June 12, 1999

It was summertime—a schoolboy’s favorite time of year.  No classes, no homework.  Mornings for sleeping in and afternoons for enjoying the warm, early summer weather in the mountains.  Only a small handful of boys stayed at Winthrop year-round.  It wasn’t what Jim had originally hoped for, but his father had talked him into taking baby steps instead of plunging himself headfirst into his ultimate dream for the school.

It was Jim’s nature to dive into the deep end—to fill his days with work and his mind and heart with distractions.  Never mind that he was too young, too inexperienced, and definitely unqualified to own and run his own school singlehandedly.  Matthew Wheeler’s wealth and connections got around those obstacles.  While the board had proprietary control of the school and Jim had to answer to them monthly on all major decisions concerning the school, he had day-to-day control and updated only the board chairman—his father—on a twice weekly basis.  His father had helped significantly by surrounding him with an experienced and worthy staff and faculty, which made his job easier and the learning curve a breeze.

Still, he longed for the day when he had full control, when he could transform the Winthrop School for Boys into a year-round school/camp and not have his summers so quiet.  So quiet, that the past could slip in to haunt him on a daily basis.

It certainly didn’t help that both of his birth parents had celebrated their birthdays in the summer and that they had both died in the summer, on the same day, exactly three years apart.

Thank heavens for the Bob-Whites and all their summer birthdays and summer adventures.  Those endless summers in Sleepyside had usually managed to keep him focused on happiness and friendships and not on his tortured soul.

Yesterday would have been his mother’s birthday, and here he was still brooding about it.  Here he was, shuttered away in his office on a beautiful Saturday morning, trying to find something to do to take his mind off the pain of wondering what his beautiful mother would have been like at age fifty.

He heard the outer office door open and braced himself for what was about to hit him.

“Holy crap, Frayne!  You’re not sitting in the office working on a Saturday, when school isn’t even in session!  What’s the matter with you, you freak?”

Offering his guest a grimacing smile, he said, “Hi, Jo.  It’s lovely to see you.  Would you like to sit down and have some tea?”

“No, I don’t want any freakin’ tea!  I want you to go outside and enjoy that rustic wilderness you’re always raving about.”

“Have I mentioned how happy I am that you’re working in Albany this summer and are close enough to harass me in person?”

“You’re welcome,” she said smartly, completely ignoring his sarcasm.  “Now go outside and ... smell a pinecone or something!”

Jim chuckled as he pushed his chair away from the desk and stood, stretching his arms over his head and flexing his stiff muscles.  “I must admit, that’s not a half bad idea.  Will you be joining me?”

One plucked eyebrow jerked up sardonically.  “Are you kidding me?  The great outdoors and I are not pals.”

“That’s an ironic sentiment, considering where we met.”

“Yeah, well, I never told you this, but I was running away that day because I was looking for the mall.”

Jim came around to the front of his desk and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest and feigning a stern expression.  “Joanne Darnell, you’ve told me more than once how beautiful it is up here.”

“It is.  I’d just prefer to appreciate that beauty from your climate-controlled, bug-free apartment, rather than out on the trails with a smelly, sweaty beast of burden.”

“So now you don’t like horses, either?”

“I meant you,” she retorted tartly, making a break for the door as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Unfortunately for Jo, Jim’s legs were much longer than hers and he had grabbed the back of her shirt before she got two steps into the main office.  Entrapping her in a hard squeeze, he snarled playfully into her ear, “You’re evil, you know that?  I ought to lock you up in the barn for a few hours as punishment.”

Jo turned her head, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and replied, “How about lunch, instead?”

Jim released her and with a resigned sigh, nodded his head.  “Why not?”

“Wally’s?”

“No, let’s go somewhere else.”  He thought the pause before he answered was imperceptible, but Jo noticed immediately.

“You want to tell me why you’re avoiding Renee?”

He gestured toward the door and gave Jo a gentle prod in that direction before answering.  “Who said I was avoiding her?  Maybe she’s at work today.”

