Raphaela's Gift Read online

  "A rock."

  "A rock?" Faith repeated, intrigued.

  Marian smiled slyly. "Rough around the edges, but when polished smooth, possessing a striking beauty." She set it on the table, adding, "Oh, and an element that takes a great deal of friction to change."

  Faith nodded. "A rock. Well, I'd say you have a fine assortment here. Now, I'd like you to put them together into a collage."

  Marian's expression changed. "I forgot to mention one other thing. A rock can also be quite dangerous."

  Faith resisted the temptation to ask what she meant by her last comment and instead agreed, "And so they can be." Her bottom lip stung, and she realized she had bit into it. Ten more days. Only ten more days. "While you're working, why don't you tell me how each of these things impacts your relationships with other people, especially Raphaela?"

  Marian plucked the rock from the marred tabletop and ran a finger over its sharp edges. The bright red polish on her fingernail was chipped, which surprised Faith. She'd never seen Marian look less than perfectly groomed.

  "Garret and I are two rocks. Our rough edges grate against each other, but neither will let the other reshape who we are." She looked at Faith, the pain in her eyes plain. "I tried, Faith. I really did. I wanted our marriage to work."

  "Of course, you did. No one ever said you didn't."

  "He was my first love," Marian whispered, dropping her gaze back to the stone. "Our marriage was a dream come true. And then I decided it wasn't good enough, he wasn't good enough."

  "Your needs are your needs, and the past is past. You made a decision. You can't take it back, but you can make the best of your life as it is." Faith hoped her words would encourage Marian rather than anger her.

  "I wish I could--take it back."

  Faith smiled. "I believe everyone makes at least one decision they regret." Silently ticking off all the bad decisions she had made through the course of her life, she watched Marian toy with the rock. There were too many mistakes to count.

  Hell, she'd made several in the last twenty-four hours.

  Marian returned Faith's smile, but it failed to touch her eyes. "I know what you say is true, but I guess I expected more from myself."

  Faith chuckled. "Don't we all?"

  "I lost my family. I don't have anything anymore. I wake up alone, lonely, and I know it's all my fault."

  What do you say to that? Yeah, you screwed up? No. Faith pitied Marian. After all, she knew exactly how it felt to be alone, to go home to a silent house at night, wishing there was someone to come home to. She knew how it felt to fall asleep at night wondering if she would ever meet the one person who would bring out the best in her--who would fulfill all those silly expectations a little girl fosters from the first time she listens to a fairy tale.

  "What do you want to do now?" Faith asked. "You can't rewind time. You can't take things back, as much as you might like to. Can we concentrate on the present and the future?"

  Marian nodded, but didn't speak.

  "Have you talked to Garret about your feelings? Have you offered to reconcile?" Faith regretted asking the question, and then silently chastised herself for being selfish.

  What stakes did she have in the Damiani's marriage? She felt like she was the dreaded other woman, yet she knew she was not. A glance down at the diamond flashing in the morning sun reminded her of her true station. She was the unwilling fiancée of a freelance journalist, Steven Abbott, not the lover of a psychiatrist named Garret Damiani. If only…

  "…Garret," Marian said.

  His name yanked Faith from her ruminating, and she realized she had missed something. "Garret?"

  "Last night, I went to talk to him. I asked him what he thought--if there was a chance for us."

  "And?" She tried not to sound too anxious. How much would it hurt Marian if she knew the truth--her therapist secretly hoped they wouldn't work things out? Faith hated herself at that moment. She was a cold, ruthless bitch. If she were in Marian's shoes, how would she feel after seeing the man she loved look at another woman with heat in his eyes? How would she feel if she knew the therapist who was supposed to help heal her family's wounds was actually hoping to cleave them open?

  Oh, God.

  "He said it's too late."

  Oh, God. "I'm sorry, Marian." Faith tentatively reached a hand to her, and as their fingers entwined, their gazes met. Faith dropped her eyes and stared at the peeling paint sheathing the rickety picnic table. She couldn't look at Marian. "After all this time, and after everything that has happened, that's a lot to ask from him."

