Not Quite Perfect
Page 14
“Thanks, Mary.”
She drove with the windows down to push the hospital smell from her head. Instead of driving straight to her empty house, broken toilet, and a microwave dinner . . . she decided to make a detour to the beach. It was after six and most of the beach crowd had left hours before. Spring in Southern California offered beach weather on most days, but the time shift and the cooler nights kept people from lingering too long.
Mary kept a beach blanket and a simple chair in her trunk on standby for nights like this. Nights where she felt the melancholy setting in and when she analyzed her life way too closely. Watching the sun set and the tide pull in reminded her of how lucky she was. How rich she was for the friendships she had and the blessings she’d been given. She didn’t think she used the beach for meditation, but in a way she did.
She snuggled into a thick sweater, slung her purse over her shoulder, and stepped onto the warm sand. Once she was close enough to hear the waves but not right on top of the water, Mary spread out her blanket and set up her chair.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but with the sun low on the horizon the air had a perfect crispness to it. She closed her eyes and faced the breeze. The salt air cleansed the taste of the hospital from her palate.
Dakota had looked exhausted. Her normally snarky comments were mild at best as the day had trailed on.
Even Walt appeared worn out.
The grandparents, both sets, were on fire, competing to hold baby Leo and preach which family member he took after. Then there was Monica . . . the woman was a true friend. She spoke with the nurses on staff, talked with a supervisor about having a physical therapist make a half dozen home visits once Dakota was discharged. Her mind turned to Glen and she purposely shook her head and stared at the setting sun. The vibrant purple and pink that skirted along the blue sea helped her mind clear.
In her purse, her phone buzzed.
She dug it free without losing sight of the last moments of the sun. “Mary Kildare.”
“Most people just say hello.”
Mary let her eyes close and fought the smile that attempted to cross her lips.
“Most people don’t start a conversation with an insult.”
Glen, with a husky sound she’d become a little too fond of, chuckled.
“Hello, Mary.”
She followed his lead. “Hello, Glen.”
There was a slight delay in the line, which made their conversation stutter. “Where are you?” she asked.
“Somewhere over Texas.”
So he was on a plane. She assumed as much. Instead of asking why he was calling, she waited for him to speak.
He hesitated . . . or maybe it was the delay. “Do you have plans this Saturday?”
She gripped the phone a little too tight. “Why are you asking?”
“We both know why I’m asking.”
Mary paused and held her breath. “I don’t have any plans.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at four.”
The sun was already gone. “I don’t believe I said yes.”
He laughed. “I don’t believe you said no.”
Any other man, any other time, she’d tell him to ask . . . make him work a little harder to secure a date. “Fly safe.”
“See you Saturday.”
He was about to hang up.
“Wait . . . what should I wear?”
“I’d like to say those tiny shorts you wear to bed, but I think a simple dress will do.”
Mary covered her face in her hand. Her boy shorts . . . he’d seen her butt hanging out of her pajamas.
He hung up laughing. No good-bye, not a see you later . . . simply disconnected the call.
And Mary smiled.
The morning provided her with a wake-up call from Nina. Apparently the Golfs were going to do their best to ensure her sleep deprivation for the week. At least Nina called her cell phone.
“He is crazy.”
He being Jacob, and on that they could both agree. Though Mary wasn’t about to say it.
It took ten minutes to talk Nina down and another ten to set an appointment for later in the week. According to Nina, she’d left the house after Jacob had accused her of lying about where she’d been the other night. And according to Nina, she went to a girlfriend’s house who Jacob didn’t know well and stayed with her. Not that any of this was news . . . or that believable, from what Nina had told Mary in the past. But perhaps the woman was justifying her possible split of the relationship. Much as Mary attempted to help couples in turmoil work things out, sometimes some relationships were destined to fail. Unfortunately, her ratio of marriages that held out with counseling was about fifty percent. That only counted the splits she’d been told about. No telling if a couple called it quits years later once their counseling sessions had ended.
Truth was, by the time couples stepped into her office, a lot of damage and miscommunication had already taken place. Years of problems that took a lot of dusting under carpets weren’t easy. It was in part why Mary was so brutally honest with her dates. She couldn’t see sugarcoating anything from day one.
She didn’t always work with couples. In fact, only half of her clients were attempting to keep their relationships with their significant others intact. She had clients who struggled with depression and phobias. Those with abusive pasts, both as victims and perpetrators. But in truth, she didn’t often take on clients on the latter end of that scale. She was a counselor, not a doctor, and although she’d been trained to speak with just about anyone about anything . . . people with a past of hurting others fell into a criminal category and needed more help than she could offer. She cut them out as quickly as she could and offered a multitude of psychiatrists they could seek out to meet their needs.
