Page 23 of Touch of Class

“Last night felt surreal, delusional even. The idea of interrupting whatever was happening in that bed to discuss logic and cold, hard facts felt, I don’t know, I want to say ‘farcical,’ but more serious, like arguing with a client in the middle of a hallucination.”

“But Daphne’s not a client. She’s a colleague.”

“Nope.” Gillian pushed back. “Not a colleague. She works across the hall.”

“But still not under your care, and what’s more, she wasn’t in distress.”

“Well, I was, and forgive me for saying so, but I was sort of hoping some of my friends would back me on this. It never occurred to me that everyone would jump on board or into bed with Daphne Milner of all people.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel supported.”

“It’s not that.”

Brooke raised both eyebrows. “Then help me understand, because it seems like there’s a lot at play here, and you keep denying aspects of it, then circling back to Daphne personally. You say it’s not about her, but I can’t think of any reason or any other person you wouldn’t have lit up if you felt justified in doing so. Why did you need us to take some harder position? Was it the topic or the woman?”

“The topic,” she said automatically, then caught herself. Was that true? If someone else had been cuddling Robin at work, would she have been as reluctant to set a harder boundary? “Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s the combination of the two.”

“I’m listening,” Brooke offered gently.

“Daphne is silly, and in order to start the conversation I need to have, we must be serious.”

“She seemed capable of that last night.”

“Maybe with you,” Gillian conceded, “but she doesn’t take me seriously. She never has. Talking with her is like looking into a fun house mirror. By the end, her silliness gets distorted until I end up looking silly, too.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” Brooke said with a hint of humor creeping back in. “No one could ever find you silly. They wouldn’t dare.”

“She has. And she does. She did just the other day. She mocks me.”

“Wow, ovaries the size of coconuts on that woman if what you say is true, but your concerns are valid.”

Gillian sighed. “Yeah, but are they as irrefutable as her points about the vital nature of human touch? Because if not, I’m not sure I have a leg to stand on.”

Brooke’s eyes narrowed. “Are we back to the monkey conversation? Are we talking about theoretical arguments, or is there something else behind this?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, “or maybe just a lack of credibility.”

“You? Lack credibility? Never.”

“How can I be sure how to separate the professional from the personal when even I can see the inherent flaws in arguments against the need for human touch coming from the only person in the room who isn’t being touched regularly?”

“Oh.” Brooke’s smile turned sympathetic, and the fact that she made no rebuttal told Gillian everything she needed to know. “Gilly, are you mad at Daphne because you think what she’s doing is wrong, or because you’re scared she might be right?”

She sighed and shuffled the papers into a neat stack before slipping them back into a file folder. She wasn’t going to find the answers she needed in some clinical study or heavily dissected theory. The conflict existed in her. “Can it be both?”

Brooke nodded. “I’ve always got space for both. And I feel confident you do, too.”

Gillian gave a mirthless laugh. “Whether I want to or not.”

Seven

“Mom,” Izzy whined. “You’re running late again.”

Daphne grabbed her bag from the floor in the foyer and paused to check the list she’d taped to the front door. She couldn’t argue with her daughter’s comment, but neither could she let herself take on her frantic energy.

“You’re always late, and when you get to your session late, you’ll have to end it late, and then we’ll be late to my practice.”

“Wallet, keys, phone,” Daphne mumbled as she mentally checked off each item, then turned to Izzy. “My session is 45 minutes. If you get in the car now, we’ll be out in time to make it to practice.”