Читать книгу The Husband Lesson - Jeanie London, Jeanie London - Страница 10

KARAN FLIPPED PAGE AFTER PAGE of the celebrity magazine, trying to interest herself in the current state of high-profile marriages and who had or hadn’t been invited to the latest A-list playgroup outing. But she couldn’t seem to get past the fact that she was inside the childhood home of the woman who’d managed to get Jack down the aisle.

Frankie Cesarini. Ugh. The very thought of her was enough to make Karan twitch. Fortunately, they’d had only limited contact since Frankie had come back to town.

Of course, Karan could have gotten Jack down the aisle years ago, if she’d wanted to be a cop’s wife. No, thank you. Still, to her knowledge, Jack hadn’t even come close to marriage in all the years since Karan had dumped him. The man obviously had never gotten over losing her. Who could blame him? They’d been so good together. With her by his side, he could have been running for senate himself by now.

What admittedly surprised her was who had finally gotten a ring on his finger—a woman who’d once been the antithesis of everything Karan considered relevant. No family. No money. No friends. No chic whatsoever.

Nowadays Susanna worked for Jack’s new wife and swore the woman resembled nothing of the girl who’d once been nothing more than bad hair and a smart mouth. Karan had trouble believing that and would have dismissed the possibility as nonsense from any other source. But she couldn’t dismiss the reality of this house. Or the fact that she was inside it and would be for another three hundred and fifty-nine hours and forty-six minutes.

From what she understood, the entire structure had been extensively renovated, which meant she couldn’t blame the generic furnishings on Jack’s new wife. The outside wasn’t bad. The house itself was a three-story Victorian with lots of windows and gingerbread trim. Fresh paint, new windows and proper landscaping had only brought out the character. Karan did wonder if there had been conflict involved with the hamlet of Bluestone Mountain purchasing the police chief’s wife’s childhood home.

Wouldn’t surprise her in the least. Also wouldn’t surprise her to learn there hadn’t been a cop in town willing to drag the police chief before a judge. As if that would have done any good with a judge like Wannabe Jenny. She, like the rest of the girls at Ashokan High, had thought the sun rose and set on the former football star.

How could Karan have forgotten how much she hated this town?

A door cracked open and a woman close to her age appeared. “Dr. Camden will see you now if you’ll follow me.”

Only fifteen minutes late. Any other doctor and Karan would have waited closer to an hour, so no complaints here. She cautioned herself to start finding reasons to smile through this nightmare, no matter how small. Guaranteed there would be precious few in the weeks ahead.

Tossing the magazine onto a table, she started her trek into hell bravely, glancing at the woman’s name badge.

“You’re a volunteer,” she said. “Is your job greeting the visitors?” Playing hostess for the duration of her sentence might not be too terrible. She could deal with people.

The woman smiled. “That among other things. Switch board detail and lots of administrative duties for the counselors.”

“I see.” Karan wasn’t interested.

They entered a smaller reception area and the woman went straight to the door marked Director, tapped lightly and pushed it open. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Karan smiled. Then, taking a deep breath, she moved past the woman and into the office, ready to deal with this situation head-on.

The sooner she started the sooner she’d finish.

Karan noticed the blonde woman standing behind the desk, but it was the man in front of the desk who stopped her cold.

“Charles?”

He looked the way he always did. So handsome that the very sight of him startled her. There was just something about his chiseled features, the way his dark eyes contrasted with his lighter hair. Not blond, but not quite brown, either. A sandy in between. His closely trimmed beard and mustache only emphasized the maleness of his face.

His expression was the same, too. So arrogant that she crashed right back to reality.

Dr. Disdain, she’d once called him. At least that had been his attitude toward her.

“Karan.” He didn’t even have the grace to utter any social niceties. No “Pleased to see you.” No “You look well.”

Of course not. The man stood there looking as if he was above everyone and everything and wished he was anywhere in the world rather than facing her.

Karan’s feelings might have been hurt had she not been so surprised to see him. And had she cared what he thought about her. She didn’t.

Of course, she wasn’t rude. “I’m surprised to see you. What are you doing here?”

“I’m Dr. Camden, Karan. Please call me Rhonda.” The blonde behind the desk extended her hand. “Turns out we have an unexpected situation.”

She shook the doctor’s hand. Rhonda wasn’t a natural blonde like Karan herself, but Karan did approve of the highlighting job. Skillfully done to look natural. Not like so many of the streaky chicken-yellow horrors on the streets nowadays.

“I’m bracing myself.” Karan meant it. Bracing herself for the shock of yet another unexpected situation. Bracing herself to be standing two feet away from this man.

