. “After I came out.”
Sophie winced. “I’m sorry. Here I am whining about my father when people around me are dealing with real problems, like homophobia or child abuse.”
“Child abuse?”
The image of Grant lying on his stomach, his arms tucked under his chest and tears tumbling from his tightly shut eyelids, filled her mind. The angry scar. She shuddered.
“Grant,” she managed to get out, her throat tight with imminent tears. “I’m pretty sure his father physically abused him.”
Hunter nodded, feeling a twinge in his heart as he watched her eyes pool with tears. She clearly cared deeply for Grant, and he tried to push aside his concerns about her rapidly developing intimacy with another convict.
“Has Grant ever been physically abusive to you?” he asked.
Sophie drew in a shocked breath. “No! He would never hurt me.”
“Okay, okay,” Hunter backtracked. “You and I both know sometimes the abused becomes the abuser. I was just making sure.”
Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that Hunter was only doing his job. He didn’t know Grant. He didn’t know that Grant seemed sad and wounded from the abuse, not outraged and vengeful like some abuse survivors. Like Logan Barberi.
“Every family is different, Sophie. We each have our own albatross to bear. You weren’t ‘whining’ about your problems, and they’re not insignificant. You have every right to feel hurt, angry, and abandoned by your father. It sounds like you and he both have made some mistakes.” He looked at her kindly. “Would you like to talk about it?”
She twisted her hands in her lap. “I just wanted my dad to …” She glanced at the aquarium. “To be proud of me. I know he was disappointed he didn’t have a son. All the miscarriages really took it out of my parents, I guess.”
“How many times did your mother miscarry?”
“Four.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, I was her fifth pregnancy. The doctors told her it was her last.”
“They must have been thrilled when you were born. How do you think those miscarriages affected their parenting?”
“I think it made my mom super overprotective. She was always scared something bad might happen to me. And when it did …” Sophie trailed off, remembering her mother’s devastation at her sentencing hearing. “I suppose it was too much for her.”
Instead of chastising her once again for blaming herself for her mother’s death, Hunter asked, “And your father? How did the miscarriages affect him?”
“He seemed happy that he finally had a kid, though I wasn’t the boy he always wanted. I tried to play with the construction toys he bought me, I tried to learn all the White Sox players’ names when he took me to games, but it never seemed like enough. He’s just kind of a cold man.”
“He disapproved of you?”
Sophie nodded.
“Did you argue a lot?”
“Not really—I was a good kid. Well, until my senior year of high school, that is. I started dating one of Dad’s employees, Derek Bowden.”
Hunter noticed her smirk.
“I met him when I visited my dad’s office one afternoon. My dad had suspended Derek from the job site, forcing him to work at a desk after he’d shown up drunk one day. My dad was stuck on a phone call, so I struck up a conversation with Derek, and I was shocked by his honesty—he told me outright that he hated my dad. I remember saying, ‘You do know I’m his daughter, right?’ and he replied, ‘Of course, beautiful, but you seem way too nice to rat me out.’ I liked him immediately.”
“You sure found a way to stick it to your dad, huh?”
She gave him an impish grin.
“How old was Derek?”
“Twenty-five.” Hunter’s eyebrows shot up, and Sophie continued, “Dad went ballistic.”
“I bet. You were only eighteen.”
“He ordered me not to talk to Derek, but I thought I was in love.” She rolled her eyes. “My mom and dad yelled at me nonstop about it.”
Hunter tilted his head to the side. “That must have been a nice diversion from yelling at each other.”
Sophie looked puzzled. “Huh?”
“You said your parents fought constantly, and that your mom would complain to you about your dad all the time. So for them to yell at you instead—well, maybe that’s what you secretly wanted.”
She sat perfectly still on the sofa, absorbing his insight.
“What ended up happening between you and Derek?” Hunter asked.
“After he got fired for failing a drug test, things kind of faded between us. I realized he was a loser. Then I went off to college.”
“So,” Hunter ventured tentatively. “Have you dated other older men?”
She glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’?”
Frowning, Sophie realized she could not get much past this shrink. “I had a huge crush on my professor in grad school,” she admitted. Her blush deepened when she divulged, “He was married.”
“Did anything happen between you two?”
“Of course not. And that was the only older man I’ve been attracted to besides Derek, so whatever case you’re trying to make for me seeking a father-figure boyfriend, you can flush down the toilet. The whole I-never-got-my-father’s-approval-so-I’m-searching-for-a-daddy-husband thing just doesn’t apply to me.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Wasn’t Logan Barberi older than you?”
