Love Unbroken

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Emma quickly typed up a note from her last session. She was a therapist at a local community mental health program, Kachemak Bay Counseling. When she’d decided to move to Diamond Creek, she’d worried about how she’d find work in her field. She had a graduate degree in social work and had worked in various positions as a clinical therapist. Her training made her experience with Greg even more shameful for her. She should have known better, or that’s what she told herself over and over.

She was finally reaching a place of acceptance that her personal experience wasn’t unusual and wasn’t her fault. Domestic violence had bedeviled researchers, treatment providers, courts and law enforcement for years because it crossed every imaginable social boundary. Being an educated woman with actual training around domestic violence didn’t help her when she became a victim. She was merely another statistic. Rich, poor, middle class, every color of skin, every culture, every religion, every city, town, state, country, continent and more had victims, overwhelmingly women. Despite the massive social problem domestic violence was, society still didn’t have a reliable way to prevent it, to effectively support victims and keep them safe, or to effectively prevent perpetrators from repeating the pattern. A history of domestic violence often traversed through multiple generations of families—perpetrators and victims.

Emma abruptly stood from her desk, wondering if she’d ever stop reciting statistics about domestic violence to herself. She often told herself to treat herself the same way she’d treat a client. She’d tell them it wasn’t their fault, that this was how domestic violence happened, it slipped into one’s life before they saw it coming, the hints were only obvious after the fact, and most of all, they shouldn’t blame themselves because it wasn’t their fault they gave someone the benefit of the doubt.

Once again, she forced her thoughts back to this moment. Just in time because her phone beeped, the receptionist letting her know her client had arrived. Moments later, a teenage girl named Stella Walsh slouched in the corner of the small couch in Emma’s office. Emma sat across from her in a chair, a coffee table between them. Stella had been coming to see her for about six months now. She was a bit like a cactus at first, all bristle and prickle. If Emma touched on something too close for comfort, Stella would lash out. These days, Stella was only cranky for a few minutes, the façade a coat she needed a few minutes to shed. After that, it was all Emma could do to get a word in edgewise. Like so many troubled adolescents, Stella desperately needed to feel like someone was listening to her, like what she had to say mattered. With the hubbub around evidence-based treatments, Emma found time and again that the power of listening without judgment could be immensely healing and was often the most powerful thing she could offer clients.

“So do you think I should try out for that recital?” Stella asked, an abrupt shift in topic. A moment ago, she’d been a solid few minutes into a rant about how horrible boys were, particularly when they thought they were ‘like men or something.’

“Catch me up here. What recital are we talking about?” Emma asked. She mentally riffled through the recent sessions she’d had with Stella and couldn’t think of any recital mentioned.

Stella sighed dramatically and started chewing on her nails. She tended to go for a combo outdoorsy goth look. Today, she wore practical hiking boots paired with black leggings and a denim mini skirt. A scarf of black fabric patterned with skulls hung haphazardly around her shoulders atop a practical raincoat. She never wore makeup and had creamy skin with rosy cheeks. Her dark brown hair and eyes stood out against her complexion. Much as Stella was loath to admit it, she was a beautiful girl. She’d once said, “No one would think I was cute if they knew where I grew up. It was the dump of all dumps.”

Stella had been in foster care for two years. She’d been removed after years of reports and investigations about d**g a***e by her parents and concerns about the condition of the home. Her mother had died of an accidental overdose, and her father didn’t fight the removal. He’d drifted in and out of jail. She’d flat refused to attend therapy until she had a brush with the wrong crowd and almost gotten nailed for dealing drugs at school. Not because she was dealing them, but because someone had decided her locker would be a good place to hide them. The only thing that got her off the hook was the cop who noticed the gap in the surveillance recording from the hallway. Turned out that the vice-principal’s son happened to be the one that put the drugs in Stella’s locker. Diamond Creek might be rural, but it was pretty high tech. All of the school surveillance recordings were backed up to an off-site server.

Once the investigator got the backups, Stella didn’t have to worry about legal problems. But she was in a world of social hurt. She’d spent most of her childhood as a social outcast—the kid who came to school dirty, sometimes smelly and who never had the right clothes. Bringing friends home was out of the question. When she’d finally been placed in foster care, she’d gotten a bit lucky, if there was such a thing in that situation. She’d been placed with a single foster mother, Janie, who was experienced at dealing with troubled teens, completely imperturbable and the perfect combination of blunt and warm. Stella respected and cared about Janie and had slowly started to bloom there. But her social naiveté made her vulnerable.

After the incident at school, Janie had dragged Stella into counseling. Stella paused from chewing her nails and tilted her head to the side.

“Well?” Stella asked again.

Emma pursed her lips. “I don’t think you mentioned this recital to me. What do you think my answer would be?”

Stella sighed dramatically again, rolling her eyes for good measure this time. “Usually you say something about how you’re not here to tell me what to do.” Stella couldn’t hide her smile.

