More Trouble in Loveland, page 1
part #2 of Loveland Series
More Trouble in Loveland
Jennifer Peel
Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Peel
All rights reserved.
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To all the troublemakers in my life.
You know who you are.
Contents
Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Peel
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
“Don’t even get me going on his breath,” the woman told Dr. Mallard. Then she turned to her husband. “Why can’t you brush your teeth at night? Is that too much to ask?”
Her husband looked up from his dress shoes. His eyes said why am I here? He sat as far away from her as possible, hugging the arm of the couch. It wasn’t a good sign.
Dr. Ginny Mallard, whom I was shadowing, was at a loss for words. The wife had spent the last forty minutes of this session unloading on her husband. Did she ever have a laundry list— everything from his lack of help around the house to their lackluster sex life. And who could forget her diatribe about how he wasn’t ambitious enough? She couldn’t understand why, at thirty, he wasn’t making at least six figures. Unrealistic expectations, anyone?
The husband hardly offered a word the whole session, not even in his defense.
I wanted to whisper to Dr. Mallard that the situation was putting the husband in an unfair position. She should have never given the wife so much time. But what did I know? I was only a student in my practicum. And Dr. Mallard hated students.
I had to do something. Technically, I was allowed to speak. Or at least, I was supposed to be able to. Dr. Mallard had basically told me to keep my mouth shut before the session started. But if there was any hope for this couple, the husband needed a reason to try, and the wife, who’d dragged him there, must want to save the marriage. Right? She was the one who asked— or probably more like demanded— they attend couple’s counseling.
I took a deep breath and went for it. “Danica, tell us about your first date.”
Dr. Mallard’s head whipped my way. Her icy stare tried to intimidate me, but she had nothing on my husband’s ex-wife. I didn’t even flinch.
I faced the couple in crisis and waited for Danica’s reply. She was taken aback by the request. I remember feeling the same way once upon a time when I was asked the same question, by my favorite teacher and mentor, Professor Yost. One of the best days of my life.
Jake, the husband, became mildly interested, looked at his wife, and waited for her to say something. Curiosity, and maybe fear, played in his worn eyes.
Danica ran her fingers through her luxurious blonde hair and thought for a moment. But as soon as her gray eyes narrowed and face tightened, my hopes for ending this session on a good note went out the small window in the office.
Danica let out a disgusted breath before she let it all out. “It was every girl’s dream date.” Sarcasm clung to every word.
Jake’s brooding brown eyes hit his shoes.
“First, he was an hour late picking me up. We missed our dinner reservation, so we grabbed a pizza, and he drove me up to the mountains for a picnic instead.”
Sounded like my kind of date.
“Of course, it started to rain.” Danica was a downer.
That would have been excellent news for me. Dancing in the rain, or making out in the rain, or both at the same time— because we were talented like that— were some of my favorite things to do with Ryan.
“And to top it all off, he called me Leah when he dropped me off.”
Ouch.
That perked Jake up. His head turned toward her, a sinister smile playing on his lips. Oh, that couldn’t be good.
Yep, he snapped. Jake sat up, and it was like an imaginary hose had filled him with spite. Not that I could blame the guy, but after his forthcoming confession I could confidently say there were bigger reasons this marriage wasn’t working. I was sure this would be their last marriage counseling session. They were headed for divorce court.
“Leah,” he said her name like I would say Ryan’s. “I should have married her instead of you.”
The fire in Danica’s eyes was unquenchable, and it shot out at everyone in the room. “That’s my sister you’re talking about, you—”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Jake interrupted. His stare was scathing. “No, let me tell you something.” Then he pulled the pin out of his grenade. “Leah and I are sleeping together.”
In that moment, all the air was sucked out of the room in a silent but deadly blow.
Not even Danica uttered a word, but tears filled her eyes. Maybe a hint of remorse glimmered in Jake’s, but I mostly saw relief.
When Danica came to, she grabbed her bag and left, slamming the door on her way out.
Dr. Mallard and I focused on Jake, who shrugged. “It was a mistake to marry the hot sister.”
As a professional in training I had to keep from wrinkling my nose at his distasteful comment.
Jake proceeded to unload three years of misery and told how he had fallen in love with Leah, the cute but sweet sister who idolized him.
The upcoming holidays were not going to be fun in that family.
Dr. Mallard gave Jake a homework assignment to read a book about how to save a marriage in crisis. His smirk said he wasn’t going to read it. I was surprised she recommended it. Professor Yost said that was a sign of an unskilled counselor. She needed to be recommending divorce counseling. It was apparent Jake had no interest in saving his marriage, which was probably dead on arrival. But I sat like a good student again and took notes.
Once Jake left and it was time to fill out the paperwork, I got an earful from Dr. Mallard. I knew I would. I was in favor of a client-centered approach, and obviously she didn’t like adapting during a session.
“Why would you ask such a ridiculous question? Did you see what happened?” Her beady, dark eyes bore into me.
I stood my ground, or at least sat up tall in the uncomfortable, high-back chair I was sitting in. “My professor—”
Dr. Mallard rolled her eyes. “This is why I dislike dealing with students. Your professors aren’t living in the real world. They preach from glass towers.”