And darned if her heartbeat hadn’t already kicked up a few notches. He’d always had that effect on her. He was too attractive. Tall with that baseball player’s body. A perfect blend of athletic and muscular. And darned, too, if she didn’t remember exactly what the terrain beneath his lightweight black sweater and gray pants looked like.

Far too attractive for her good.

Rhonda’s mouth quirked. “I wasn’t aware of your history with our director when I agreed to participate in the alternative sentencing program.”

“You’re the director?” she asked Charles, surprised. “Not spending every waking moment in surgery anymore?”

Where he’d spent the majority of their marriage.

“Codirector, actually,” he replied in that deep voice she remembered so well. He inclined his head at Rhonda. “We’re partners in crime around here.”

Karan bristled, unsure exactly what he meant by that. Was he taking a jab at her legal trouble? Or referring to something personal between him and his codirector?

“So you didn’t know Charles was involved with New Hope, either?” Rhonda asked.

As if Karan would want him to witness her humiliation. The woman must be as crazy as her patients. Karan managed to say politely, “No. I’m afraid I didn’t.”

Charles and Rhonda exchanged a glance.

Personal, definitely.

“Okay then,” Rhonda said. “We need to decide how to proceed.”

“Conflict of interest,” Charles offered, pointedly ignoring Karan.

Rude man.

Rhonda ignored him, which pleased Karan to no end. “Karan, how do you feel about all this? What are your thoughts about volunteering at New Hope now you know Charles is on staff?”

Any possibility of getting a gun? She wasn’t sure yet whether she’d shoot herself or him. “I can’t answer that until I know how he might impact my…work.”

As good a way as any to phrase it, she supposed.

Rhonda folded her arms over her chest. “I’m in charge of the program, so you’ll report to me. But Charles is often around. There’s no question about whether you’ll run into him.”

“Any idea how often?” Karan pointedly avoided looking at him. Two could play this game.

“I’m not sure how we can put your skills to use yet, so I can’t say if you’ll run into each other a lot or a little. Depends on where you’ll be. He’s kind of everywhere.”

“Conflict of interest,” Charles repeated.

Rhonda scribbled something on the outside of a file folder with Karan’s name. “I still don’t think so. Not if all parties are aware of the situation and are consenting. But I can always check with the police chief to be sure.”

“The police chief is the one who suggested the alternative sentence, remember?” Charles was positively scowling. The man obviously didn’t care if he hurt her feelings.

Rhonda only shrugged. “The judge then.”

“I’d rather not if you don’t mind.” The last thing Karan needed was Wannabe Jenny taking another stab at her. She’d already had to beg permission to drive her car to New Hope.

Rhonda shifted her gaze between Karan and Charles. “Then what’s it going to be, people? We need all hands on deck. Are we up to working together for the benefit of families in crisis or would we rather cut our losses now?”

If nothing else, Karan appreciated the woman’s frankness. And the fact that she’d hadn’t mentioned the mandated therapy sessions. Karan’s sentence wasn’t governed by state privacy acts or confidentiality. Anyone could visit the sheriff’s website and get a good chuckle at her expense.

Charles didn’t reply.

Neither did Karan. The therapy part of the alternative sentence was contingent upon a facility offering the services, which was precisely why Wannabe Jenny had waived the three-hour substance abuse class. She didn’t have too many choices that didn’t involve wearing orange.

“So, Charles and Karan,” Rhonda said brightly. “Does silence mean we all agree to play nice?”

Karan almost smiled. She wasn’t sure why. The playground metaphor, maybe. With every fiber of her being she knew Charles wanted her to agree there was a conflict of interest to save him from forcing the issue. He’d been here first.

Unfortunately for him, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. If he wanted her off his turf so badly he could help her get time off for good behavior.

“I’d like this nightmare over with,” she told them. “If that means dealing with Charles Steinberg for three hundred and fifty-nine hours and—” she glanced at her watch “—thirty-one minutes then so be it.”

Rhonda inclined her head in approval. “Charles?”

He nodded, still refusing to look at her. Honestly. How juvenile could a grown man be?

“You’re done with me, Dr. Camden?” he asked.

“I am, Dr. Steinberg. Thanks for making the time.”

“No problem at all.”

Charles meant what he said. Karan could tell he liked Rhonda. The sentiment appeared to be mutual, which made Karan wonder again if these two were involved in more than work. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake?

But she didn’t care about Charles’s love life. No way could she have possibly kept up with him. Not according to the Bluestone grapevine. Apparently, he dated anything that moved, and Karan couldn’t exactly say she was surprised. He’d have to look far and wide to replace the wife he’d thrown away.

