 
# Shrink: The Unravelling of Jonothan King

## Chapter 1

Jeremy Green is 44 Dollars late for our appointment. I am glad; I needed to update my profile anyway.

"Sorry I am late" pants Jeremy, "I had to walk here ...and I am a little out of shape."

You are not out of shape... if the shape in question is a circle

"Not a problem at all Jeremy, please take a seat. How have you been going since our last session?"

Probably depressed and unmotivated as usual

"I've had a hell of a lot of trouble getting to my gigs lately" he confesses, with his usual air of self-deprecation. Jeremy is a professional jazz musician who somehow manages to do quite well. He always pays cash, which I always appreciate. Our government wastes its revenue anyhow.

In stark contrast to my VIG Chesterfield sofa, Jeremy's slobby appearance seems all the more off-putting today. I stifle a sigh, it's too early in the day for such a view. Donning his usual stained white polo shirt, Jeremy shifts nervously, clasping his sweaty, swollen fingers before rubbing them through his unkempt beard. I fight the sudden urge to wash my hands.

As he speaks of his tragic existence, I cannot help but ponder the miracle that is Jeremy's dentist. In contrast to his bloodshot eyes and saggy yellowing skin, and, well ... _everything,_ Jeremy has an incredible set of pearly whites. I half listen as I consider another whitening appointment with my own dentist before discarding the idea. My teeth are already perfect and I don't want them glowing in the dark. I lean forward slightly while nodding gently, the posture of an attentive, professional psychologist, but inwardly I grown; I have had this very conversation countless times with the man before me; once again we are treading over old roads.

My life is hard; nobody helps me, nobody cares... blah blah blah

"I am here Jeremy, and I care."

For the next 68 dollars at least

"Surely I cannot be the only one that cares for you, there must be other special people in your life?"

"My Mother" he replies shortly.

"Pardon me?"

"My mother was the best" Jeremy says wistfully, glancing at the hands now folded in his lap.

Fortunately, I possess an impeccable memory and rarely need to consult my notes. Unfortunately, I'm drawing a blank when it comes to Jeremy's mother. His abusive father we have discussed at length, for obvious reasons, but as I glance at my notebook I see 'mother' nowhere. I lean forward in my most encouraging manner; giving Jeremy a friendly smile. My charm enables me to excel in this profession and justifies my higher-than-average fees.

"Tell me more about her" I prod.

For the first time since meeting him I see a genuine smile playing on Jeremy's lips, at the mental recollection of his mother. "She was brilliant!" He gushes. "She was a musician too, though not professional. She taught me to play. She would sing me to sleep every night, even after dad had roughed her up. She had the voice of an angel. She would tell me that I was special, that she loved me and that no matter what I should reach for the stars."

... _And instead you reached for the cookie jar._

As he lavishly praises his mother, including stories of her cooking (which remind me it's nearly lunch), it is Jeremy's use of the past tense that tips me off. As he stares wistfully over my head I bring his focus back to the present by asking "Jeremy, what happened to your mother?"

Jeremy's gaze lowers to me and the intensity I see there is discomforting. I don't speak. Eventually, face pale, Jeremy drops his head and lifts his hands in resignation as he chokes out "the bus took her away..." I quietly take a deep breath. Jeremy continues, oblivious to my hesitation. "That was it... Gone! How can I believe anything she ever said to me if she was willing to do that? Maybe it was my fault..." He lifts his eyes to me again, this time full of desperation, pain, and rimmed with tears as if searching for an answer. It is a look I have seen in countless clients before. It is why I can afford my life.

Jeremy is certainly not my first client with some form of abandonment issues. People use countless avenues to leave their loved ones; taxis, aeroplanes, cars, boats, trains, physical abandonment, emotional abandonment... you name it, I've seen it. With the major issues stemming from an abusive father, I have overlooked the important by focussing on the obvious. I underestimated his mother's contribution to Jeremy's depressive condition. The lack of a mother would also account for his terrible dress sense. I silently curse myself for missing it; I don't usually forget to cover such basic information. I'm better than that.

"Do you know where your mother is now?" I ask.

"I have a pretty good idea, I think, and I don't think she would want to see me just yet." Jeremy's shoulders shrug until they sit under his ears. I try not to become too distracted at the sight, key moments like this are where breakthrough begins, I need to focus.

"How old were you when she left?" I clarify.

Jeremy looks to the ceiling. "I was 20, almost 21."

And she never taught you to look in a mirror?

I hide my surprise as I clarify, "so you were an adult when your mother left, is that correct?"

Jeremy winces, "I suppose."

"So, she looked after you, despite the difficulty and danger of her own situation, until you were old enough to look after yourself?"