“No, she’s not.  I saw her sitting on her front porch chatting with Caroline when I drove through town.”  As Jim winced, she added with a smirk, “Don’t you just love small towns?  You can’t miss a thing.”

Jim locked the office and the two of them proceeded down the dim hallway to the main entrance, their footsteps echoing behind them.  Knowing his friend was just as tenacious as Trixie—if not more so—he decided to forego further evasion and freely admitted, “I’m not exactly avoiding her.  At least, I’m not purposely avoiding her in particular.  I just wanted to be alone today.”

“Hmm ... too bad for you that I showed up then.”

“That’s for sure,” Jim agreed heartily, dodging to his right as she swung a half-hearted punch at him.

She stopped just inside the front doors, where the sunlight poured through the stained glass window that arched above the doors and cast a blue glow on her dark hair.  “Why do you want to be alone?”

Jim stopped, staring down at his feet for a moment before turning to face her.  “Yesterday would’ve been my mom’s fiftieth birthday.”

“Oh.”  Her expression softened and she reached out and took his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

For all her smart-mouth, overly assertive ways, she always knew when he was really hurting, when all he needed was her quiet friendship.  So they simply stood there for a few minutes, not speaking, not moving, until Jim’s stomach growled and they both started chuckling awkwardly.

Affecting a thick Brooklyn accent, Jo said, “I bet the Chinese food here is terrible.”

Jim grinned broadly and replied, “It’s actually pretty good, Ms. Tomei.  How about we go pick up some take-out and bring it back here and watch My Cousin Vinny?  We can eat in the climate-controlled comfort of my bug-free apartment.  I even took a shower this morning, so I’m not sweaty or stinky, and if you carry the food, you can be the beast of burden.”

“If I’m hauling, you’re buying, right?”

“Hell, no!” he exclaimed, as he put his arm around her shoulders and walked with her out into the summer sunlight.

***

June 13, 1999

Jim came into Wally’s early the next morning for some coffee after taking his morning run.  He smiled wryly as he realized he was whistling.  Joey had—as she invariably did—found a way to help him shake his blues.  Her hair-raising tales of life at college—which always made him wonder what he had been missing with his nose stuck in books during his university days—and the bright intensity of her snapping cinnamon-brown eyes as she prattled on about her summer job, served not only to distract him but to lighten his heart.

“Good morning, Wally,” he greeted, as he slid onto a stool in front of the counter.  “Coffee, black, please.”

Wally nodded shortly and turned to the coffee maker without further greeting.

Jim frowned.  “Everything okay?”

“You tell me,” the usually friendly man mumbled, his back still toward Jim as he poured coffee into a styrofoam cup and carefully affixed a plastic lid on top.  Clearly, Wally wasn’t assuming he’d stay for breakfast.

“Is Renee working this morning?”  Jim scanned the small diner, still quiet before the after-church rush.  When he brought his gaze back to Renee’s father, he was startled to see a decidedly un-friendly look in the short, stocky man’s normally warm eyes.

Maybe Wally didn’t want him to stay.

“Renee’s at the house.  She’s working at the hospital this afternoon,” he said flatly as he handed Jim his coffee.

“What’s going on, Wally?”

Wally stared long and hard at him before answering.  “When’s the last time you spoke to my daughter?”

Jim felt a little lurch in his throat and he had to clear it before he answered.  “I had a friend visiting from out of town yesterday.  I was … tied up in the office on Friday, but Renee came over and visited with me before she went to work on Thursday afternoon.”

Wally’s hard expression softened as he saw that it was obvious that Jim really didn’t know what had him—or Renee—so upset.  Softly, he said, “Yesterday was Renee’s birthday.”

Jim closed his eyes and emitted a low groan.  He let the weight of the coffee cup drag his arm downward until the cup hit the counter with a soft thump.  “I forgot,” he said ashamedly.  “Is she mad?”

“She’s hurt.”

“Is it okay if I go over there right now?”

Wally nodded, his expression a mix of understanding—the bond between men who can’t remember dates so important to women to save their lives—and warning—the protective father who wouldn’t hesitate to take on the younger, taller, stronger man who would dare hurt his only child.