Why should she care what the man did with his life? She didn’t. She also couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked with dark smudges beneath his eyes. The way he used to look when he was operating on little or no sleep for too many days running.

“I’m out of here,” he said. “Ciao.”

Rhonda smiled. “Enjoy your trip. I love rainbow trout.”

“Noted.” Charles finally met Karan’s gaze, and his smile faded fast. “Welcome to the New Hope and good luck.”

He headed out the door without another word. Karan watched him go, all contained energy that shouldn’t have been so familiar this many years after the fact. Funny the things that stuck in her brain.

And who knew the man did volunteer work? That bit of news hadn’t made it around the grapevine the way news of his many conquests had. Did Wannabe Jenny know Karan had once been married to a codirector of this program? That would have her cackling over her microwave frozen dinners.

Jack had known, no question.

Add one more no-good ex to the growing list. Maybe Karan should address how she’d become such a loser magnet since she was forced into therapy anyway.

“Okay. Now that’s settled.” Rhonda shoveled folders into an open briefcase then deposited the whole thing on the floor. “Let’s get to business. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

Karan glanced at her choices—two upholstered chairs in front of the desk or a leather sofa that looked like the perfect place for New Hope’s overworked codirectors to catch some shut-eye. Or enjoy a few stolen moments together.

Karan knew doctors so well.

Sinking onto a wing chair, she watched Rhonda continue to clear space on the desk. The blue blazer fit the therapist nicely and complemented her highlighted hair, but she’d obviously purchased the white blouse beneath it off some rack in a department store.

“That’s much better.” Rhonda sat and peered across the now clean surface. “So what’s been going on?”

The casual question came as a surprise. But only for a moment. The question was only deceptively casual, Karan knew, a trick to gain a patient’s confidence.

“I’m in a bit of legal trouble.”

Rhonda upped the smile a notch. “So I hear. Let’s talk about that.”

The moment of truth. “I’m not sure what to say. I’ve been ordered by the court to explain my actions to a stranger, and I resent the intrusion in my life. But, that said, I also acknowledge how my actions invited the intrusion. I made a bad decision one night and I’ve been paying for it in spades. Starting with a judge who’s still mad she didn’t make the cut on the high school cheerleading team. She’s suspended my driving privileges with the sole exception of coming here. And I had to beg for that concession. If this isn’t bad enough, I walk through the door to find my ex-husband, who can’t stand the sight of me, and a therapist who I’m not sure isn’t involved with said ex.”

“Great, we’ve got a place to begin.” Rhonda didn’t miss a beat. Leaning forward, she propped her elbows on the desk. “First of all, I’m not involved with your ex-husband in any way but professionally. Everything said in any session between us is bound by confidentiality. However, if you’re not comfortable, we can ask the judge to reassign you. There are several good therapists on staff here. I only took the job because you’re our first foray into using community service hours. But having met you, and given your connection to Charles, I’m good with turning you over to someone else if you want. The choice is yours.”

Karan was inclined to take Rhonda at her word, even though she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. The only ring she wore was a rather attractive topaz set in silver on an index finger.

“Thank you, but that’s not any choice at all. As you said, we’d have to ask the judge for permission and I’d rather not subject myself to that until I absolutely have to.”

“You feel as if the past has influenced the judge?”

“She threw the book at me for a first offense.”

Rhonda flipped through some papers. “Well, no denying that. What role did you have in her not making the cheerleading team?”

“I was the captain.”

“I see. And how do you feel you might have been sentenced with a different judge?”

“I don’t think I warranted the maximum allowable sentence.” Karan tried not to sound petulant. “The judge thought that because I’m aware of the effects of alcohol on me given my condition that I should have erred on the side of caution, which I usually do.”

“So what was different about that night?”

Karan supposed she should have expected the question and had a ready answer. This woman was a therapist, after all, digging deep to root out problems—or to be convinced there weren’t any brewing in Karan’s psyche.

There weren’t any, thank you.

“I drank too quickly. It’s that simple. Those first few sips usually tell me whether or not I’m going to have a problem. If my blood sugar is steady then I can enjoy a glass of champagne. Never more than one. And my friend, the senator, had announced his bid for reelection, so I wanted to share a toast.” She shrugged. “By the time I realized I was feeling tipsy it was too late.”

“How soon afterward did you leave the function?”

“Too soon,” Karan said drily.

“Okay, so something was different that night. I’d be curious to know what it was.” Rhonda glanced at the wall clock. “Well, we don’t have a lot of time left today. Largely my fault, so my apologies. I was already running late from my day job when I discovered your connection to Dr. Steinberg. So, let’s shift gears now.”

