Marcus lifted a brow. “You worried about her inhaling secondhand smoke?”
Rory frowned. “Well, yeah, but no. She hates the smell of cigarette smoke. If she hangs around it too much, she gets sick to her stomach. You didn’t know?”
“No. I didn’t. She never…” Rory could see he was thinking it over. “I don’t smoke often, but if I do, she leaves the porch. In that way she does. A quiet excuse, slipping away.” His gaze came back to Rory. “Why?”
“If I had to guess, it’s because Oscar and Burton were both smokers.”
As he headed for his own house and the quick shower he really needed for the sake of anyone within ten feet of him, his cell rang again. He didn’t recognize the number, but he often gave out his cell to customers, so he picked up. “Wilder General Store. Rory here.”
“Mr. Wilder.” The woman’s voice was smooth and professional. “I’m Marjorie, Dr. Taylor’s assistant. She wanted to talk to you. Is now a good time?”
Daralyn’s session would have ended an hour ago. She and his mom usually went out for brunch afterward, followed by a walk in a nearby park. Rituals that helped Daralyn even out. The sessions, while far better than they used to be, still seemed to drain her emotionally. Being the center of attention, even for her own mental health, was never a comfortable experience for Daralyn. Long and short, she wasn’t due back in town until after lunch, so getting a call from Dr. Taylor’s office filled him with alarm.
“Is everything okay with Daralyn?”
“Oh, yes sir,” Marjorie assured him. “Dr. Taylor just needs to talk to you a moment. Please hold.”
A click and then another person spoke. With a rasp that added interest to the otherwise flowing, comfortable tone, Dr. Taylor sounded like she was in her thirties. He’d never met her, but he’d always imagined her older, like his mother’s age.
"This is Susan Taylor, Daralyn's psychiatrist. First, my assistant said you were worried. No reason to be. I’m actually calling you because of good things that happened with today’s session. Daralyn has discussed the changes in her relationship with you.”
While he’d encouraged Daralyn to talk to Dr. Taylor about the sexual things happening between them, he hadn’t expected to talk to Dr. Taylor directly about that. His embarrassed wince was followed by a not insignificant wonder at just how much Daralyn had told her.
Since the doc said good things had happened, at least it didn’t sound like she was thinking of raking him over the coals for the Dom/sub stuff.
“The purpose of my call may seem a little unusual. However, since I’ve been counseling Daralyn and guiding your mother on her care for some time, it’s not quite as off the path as you’d expect.”
The psychiatrist paused. “I asked Daralyn if she thought it was a good idea if I talked to you sometimes, about things happening between the two of you. Give you the chance to ask me questions. She said she thought it was a good idea, and signed the waiver, allowing me to have discussions with you about her.”
Good thing he was sitting down—a personal joke he indulged in his head sometimes—since that would have taken the floor out from beneath him. He pulled the van over to the side of the road, because the conversation had taken a turn that required his full attention. “No kidding.”
“You sound relieved.”
More than she knew. “I wouldn’t hurt her for the world,” he said. “I want to do everything I can to make sure I don’t.”
Though another part of him wondered what would happen if his gut and the psychiatrist’s opinion took different paths on something. But no need to borrow trouble.
“That reflects what she’s told me about you.” Dr. Taylor’s tone warmed. “She’s a very special young woman, and you and your whole family have been her advocates from the beginning. I’m not understating it when I tell you that your family saved her life.”
“You think her uncle or father would have gone that far?” Even knowing Daralyn was safe and sound now, the thought gave his stomach an unpleasant lurch.
“Always a possibility. But the greatest danger was that they ultimately would have destroyed the part of her that has miraculously survived, that has been able to find her own identity, get as far as she has under your family’s care.”
It was so eerily close to what he’d told Marcus, it came back to him now. Through some miracle, there were things happening that allowed Daralyn to become Daralyn, and she hasn’t let that go. They didn't break her.
“For the most part,” Dr. Taylor said, “I think we could handle things with the occasional five- or ten-minute phone call, initiated by either of us, depending on the situation. However, since we’ve never met face-to-face, would you like the chance to do so?”
“Yeah, absolutely.” He pulled himself out of his head enough to remember his manners. “Yes, ma’am. I’d appreciate that a lot.”
“I’ve had a cancellation, if you can make it here in about an hour. Or we can schedule another time.”
He could make it if he pushed himself. And he would. “If the employee I have covering me at the store is good to stay a while, I’ll be there. Thanks very much, Dr. Taylor.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Wilder. I believe you are a very special man, too.
After that remarkable statement, she disconnected the call.
Susan Taylor’s office was located in the nearby town of Rockingham, in a two-story medical building by the hospital.
Rory took the elevator up to the second level to reach her suite. Marjorie, her assistant, was in her forties. She wore a navy-blue dress and dangling earrings that looked like sparkling blue dolphins. Rory waited for Dr. Taylor in a comfortable waiting room with a pale green couch, matching guest chairs, and a soothing picture of lemons on an old wood table. The framed work was positioned over the sofa.
He imagined Daralyn here earlier. He bet she’d chosen the chair with the best view of that picture.
Just beyond Marjorie’s area, he could see Dr. Taylor’s office. The door was half-open, revealing another cozy space with warm colors, pictures of rustic farm scenes. A trio of pillar candles flickered on a side table, while a big box of tissues was placed within reach of the guest chairs.
Had Daralyn left the doc’s office crying? Or no reaction, just all closed in on herself? Did she feel unburdened, like going to confessional? Even knowing women had that peculiar habit of crying to help them feel better, Rory really didn’t like to think of Daralyn doing that without him around to comfort her.
Maybe next time he’d volunteer to take her to the appointment, instead of his mother doing it.
“Rory.” Susan Taylor stepped into the threshold. She was tall, had curly brown short hair, and wore gray slacks and a lavender blouse. The somewhat corporate business outfit was softened by the inviting expression on her face, and her choice of jewelry. A yin and yang pendant on a silver chain around her throat, and matching earrings. She also had a trio of chunky lavender and gray stone bracelets on one arm.
Surprise crossed her expression as her gaze coursed over him. She held out her hand. “Hello.”