Jeremy squirms in his seat before mumbling "umm... sure."

Before he begins on a self-pity trip and I lose our momentum, I confess quite genuinely "I am impressed. That's rather selfless of her Jeremy. That is a mother you can be proud of."

"I guess..."

"Look" I cut him off, striking while the iron is hot, "whether her going was right or wrong, she was right about one thing; you are capable of taking ownership of your own life, so let us start that today. In the short time we have left."

16 dollars' worth

"Let's make a plan. I want you to write your name at the top of this piece of paper. This week, I want you to list some ways you can prove your mother right and 'reach for the stars.'"

Gag

As Jeremy nods I begin, "let's start with getting to gigs on time."

Let's ensure the funds don't dry up, I'm thinking holiday in the Caribbean.

After back to back clients and a session at the gym, my apartment door opens and I inhale, smiling to myself; it's good to be me. Mid-thirties, successful career, attractive, with nothing to tie me down; the world is my oyster, which just so happens to be what I am making myself for dinner. A common mistake office workers make is thinking that they can sit on their ass all day, simply go to the gym, and then eat out without it affecting them in the long run. One way or another that lifestyle will make them pay for it, either with their health or through the nose. Fast food dinners account for the disgusting numbers of office workers with guts hanging over their belts as they wheeze their way through meetings- not that I am complaining too much, their marriage difficulties bring me business. With a financially privileged upbringing my tastebuds baulk at most fast-food, so that has never been an option for me regardless. The flipside is, eating out somewhere reasonable every night means either dining alone (which I refuse to do), or eating with company which, more often than not, ends up being work at the dinner table or paying the pricey bill for two. I have a good body and large bank account, I am disciplined enough to keep it that way, so I cook. Besides, I am a _great_ cook.

Taking a look around at my no-expense-spared apartment, my elated mood plummets as I note that the cleaner has neglected to clean the corners of the balcony door where the salt spray has left a mist. I let out a groan, another call I'll have to make tonight. Setting the oysters on the marble island of my kitchen and pouring myself some Muscadet, I open the balcony doors. Stepping out into the breeze, the sound of gulls, waves and an occasional horn reach me as I gaze over the trawlers moored at the docks. Nearly sunset and the end of another day. I breathe in the deep salty air, and most of my peace is restored, I love this place.

## Chapter 2

As the 60's throwback drones on I cannot help but be furious at my conversation with the cleaner last night. Cleaner, ha! The job description is in the title, and they still can't get it right. Why should I pay so much for a service anybody can do, but doesn't get done? I don't make excuses for not doing my job, I just do it.

The hippy hasn't noticed her glasses have almost slipped off her face, which is surprising considering the thickness of those rims. 12 dollars left, I had better wind this session up.

"It was so great to see you today" I say, without genuine enthusiasm as I show Mrs Magoo out. "You are making so much progress and I will not need to see you for another month."

Let's see who is next.

A new client, actually a couple. I enjoy the challenge of marriage counselling, it brings an entirely different mathematical equation. 20 dollars into the session and the obvious problem is revealed. Jade is one of the most instantly unlikable humans I have ever met. It is not just the manicured nails, overuse of makeup, her _career_ as a blogger, or her ridiculous fake lips. It is _everything_ about her. She is the epitome of obnoxious and somehow she married Alex; a handsome, gentle, kind-hearted man.

This is going to be fun.

"What brings you both here today?"

Jade glares at Alex with a look that says 'you had better speak now.'

"We have been fighting, a lot." Alex answers with a frown.

Hopefully it got physical

His voice is deep and calm, like a cross between Barry White and Frasier Crane. I have always admired how Northern African men carry themselves with a certain cool charisma. Actually, come to think of it, I have never men an African Man married to a Chinese Woman. There are quite a few interracial combinations I have never seen.

"Alex is always day dreaming and drifting through life" Jade barks, taking over the conversation despite her earlier mute threats for her husband to speak. "We have been married for 7 years now, and I am always the one leading the way. He does not have any ambition. He does not bring any innovation. If it were up to Alex, we would spend the rest of our lives in the same house, with the same friends, doing nothing new and exciting." Jade waves her hands violently as she speaks, sitting so close to the edge of the chair that she is almost toppling off. Her screeching voice is unbearable.

Japanese Man, Canadian Woman?

"What is it you do for a living Alex?" I enquire, taking the focus off Jade

"I am a surveyor sir."

"Please Alex, call me John. A surveyor... that is an interesting job, my cousin is a surveyor in the mining industry. Are you also in mining?"

"No Sir, I mean, John. I am in the construction industry, mostly residential, and occasionally commercial." Despite his formalities, Alex is a great conversationalist and engages with the right amount of eye contact, smiles and a relaxed air.