Coffee forgotten on the counter, Jim hurriedly exited the diner and started walking the short distance to the modest, but comfortable home Renee shared with her father.  He had only gotten a few steps when he stopped and decided that if he came bearing gifts, it might go a long way toward Renee accepting his apology.

After a quick trip to the drug store—regrettably, the little town’s only establishment open that early on a Sunday morning—Jim made his way back to the Wallace house.  The back door was open, so he knocked and called out her name as he peered through the screen door into the tidy kitchen.  When she didn’t answer, he went inside and made his way to the front of the house, still periodically calling her name so as not to startle her.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs without finding her anywhere on the first floor, he took three steps up to the small landing and called her name again.

“Yes?” came the voice from upstairs.

“It’s Jim.  Can I come up?”

He winced at the pause before she answered in the affirmative.  It wasn’t like him to forget important dates, and she knew it.  He’d really have to come clean on this one and open his wounded heart just a little more to her.

Steeling himself for the much too infrequent baring of his soul, he climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway to her bedroom.  Renee was sitting on the bed, her book forgotten by her side.  She didn’t exhibit any defensive or angry gestures such as crossed arms or thrust chin, but her normally somber eyes looked a bit more soulful than usual.  Jim hesitated at the threshold, waiting for her invitation to join her.

After an uncomfortable silence, he pulled a single, long-stemmed rose from behind his back and stretched it out toward her.  “Forgive me?”

“For what?” she asked, as if testing him.

“I’m sorry I forgot your birthday yesterday.  I feel like a complete heel.”  Cautiously, he made his way to her side and offered her the rose.  She hesitated only briefly before taking it and Jim was encouraged to see the corner of her mouth twitch slightly, in what he hoped was a smile of forgiveness.  Sitting next to her and gently caressing her knee, he added, “I don’t know how good my excuse is, but I’ll tell you if you want to hear it.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yeah, I do.  I owe you a birthday present.”  He pulled his other hand from behind his back and handed her two rolls of candy.

She took the gift, offering him a small smile.  “Necco wafers.  My favorite.”

“And since I forgot your birthday, you don’t even have to share them with me.”

“You don’t like Neccos,” she reminded him.  “You call them flavored chalk.”

Jim grinned.  “Yeah, so even though I forgot your birthday, please don’t share them with me.”

They fell into another awkward silence for a few minutes.  Jim tried to find his voice, sensing that Renee was waiting for him to speak.  She had said he didn’t owe her an excuse, and he knew she genuinely meant it.  But he felt he did owe her, not because he forgot her birthday but because she was his girlfriend, and you were supposed to be able to share things with someone you were in a relationship with.

It shouldn’t be this hard, he thought despondently.

“Joey came up to visit me yesterday.  That’s not why I forgot your birthday,” he added hastily.  “If she knew it was your birthday, she probably would’ve kicked my butt for forgetting.  In fact, if you called her right now and told her, she’d probably be more than happy to drive back up here and kick my butt.”

She smiled at him and he tried to take encouragement from it, gripping the bedspread tightly, out of her line of sight, twisting it into a knot similar to what his insides felt like.  Clearing his throat, he said, “Friday was—would have been—my mother’s fiftieth birthday.”

Instantly, her dark, somber eyes grew darker with sadness and understanding.  She reached out and took his hand, the one closest to her, the one not caught in a death grip on the comforter.  She didn’t speak, but merely waited for him to continue.

He shrugged, not wanting to go back to that place after he’d so recently come back into the light.  “I guess I was just in a pretty deep funk.  So deep, I forgot all about your birthday.”

“Do you want to talk about it?  Talk about her?”

He shook his head, quickly and vehemently.  “No, not really.  I don’t want to ruin your day.”

“Jim, you wouldn’t ruin my day.  Don’t forget, I lost my mother too.  Her fiftieth birthday’s coming up soon, also.”  She inched closer and put her arm around his waist.  “I know birthdays are hard enough to deal with, significant birthdays are even harder.  Maybe if you tell me about her, you’ll feel better.  Focus on happy memories.”

