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“No. Every time I’ve started reading, something has come up to distract me.” She squirmed in the chair, feeling like a middle-schooler who hadn’t done her homework. “But I will.”
“No pressure.” Jenna smiled. “So, Caleb made several attempts to talk to you. Could it be he’s genuinely concerned about you? Might he want to know what you’re truly feeling and thinking because he cares?”
“I’m sure he does, and I feel guilty and ashamed for the way I handled things.”
“Will the guilt and shame change anything?”
Theresa had to think about that for a few moments before she could reply. “No. It’s guilt and shame that led me to take off like I did. Those emotions prevented me from having the much-needed conversation with him the first time he called.”
“What would happen if you let go of the guilt and shame?”
“I’d probably be a lot less anxious.” She stifled the snort threatening to erupt. Why did she never see the obvious?
“Give that a try and see how it feels. You reacted in a way that has been conditioned by your history. Forgive yourself, and try a new approach.”
“A new approach would be good, and if we didn’t still have things to talk about, I’d go do that right now.” She managed a laugh. “I’m also going to forgive myself for not coming up with these things on my own, because … you know, my conditioning.”
“Good for you.” Jenna’s smile lit her features. “What else would you like to discuss today?”
“I didn’t mention this at our last session because we had so many other things to work through after reading the book about abusive relationships.” Theresa straightened. “I’ve started searching for my mom. I hired a private investigator because I didn’t get very far on my own. She said it might take a few weeks.”
Jenna nodded. “How do you feel about the possible outcomes of your search?”
“Scared. Excited. It could end in disaster. I know that. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, and I’ve thought about all the possible outcomes, so I’m preparing myself. No matter what, I want to know. I need closure.”
She and Jenna used the remaining time to discuss how she’d handle whatever the outcome might be in regard to her mother, and then it was time to go.
“Thanks, Jenna. I’ll see you next week.” Theresa rose from the chair and headed for the door. As always, she came away feeling wrung out but optimistic. As soon as she got home, she intended to call Caleb.
At that thought, her heart flipped, and panic once again surged. This time, she faced her fear and saw it for what it was—part of her past. Today she was determined to fix things between her and the best friend she’d ever had. Hopefully, he’d still be willing to be her friend.
* * *
“Good morning, Dottie,” Caleb said as he joined his neighbor on her deck overlooking her amazing backyard. All but a pathway of flagstones had been turned into an array of colorful flowers, planned so that something would always be in bloom.
“Good morning.” She set down a tray with a carafe of coffee, milk, sugar, and two mugs. She poured him a cup and handed it over.
“Thanks.” He took the mug from her and added milk.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. A moment later, she emerged again. This time she carried a plate of cookies.
In her short absence, he’d watched the bees and other insects buzzing from one blossom to another. “Have you ever thought about setting up a hive and trying to attract a queen bee to your garden?” he asked.
“Oh, sure, but that kind of defeats the purpose of habitat restoration, doesn’t it?” Dottie set the plate of homemade oatmeal cookies on the glass coffee table. “I mean, bees don’t live in wooden boxes in nature.”
“They do if they happen to find one that isn’t already occupied. Bees are opportunists. They’ll take up residence anywhere.” He took one of the cookies and bit into it. “Mmm. You’re going to have to give me the recipe for these,” he said once he’d swallowed.
“No big secret.” She shrugged, looking sheepish. “The recipe is on the back of the oatmeal container.”
“Oh.” Caleb chuckled. He sipped his coffee and propped his feet on the ottoman. “So, how are the kids and the grandkids?”
“Oh, they’re—”
His phone began to ring, and he fished it out of his back pocket. His pulse spiked at the sight of Theresa’s name on his caller ID. “Sorry. Gotta take this.” He shot out of his chair and walked a short distance away before hitting accept. “Hello, Theresa.”
“Caleb, I’m so sorry about how I handled things. I was wondering if you might be free at some point so we can talk … in person.”
His lungs seized, even as his heart soared. “Sure. Of course. I still owe you dinner. How about this evening?”