"Nobody Cares!" Jade barks again, interrupting our conversation, this time hissing her insult. Does she think I cannot hear her? Perhaps hearing her own voice for so long has rendered her deaf.

Samoan Woman, French Man?

"What is your blog about Jade?" I query, resigned.

"It is an evolving project" she says enthusiastically, probably because we were _finally_ talking about her. "It started as a blog about raw foods and whole grains, but now I am teaching people about the effect food has on moods and emotions. My movement is called _mood food_!" she declares with a proud pout.

Scottish Man, Sri Lankan Woman?

Although I cannot care less about Jade, or her voodoo blog, we still have 180 dollars left in the session and after allowing her to drone on a few minutes I am already running out of steam. This woman is so draining.

I reach for a sip of water and continue, "this is a little unorthodox Jade, but I was hoping to have a chat to Alex privately, while you go and have a coffee downstairs. I have an account at the coffee shop; feel free to get anything you like." I show her my winning smile, although since she is oblivious to her husband's charms, perhaps she is immune. I hope not.

Thankfully, Jade was pleased with my suggestion. I can only assume her arrogance surmised that Alex needed some one-on-one time to fully understand his failings, so she happily agreed to grace us with her absence.

Eskimo Man, Australian Woman?

"Alex" I turn to him, once Jade has slammed the door with more force than the hulk. "I realise we have only been going for 30 minutes, but it is my professional opinion that you and Jade are severely incompatible, and that you really ought to look at getting out of this marriage."

Alex's eyes widen and I can hear his sharp intake of air. "I cannot do that Sir... John" Alex replies, grinning sheepishly at his perpetual need to knight me.

"Why not Alex?" I momentarily lose my professional composure. "She is a mess, and you are amazing. You could have any woman you wanted. Why do you subject yourself to the nastiness and venom of that self-absorbed woman?" I point towards the door, which thankfully is still on its hinges after the assault.

Alex looks up with an expression I can't quite identify, and a flash of Jeremy's face yesterday enters my mind. For the second time in as many days I am holding my breath waiting. Holding Alex's stare, I do not know if he wants to punch me or hug me. Maybe the look is not even about me?

He finally speaks with a voice full of conviction. "When I married, I married for life." He pauses, so I remain silently waiting. "I know that Jade can be a handful but that is why we are here sir. I want this marriage to work. I need this marriage to work. I will do whatever it takes to see Jade become the woman I know she is capable of becoming. Everybody has a story sir, Jade included."

It appears that Alex has not taken offense at my earlier suggestion, but I silently resolve to regain professionalism regardless. We both sit silently for several moments before I chime in. "Alex, while I may not personally share your view of marriage, on a professional level I am here to my best to help. I must admit, I admire your commitment."

Though I think it is foolish

We spend several minutes chatting about Africa, marriage and life in general. Alex is not like anybody I have ever met before, and I am drawn to him like the brother I never had. Being in his company is not burdensome, unlike his witch... I mean wife.

About to ask more about Jade, I am interrupted by my mahogany door crashing open under the power of our oriental maniac. "The coffee tasted like dirt" she spits accusingly in my direction, as if I had poured the shot myself.

I look at the clock, time's up. "Thank you Alex and Jade for coming in today" I say, ushering them toward the exit. "I would like to see you weekly if possible. Please check my availability on the way out and take a copy of the fee schedule."

Iranian Man, Norwegian Woman?

## Chapter 3

The high-pitched hiss reminds me that the seal on my la Marzocco will need replacing soon. I grunt, remembering the sales adviser trying to talk me out of ordering the side panels in custom olive green; clearly his dubiousness was unwarranted. Although the shot was exactly 14 grams, my double espresso was good, but not great. Thankfully the hollandaise is my best to date, which is some feat considering the underappreciated complexity of this delicious sauce. Add the fresh salmon from the dock, (caught this morning), and my Saturday is beginning perfectly with some superb eggs benedict, two double espressos, and a view most people would kill for.

Sarah is still sleeping; I'll send her on her way when she wakes up. She is a fine friend with fine benefits. I am glad she relieved some of my tension last night because Jason is coming into town later today. Still, I have a few hours to relax before the quarterly pissing contest recommences so I decide to make a call. Mr Lopez, my barber downstairs, is available at ten so I pop down for a trim and a cut-throat shave. I do love the lighting in Mr Lopez barber shop.

You have still got it, John

Jason started going grey far before me, I muse, examining the dark colour of the full head of hair in my reflection which has recently acquired a few grey hairs. If anything though, they help me look more distinguished, it certainly hasn't kept the women away. He claims his job as a banking consultant is to blame but I just think he has a low tolerance for negative tension. He has never been very cool under pressure. I smile, and my perfectly straight pearly whites remind me of Jeremy.

