“What got you so distracted that you were several slides behind the entire service?” She arches her brow. “I hope you weren’t on your phone. I raised you better than that.”
I roll my eyes. Once a mother, always a mother. “When have you ever seen me on my phone in church?”
She waves me off. “I’m just surprised you weren’t hooked the whole time, that’s all. Pastor Mark knocked it out of the park today. What could have been more interesting than his sermon?”
Just a five-foot-five brunette with eyes darker than a nebulous night sky.
Mom’s gaze pans across the parking lot as we approach the car. She smiles suddenly, nodding for me to take a look at something as she opens the back door for me.
I follow her line of vision. Halfway across the parking lot, gnawing on her thumbnail, is Evie. A cloud of condensation rises around her as she paces back and forth.
I shift Teddy into his car seat, lowering my voice as I buckle him up. “She was at the service this morning.”
“I saw. Maggie has been bugging her to come back for years.”
Nodding, I continue gazing at Evie as I make my way around the car, yearning to speak with her. To discover what’s causing her such obvious distress right now.
Mom notices my preoccupation. “What’s that look about?”
“What look?”
“Thatlook.” She frowns at me from across the hood of the car. “I might be your mother, but I am a woman, and I know that look. Those baby blues were always the most expressive thing about you.” When I don’t respond, she nods at Evie. “You’re still looking for a wife, aren’t you?”
I can’t help but laugh. She says that like I’m browsing the grocery store for the perfect nutritionally balanced frozen dinner. But I’m not “looking for a wife.” I’m searching for my God-given partner, a woman who will love Teddy as much as she loves me.
There’s a difference.
“It’s about time you settled down,” Mom rambles on. “And Evie still about melts into a puddle every time you look at her. You should ask her out!”
Could that be true? Does Evie still melt when I look at her . . . despite everything? I recall the way she looked at me in my office the other day, the yearning look on her face when I explained why I wanted her to be my assistant. Come to think of it, that’s the way she used to look at me before I would kiss her.
Maybe it’s true.
“Not to mention she’s great with Teddy,” she reminds me, as if I had forgotten. Next to my mother, Evie is one of the few people I trust with my son.
“Well?” she prompts.
I drop into my seat, and Mom follows. “First of all, Evie will be my assistant starting on Monday,” I say as I shut my door.
Mom’s face falls as she joins me in the car. “Oh.”
“Right. Second of all, Jamie.”
“What about him?”
“He’d . . .” I fiddle with the heat knob. “He’s very protective of her.” Jamie has seen me say and do things I would never want repeated. He wouldn’t believe for one second that my intentions with Evie are pure.
“Okay . . .” Mom hedges, studying me. “And?”
“Thirdly . . . she’s not my biggest fan right now.”
Mom’s eyes shift to the back window. “Ah. I see.” Her head tilts. “Well, she looks upset about something. Maybe she needs to talk to someone about it.” She gives me an impish look. “Like a mental health specialist.”
I roll my eyes, but her words strike a chord in my conscience. That was always one of my dilemmas in being with Evie—the inherent power imbalance that played a starring role in our relationship. It is a big no-no for a mental health professional to treat a friend or family member. You can’t be objective when you love someone, and there are plenty of conflicts of interest that could harm the therapeutic relationship, like romantic involvement. Imagine a husband trying to be objective enough to treat his wife. It wouldn’t work.
But even though I wasn’ttreatingEvie, I was intimately involved in her struggle with self-harm because she refused to see someone about it. So Ibecameher someone. Subtly, of course. I loved her, was constantly worried about her, and so I took it upon myself to perform psychotherapy whenever she wanted to confide in me, and I became her closest confidant. With everything—the good and the bad.
About the only thing I didn’t do for Evie was prescribe medication. That was one line I was not willing to cross. Aside from that, for all intents and purposes, I was her therapist.