“Professor Yost was a practicing therapist for several years.”
That shut her down, at least for the moment.
“He believed a good way to tell if a couple had a chance in therapy was to ask them about a time like a first date or the wedding day so he could gauge how they remembered it and what stuck with them. Danica was obviously resentful, and I would say she never felt confident or comfortable in their marriage. And her behavior reflected her discontent and unease.”
Dr. Mallard stood up in clothes that screamed she hadn’t been shopping since 1985. Who still wore shoulder pads? “You have a lot to learn, and, thanks to you, the divorce rate will be holding steady. Don’t forget to fill out the paperwork.”
I let out a huge breath when she left. Why was I paired with her today? My last day of my practicum for the semester, and it had to be with her. All the other counselors and psychologists at the clinic loved me.
Before I finished up the case and psychotherapy notes, I pulled out my phone and called my favorite number. “I love you.” I didn’t even let him say hello.
“Rough sessions today?”
“How did you know?”
“Because I know you.”
The butterflies in my stomach still erupted when he talked to me like that. Some of them had been on a 24/7 bender ever since we were married six months ago.
“I could move some meetings around and come have lunch with you,” Ryan offered.
“Sounds perfect, but I have my last study group in an hour. I can’t wait until finals are over at the end of this week. And then we get Josh all to ourselves for two weeks. It’s going to be perfect.”
“Even with all the wedding chaos?”
“Thanks for reminding me.” My dad and Felicity were finally getting married on Christmas Eve. Their love affair had been a series of ups and downs. They had planned on getting married in May, but they broke up in April, only to rekindle in June at my surprise wedding. Summer was mostly good for them. The beginning of fall was iffy, but supposedly this was a done deal. I wasn’t so sure, but I was trying to keep my personal and semi-professional feelings out of it. I loved Felicity. I loved my dad. But they had more trouble in Loveland than most couples, as my dad liked to say. Not unlike Danica and Jake, my dad and Felicity had insecurities too. Unfortunately, a lot of them were fueled by Felicity’s mom. That dear needed to get a new hobby and stop bashing my dad. But I couldn’t think about it right now. I had finals, a husband who adored me, and a stepson I loved to pieces.
“I’m sorry. Take a breath, Charlee. I love you. And if you aren’t too tired tonight after Josh’s Christmas concert, I’ll show you exactly how much.”
The butterflies were now swearing. “I’ll do my best. Sorry I’ve been so exhausted lately, you know it’s not you, right?”
“I’ve been wondering,” he teased. “I know you’ve had a lot on your plate lately.”
My schedule had been insane. Between school, practicum, wedding, Ryan, Josh, Victoria (Ryan’s ex-wife), my best friend Krissy and her baby Taylar Ann (Krissy reneged on naming the baby after me. She went with her mom instead. What could I say to that?), I was wiped out. I fell asleep every night as soon as my head hit the pillow. I was being a pitiful newlywed, which was a shame because I loved every part of Ryan, and he was a rock star in the bedroom. “You’re always my main course.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me like that.”
I laughed. “I love you. I’ll see you tonight.”
“You have no idea how much I look forward to it.”
Believe me, I did.
Chapter Two
I wasn’t sure if I couldn’t eat because I was upset about the session with Dr. Mallard or if I was coming down with something. I was afraid it was the latter. I was having bouts of nausea, and my appetite was sunk. I shouldn’t be surprised. School, mine and Josh’s, was like a breeding ground for germs. Poor Josh had already been infected with strep throat and hand, foot, and mouth disease this school year. I hated when my big guy was sick, except it meant he would cuddle with me on the couch.
I held my abdomen on the drive to campus. I needed someone to cuddle with me. I wasn’t feeling all that hot. The timing couldn’t have been worse. I didn’t have time to be sick. Thankfully, I wasn’t working anymore. Ryan and I had decided my focus should be school and Josh. Ryan made more than enough to support us as a partner in my dad’s accounting firm, and we both wanted me to get through school so we could give Josh some siblings. I wanted nothing more than to have a baby with Ryan, but I had a semester left of schooling, plus a year internship to finish my master’s in counseling to become a licensed professional counselor. Professor Yost had suggested that route instead of a master’s degree in psychology. He thought I had a knack for it and that it would bring me more fulfillment. He was right. I’m glad I didn’t drop out of his class when he embarrassed me with a mock counseling session with Ryan at the beginning of the year; he had been a terrific mentor.
A few times I’d almost told Ryan we should just get down and start making that baby, but then I’d babysit Taylar Ann for Krissy, and that thought went right out the window. You had to keep your eye on those little things at all times. It’s like they’re hardwired to want to injure themselves. So we would wait one more year and then try. In the meantime, we would practice. Well, hopefully. Where had all my energy suddenly gone?
Mind over matter, mind over matter. I thought internally chanting this would help. Nope. I still felt like crap. Maybe it was nerves about finals and a vitamin deficiency. Anything but an illness.