How on earth does a guy like Jeremy keep his teeth so white?

Mr Lopez finishes up, immaculately as usual. I pay him, tipping handsomely, and grab a newspaper before heading back upstairs. Although her Christian Dior scent lingers, Sarah has showered and left. I have two hours until Jason arrives, so I hit the gym then suit up for lunch at the marina.

"Is this seat taken, or is your imaginary girlfriend coming back?" touts Jason, in his typically predictable manner. If you could bottle Jason and make him into cologne, it would surely be called the _essence of schmuck."_

I stand up and Jason and I _man-hug_ according to our custom. A man-hug with Jason always treaded the fine line between aggressive respect and violence. If an onlooker observes the embrace, they would be unsure if we love or hate one-another; I sometimes wonder myself.

Jason sits opposite me, removing his jacket and banging his phone on the table.

"It's nice to see you Jason; it has been a long time. What has been happening in your world?"

"Not much Jonny, just the usual. Venture capitalists, networking, international acquisitions... You know how it is, same thing, different day."

Schmuck

"That's good to hear, but come on Jason, call me Jonathan."

"Sorry Jonothan, I forgot you hate being called Jonny" he replies, somewhat sincerely. "How's life in the Shrink business?" he inquires, with half-hearted interest as he observes the surrounding tables.

"Same thing, different day" I tease, examining his new suit. "People spend all week lining up to throw money at me. I could think of worse ways to spend my days."

Pissing contest in session

Jason always bemoaned the fact I bought my apartment before the property boom. He would never admit his jealousy, but I remember him teaming up with my father while we were in college. They were both trying to persuade me to become a full-fledged psychiatrist, instead of starting my own practice. Fools! The extra three years I would have spent studying provided my down payment on the apartment. The apartment doubled in value over the next 4 years. I insisted we ate at this marina, even though the trout was usually overcooked because my apartment building always casts an imposing shadow over the restaurant at this time of year.

"Speaking of imaginary girlfriends, do you ever see Sarah anymore?" Jason enquires, this time fully engaging in the conversation. "She is one hot woman Jonothan" he says with an inappropriate smile, eyebrows jumping. "I cannot believe _she_ let _you_ touch her" he smirks as I shake my head. In our thirties and he is still behaving like a teenager. "Do you still see her?" he presses.

"I saw her last night actually, and this morning before breakfast" I reply smoothly, grabbing for my sunglasses, bothered by the glare.

"No you did not you lying bastard!" Jason booms, as he slaps his hand on the table leaning forward, drawing the attention of several nearby guests. I remain silent, knowing the mystery would mess with him.

"Did you really go there?" he asks in the worlds loudest whisper. A dog with a bone, it's what made him good in his line of business. "John, did you really get some last night?" I shrug, it's not as if getting laid is a new experience for me, we both know this, but Jason has always idolised Sarah. "Jonothan!" Take your sunglasses off so I know if you're playing!" I keep my sunglasses on, knowing he can see my raised eyebrow.

"Ah! I _know_ you wouldn't still be with her" he continues, conversing out loud, yet by himself like Russel Crow in _the beautiful mind_. "She was always a ball breaker anyway. I know you're a weakling, but at least you know you need to wear the pants" Jason concludes, complimenting me in his own unique way.

"Would you like some drinks or starters, gentlemen?" chimes the pleasant waitress, changing the subject with impeccable timing.

"I will have a latte with an orange san Pellegrino thanks" said Jason eagerly.

"And I'll have a pint of lager with some pistachios please" I order, wondering why Jason was not drinking a real drink.

Alcoholic?

"Hey, guess who gave me a call this week?" asked Jason with a surprisingly interested disposition.

"The 90's... Asking for their haircut back?" I shot back, impressed by my own wit.

Jason just ogles at me and tries not to laugh, I can see the corner of his mouth turn upward slightly; I'll take that as a point for team John.

"It was your Father" he says, without blinking or breaking eye contact.

What!

"Oh really" I reply in my forced disinterested tone, "I didn't know you two kept in touch."

"We bump into each other now and then" he admits, while tapping the sugar sticks on his side plate like a toddler.

"That's interesting" I muse aloud. The timing of the subject ironic, "I was only just thinking about the last time all three of us were together in one place. It was back in college, do you remember?"

"Vaguely" Jason replies, while folding and re-folding his napkin.

"How is the old prick?" I ask with a grin that surprises Jason and causes him to blink twice.

"Looking forward to retirement" nods Jason, expecting I knew this fact.