It was too much.  Just admitting what was bothering him in the first place was a big step and taking a second step wasn’t going to happen.  Not today.

He stood, still holding her hand, and smiled down at her.  “Let’s do that another day.  I owe you a birthday.  Why don’t we drive out to one of those gorgeous lodges on the lake and have lunch?”  Waggling his ginger eyebrows, he added, “Scandalize them by asking if they rent rooms by the hour.”

She smiled, exhaling softly as she stood in response to his gentle tugs.  He wasn’t sure if she thought he wouldn’t notice her forced smile and resigned sigh, or if she thought he would rather pretend he didn’t.  He did notice.  He chose the latter course of action.

It really shouldn’t be this hard, he thought again.  But it is.

***

July 24, 1999

Jim rolled over with a groan and cracked open one eye to check the clock on his bedside table.  It was past ten o’clock—good grief, when was the last time he slept that long?  He felt miserable, and for good reason.  Several times during the night he had had the same disturbing dream—a nightmare that woke him up at the same exact point in the dream each time.  And each time, he had tossed and turned and struggled to get back to sleep, only to awaken again a few hours later.

With a heavy and weary sigh that seemed to come from a man carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders, Jim closed his eyes and remembered.  Today was July 24th, eleven years since his mother had lost her fight with ovarian cancer—surrendered with hardly a struggle.  She had mourned his father for exactly three years and had seemingly given up the will to live without him any longer.

Jim used to harbor a lot of anger that she could just die like that and leave him all alone in the world, that she wouldn’t fight to stay with her son.  But as he grew older, it all became very clear to him.  Why would she want to stay around with a daily reminder of her dead husband always beside her?  He was a carbon copy of his father and that must have caused untold grief for his heartbroken mother.  He was the reason she had so hurriedly tried to wipe Win out of her memory by marrying another man barely a year after his death.  He was the reason Jonesy came into their lives—and he got his just punishment for it after his mother’s death.

Of course, this theory wasn’t based on any sound psychological reasoning.  It had literally taken months for his therapist to undo the damage he had done to himself with this line of thinking.  Frankly, Jim was surprised it hadn’t taken years.

So now he lay in bed as noon approached on the anniversary of not only his mother’s death, but his father’s as well, unable to muster up any energy to do any of the things he normally did on a bright summer Saturday morning.  At least he didn’t feel the urge to run away, as he so often did on this day.  No, this year there was no one to run away from.  Hallie was spending six weeks in Idaho with her family over the summer break.  Mart and Sally had driven to Niagara Falls with her brother, Shawn, and his wife, Staci, for a long weekend.  Trixie and Dan had moved to New York City more than two months ago.  He had no doubt that Joey would give him a call today, but she had been so busy the last couple of months at her summer job in Albany that they hadn’t had the chance to spend much time together, despite her closer proximity.  That left only—.

“Jim?”

He kept his eyes closed for the briefest of moments, bemoaning his luck.  Turning his head and opening his eyes, he gazed into the Renee’s somber face and tried to smile.

“Are you okay?  I’ve been knocking on the door for five minutes.  I used the key you gave me.  I didn’t want to intrude, but I was worried.  I’m sorry.”

Jim waved off her apology.  When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and dry, which worked to his advantage.  “I’m all right.  I’m just not feeling well.”

Renee’s nursing instincts kicked in automatically, and she crossed to his side and laid her hand on his forehead.  “You’re warm, but not that warm.  Do you feel nauseous?”

He shook his head.  “Really, I’m okay.  It’s just a cold or something.”  He cleared his throat and closed his eyes again.  “I probably just need to sleep.”

“Do you want me to make you some soup?”

He kept his eyes closed, swallowing hard and forcing down the irrational panic that threatened to creep its way out.  What he wanted was to be left alone, but how could he tell her that without sounding like a first-rate jerk?

“My throat hurts too much for soup,” he managed.

“Well, I’m going to get you some water and some juice then.  You know you should have plenty of fluids when you’re sick.”

