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“Is this the psychotherapist you’re seeing for your…treatment?”
“It is. A lovely woman. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.”
“No. I imagine not,” her mother said slowly. “Not as a patient, at any rate. Socially, I’ve met several and have had positive interactions.”
“True, true,” she said lightly, leaning over to brush some invisible dust from her Prada loafers.
“And what does Charles think of you being a patient in a facility he manages?”
Karan groaned inwardly and braced herself. “He welcomed me, didn’t say much more. I’m not sure he knows specifically what I’m doing there.”
The cup settled in the saucer with an audible sound, and her mother said derisively, “Karan, everyone knows you’ve been court-ordered into treatment.”
“Thank you, Mother. That’s helpful to know.”
Georgia frowned thoughtfully. “You don’t think everyone will assume you divorced Charles because he was abusive?”
“Why would anyone assume that?”
“Why wouldn’t anyone assume that? You’re in treatment in a domestic violence facility. Ordered by the court. Charles is there volunteering his time. Seems rather obvious.”
“Mother, he’s an upstanding surgeon who’s been a part of this community for years.”
“But you were ordered there by the court rather than go to jail, dear. Not so upstanding, I’m sorry to say. Your life has become quite the sordid affair.”
Not a mention of the champagne that had gotten her in this mess. Of course not. Her mother had nothing to say about that. Not when the pot would be calling the kettle black.
But Karan had no intention of engaging, so she didn’t say anything. There could be no right response with her mother looking for a reason to argue.
“I have no way of knowing what people might think,” her mother continued. “I do know I’ve received many condolences from friends and acquaintances because you’re reflecting poorly on this family.” God, Karan hated this small town where there was nothing better to do than gossip. “I’m sorry for that.”
“Add your latest divorce, and I look as if I didn’t do my job properly as a mother.”
Except at this stage of the game, Karan was an adult who was entirely responsible for her own behavior.
She didn’t point that out.
“Drinking and driving, Karan. Honestly. You really should have had more sense.”
This from the woman who spent half her days working out and sweating in a sauna to reverse the effects of the alcohol from the night before.
But, in all fairness, her mother kept social drinking social. The rest of her drinking she did in the privacy of her own home so she didn’t get behind the wheel.
“No argument there, Mom,” Karan said carefully, trying to project sincerity. Too flip and her mother would go off all over her. But she couldn’t seem too eager to commiserate with the inconvenience her mother was enduring as a result of Karan’s mistake. She was, after all, the cause of the inconvenience, and her mother was nowhere close to stupid.
No, Karan’s only course of action right now was not to engage, weather the storm and flee as soon as she could.
Her chance came only blessed moments later when Abigail knocked at the door and slipped into the room, holding up a rolled linen napkin.
Blessed woman! This was a staged visit if ever Karan saw one. She seized the opportunity with both hands.
“Got to run, Mom.” Popping up from the chair, she hurriedly gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I’m taking a chance even being here with my restricted driving privileges.”
Seriously restricted.
Karan caught Abigail’s gaze on her way out and that one winked cheerily.
Then Karan was skimming down the staircase and out the front door. She had reached her car when her cell phone vibrated. She was almost afraid to look, fearing that her getaway wasn’t a clean one after all, but the display revealed a welcomed caller.
“Good morning, Susanna.” Karan cradled the phone against her ear and slid into her car.
There was a relieved sigh on the other end. “You sound completely awake for the crack of dawn on a Saturday. I would never have called you at this hour, but your message said—”
“No worries. I wanted this day off to an early start.”
“Really? Does this have to do with your first visit to New Hope? Tell me what happened.”
“It’s official, Suze. I’m in hell.”
A beat of silence. “Things didn’t go well yesterday?”
Karan turned at the end of the drive. “Whew, I’m back on the road and I wasn’t caught. Made a quick pit stop at my mother’s—”
“Are you crazy?”
Karan was about to reply that her mother had that affect on her as Susanna well knew, but Susanna didn’t give her a chance.
“I was in that courtroom, Karan. I saw Judge Jenny in action. Why would you give her a reason to send you to lock-up and throw away the key? Do you want to be incarcerated?”
“Actually might be the lesser of two evils at this stage of the game.”
“Things didn’t go well yesterday.” Not a question anymore.
Karan braked to slow her descent and maneuver a switchback curve, enjoying the way the sun dappled the road through the overhead trees. She had a flash of memory of how much this road had once felt like coming home. It had been one of the reasons she and Charles had decided to buy a place so close to Karan’s parents. She liked the welcoming feeling, and he’d liked the idea of being close to family.
Of course, her father had been alive then.
And she and Charles had been in love then.
“Let’s just say things didn’t go as expected,” Karan said. “You will never guess who’s a director at New Hope.”
“Not someone else who has it in for you, I hope.”
“Charles.”
“Your Charles?”
Karan chuckled. “That’s exactly what my mother said. Yes, I’m afraid. My ex—Charles.”
“Oh, you really are in hell.”
“Officially. Jack set me up, Suze. I know it. That rat. Mr. Police Chief probably felt the need to pound his chest and entertain his new wife by torturing her high school nemesis. Honestly. Don’t you think there should be some sort of statute of limitations on retribution?”
“That’s silly. Jack was trying to help you out. Are you sure he knew about Charles’s affiliation?”
“Quite sure.”
“Then he probably thought you were better off with Charles than Judge Jenny. That’s all.”
Karan gave a harrumph, unwilling to concede the point yet unwilling to argue. While she had dated Jack, her involvement with the man had ended in college. Susanna, on the other hand, had married her high school sweetheart, Skip, who had happened to be Jack’s best friend. That friendship had lasted right until Skip had died from non-Hodgkins lymphoma barely three years ago.
