“First of all, your wife is a patient of mine.”
He shakes his head, unconcerned. “I understand that, but—”
“Second of all”—she puts up a hand to interrupt and make him listen—“there would be a significant conflict of interest in my working with you.”
“I appreciate that”—Nathan nods this time—“but I have confidence in your professionalism.” That flashed we-two-have-an-understanding smile again. “I like people who are good at what they do.”
“And as you can see, my daughter is here.” She’s wavering. She indicates me with her chin but does not offer to make me sit in the waiting room. Probably she feels beggars of on-demand after-hours therapy appointments can’t be choosers. Only afterward does it occur to me: maybe she wanted a witness.
Nathan Templeton does me the favor his wife did not of doubting whether he can discuss whatever he needs to with me sitting in the room. His eyes dart my way, and the wattage of his smile falters like when there’s a storm and the lights flicker but you don’t lose power altogether. He must feel just that bad though because the spark of his smile catches finally and flares. “Oh, Mirabel and I go way back. My secrets are safe with her.” He winks at me then beams at my mother. “You’ve got a gaggle of whip-smart girls, Nora. You must be so proud. Raising kids is hard work—believe me, I know—and you haven’t had the easiest time of it. Apple and I, we’re two against one. You, you’re one against three. I don’t know how you do it.”
And that’s what does it. That’s when she decides to lay rough timber over the morass of ruin between them and help—because he comes to her at last, parent to parent, because she is wooed by his praise of her daughters, because he’s stopped short of admitting why she’s had such a hard time of it, but he’s come close, and that’s something. And because he needs help and she’s the only one here and that, after all, is her job.
She moves from standing against her desk with her arms folded to her chair, where she tucks her feet up and says, soft but clear, “So, Nathan Templeton. How can I help you?”
“Well, Nora, I’ll tell you.” But then he doesn’t. He’s wearing a silky cream shirt with tiny just-pink stripes—even the buttons look fancy and perfect—but it’s untucked from dark jeans, jeans nicer and more expensive-looking than anyone else’s entire wardrobe around here, but jeans nonetheless. He’s leaning forward on the sofa, toward Nora, his hands loosely clasped between his knees, his eyes on the floor. “It’s all a bit of a strain at the moment,” he finally manages, with a laugh that says this is pretty silly and not a big deal, but with eyes that admit he’s here, isn’t he? “I guess I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know since you saw my lovely wife just a few hours ago.”
She opens her mouth to explain that she can’t reveal anything Apple has discussed in therapy, but he’s got his hands up already. “I know, I know, I would never ask you to comment on anything you two chitchatted about together.” Like they’re teenagers at a sleepover or old friends who insist on ditching their husbands for a girls’ night out once a month. “I know she blames me. I know you do too, for that matter.” He smiles at her, half sadly. “It’s hard to see, I realize, but I really am trying to help here. I have only the best interests of Bourne at heart.”
Not hard to see, I think. Impossible.
Not help but hide.
Not best but self.
She would not say any of that, but he keeps right on without giving her a chance to respond anyway.
“I meant what I said in the bar, you know.”
“About what?” As if she’s at a bit of a loss, can’t quite remember what he’s referring to, hasn’t given it another thought since.
“About the jobs. They’ll pay well. They’ll have good benefits. They’ll be good jobs. Stimulating, safe, regular hours. That’s what Bourne needs now. Hell, that’s what everyone in the whole world needs now.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she says.
“It is, it is,” he agrees.
“Why are you here, Nathan?” Gentle and not a question really. More like permission. It’s okay to tell me. It’s okay to say.
“And we’re also supporting other families’ businesses.” He’s spinning his wedding ring around and around on his finger. “We’re the go-between, Nora. Facilitators. Helpers, if you will. We enable other families to run their businesses, innovators to be able to afford to follow their dreams, companies to produce right here in America instead of having to ship the manufacturing part of their production overseas. Honestly, we’re just a small cog in the great wheel of local entrepreneurship, and I can’t think of any part I’d be prouder to play.”