“That sounds like something I would say,” Emma replied, returning Stella’s smile. “What do you think about the recital?”

Stella sighed and this time it wasn’t for effect. The sigh sounded tired and vulnerable. After a long silence, she spoke, her voice small. “I want to try out for the piano part. Mrs. Cooper—she’s my music teacher—says I’m really good. Janie signed me up for lessons all summer, and Mrs. Cooper says I keep getting better. It’s the fall recital, so they have tryouts this summer so we can start practicing. But I’m scared. I’ve never done anything like it. Not even close. And who will come to see me if I get in?”

Emma waited a beat before responding. “If you want to try out then you should try out.”

“Brilliant,” Stella said. “That’s genius. How come someone can’t give me instructions? I’d like instructions for life.”

Emma smiled ruefully. “Because there aren’t any. And when I tell you that I’m not here to tell you what to do, it’s because I’m not. Aside from pointing out the obvious, I don’t think you’d listen to me if I told you what to do. Back to the recital, it sounds like it might matter to you. Feeling nervous about something like that is pretty common. It’d be weirder if you weren’t nervous. And to answer at least one of your questions, Janie would be there, along with everyone in her family. And you have to admit, her family is huge. They think of you as part of their family and would be heartbroken if you thought they wouldn’t come to your recital.”

Stella sat up a little straighter, the barest sheen of tears in her eyes. “Janie would come. Grannie too. And lots more…” she paused and took a breath. “Guess I have to just blow through this. What if I get stage fright?”

“Well, you won’t know if you’ll get stage fright unless you try.”

Stella wrinkled her nose, chewed her nails, but didn’t slouch again. She finally made eye contact with Emma again. “K…I’m gonna try out. It’s next week before my appointment with you. Can I call you to tell you if I don’t get in? That way, if the news sucks, I can get it over with.”

Emma nodded. “Of course you can. I’ll send good vibes. Plus, if your music teacher thinks you’re really good at piano, you’re probably really good.”

Their conversation moved on. Emma considered bringing up the issue of Janie’s family again, but decided against it for today. Emma thought a sense of belonging would be incredibly healing for Stella. At sixteen, Stella had to consent to her own adoption. With her mother deceased and her father long gone, his parental rights had been terminated, so there weren’t many legal hoops to jump through for an adoption. So far, Stella had resisted the idea. She claimed it was stupid for sixteen year olds to get adopted. Janie had told Emma many times she’d love to adopt Stella, and she made sure to tell Stella that even though Stella brushed it off.

Stella had come a long way in six months, so Emma had high hopes Stella might take a few more steps that could help her. At the end of their session, Stella skipped down the hall, turning for a last wave to Emma just before she pushed through the door to the waiting area. Emma loved working with adolescents. They lived in that odd mix of child and adult, the tug of war between those parts of the self.

* * *

Stopping by the grocery store on the way home, Emma was perusing the fruit section when she heard her name. Turning, she was startled to see Trey. Instantly, her heart jumped. Don’t be an i***t, Emma. There’s no way he’s into you.

She promptly dropped the apple she held. “Oh!”

She leaned over to pick it up, only to have her purse swing as she moved and bang into the edge of the produce shelf. Apples and oranges rolled off the shelf, hitting the floor in a series of thumps.

Emma stood, the lone apple she’d originally dropped back in her hand. Blushing furiously, she glanced up at Trey.

Trey bit his lip to keep from laughing, but a laugh burst forth. “Sorry. Not your fault, just one of those things.” He looked around, apples and oranges surrounding them in a messy circle.

Emma shook her head and smiled ruefully. “Guess it’s better to laugh. Not much else to do.”

“Dad!”

Emma followed the sound of Stuart’s voice to see him on the other side of the produce display.

“I found the grapefruit!” Stuart exclaimed, holding a grapefruit high above his head, a proud smile on his face.

“Good job,” Trey replied.

Stuart noticed Emma and turned his wide smile on her. “You’re the lady who caught my hat!” He paused, wrinkling his forehead. “I can’t ‘member your name.”

“That’s okay. I have a hard time with names too. Remind me what yours is.”

“Stuart,” he said with a firm nod. He started to walk around to where they were, still holding the grapefruit aloft.

“My name’s Emma. Maybe we’ll remember the next time we see each other.”

“Hey Stu, careful with the grapefruit,” Trey said just as Stuart came around and saw the fruit scattered on the ground. He came to a quick stop, his arm finally dropping to his side. He kept a good hold on the grapefruit, cradling it in both hands now. Eyes wide, he looked around, his eyes questioning when he looked up to Trey.

Trey smiled. “Minor accident here. How about you stay put while Emma and I clean these up?”

Stuart nodded with alacrity, politely remaining in place. “What happened?”