“Let’s move past Jack,” Susanna coaxed. “I want to hear everything about Charles.”
Karan knew exactly what Susanna was trying to do. She was too firmly entrenched with Bluestone Mountain society nowadays to be comfortable with this little trip down memory lane. She worked for Jack’s wife. Maybe not technically, but they both worked for the same management company, so they inhabited the same workspace forty-plus hours a week. Susanna didn’t want to discuss anything to do with Frankie Cesarini. And as Karan was on a time frame, she conceded with a sigh and let her best friend win this round.
CHAPTER SIX
“MAN, IT’S A DIFFERENT WORLD out here,” Charles whispered into the morning calm, his voice the embodiment of contentment.
The words were out of his mouth before he could catch them, inviting a reply and intruding on this alternate reality, where the only sounds were from nature. The forest buffered civilization, and though Charles knew Route 42 was out there somewhere, all he could hear was the current splashing over rocks and lapping the hull of the boat as this mountain tributary rushed toward the river.
The sun had been steadily rising. The light filtered through the trees on the riverbank and shone off the water, making him peel away a layer of clothing as the early-morning chill yielded to a perfect summer day.
Charles supposed he had Karan to thank since she’d introduced him to hiking on Devil’s Path so long ago.
Karan?
The thought of her came at him sideways. His fingers froze on the grip of his fishing rod.
How the hell had she intruded on his perfect day?
Okay, so maybe she’d been the first one to lead him on an expedition through the craggy trails of this mountain range. The high peaks and deep gaps themselves had spawned in him a love of the Catskills that didn’t look like it would be wearing off anytime soon.
Charles could also argue that growing up on the flat terrain of Florida had primed him for a change of scenery. That was, after all, exactly why he’d chosen Van Cortlandt College. To finally live somewhere with real seasons, although his mother always swore after a few winters up here, he’d come home again appreciating Florida’s temperate climate.
He hadn’t proven her right yet, and Karan had absolutely no place in his quarterly weekend trip with fellow anglers during the middle of trout season.
Or anywhere else in his life, for that matter.
He was relieved for the distraction of the inevitable reply when it finally came.
“Damned straight it’s another world,” Jay said. “Personally, I vote for not returning to the real one.”
Matthew gave a snort—laughter maybe.
That’s the way it always went on these fishing trips. Quiet reverence for the dawn eventually accelerated into excitement as they woke up, or whenever one of them hooked and landed a catch. And, of course, as the day heated they were forced to break open the beer cooler.
The guys were always the same, too. Matthew West, chief of staff at St. Joseph’s Hospital, had been hosting these seasonal trips for half a dozen years now. He owned the cabin. Jay Reiber, Internal Medicine, owned the boat. Henry Hyatt, ob-gyn, had the wonderful wife who always spent a week cooking so they wouldn’t starve while they were away. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring.
Charles wasn’t sure what his contribution was beyond filling the coolers with beer, but he wasn’t complaining.
“I thought that was always the plan?” Henry was still half-bent over the tackle box, spending more time knotting his fly than actually fishing because he insisted the lighter line would give him an edge.
Another unproven theory.
“Can’t swing it for a few more years,” Jay admitted. “Not unless Matthew puts me up in the cabin rent-free.”
Another snort from Matthew. Laughter definitely.
“You really think you can pay off those student loans in a few more years, Jay?” Charles reeled in for another cast.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I’m good with budgeting, and I don’t live beyond my means like others I won’t mention.”
“You general docs must not run up loans like we specialists do.” Henry laughed. “But I don’t think you’re going anywhere soon. You’d miss us too much.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Charles said. “Jay can always watch the videos if he gets lonely. Or did you miss that he brought the camcorder again?”
Henry glanced up from his line and followed Charles’s gaze to the photographic equipment in question, packed in pricey waterproof gear for the boat ride. Jay and his camcorder were also becoming a tradition.
“He didn’t notice because he never gives Jay anything to record and put on YouTube,” Matthew weighed in, earning a scowl from Henry.
“I am a man with a plan.” Jay dragged his line. “Angling Amateurs is getting quite the following on the internet, thank you very much. And when it grows up, I’m changing the name to Accomplished Anglers and spending my early retirement charging clowns like you big bucks to be taken to the best spots on every river and stream in the Catskills.”
“You go, Captain Jay.” Charles didn’t doubt the man would eventually accomplish mission objective. “But you might need a bigger boat.”
“I’ll have one. Or two. Or a whole damned fleet.”
“If you want footage to show your fan base, then you’d better grab your camcorder,” Matthew said. “I got one.”
It would be Matthew who scored first today, and with a quiet precision not unlike they used at the hospital when ambulances pulled into the E.R. and lives were on the line, they moved into action.
Jay grabbed the camcorder. Henry grabbed the net. Charles headed toward the gear as Matthew waged an exquisite battle with what appeared to be a sizeable catch.
“Brown,” Henry said, the first to spot the struggling fish on the end of the line.
“Henry called it,” Jay said. “Got a big brown here.” He was recording everything while narrating with educational, amusing declarations as he mocked Henry for his efforts while trying to net the twisting fish before it broke away.
Matthew cursed, and Jay howled with laughter as Henry fought to net the trout—a dozen pounder if an ounce.
“Watch closely, fellow anglers,” Jay’s radio-personality voice continued. “And see the amazing Henry net without netting. Looks like he’s tangling that fish. There you go—tangling. A brand-new technique and you saw it first on Angling Amateurs.”
He kept up the steady chatter while zooming in to watch Matthew work the brown free. Charles stepped in with the pliers and the gloves to assist.
Then came the display footage. They all knew the drill by now and Matthew stood in the official pose and held up the brown, who gasped obligingly for future viewers.
“A keeper,” Jay said.
Matthew agreed. “A worthy adversary.”