What Jason could not understand about my Father is that he is the ultimate manipulator. While some sharks are scamming you on two levels, my Father always had a third, or a forth. On the surface, he was charming, witty and intelligent, but while you are focussed on his face, he is stealing your wallet, or your soul. Growing up with that gives you excellent practice at reading people.

Let's think about this John

Dad knows about my quarterly pissing contest with Jason. He just happens to call Jason weeks before this date. He speaks about his retirement knowing Jason would bring this up over lunch. Why?

He needs something from me!

Father dear needs something from me! This is great!

"Are you ready to order Lunch?" asks Miss pleasant as she arrives at our table, interrupting my chain of thought.

"Sure!" I boom, feeling suddenly empowered, "I'll have the rib-eye, medium rare, with seasonal vegetables and pepper sauce. Also, please bring me a Macallan 25, I'm celebrating." Miss pleasant smiles as she writes down the order.

Jason lights up, assuming my 25 is about him. "I'll have one of those too" he exclaims, with an odd crooked smile.

"Anything to eat sir?" she asks Jason with a cute giggle as she fixes her fringe and rests her pen on her bottom lip.

"I will have the trout please, it looks fantastic" he looks up at the waitress with a wink.

Schmuck

## Chapter 4

I am optimistic about my schedule today, Alex and Jade are my first clients and I am looking forward to seeing Alex again. Since our last session, I have played poker with some of the lads from my building; hopefully after Alex is no longer a client, he could come play poker too. My last conversation with Alex drove me to reacquaint myself with the experts in marriage counselling. Even though it has been years since I studied, Professor Baker was more than happy to forward me his latest research, and most relevant articles. Professor Baker always liked me, probably because I aced his classes.

My mahogany door jumps to life again, likely under the force of Jade Mao.

"Good morning Jade" I exclaim sharply, expecting Alex to trudge in slowly behind.

"Good Morning John" She shoots back, firmly closing the door behind her.

"Please, call me Jonothan. Is Alex parking the car?"

"No, he is sick! He has a stomach issue so he is not coming."

Cyanide?

"He is such a weak man!" Jade grunts, as she slides onto the VIG Chesterfield and slams her keys on the table.

Self-Induced?

"That is fine" I say with a forced smile. "It gives us some time for me to hear your story, and get to know a little more about you." My optimism quickly turns pessimism. If this is happening first up, I dread what will happen with the rest of my day.

"Just for your information" I continue, "I am still required to charge you the full rate for a couple, even though Alex cannot be here. We can settle that account on the way out today".

"Ok" says Jade, checking her purse is in her handbag.

"You seem like a very interesting woman Jade" I start, "How is it that you came to live in this city, and be married to Alex?"

"He hired me for an hour on New Year's Eve nine years ago" blurts Jade, getting straight to the point. Obviously she recognises as much as I that we were already 25 dollars into the session and she wants to get her money's worth.

"What do you mean, _hired_?" I asked. Alex does not seem like the prostitute type to me, so I want to clarify in case Jade was mixing her words.

"He hired me for 1 hour while I was working at a massage parlour" she clarifies, still messing around with her handbag.

"Oh, so you were a masseuse?" I announce, somewhat relieved by that information

"No, I was a whore" she says bluntly, piercing me with her dark eyes.

Who says "whore" anymore?

"Alex was new to the country" she continued, "and he wanted some company. It was New Year's Eve; nobody likes to be alone on New Year's Eve."

I nod. Jades directness was disturbing but somewhat refreshing. It usually takes around 120 dollars to get to the real issues; she was almost doing my job for me. Her past work must have given her an appreciation of an hourly rate. Jade left her date of birth blank on her initial assessment form, but if I had to guess, I would say she is 39 or 40, which means she met Alex when she was around 31.

How could a man committed to lifelong marriage hire this dirty prostitute for an hour? It does not make sense!

Jade sits pondering a moment. "Alex was not like any other man I had ever been with. He touched me so deeply; I will never forget feeling so open."

Yuck

"How long had Alex been in the country before this night?" I ask, attempting to shake that disturbing visual image.

"Ten days. Alex was here on a mission."

I had not realised that Alex was in the army. That makes sense. I guess after being deployed, any man could be tempted by easy sex; even if you had to pay. Alex was a good looking man, and it was New Year's Eve... _Surely_ he could have found a stunning woman to bunker down with?

"For the next year, Alex hired me at the same time every week" Jade confessed, with a look of shame pushing through the excessive make-up. "We fell in love."

What?!

"Sorry Jade, I think I may have misheard you?" I ask, hoping my ears had failed me. "Were you still a prostitute during this whole time?"

"Yes."

