Lifelines: Kate's Story (2 page)

“You
need to talk with Richard. I’ll explain everything and you can see him Friday.”

“Rachel,
if we discuss your marriage today, then later bring your partner into the
counseling relationship, it would be difficult to treat you both equally. I
would already be on your side. If you want relationship counseling, we need to
stop now and make an appointment for you and Richard together.”

“I’ll
go crazy if I don’t talk to someone today.” Despite her tearful voice, Rachel’s
eyes remained clear and the muscles around her mouth hadn’t dipped with pain.
“Richard can come to our session next Friday.”

The
fan on the ceiling growled as if it needed oil.

“If
you want to talk about your marriage with me today, I’ll refer you to another
therapist for relationship counseling.” She needed to shift the session, find
clues to the real Rachel Hardesty. “Tell me about your marriage.”

Silence
often pulled truths from her clients, but Rachel’s silence seemed too
controlled.

Kate
asked, “Is this your first visit to a counselor?”

“I
saw a psychiatrist when I was twelve, after my mother died.”

“It
must have been difficult to lose your mother at such a young age.”

Rachel
tilted her head as if to prevent tears escaping. “She fell from a cliff, a
hundred feet down to the rocks. I watched her die.”

Kate
suppressed her shudder. Horror would be no help to her client.

“I
woke screaming for months afterwards.” Rachel wore the faraway look of a
dissociated client. “My father took me to the shrink. Even after that, I had
trouble sleeping until I met Richard. The moment I met him, I knew we were
meant to be together forever.”

I
can’t work with this woman.

You’re
supposed to be a counselor.

“Is
it possible that the recent difficulties in your marriage triggered feelings
surrounding your mother’s death?”

“That
would make sense, wouldn’t it? I lost my mother, and now Richard says he’s
leaving. The nightmares would come back, wouldn’t they?”

Kate
felt disoriented, as if she’d lost control of the session.

You
don’t need to talk. Let the client talk.

“I
don’t care about nightmares. I need a way to keep Richard.”

She
wished she’d poured herself a cup of tea before this session, so that she could
curl her hands around ceramic warmth.

“We
planned for children later, after I finish university.”

“You
want to finish university before having children,” Kate echoed, falling back on
basics. Paraphrase, mirror what you see and hear, explore the client’s world
and build trust. The clock on the table beside Rachel showed twenty-five
minutes to the hour.

Fifteen
minutes more.

“Richard
knows I need to go to law school. He promised to help.” Rachel tilted her head
back. “My father taught at Harvard; my grandfather was a Supreme Court Justice.
When I’m admitted to the bar, my name will open doors in high places. But if I
have a baby I’ll never finish law school.”

Kate
wondered which thread to pick up—father, law school, husband, baby. She decided
on the baby and filed the others for later action. “You believe you’ll never
finish your law degree if you have a child?”

“He
has no right to ask. It’s emotional abuse.”

“What
happened, Rachel?”

“I
had no choice.”

“You
believed you had no choice.”

Breathe,
Kate. Stay with her; don’t judge.

“What
would
you
do?” demanded Rachel.

“What’s
important is what you did, and how you feel about it.” Kate recognized her own
words as reactive. She’d been off balance from the moment Rachel walked in the
door. “You wanted to go to university, but something happened...”

Kate
heard a door open and close somewhere outside her office. Probably Sarah’s
client leaving early. Would this session never end?

“I
started last year at Western Washington in Bellingham.” Rachel’s foot began to
swing, as if tapping the air. “I’ll have my Bachelor in Business Admin in two
and a half years, and then I’ll go to law school at UW Seattle. I should be at
UW now. There are important people there, law professors who know my father,
but Richard—Richard says it’s too far to commute.”

Too
far to commute.
Kate
had said the same, years ago when she took the apartment in Seattle while
working on her masters’ degree. David had supported her decision, perhaps
because they both needed time apart to discover if their marriage could
survive.

Rachel
said, “I didn’t have the chance to go to university when I graduated high
school. I deserve my chance now. You need to make Richard understand it won’t
work if I’m chained to a baby.”

“You’ve
said you believe a baby would make your dreams of law school impossible and
Richard doesn’t understand. You haven’t told me what happened. I think it’s
important for you to say the words.”

While
Rachel stared at a spot on the carpet, Kate glanced at the clock. She didn’t
want to hear Rachel’s confession. She resisted the urge to turn and search for
sails on the ocean instead of watching her client.

“Everything
would have been fine if he hadn’t gone through my bank statement. He’d never
have found out about the abortion if he hadn’t snooped.”

A
fter
one hour of Rachel, Kate felt exhausted enough to wish this client had picked a
different therapist.

Maybe
it wasn’t Rachel. She’d been off balance ever since this morning; when the
ringing telephone jolted her awake and she’d fought free of tangled sheets.
When her bare feet hit the hardwood floor, Socrates had stared at her, dignity
affronted, and she’d stumbled over his wrinkled Golden Labrador dog-body on her
way to the phone.

He
wasn’t interested enough to follow her into the hall, where she caught the
telephone in the middle of a ring and heard Jennifer say, “Mom, where were
you?”

“Jennifer?
Are you all right?”

“I’m
fine, but where on earth were you? The phone rang six times.”