  "I know."

  Faith gently tugged her fingers free from Marian's grasp, wishing she could as easily pry herself free from the guilt slithering up her spine and coiling around her neck. Garret and Raphaela were Marian's family. Faith had no claim to them, as much as she might like to.

  Despite the instant connection, she felt with them.

  This was wrong, very wrong. It was time to reclaim her professionalism, offer the support and care Marian deserved. "We've been working together for over six months now, and you've talked a lot about your past, about your relationships with Michael and Garret. I'm just a little worried about your timing here, to be honest."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I'm just curious. After everything you told me, why do you want to go back to Garret?" she asked, weighing each word, prodding Marian cautiously. Although Faith doubted she was entirely objective, she still needed to try to make sure Marian had thought her decision through.

  "I know what you're saying. But, rest assured, I remember both the good and the bad. I'm not idealizing our marriage. Garret is still the detached psychiatrist hell-bent on curing everyone around him. I'll be his pet project, along with Ella, of course. He hasn't changed."

  "And that's okay now? You couldn't live with it before."

  Marian nodded. "It's his way of loving, as weird as that sounds. I know that now. I've matured. You see, I think he is afraid of something. Maybe afraid of being the kind of husband and father his own father was." She shrugged. "He's loyal, trustworthy, forgiving. How many men have you met like that?"

  "Not many. But," Faith hesitated. She didn't want to ask the next question, or rather, she didn't want to hear Marian's answer. "Do you love him?"

  "No. I don't. I don't think I ever did." She didn't hide from Faith, didn't drop her head, or turn away. Marian's gaze was steadfast, firm.

  "Then you won't be happy. You're fooling yourself." Faith stopped herself from saying more. Her job was to help her patients make their own decisions, not preach at them.

  "I'm not fooling myself. Our daughter needs us. Together. I need Garret."

  Faith nodded, recognizing what lay between Marian's spoken words.

  Since Michael had broken his engagement to Marian about two months ago, Marian had been alone for the first time in her adult life. Before leaving for the camp, Faith and Marian had met twice, and both times Marian had agonized over her loneliness. She couldn't be alone.

  Marian needed Garret. If Garret would have her back.

  "I have a therapy session with Garret scheduled for this afternoon…" Faith paused. Could she do it? Could she commit to helping Marian reconcile with Garret? The man she had nearly kissed less than twenty-four hours ago. The man who had monopolized her dreams last night and her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to push him from her mind. "…I could talk to him about reconciliation. See if I could help." Her heart liquefied, a strange, deep darkness settling in to take its place.

  A soft smile touched Marian's features for the first time since they'd spoken Garret's name. "Oh, could you? I know I'm asking a lot, but…" She stood and walked to Faith, took both of Faith's hands in her own and continued, "…you are a true friend. Thank you."

  Those words, a well-meant declaration, sliced Faith to pieces. True friends don't secretly hope your marriage cannot be reconciled. True friends don't secretly yearn for their friend's husband, his touch, his kiss. True f
riends don't hold their breath, awaiting a single spark in deep sapphire eyes.

  Marian gripped Faith's hand and lifted it, inspecting her ring. "And do you have some news to share with me?"

  Faith swallowed, tugging her hand free and slipping it behind her back. Her face heated. "News? No."

  "Come on. Tell me!" Marian urged, beaming. "You weren't wearing that rock yesterday."

  "It's…" The words Faith wanted to say refused to come out of her mouth. She simply nodded.

  Marian clapped her hands, all traces of weariness and misery gone from her expression. "When? Who?" Those feelings, the sadness and despair that had weighed upon Marian's shoulders jetted through the air and settled into Faith's heart.

  "An old boyfriend. Steven. It won't be happening for a long time, though."

  She was grateful when Marian didn't ask for more. Instead, Marian hummed gaily as she worked on her project.