Reeling, I maintain my poker face. "Did Alex know this?" I ask, trying to mind-map this mess

Staring at me incredulously she replies "Of course he did! How do you think he was able to hire me? I did not do house calls, they are not safe!" she points out, as if all prostitutes have an occupational health and safety manual.

"How long had you been working in the industry?" I ask, trying not to humiliate her further, but feeling the urge to find out more. It is not as if I do not have clients who pay for sex, or prostitute themselves, but I am having a hard time reconciling it with the woman before me and the man who sat across from me a week ago. Maybe she is lying to me for attention, although the crack in her demeanour would suggest otherwise. It would explain her brashness.

"13 years." Jade looks straight through me, as if remembering something significant

Maybe this is why she left her date of birth blank? If my assumptions were correct, it meant she started in prostitution when she was 18. Not exactly a career choice that would have pleased her parents. While others dreamt of college or travel, Jade dreamt of cheap sex with strangers.

"Well it is a wonderful thing that you have found love and life with Alex. I realise that a colourful past often places significant strain on relationships, and I appreciate you sharing truthfully with me. When Alex and I spoke, he assured me that he would do anything to see this marriage succeed. Jade, do you feel the same way? Are you committed to seeing this through and doing whatever it takes to make it work?"

Jade looks at me silently

That was not a rhetorical question

I continue, "I have seen some couples separate over far less, and others succeed overcoming far more. The main attribute that divides those that make it and those that do not, is the commitment and tenacity of those involved."

Jade stands up as she retrieves her purse from her extraordinarily large hand bag. "I will fight" Jade whispers, leaving the cash on the table, quietly closing the door behind her as she leaves.

Jades early departure gives me extra time to take case notes... I am appreciative; this is going to be complex.

## Chapter 5

Jeremy's ample frame once again dwarfs my VIG Chesterfield Sofa. He was only 16 dollars late today, which is a record for Jeremy, and a shame for my half-updated profile.

"A fortnight ago, I asked you to list some ways you can prove your mother right by reaching for the stars; did you manage to make that list?" I ask, continuing where we left off.

"No, I forgot" he admits looking into the air, as if either the stars he were reaching for were stuck on my ceiling or his list was miraculously going to fall from the sky.

"Forgot to bring it, or forgot to do it?"

"Both" he winces.

I nod and sit for a moment in silence. "It is important that you try and complete any tasks I give to you. Today before you leave, we will make sure to put a reminder in your phone diary. Did you manage to get to all your gigs on time Jeremy?"

"I did!" beams Jeremy, "I only had three, but they were all excellent. One of the club's I played at is co-owned by Jo Pesci."

Excellent! Because I am now leaning toward Phuket

"What made these gigs so special?" I ask, surprised by Jeremy's sudden enthusiasm.

"The first one was just a usual session, but between the next two gigs, I got to play 6 different instruments. On Monday, I played the clarinet, sax and oboe. On Thursday, at Jo's place, it was the steel guitar, alto sax and trombone." I am about to interject but he continues "Do you play anything Jonothan?"

"I used to play guitar in college, but I haven't played in years."

"Hell, that's a shame" he shakes his head as if in mourning, eager to continue speaking about music. "Not many people know what an oboe is, but it can sound funky with the right accompaniment. I currently also play the trumpet and jazz flute" he exclaims with the look of a proud teenager.

That equals 8 Jeremy; you once told me it was 11.

Exaggeration is often indicative of deeper issues. Usually, it is an overflow of low self-esteem. Other times; people exaggerate to sound interesting when their life is vanilla. I think Jeremy did this to impress me.

"I am really proud of you Jeremy" I say, as genuinely as possible. "Even though it was only three gigs, you made it to all of them on time. That equals 100 percent."

What am I a kindergarten teacher?

Jeremy doesn't notice how patronising that sounded, instead his face is plastered with a satisfied smile. He looks into his lap with his fingers folded, as he often does. I allow him a few moments to sit in his contentment before I continue. "Jeremy, would you mind if we spoke about your mother for a while?" I wanted to delve more into the subject.

"I guess so" Jeremy shrugs, instantly losing his satisfied demeanour.

"I am aware that your father used to push your mother around when you were a child. May I ask, what did you usually do while this was happening?" I keep my voice calm but intentional.

A sigh with the volume of a cyclone blows from Jeremy before he answers. "Usually I would hide under the piano cover, praying it would finish quickly" Jeremy confesses breathlessly.

"Tell me, what else do you remember?" I prod gently.

Jeremy continues slowly, sweat now building under his drooping eyes. "Even though I was hiding... and he could not see me" he pauses taking finicky breaths, "I could see him... and hear him." He shakes his head quickly in an attempt to dislodge the memories.

"Please go on Jeremy" I say gesturing around us, "this is a safe place."