Before he could argue, she left the bedroom, returning a few minutes later with a glass of orange juice and a large bottle of water, which she set on the bedside table.  “You don’t need me to call or doctor or anything?”

“No, no, of course not.  I’ll be fine.”  He sipped gratefully at the water, his throat parched.

Renee crossed her arms and stared down at him with a disgusted look on her pretty face.  “I thought men were always supposed to act like big babies when they were sick.  I think they secretly like to be mothered.”

His heart constricted in his chest at her final word.  He really needed to be alone.  Rolling away from her, he mumbled, “Thanks for the water.  I just need to sleep.  I’ll be fine.”

“Well, I’m staying.”

He grimaced.  He didn’t want her to stay.  Forcing his voice to remain even, he said, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense.  I’ll just go in the living room and read for a while.  That way I can check on you from time to time.  Get some sleep.”

She leaned over and kissed him on his temple, brushing back his sweat-dampened hair affectionately.  He had a brief and painful flashback of his mother doing the exact same thing, and tears sprang unbidden to his eyes.  He kept them tightly closed until he heard Renee carefully shut the bedroom door behind her, leaving him once again blessedly alone.

He wished he could sleep.  Heaven knew he needed to.  But he was afraid the dream would come back and he just couldn’t deal with it yet again, not today.  He dozed off and on for about half an hour and was staring blankly at the clock when he saw his cell phone vibrating across the bedside table.  He reached out to grab it and answer it before it could start ringing and alert Renee.

“Hello?” he whispered hoarsely, reaching again for the glass of water to soothe his throat.

“Hey,” Joey answered.  “Just calling to check in with you.  You doing okay today?”

“All right,” he whispered.  “What are you up to today?”

After a pause, she whispered back, “Why are you whispering?”

“Renee’s reading in the living room and I don’t want to disturb her.  She thinks I’m sleeping.”

“Why would she think you were sleeping this late?  Doesn’t she know you at all?”

“I’m still in bed.”

Jo’s momentary silence was enough to tell him how stunned she was.  “Why?” she finally managed, sounding as if she had some idea, but still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the image of Jim Frayne “vegging” like a college frat boy.

“I told her I was sick, but I couldn’t get rid of her.  She’s mother-henning me right now.”

“Why did you tell her you were sick?”

Her cross-examination was starting to irritate him.  “Because she came over before I had a chance to run away.  Is that what you wanted to hear?” he snarled.

“No,” she said softly, without snapping back at him, as he had expected.  “I wanted to hear that you were doing just fine; that more than a decade after your parents died you were finally at peace.  I wanted to hear you tell me a sweet, funny story about one or both of them—something you remembered that made you smile, rather than wanting to crawl into the back of your closet and die.  I don’t like for you to be hurting, and I guess I was holding out hope that this therapist you’ve been seeing for almost a year now was making some progress.”

Jim sighed and rolled over onto his back, the phone still pressed up against his ear.  “You know, for a cynical, smart-mouth, hard-ass lawyer-to-be, you definitely have a soft side.”

She snorted.  “Yeah, don’t let that get around, okay?”

“Jim?”

He rolled his head toward the doorway where Renee was standing, peeking in at him.

“I’m sorry—you’re on the phone.”  She smiled gently and teased, “I thought maybe your fever was worse and you had started talking to yourself in your delirium.”

He managed a grin for her, fake as it was, and said, “No, it’s … my father.  We have some school business to talk about.  Hey, I think I changed my mind on that soup, but all I have is canned stuff.  What’s your dad got on the menu today?”

“Chicken noodle, perfect for a summer cold.”

“Sounds great.  Would you mind?”

She smiled as she shook her head and blew him a kiss as she left.  Jim listened carefully until he heard the front door click softly shut as she left the apartment.  Releasing some of the tension in his body, he turned his focus back to the phone, where Joey was continuing her interrogation.

“Your father?  Why did you just lie to Renee about who was on the phone?  Does she have a problem with you and me being friends?”

“Of course not.  I just don’t want her to feel bad that I can talk to you and not to her.”