“Well, yeah.
He was about six years older than me, but it’s not really that unusual for a twenty-eight-year-old woman to be involved with a thirty-four-year-old man.”
“Logan was a bad boy, though, wasn’t he?” Hunter pressed. “Just like Derek. And it was quite illicit for you to have sex with him since he was your psychotherapy client.”
“What’s your point?” she challenged.
“Why don’t you tell me?” he challenged back.
“Arghhh! You’re infuriating! You’re making me do all the work! I should tell Jerry to have the DOC withhold your payment for this session.”
“Sucks, doesn’t it? Your cruel psychologist is making you think for yourself so the insights will have more meaning. What a jerk.”
Her temper tantrum subsiding, Sophie flashed him a beguiling smile. She was imminently likable, even when she was frustrated as hell.
With a loud sigh, she plowed ahead. “Your point is that it was not surprising how I fell for Logan. When I couldn’t get approval from my dad, no matter how hard I tried, I decided negative attention from him was better than no attention. So, I rebelled and chose male partners to intentionally piss him off: older men, bad boys.”
She felt close to tears as she continued. “I was trying to show my dad that he didn’t have any control over me, that his approval didn’t matter to me.”
Hunter was impressed. He couldn’t have said it better himself. “Well done. I retract my earlier snarky comment that perhaps it was a good thing you lost your license. I think you would have made an excellent psychologist.”
His compliment caused her emotions to erupt, and tears began sliding down her face.
“I guess your father’s approval does matter to you,” said Hunter. “As much as you don’t want to care.”
She nodded, sniffing and plucking a few tissues from the box on the coffee table.
“I guess we also know why you haven’t called your father, then?” he added. “You’re afraid he’ll reject you again?”
She gave her answer by crying harder. Hunter let her sob for a while, her tears indicating they had arrived at the heart of the matter.
Softly he told her, “I have one more thing to add to your brilliant insights about what led to your mistake with Logan. It seems like trying to piss your dad off wasn’t the only reason you fell for Derek and Logan. They both sound like very troubled men—both struggling with addictions of some sort. You said Logan was abused, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Derek was too. But instead of their troubles repelling you, they actually attracted you. You wanted to help them.”
“It’s true.” She nodded. “I was trying to help Derek to stop drinking.”
“What the hell did an eighteen year old know about substance-abuse treatment?” he asked.
She smiled sheepishly. “Not a whole lot, as evidenced by his subsequent positive drug test.”
“My sense is that your caring nature is drawn to wounded people. You attempt to help them just like you tried to help your mother and father with their unhappy marriage. You really sacrificed yourself for your family—attaching yourself to loser men to deflect the attention from your parents’ conflicted relationship. But Sophie, you deserve a man who is healthy and strong, not damaged and dysfunctional. You don’t have to settle for a Mafia criminal who uses you to get what he wants. You deserve a man who can care for himself, and for you, in a loving, honest way.”
Sophie returned Hunter’s gaze, blinking several times while taking in his words. All she could think about was Grant. He seemed caring and loving and healthy on the surface, but there was still so much she didn’t know about him, beginning with his disturbing nightmares and apparent family history of abuse.
Hunter’s words of encouragement circled in an endless loop in her mind. She deserved a good man. Was Grant that good man?
* * *
Grant removed the headset and placed it carefully in the drawer while Roger powered down the ship engines.
“Madsen, you got yourself a phone yet?”
“They just turned it on this morning,” he replied.
“Good. Joe called last night to check up on you, and I didn’t have a number to give him.”
“Joe called last night?” Grant was pleased.
“Yeah, the fucker’s back stateside for a few weeks, and he was wondering how you were doing.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him you were shacking up with another parolee—”
Grant’s mouth dropped open in protest. “Sophie is living with Kirsten, not me!”
“I also told Joe you have a drinking problem.”
Grant’s eyes widened with shock, making Roger feel guilty for goading him.
“Jesus, Madsen, can’t you take a fucking joke? You are wound so tight, man. Of course I told Joe you’re doing just fine. If I had said those things, you know he would’ve taken the first plane to Chicago and would be here this instant, trying to set your ass straight.”
“Yeah, Joe would have gotten on my case, that’s for sure.”
Roger disdainfully eyed the bag of celery sticks on the counter of the bridge, then grabbed one. “Was the XO tough on you as a kid?”
“Yeah, tough but fair. You could say I did my share of military pushups as a teenager.”