  The next twenty minutes were torture as Faith waited for Marian to finish. Thoughts of how to break her engagement to Steven were interrupted by fevered and unwelcome thoughts of Garret, memories of how he'd looked stripped to his waist yesterday afternoon. How she'd felt standing next to him, working closely with him, how she'd wanted to run her hands down his chest, to trail a fingertip down his washboard stomach. How strangely close she'd felt to him as they'd talked. How sad she'd felt when she'd watched him walk away.

  As soon as Marian proclaimed her work of art complete, Faith dashed to her office, and after tossing the cardboard box of supplies on the floor, she dropped into the chair and leaned back.

  How had things gotten so out of hand, especially with Garret? Glinting at the clock on the wall, she considered her options: first, stay in her office, miss Garret's appointment, and apologize later. No. Too unprofessional.

  Like she'd been the epitome of professionalism, anyway.

  Second, take the next hour to plan what she would say--psych up for the conversation she would rather avoid.

  No, option number two was no better than the first. No amount of preparation would be sufficient.

  She needed someone to talk to, someone she could trust. There was only one person, Frankie. Her eyelids clamped shut, she tried to remember her friend's schedule. Did she have an open hour?

  With nothing to lose, she stood and walked to the door. Her old friend who had helped her get the job at Mountain Rise, the one she'd crammed for Human Sexuality and Abnormal Psych exams with, would help her sort through this mess.

  At least she hoped she would.

  Frankie Thomas' office was in the main lodge, by the playroom suites, an apt location since she was a play therapist. When Faith reached the door, she hesitated before knocking. Last chance. Should she tell Frankie everything? Could she admit her feelings for Garret to someone else?

  Had she admitted them to herself? Once they were spoken, she couldn't deny them.

  She knocked.

  "Come in," Frankie answered in a cheerful voice.

  Faith gripped the knob and turned it, forcing herself to open the door and pushing past her hesitancy and doubt. "Hi Frank," she said after the door swung open.

  Frankie, as tomboyish as her name implied, her brown hair cut short and wearing athletic shorts and a t-shirt, greeted her with a wide grin. "What's up?"

  Still standing at the door, Faith asked, "You have some time?"

  Immediately, Frankie's grin subsided, twisting into curiosity, then concern. "What's wrong? Come in and close the door."

  Faith pushed the door closed. "I have a problem."

  "Is it Steven?"

  Faith laughed, but not in a happy sort of way. It was more of a hysterical kind of cachinnation. She had so many problems. "He is a problem, but he isn't why I came."

  "Come over here and sit." Frankie leaned forward, pulled a chair up to hers, and waited for Faith to take a seat. Ducking her head, like she did with her autistic patients, until she fell into the line of Faith's stare, Frankie forced Faith to meet her gaze. "Now, talk."

  Faith turned her head as she lowered herself into the chair. She couldn't concentrate staring at Frankie's sunny face. It was like talking to an elf. "It's Doctor Damiani."

  Frankie leaned back in her chair. "Did you goof up again? What did you do this time?"

  "I don't know how to say this."

  "What?"

  "I'm attracted to him," Faith's heart sank.

  Smiling, Frankie said, "Hell, look at him. Who wouldn't be? I just about drooled all over myself the first time I saw him."

  A deep sigh of frustration sat in Faith's throat, but she refused to let it out. "No, you don't understand. We almost kissed. It was magic, and I can't stop thinking about it--about him. Even with Steven here."

  "Oh, Faith."

  Faith looked up, and met Frankie's consoling gaze. "It gets worse. Marian, his ex-wife, wants to reconcile, and I told her I would help her. But I can't go through with it."

  Frankie reached forward and gripped Faith's hands in hers. "Listen to me. We both know these things happen, it's one of the first things talked about in psych 101. But you know you must be a professional, force aside what you want and do what is right for your patient."

  Faith's regard dropped to the floor once more, but the carpet was not what she saw. In her mind, she was watching Garret's muscular frame as he stood at the riverbank, sunrays reflecting blue off his sexy curls and blood-churning heat in his heavy lidded eyes.

  "Right?" Frankie repeated.