“Why would she feel bad?” Joey shot back in a biting tone.  “She thinks you’re sick.  She has no idea you’re depressed or what you’re depressed about, does she?”

Jim shook his head wearily.  Of course, Joey couldn’t see him, but she knew the answer anyway, so what was the point of verbally answering her?

“So, why are you still in bed?”

“I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Why?”

“I had this recurring dream that kept waking me up and then I couldn’t get back to sleep again.”

“What was the dream about?”

He sighed.  “Damn, you’re annoying, you know that?  You’re not my therapist.”

She laughed shortly.  “I ought to have gone into psychology instead of law.  I’d probably make a freakin’ fortune just off of you.  Now, tell me what the dream was about.”

“I don’t remember,” he hedged.

“You kept having this dream, as in multiple times in the same night, and you can’t remember?  Try again, Frayne.”

He draped his free arm across his eyes and reluctantly brought the images back to his mind.  A tall, handsome red-haired man with striking green eyes.  A pretty blond woman with a smile as brilliant as her blue eyes.  A young boy, the very image of his father.  A cozy home with a brightly-colored flower bed out front and a shaggy mongrel dog in the backyard.  The picture perfect family.

But then the man got sick and Jim could feel his pain—his physical pain as disease ravaged his once strong body, and his emotional pain as he had to leave his family behind, the pain he felt when he looked into the woman’s sad blue eyes and knew that he’d have to leave her.

“Jim?”

Hoping she would let it go, he tried to change the subject slightly.  “So, do you want to hear a funny story about my mother?  About the time the washer broke and my dad was out of town and she tried to fix it all by herself and nearly electrocuted the dog and drowned her eight-year-old son in one fell swoop?”

Jo’s gentle laugh brought a small measure of happiness back to his heart.  “Your mother?  I thought your mother was perfect, Jim.”

“Not when it came to anything mechanical, that’s for sure.”

He knew he’d feel depressed again when he finally hung up with Jo.  He wondered what he’d say to Renee when she came back with the soup.  He worried about going back to sleep and seeing those images again, watching his father die again, watching a part of his mother die again.

But for now, he could show Jo that his therapist was helping him.  His pessimistic side said he would never be cured, but the happy memories were there and he could share them with the one person on earth who knew his painful secret, the friend who would carry his secret to her grave if he asked her to.

***

August 4, 1999

Jim ran his hand absently over the arm of the couch as his mind wandered.  The sofa wasn’t particularly high quality, but years and usage had worn the fabric soft and supple, to an almost suede-like consistency.  How many countless others had rubbed their anxious palms along the surface, the same way he was doing now, he couldn’t guess.  It was soothing to stroke the rounded arm in much the same way he’d pat Saturn’s velvety nose.  Watching the nap of the rust-colored fabric subtly change from dark to light to dark again as he stroked it back and forth was gently mesmerizing.

The door opened soundlessly.  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Jim.  I had to take that call.”

Jim smiled blandly.  “It’s not a problem.”

Dr. Stanley Keyworth took a seat across from the worn couch where Jim sat and opened his notebook.  “So, you’re making a trip home this weekend?”

Jim started.  He’d been seeing Dr. Keyworth for a year now, but he still couldn’t get used to the idea that this virtual stranger seemed to recall even his casual statements flawlessly.  “I’m sorry?”

“You asked if you could move our session up because you said you were going to Sleepyside this weekend.”

Jim nodded, and Dr. Keyworth added, “What’s the occasion?”

Jim stared at his therapist.  Dr. Keyworth was in his late forties.  His once dark hair was liberally streaked with gray—more salt than pepper.  Though his eyes were warm and friendly, he seemed to wear a perpetual crease of concern across his forehead.  And when he smiled, which wasn’t often, it could go from “I understand your pain, my friend” to “Don’t even think about bullshitting me” in the blink of an eye.  Today, he wore crisply pressed gray slacks, a shirt and tie, and a navy blue sweater vest with a small argyle pattern.  It was likely his socks matched the vest perfectly, but Jim didn’t drop his gaze to check.  Dr. Keyworth looked every inch the psychiatrist, but he always seemed to treat Jim like a friend who had dropped by for a cup of coffee.  Jim had no idea why that annoyed him so much.