"I think hearing was even worse than seeing" he recalls. "To this day, the sound of a punch or a slap on bare skin makes me sick in the guts. I can't stand to watch boxing, or UFC, or anything with one person going out to bash another." I can see by the look in his eyes that this statement is painfully true. "I hate it" he continues breathing heavy, "because some of the clubs I play at have a sports-betting den. More often than not, fighting is on screen and it just makes me sick."

Motivation to turn up at the last possible moment perhaps?

Running through my options I chose my next question carefully. The possibilities from here are endless but within a split second I have evaluated the available scenarios and I settle with the cliché. "When you were hiding, and watching, how did it make you feel?"

Jeremy sits, mouthing words silently, still looking into his lap.

Several moments into the silence, he replies, "Helpless... hopeless... weak." His tears are now mixing with the sweat under his eyes and rolling down his cheeks, disappearing into his increasingly damp facial hair.

Does he shampoo his beard?

"I never had the guts to stop my father" he sobs. "Everything inside me wanted to do something, but I was too scared. I never tried, not even once. I look back now and I know I should have tried. It would probably be a beating for me, but maybe mum would have had a night off." Jeremy's pudgy hands rub his eyes with a disturbing intensity. Those giant hands remind me that if genetics had anything to do with it, it is likely Jeremy's father had a fearsome stature and I wince at the thought.

I allow Jeremy his moment of grieving before stopping him. "Jeremy, look at me when I tell you this. You cannot blame yourself for fearfully hiding, nor can you hold yourself responsible for the actions of others." I wait a moment to allow my assessment to sink in. "You were a child, and a child should never be exposed to that level of trauma. _Nobody_ should be exposed to abuse." Jeremy nods. "In saying that, your feelings regarding your father's abuse are common. Many people that witness domestic violence feel shame, guilt, fear, depression and anger."

"But when will all the pain leave?" Jeremy interrupts, with stark desperation. "When will I be able to be _happy_? Why did this happen to me? Hell, I didn't do anything wrong!"

Once again, I let the moment linger

"Jeremy, look at me" I command again, waiting for his eyes to lock on mine. "Most children that live through your childhood believe that violence is the best way to solve problems. They are more susceptible to alcohol abuse and addictive behaviour. They are easily drawn into criminal activity, and often reproduce the cycle of abuse. You have done nothing of the sort. All things considered, you have actually been quite successful. Are you a broken person? Yes. But your brokenness will either lead you to victory or defeat. I am here to make sure this ends in victory."

Jeremy looks up, tears now trickling instead of streaming. "But I feel so alone" he admits, with the innocents of a child after the first day of school. "I try and make friends with people but I know they don't care. I haven't had a date in 11 years!" he chokes. "People come and talk to me after gigs, which is ok I guess, but I know they are not interested in being friends, or girlfriends, or _anything_."

Jeremy starts becoming angry as he recalls his continual rejection. I welcomed the fire; anger can be a useful emotion. "I started volunteering at a homeless shelter, so I could bring the gentleman soup, and play for them as they ate."

"That is a positive idea" I interjected, but Jeremy kept talking.

"The director of the refuge told me to stop coming, he thought my music and my personality depressed people even further! Even when I try my best, it does not work out and nobody wants me around! Life is shit!"

Not mine

Jeremy launched into a 68 dollar monologue as the session went into autopilot. Although this man is far from eloquent, at least he shoots from the hip. I absentmindedly take notes and respond with non-verbal affirmations while Jeremy lets it fly. I do not believe in the value of free association but today, it seems to be working wonders. I interject with 8 dollars to go, reminding Jeremy that our time is coming to a close.

"Jeremy" I say assuredly, "you have done very well this week. How many gigs do you have in the next fortnight?"

"Four" he responds, shuffling his belongs together.

"Alright then. How about we give you the same challenge again. If you get to all four of your gigs on time, we will consider that a substantial victory and a significant step in the right direction." I nod encouragingly. "I would also like you to put a reminder in your phone to write that list. I do not want you to forget about it again."

He takes a few moments to compose himself before standing up and thanking me. He then smiles and I realise he is coming forward in an attempt to hug me. As an expert detector of unnecessary displays of emotion, I anticipate and deflect his unrequited gesture politely. We shake hands; he gives me his cash, and Jeremy is on his way.

"See you next time Jeremy" I say as he parts, feeling confident about the way the session unfolded.

Nicely done Jonathan, nicely done

## Chapter 6

Grace walks in and looks around. Her admission sheet says she is 32; but the years had been kind to her, I would have guessed 24-25. I enjoy the excitement of meeting a new client. They could be anything from a nympho to a retired criminal. I have pegged Grace as the unconfident girl next door with social issues and a hidden secret.