“My purse ran into the apples. Once they started falling, the oranges came along for the ride,” Emma said. She set her purse on the ground and carefully began collecting the fruit. Trey waved a store employee over and worked quickly and methodically, placing the fruit in his grocery basket. He gestured for Emma to do the same. Once the employee arrived, Trey succinctly explained he wasn’t sure if they wanted the fruit back on the display until it was cleaned. The appreciative employee relieved them of the basket piled with fruit, and the mess Emma had made was gone.

She couldn’t help but admire how practical Trey was. Oddly enough, that only made him more attractive to her. Just thinking about how much she enjoyed watching him clean up her mess made her hot inside. She fought her blush, but could feel her face flaming. Stuart conveniently distracted her.

Stepping to her side, he smiled up at her, one side of his brown bangs sticking up. His missing front tooth brought a twinge to her heart. Knowing the mother of this sweet boy died just wasn’t fair.

“All cleaned up,” Stuart said. He started to gesture with his hands, and Trey deftly grabbed the grapefruit from Stuart.

“I wasn’t gonna drop it,” Stuart said.

“Just being safe,” Trey replied.

Stuart looked up at Emma, his brown eyes so bright. “My dad’s good at cleaning up,” he said proudly.

“He sure is,” Emma said. She turned to Trey. “Thank you for helping me with that.”

Trey nodded firmly. Emma noticed Stuart’s nods were a semblance of his father’s. With Stuart, they were endearing as he appeared to be trying to look decisive. On Trey, they were sexy. That level of clarity just layered onto everything else drew Emma to him. It was absolutely ridiculous she was so gaga over Trey she got turned on by him cleaning up fruit and nodding.

Just as Emma was wondering what to say next because what did one say in this situation, Stuart spoke.

“Dad, can we have Emma over tonight? I can show her Tootsie and Neon. ”

Emma was startled at Stuart’s question, although Trey looked unperturbed. He tilted his head, a small smile gracing his face when he looked at Stuart. Shifting his gaze to Emma, his smile faded.

“Stuart would like more people to meet Tootsie and Neon,” Trey paused and smiled wryly. “Tootsie is our cat, and Neon is his fish.”

Emma wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to please Stuart and say she’d come over, while she also desperately wanted Trey to want her to come over for reasons that had nothing to do with Tootsie and Neon. She was simultaneously mortified because she knew she could not contemplate her feelings for Trey. Even if, and it was a big if, Trey was interested in a relationship, if he knew her history, he wouldn’t want anything to do with her.

She focused on her last thought when she responded. “Stuart, that’s very nice of you to want me to come over. But I can’t come today. Thank you for asking me though.” Emma hoped keeping her response polite and vague would allow her to bow out gracefully and avoid an awkward moment with Trey.

Stuart looked disappointed, but he nodded politely. “Maybe another time?” he asked hopefully.

“Maybe,” Emma said with a smile.

She glanced toward Trey and for a split second, his eyes darkened. Almost as quickly, Trey’s expression shifted into a polite, serious façade.

“Maybe we’ll find a time Emma can meet Tootsie and Neon. For now, we need to finish shopping,” Trey said, placing his hand on Stuart shoulder. He nodded to Emma, his smile bland, his eyes shuttered. “Nice to see you again.”

Emma’s heart hammered, but she merely nodded, pasting a polite smile on her face. “You too. Have a good evening.” She turned away quickly and finished her shopping, her mind only half paying attention.

When she pulled up in her driveway a little later, her whimsical cabin was bathed in soft pink light. The sun was just beginning its slide down the horizon. The mountains were dusted with gold and pink, the dark green of the spruce trees covering the mountainside haloed in the shafts of light.

Once she put away the groceries, she curled up on the couch and absentmindedly flipped through television channels. Sula curled up beside her. Emma couldn’t keep her thoughts away from all the reasons someone like Trey would never even consider her. Her marriage to Greg felt like an anchor that she couldn’t shake loose. For a while after she’d gotten the courage to leave and moved to Diamond Creek, she’d felt so free, the world wide-open again. She’d even managed to successfully divorce Greg, which had been terrifying for her. After finally leaving, she feared the court process would offer him an avenue to find her, or worse, an avenue to shame her. With her parents help, she used her father’s business address for all court filings. As far as Greg knew, she resided at a post office box in North Carolina. The fight she expected from him hadn’t happened. The relief she felt when she received the finalized divorce papers was immense. She immediately had her maiden name restored and savored every time she signed Emma Davis rather than Emma Neals.

Trey was the first man Emma had even the slightest attraction to since her marriage ended. She thought it would never happen again, and frankly, that had been just fine with her. But why oh why did this attraction have to be so potent? And why did it have to be to a man she could never consider? He was just way too together. Single father, pilot and lawyer…and sexy as hell. Definitely not in her league. If Trey knew her history and how she should have known better, he’d question her sanity.