Fine by Karan. She took a deep breath and settled in the chair, willing herself to relax.

“I’d like to know a little more about you, Karan. About where you feel you might fit in around here.”

“That’s a very good question.”

Rhonda seemed to understand the significance. “We have all sorts of things going on around New Hope. Lots of services for our families and outreach programs, which translates into the need for a lot of volunteers. We’ll find something suited to your particular skills, I promise. So, what kind of work do you do?”

“Well, I don’t really have time for a conventional job. My days are too full and require too much flexibility to make rigid commitments like that.”

Rhonda was too professional to openly show emotion, but the surprise was there. “With what exactly?”

That question was a little more difficult to answer. “Social engagements. Projects. Sometimes I feel like all I do is run around putting out fires. You know how it is—something’s always up with one of the houses, or the finances need attention, or I’m asked to coordinate some event.”

Rhonda was silent for a moment, clearly considering. “Okay then. Let’s start with what you think you’d like to do around here. Any ideas?”

“I’m gifted with interior design. My last husband’s Manhattan offices were featured in an international medical magazine.” The generic interior of this place could certainly use some help to make it look welcoming and homey, which Karan thought should have been the whole point of an emergency shelter. She kept that opinion to herself.

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind as we work around here. We are hoping to build another structure on the property for offices, so we can devote more of this house to sheltering families. But that’s still down the road. We just finished renovating everything and have tapped out our resources. Only temporarily, I hope. How about administrative tasks?” Rhonda asked hopefully. “We’ve got wonderful people in place but they could use a hand.”

“I don’t think I’m your person,” Karan admitted. “I have a personal assistant who handles my administrative tasks at home.”

Rhonda wasn’t deterred. “Medical experience?”

“I’ve married two doctors.”

That got a chuckle. “Any hobbies? Gardening perhaps?”

Honestly. In her Louis Vuitton ballerina flats from the summer collection, did she really look like someone who enjoyed playing in dirt? “I hire lawn crews for all my properties.”

“Do you like children?”

They were getting warmer. “My best friend has two. I’ve taken her daughter into the city for shows and her son to see the Yankees play.”

“Okay, great.” Rhonda flipped through the folder again, this time scanning more closely. “I see here that you have a Masters in public relations from Van Cortlandt College. I did my graduate work there.”

Karan nodded. Not such a surprise. The Ivy League school was a popular draw to the area.

Well over a century ago, people had surged to Bluestone Mountain when miners had discovered feldspathic greywacke, the rare, dark blue sandstone that made her hometown a unique location, and a wealthy one. Now the area appealed to an elite and eclectic crowd because it lacked the commerciality of the nearby hamlets of Woodstock and Bearsville.

When most of the Catskill region had been earmarked as part of New York’s Forest Preserve, not all of that land was publicly owned. Private colleges like Van Cortlandt owned property along with people of means who wanted a fast escape from Manhattan. Precisely why she kept a home here.

Until she could talk to a real estate agent, that is.

Add another project to her list.

Rhonda closed the folder. “All right, Karan, let me mull on this a bit. I’m sure we can come up with the perfect something.”

“I hope so. We need exactly three-hundred and fifty-nine hours’ worth of perfect.”

“Trust me. You’ll be an asset to our program. I can feel it, and I’m big on trusting my feelings.”

It was hard not to like this woman. Even though that was the last thing Karan wanted to do with her court-appointed therapist. Especially a woman who worked closely with Charles.

“So let’s wrap this up for today,” Rhonda said. “I’d like you to keep a journal for your homework.”

“Keep a journal, as in writing?”

Rhonda nodded “You don’t have to share what you write. The journal will help you reflect on our discussions and give you a place to refer to when we talk again. Sound good?”

Not what Karan had expected, but it didn’t sound difficult. “Not a problem.”

“Great,” Rhonda said. “Please bring it with you. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. A spiral notebook will do the trick. I’ll give you a question after we talk. You’ll be in charge of remembering it.” She glanced at her desk with a wry smile. “I’ll write it down. I won’t be able to find it again.”

Karan did smile then. Rhonda must have gotten to be codirector of New Hope on sheer personality because she was clearly an organizational nightmare. Maybe Karan should refer her personal assistant, who was a positive genius at organizing.

She didn’t get a chance because Rhonda said, “I’d like you to reflect on what was different about that night. Okay?”

“Okay.” Karan would have plenty of time to reflect since she wouldn’t be driving anywhere until her next visit to New Hope.