“I can imagine,” said Roger, chomping his celery stick. “His PT sessions at Great Lakes were from hell. He liked to torture us enlisted men.”
“Looks like you could keep up with his physical training a little better now,” Grant suggested, eyeing Roger’s slowly decreasing gut.
“I’ve lost ten pounds so far,” the boss proudly announced.
“That’s great, Rog. You and the veggies are getting along much better these days.”
“Not really.” He frowned. “I still fucking hate vegetables.” He violently gnashed the celery stick. “Tasteless piece of shit. But maybe Joe wouldn’t give me so much crap if he saw me now. Now that I’m super svelte.”
Ignoring Roger’s ridiculous assessment of his fitness, Grant inquired, “Is Joe going to visit Chicago?”
“Maybe. He said he had some stuff to take care of but he might make it up here next week. He wants to be the good uncle who visits his nephew, you know?”
Grant tensed, remembering Ben’s birthday party tomorrow night. Was he going to be the good uncle who visited his nephew? He’d been wrestling with the decision for days.
He took a few steps toward the stern and glanced at the deck, noticing Sophie wiping down the benches with a wet cloth. She was leaning over a bench, which caused her black miniskirt to hike up on her creamy thigh. Grant felt aroused just looking at her.
“… the new place?”
Grant turned around, confused. “What’d you say, sir?”
Eyeing Sophie in Grant’s line of vision, Rog exhaled derisively. “You are so fucking pussy-whipped, Madsen. Christ! I was asking how it was going in your new apartment!”
“Oh.” Grant grinned. “Sorry. It’s good. How’s, um, how’s it going at your place?”
“Much better now that I don’t have fucking employees throwing books on the floor, waking me up in the middle of the night!” After a few moments Roger added, “Hey, you want to grab a bite to eat?”
“Oh, um, well Sophie and I are going out later, but it would be fine if you wanted to join—”
“Forget about it,” Roger quickly interjected. “I’ll pass on being the third wheel.”
“It’s fine, Rog, really.”
“No thanks.”
They awkwardly busied themselves with various clean-up tasks in the bridge before Grant tentatively asked, “I take it you didn’t live with your wife before you got married?”
Roger looked up from his kneeling position by a storage cabinet. “Nah. Nobody did that back then. Didn’t want to ‘live in sin.’ But maybe that would have been a good idea, sort of like a test drive of the marriage. Maybe then I wouldn’t be paying fifteen-hundred bucks a month in alimony.”
“Whoa,”
Grant grimaced. “Sounds like things ended badly?”
“Women are the motherfucking devil spawn!”
“C’mon, Rog, don’t hold back. Tell us how you really feel.”
But Roger was in no joking mood. “She cheated on me, Madsen. The bitch cheated on me.”
Grant’s face fell. No wonder Roger always seemed suspicious of women in general and Sophie in particular. “Sorry to hear that, sir.” There was a moment of silence before Grant asked, “But if she had an affair, how come you have to pay alimony?”
“Excellent question. I got royally fucked over by the courts.” Roger seemed pained. “I gotta go,” he muttered. “Do yourself a favor, Madsen. Never get married. And never trust women.”
With that advice, Roger exited the bridge and hustled down the stairs, leaving Grant leaning against the console, staggered by the weight of his boss’ warnings.
He glanced down at Sophie again. She was almost finished wiping down the benches. She’d seemed distant when she arrived for work that morning, but he was starting to notice a pattern of her appearing tired and standoffish following her therapy sessions. He could definitely imagine how rough it would be to discuss family and feelings for an hour straight. Hopefully they could reconnect over dinner tonight.
He was bursting with excitement about something he’d done for her, and he hoped he wouldn’t spill the beans before the surprise materialized. Grinning to himself, Grant removed the key from the ship engine and jauntily descended the stairs.
25. Unexpected Gifts
The next day, Sophie’s mind was on overdrive as she walked home after the last evening cruise. She’d asked Grant where he wanted to go for dinner, which had become their routine, and was summarily dismissed. Now their conversation played over and over as she walked …
“I got plans,” he’d brusquely informed her while stacking chairs on the deck.
“Oh,” she replied, and an awkward silence descended. “What kind of plans?”
“I’d rather not get into it, Sophie.”
She sighed. She’d been determined to take Hunter’s advice and truly get to know Grant before rushing to trust him, but recently her questions had smacked up against a brick wall. Deciding to be direct, she spoke in a clipped tone. “I was hoping the evasiveness you showed at dinner last night would be gone by today.”
With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1] Page 24