Kate
closed her eyes and sagged against the wall, the pink light of dawn reaching
half-way across the kitchen floor. “I was asleep.”

“But
it’s eight-thirty.”

“I
work Thursday nights. I don’t go in until noon Friday.” Kate felt resentment
that Jennifer hadn’t remembered, and had the sense to suppress it. “I’m glad
you called. Tell me your news.”

“It’s
the car.”

“An
accident? Are you OK, honey?”

“I
told you I was fine. I’m a good driver.”

“Even
good drivers have accidents.” How had the conversation descended into
defensiveness and fencing so quickly? “What’s wrong with the Mercedes?”

“It
needs repairs. The garage says six hundred dollars.”

She’s
lying. The thought flashed into Kate’s mind and she pushed it away, blaming it
on the awkwardness between herself and Jennifer since David’s death.

“...
something about the differential. I need the money today.”

Kate
said, “If you fax me the estimate, I’ll get Howard to take a look. A second
opinion would be a good idea, and he knows the car.”

“Mom,
I’m old enough to take a car to the garage without help.”

A
familiar headache throbbed behind Kate’s forehead. “I’ll put the money in your
account today, but we’ll get Howard to take a look at the Mercedes when you’re
home over Easter.”

“Thanks.
Look, I’ve got a nine o’clock class. I have to split.”

“What’s
the class?”

“I’m
kind of in a hurry.”

“Just
thirty seconds.” God help her, she was turning into her own mother.

“Art
history. We’re studying a dead photographer named Robert Mapplethorpe. He
photographed nude black men. Beautiful, but explicit. One I saw yesterday
showed the subject from behind, crouching down. His package was so big it
looked like he was sitting on some kind of stool.”

Kate
reached for an answer, found nothing. She wanted to ask about boyfriends,
girlfriends, Jennifer’s birthday plans.

“I’ll
call you tomorrow, for your birthday.” And she would send flowers today.

“I’ve
gotta go.”

“I
love you, honey.”

The
only response was the click of Jennifer putting down the receiver.

Love
you. Love you.
A familiar ritual. Jennifer’s failure to say the words didn’t mean a lack of
love.

Kate
returned to the bedroom and pulled on jeans and a sweater under Socrates’
watchful eye, knowing he blamed her for David’s absence. It wasn’t until she
laced her running shoes that Socrates heaved himself to his feet and padded to
the door, his toenails clicking on the hardwood floor. She stopped at the open
door of David’s study, checking that his chair stood in its place, his
telephone on the desk. Beside the telephone, David’s manuscript waited for her
to transport it to Penny at the Madrona Bay Historical Society.

For
years her husband had spent every spare moment on the portable computer in his
study, every breakfast and dinner instructing Kate on the events of 1845 in the
Pacific Northwest. Today she would deliver the manuscript. The Historical
Society would print
Madrona Legacy
, and David’s dream would be realized.

Then
what?

“I
need to refer a client,” announced Kate.

Sarah
parked her reading glasses in gray curls and pushed her case notes aside.
“Who?”

“It’s
a new client. Second visit scheduled for next Friday.”

“I’ve
got a three o’clock space available. What’s your connection with the client?”
Madrona Bay was a small town, and it was common for Sarah or Kate to discover
they had a connection with a new client’s spouse or close relative that made a
counselor-client relationship unsuitable.

“There’s
no connection.”

“Then
why—”

“Your
three o’clock will work perfectly.” She’d come into Sarah’s office determined
to hand over Rachel Hardesty with as little explanation as possible. “My
client’s scheduled for two, but I’ll change it to two-thirty. I’ll explain the
referral to her, then bring you in.”

“What’s
her presenting problem?”

“Marital
conflict.” Kate stuffed her hands into her pockets as they clenched in response
to the memory of Rachel’s tears. It shamed her that she’d reacted to the tears
with irritation rather than empathy. Emotions grew from thoughts and beliefs.
On the basis of one hour, any conclusion Kate made about Rachel would be
judgment, not knowledge.

“What
sort of marital conflict?” asked Sarah.

Kate
approached the window and studied the cloudless sky. It would be dark soon
after she got home. Even if she slept, she’d wake at two in the morning, the
hour when nothing could be escaped. Socrates watching as if she could bring
David back; Rachel’s damned eyes waiting for Kate’s reaction as she talked
about death.

“Kate?”

“She
had an abortion. Her husband won’t forgive her.”

“She
reminds you of what you’ve lost.”

Kate
turned, but couldn’t maintain eye contact. Sarah looked exactly as a counselor
should. Soft gray hair, penetrating eyes. Kate’s best friend, yet she couldn’t
talk about
loss
. “Rachel Hardesty is either borderline or narcissistic.”

“Those
are labels.”

Kate
blew out a breath. “She talks about loving her husband, but she’s the kind of
person who never loves anyone she doesn’t also hate.”

“Do
you hate David for leaving you?”

“Damn
it, Sarah!”
For Christ’s sake, Kate, don’t cry.
“Will you take the
client?”

Sarah
frowned. “You’ve been avoiding personal contacts, and now you’re dodging the
first difficult client to come along since your husband’s death. You know as
well as I do that when a client triggers you, there’s something you need to
work on.”