“My sister’s birthday is Friday.”

“Well, that sounds nice.  Will Renee be going with you?”

Jim shook his head.  “No, she has to work.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Jim scoffed audibly.  “What is it with shrinks and that question?  Do you have a quota you have to reach or something?”

Without missing a beat, Dr. Keyworth replied evenly, “Yes, and I’m falling a little behind this week, so why don’t you humor me?”

“She has to work,” Jim said simply with a careless shrug of his shoulders.  “No big deal.”

“How long have you two been dating?” Dr. Keyworth asked.  He flipped through his notes as if searching for the answer Jim was already sure he knew.

“A year.  Almost a year.”

“Do you two have much opportunity to get a weekend away together?”

“The school keeps me pretty busy,” Jim answered hastily.

“Even in the summer?” Dr. Keyworth asked with a mildly bemused expression.

Jim’s eyes narrowed slightly.  “Yes,” he answered brusquely, “even in the summer.  In fact, one of the reasons I’m going home this weekend is to have a meeting with my father and a few members of the board.  I’m giving them a yearly report before the new school year starts.”

“So you’ll be home all weekend.  Any of your friends going to be there?”

“All of them, I believe.”

“Renee’s met them?”

“Yes, they all came to Indian Lake for a visit this spring.”  He wondered where the doctor was going with this line of questioning.

“How about your parents?”

“Over the holidays,” he replied impatiently.  Before Dr. Keyworth could ask another question, Jim took the opportunity to get in one of his own.  “You know I hate it when you beat around the bush like this.  Could you please get to your point?”

Dr. Keyworth indulged him with a slightly patronizing smile.  “You and Renee have been dating one another exclusively for about a year.  You’ve been intimate?”  He pitched his voice just enough to make it a question, though he knew it was true.  “She’s met your family and friends.  Yet, she’s not going home with you this weekend for a family gathering.”

“She has to work,” Jim reiterated.

“What I’m wondering is, are you sorry she can’t make it?  Or are you relieved you don’t have a four-hour drive alone with her?  My guess is, you don’t tell her much about the things we discuss.”

“We don’t have that kind of relationship,” Jim almost snapped, instantly regretting both the tone and the admission.

Dr. Keyworth leaned back in his chair.  “What kind of relationship would that be?”

Jim didn’t answer.  He stared down at the arm of the couch, trying to find that soothing comfort he had found earlier in stroking the soft nap of the fabric.  It wasn’t working.  “I thought I was paying you an exorbitant hourly fee so that we could discuss my feelings, not my relationship with my girlfriend.  I thought I came here so we could discuss the fact that I lost both of my parents at a young age and was abused by my stepfather, and that these events of my childhood conspired to make me compulsive and depressed and anxiety-ridden.”

“And none of that has any bearing on your relationship with Renee?”

“No,” Jim said softly, but firmly.  “She’s not a part of that.”

“She’s not a part of that,” Dr. Keyworth repeated quietly.  “She doesn’t know about your past?”

“She knows my birth parents died.  She knows my stepfather abused me.  But she doesn’t know the details, because I don’t—”

He didn’t complete his sentence and the quiet suffocated them as if the humid summer day had been brought indoors.  Finally, Dr. Keyworth asked, “Because you don’t want her to know?”

“I guess you think it’s pretty idiotic that I can talk to you about these things, but I can’t talk to the woman I’m supposed to love.”

“You’re paying me an exorbitant hourly fee,” Dr. Keyworth said evenly.  “I’m sure you’re just trying to get your money’s worth.”

Jim’s didn’t laugh.  His face was taut with distress and his green eyes were dark and sorrowful.  “Renee makes me feel relaxed.  I enjoy being with her.  We have a nice time together.  I’m comfortable with her.  I don’t want her in that dark part of my life.  I don’t want her touched by it.”

Dr. Keyworth said nothing, but the look in his eyes was definitely of the "Don't bullshit me" variety.