She drove with the windows down to push the hospital smell from her head. Instead of driving straight to her empty house, broken toilet, and a microwave dinner . . . she decided to make a detour to the beach. It was after six and most of the beach crowd had left hours before. Spring in Southern California offered beach weather on most days, but the time shift and the cooler nights kept people from lingering too long.
Mary kept a beach blanket and a simple chair in her trunk on standby for nights like this. Nights where she felt the melancholy setting in and when she analyzed her life way too closely. Watching the sun set and the tide pull in reminded her of how lucky she was. How rich she was for the friendships she had and the blessings she’d been given. She didn’t think she used the beach for meditation, but in a way she did.
She snuggled into a thick sweater, slung her purse over her shoulder, and stepped onto the warm sand. Once she was close enough to hear the waves but not right on top of the water, Mary spread out her blanket and set up her chair.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but with the sun low on the horizon the air had a perfect crispness to it. She closed her eyes and faced the breeze. The salt air cleansed the taste of the hospital from her palate.
Dakota had looked exhausted. Her normally snarky comments were mild at best as the day had trailed on.
Even Walt appeared worn out.
The grandparents, both sets, were on fire, competing to hold baby Leo and preach which family member he took after. Then there was Monica . . . the woman was a true friend. She spoke with the nurses on staff, talked with a supervisor about having a physical therapist make a half dozen home visits once Dakota was discharged. Her mind turned to Glen and she purposely shook her head and stared at the setting sun. The vibrant purple and pink that skirted along the blue sea helped her mind clear.
In her purse, her phone buzzed.
She dug it free without losing sight of the last moments of the sun. “Mary Kildare.”
“Most people just say hello.”
Mary let her eyes close and fought the smile that attempted to cross her lips.
“Most people don’t start a conversation with an insult.”
Glen, with a husky sound she’d become a little too fond of, chuckled.
“Hello, Mary.”
She followed his lead. “Hello, Glen.”
There was a slight delay in the line, which made their conversation stutter. “Where are you?” she asked.
“Somewhere over Texas.”
So he was on a plane. She assumed as much. Instead of asking why he was calling, she waited for him to speak.
He hesitated . . . or maybe it was the delay. “Do you have plans this Saturday?”
She gripped the phone a little too tight. “Why are you asking?”
“We both know why I’m asking.”
Mary paused and held her breath. “I don’t have any plans.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at four.”
The sun was already gone. “I don’t believe I said yes.”
He laughed. “I don’t believe you said no.”
Any other man, any other time, she’d tell him to ask . . . make him work a little harder to secure a date. “Fly safe.”
“See you Saturday.”
He was about to hang up.
“Wait . . . what should I wear?”
“I’d like to say those tiny shorts you wear to bed, but I think a simple dress will do.”
Mary covered her face in her hand. Her boy shorts . . . he’d seen her butt hanging out of her pajamas.
He hung up laughing. No good-bye, not a see you later . . . simply disconnected the call.
And Mary smiled.
The morning provided her with a wake-up call from Nina. Apparently the Golfs were going to do their best to ensure her sleep deprivation for the week. At least Nina called her cell phone.
“He is crazy.”
He being Jacob, and on that they could both agree. Though Mary wasn’t about to say it.
It took ten minutes to talk Nina down and another ten to set an appointment for later in the week. According to Nina, she’d left the house after Jacob had accused her of lying about where she’d been the other night. And according to Nina, she went to a girlfriend’s house who Jacob didn’t know well and stayed with her. Not that any of this was news . . . or that believable, from what Nina had told Mary in the past. But perhaps the woman was justifying her possible split of the relationship. Much as Mary attempted to help couples in turmoil work things out, sometimes some relationships were destined to fail. Unfortunately, her ratio of marriages that held out with counseling was about fifty percent. That only counted the splits she’d been told about. No telling if a couple called it quits years later once their counseling sessions had ended.
Truth was, by the time couples stepped into her office, a lot of damage and miscommunication had already taken place. Years of problems that took a lot of dusting under carpets weren’t easy. It was in part why Mary was so brutally honest with her dates. She couldn’t see sugarcoating anything from day one.
She didn’t always work with couples. In fact, only half of her clients were attempting to keep their relationships with their significant others intact. She had clients who struggled with depression and phobias. Those with abusive pasts, both as victims and perpetrators. But in truth, she didn’t often take on clients on the latter end of that scale. She was a counselor, not a doctor, and although she’d been trained to speak with just about anyone about anything . . . people with a past of hurting others fell into a criminal category and needed more help than she could offer. She cut them out as quickly as she could and offered a multitude of psychiatrists they could seek out to meet their needs.