I did my best to push through and met with my study group in the library. Our psychopathology exam was on Wednesday, and it was the toughest, best class I had taken that semester. It had given me such a good perspective about how all aspects, from biological, political, social, cultural, and psychological forces, define who we are. The professor was tough, but fair. Her term exams were brutal, and I didn’t expect this final to be any different. My guess was that it would be worse.
I took a page out of Ryan’s book for studying for exams and made flashcards for my group. Everyone loved me. They especially loved my smart-aleck cards like, What is the average number of nostril flares per class? Our professor was famous for her expressive nose. The answer was fifteen.
Our group was made up of seven people from diverse backgrounds. There was even a grandmother in our group, Penny. She had pink hair, and I adored her. I told Ryan when I turned sixty-five I was going pink, maybe blue. For some reason that didn’t surprise him. Probably because I had made him dress up as the Spartan cheerleaders from Saturday Night Live for Halloween this year. Or that I had made him jump on our trampoline in our wedding clothes after we tied the knot in our backyard. It was a tossup. I liked keeping him on his toes. And I loved that look he gave me that said, “What am I going to do with you, and why did I let you talk me into this?” I knew why. He loved me, plain and simple, even if I drove him crazy on occasion.
I did my best to stay alert and offer anything valuable to the discussion during the two-hour study group that felt more like ten, but I found myself leaning on my hand more often than not and yawning uncontrollably, all while feeling like I wanted to puke. And not the good kind, like the kind the butterflies made me feel around Ryan. I couldn’t even pay attention to the obvious budding romance between the woman in our group that was addicted to teeth whiteners and the beanpole guy with the deepest voice ever that fawned over her and clapped when she got the answers right.
My lack of participation didn’t go unnoticed. Penny caught up to me on my way down the hall afterward in her bright joggers and neon shoes. “Hey there, missy. You feeling okay? You’re normally the life of the party.”
I shifted my book bag around my shoulder. It took more effort than it should have. “I think I picked up something from Josh.” Everyone knew who that was. I talked about the kid incessantly and wore his noodle necklaces often. I had gotten an upgrade, and he’d made me one with chunky wooden beads he’d hand-painted at preschool. I would be wearing it proudly tonight at his concert.
Penny nudged me with her bony elbow. She hardly had any meat on her. Probably because she ran circles around everyone. “Are you sure you didn’t pick up anything from your husband?” She nudged me a few more times. “You know what I mean?” She wagged her eyebrows.
I stopped, confused. Ryan was never sick. “What do you mean?”
“Do you need a lesson about the birds and the bees?”
“Uh. No. I think I have that particular lesson down and memorized.”
Penny’s eyes lit up. “That’s exactly my point.”
I tilted my head.
“I know you’re not this dense.”
Now not only did I feel ill, I felt incompetent. “Um…”
“Are you pregnant?” The little old lady’s voice carried through the crowded hall, making everyone stop and stare at me.
Penny’s audacity and words bounced around in my head. I stood stunned. It took me a second to come to. “No.” What a ridiculous question, and it wasn’t any of her business. I began to walk away through the crowd of people still gaping at me. I gave them all my best “nothing to see here” look.
Penny didn’t get the hint and chased after me. She was spry for her age. She strung her arm through mine. “Listen, there is no tired like pregnant tired, and you have a sudden glow about you.”
“It’s a green glow from being sick to my stomach.”
She laughed. “Yep, you have all the signs.”
I wasn’t pregnant. We used birth control religiously. It was like a commandment in our home right now. Thou shalt always use contraception. “I’m sure whatever virus I have will pass over soon.”
Her cackle was a mix of amusement with a hint of “you’re so naïve.” “In about eight to nine months. But then the real fun begins.”
I wriggled out of her clutches. “I’m running late. I need to get going.”
“I bet you’re late.” She cackled again.
Late? Was I late? When I reached the privacy of my car I pulled out my phone. I had a handy app that tracked all my lady things. I clicked on it and, sure enough, I was three days late. Hmmm. That wasn’t completely abnormal. I’d been late before due to stress, and if ever I was stressed, now was the time. Between school, home, the wedding, and the holidays, my life was in a perpetual state of chaos. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t be pregnant, could I? That thought played in my head while I sat there in my cold car in a paralyzed state.
It’s not like it would be the end of the world. In fact, I knew Ryan would be thrilled. He’d been ready to have a baby since we said, “I do.” Or more like when I shouted “yes”— I’d been a tad excited that I was marrying the man I had been head over heels for since I was fourteen. I had fantasized about that day for twelve years. We had taken the long way around getting there, but I had guessed since he was twenty-two when I was fourteen that it made sense. And even though I knew when I was seventeen he was marrying the wrong woman, I was now glad that he had. We got Josh out of that deal, and I couldn’t imagine my life without that kid. I could imagine life without his mother some days. She had that “I just ate peed-on-Cheerios” look down and gave it to me frequently. I knew I was in for some of those looks tonight at Josh’s pre-school concert, where we all would be. I thought maybe since she was now dating her hoity-toity French boyfriend, Maxime, she would be more pleasant. But no, he had the peed-on-Cheerios look down too.