  Faith couldn't answer. She knew what her friend said was true--the professional thing to do. Why couldn't she say it? She had made a commitment not only to Marian, but also to Mountain Rise, Garret, Raphaela…and herself. She scrubbed her face with flattened palms and avoided looking at Frankie.

  "Faith?"

  He hadn't actually said he was interested in her, hadn't really done anything but touch her briefly. But there was no denying what she'd seen in his eyes.

  Or could she be mistaken?

  Could this be the result of her overactive imagination? Again? Doubt crept into her mind. Maybe he had simply looked at her.

  Frankie was right.

  She would do it--help Marian. After all, it was not only the responsible thing to do, it was the honorable thing to do, and if nothing else, she was honorable. "Right." She bit her lip until salty blood seeped into her mouth. Then she ran a fingertip over its broken surface.

  "I knew you would make the right decision, Faith. Let me know if you need someone to talk to later."

  Faith looked up from the industrial carpeted floor. Blue, with flecks of gold, red, and black.

  Blue with gold flecks. She'd seen that combination before, in a set of eyes. Stop it! "Okay. Thanks for listening," Faith said, standing.

  "Actually, you didn't say much, so it wasn't very hard," Frankie teased with a soft smile. She stood and opened her arms wide in the offer of a hug.

  Faith accepted. Frankie was a true friend.

  A true friend. She'd heard those words today. Spoken by a woman whose husband Faith secretly wished she could steal. I’m no friend. Not to anyone but myself.

  Faith broke the hug and turned toward the door. When she reached for the knob, she called over her shoulder, "Thanks again, Frank. I don't know what I'd do without you."

  "You're doing the right thing."

  Nodding, Faith opened the door.

  Time to face Garret--to help him repair his marriage.

  Chapter Eight

  Garret stretched his cramped legs under the table. Why couldn't Faith have regular sized chairs in her studio? He glanced at his watch. Ten after eleven. Was she late for every appointment?

  That was not a fair accusation, he chastised himself. Why was he so uptight? It was a beautiful morning, a tad hot, but the sky was clear, the birds were singing, Raphaela was doing great. What more could he ask for?

  The doorknob turned, and he looked up with expectation. Immediately his focus traveled from the box Faith held in her hands to the pained
expression on her face.

  Standing, he offered to help her with the box, hoping its weight was the source of her pain.

  She shook her head and set it on a counter, her back to him.

  Weird. Her movements jerked stiffly as she fished through the contents of the box. Had he done something wrong? Was it the thing in the woods? "Look, I'm sorry about the--"

  "No apology necessary," she interrupted, still sorting through the contents of the damn box.

  Would she turn around and look at him? He stepped closer and said over her shoulder, "Then, how about telling me why you look like you have a rod shoved up your--"

  "Excuse me?"

  That did it. She turned around. But the scowl she wore was no improvement over the poorly disguised discomfiture she'd shown prior.

  He smiled in contradiction to her sour expression. "Good morning."

  She smiled, but it wasn't the beaming, sparkling grin he'd seen a couple of days ago. Had that been so recently? He could have sworn it had been much longer. "Good morning," she answered, her voice strained.

  Levity was the call of order, he decided. "Bring on the crayons, I'm ready to color," he said with a smile.

  She cringed, and he realized his joke could be mistaken for sarcasm.

  "No, I wasn't making fun, honest."

  With a nod, she said, "I know." But she didn't sound convinced.

  "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

  "No. This is your session, not mine." A hint of teasing flickered in her eyes. The spirit was returning to her mien. Her posture softened.

  Arms loaded with supplies, she brushed past him and walked to the table. He followed, standing next to her as she set them down and took a seat. "Shall we begin?" She looked up with eyes wide and innocent.

  His gaze slid over her face and regretfully down her exposed décolletage. She was wearing a v-neck t-shirt, which normally wouldn't be so revealing, but from his vantage, it was provocative. He licked lips that had suddenly become parchment dry.

  "Garret?" She glanced down, following the direction of his gaze, and he watched a flush spread up her neck, coloring the part in her hair, which was all he could see of her head at the moment.