"Good Morning Grace, it is nice to meet you" I say in welcome. I shake her small soft hand before she sits in the middle of the sofa.

"Good morning Mr King, it's nice to meet you too" Grace replies confidently with a gentle smile.

Call me Jonothan?

"So why have you come to see me today Grace?"

"I would like to talk to you about my husband, Chris." Grace replies, reaching for the courtesy water nobody ever drinks.

"Grace, I have ample experience and training dealing with married couples, and I must say from the outset that it is far more effective if both parties attend the session."

"Oh, I understand Mr King, but there is _no way_ Chris would go for it" Grace laughs, rolling her eyes and smiling in an endearing fashion.

Talk to a stranger about my personal life, I wouldn't either.

"Now why is that?" I ask, throwing back a disarming grin

"He thinks you are all quacks" she confesses with an apologetic smile, wrinkling up her nose as she does so. Her eyes roam as she continues, "I _did_ ask Chris to come along but he does _not_ think it is necessary. I have his blessing to spend the money, so long as I do not drag him into it." She stops short, her gaze eventually returning to me as she says breathlessly, "Mr King, I must say, this office is _amazing_!" I realise then that her wondering gaze is not some autistic throwback, but that she has been unabashedly drinking in my office surroundings while holding her end of the conversation. I hold back the proud smile threatens to break out as I watch her eyes roam admiringly around the room once again. I insisted on decorating this room myself and I am secretly glad each time a client appreciates it, though most are too self-involved or too uncultured to notice. Grace's big blue eyes wander over the bookshelf, the exposed brick wall, and finally rest on me. She flinches when she notices I have caught her looking and she instantly blushes bright pink against her pale skin, glancing down as she flutters her eyelashes. She takes a sip of water, actively avoiding my gaze.

Flirt. You're not my type... 7, maybe 8 at best.

"Thank you Grace. I quite like it myself" I respond as she smiles at the floor. "Please, Mr King is so formal and we are roughly the same age, Jonothan, or even John is fine. How long have you been married Grace?"

Now recovered from her embarrassment, Grace looks up. "3 years."

"And how long have you been together?"

"3 ½ Years" she grins defiantly, knowing I would assume she jumped in too soon. I feel the edge of my mouth twitch at her pluck, but I plough on, we can circle back to poor decision making skills another time.

"How long have you felt like you needed help?"

She takes a deep breath and smiles as she confidently answers "2 years and 364 days." She chuckles and I raise my eyebrow amused. She has a decent smile.

"Why don't you tell me about Chris?" I settle in.

"Ok, but there is a lot to cover" Grace replies.

That's ok, we have 204 dollars left

"That's ok, we have plenty of time left."

Grace begins with a nod, "Chris has all the potential in the world. He is smart, funny, sexy, and playful," she says with an obvious fondness. "He is an excellent communicator and is brilliant with people. When I first got to know him, I was actually trying to set him up with my sister because I wanted a brother like Chris, plus I thought he would make her happy. Chris was not interested in my sister, but he did start pursuing me." Grace tucks a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear, and her gaze lowers as if embarrassed. "At first, I wasn't interested, but something told me he was the man I was supposed to marry, so I did. He is a lot of fun" she insists, now meeting my gaze with a smile dancing across her face, "and marriage with him is definitely an adventure."

"What about the other side of Chris?" I speculate, assuming there is another side- she wouldn't be here if there wasn't. She blushes slightly and shifts on the couch. It appears as though she is not accustomed to bad-mouthing her spouse.

_Unusual_.

"Essentially..." she begins slowly, "I think he is a man-child." She smiles guiltily with a shrug, once again reaching for the water. I remain silent, waiting for her to overcome her discomfort and elaborate. She takes another deep breath before she begins, carefully choosing her words.

"He is so self-absorbed that he does not value or respect other people. The other day, we were talking with my good friend, and he walked away mid-conversation because he got bored. Later when I reminded him about it, he said he thought the conversation was finished... He was the one talking at the time!" She laughs, but I can clearly see the pain locked in her eyes. I raise my eyebrows but sit silent, waiting for her to continue. She sighs.

"He makes jokes at my expense while we are at parties, and his friends give him courtesy sneers that he somehow hears as roaring laughter. All of them have spoken to me on the side about how they hate it when he belittles me, but none of them have the balls to say anything to his face. His friend Garreth once called him out, years ago, and Chris has not spoken to him since." Grace shakes her head. "Nobody challenges him because when he is _not_ being a tool, he is the very best. He makes people feel good about who they are. He is a brilliant encourager" she asserts.

Grace continues with more gusto, "If he gets a sniff of anyone's potential talent, he has the ability to draw that out in them. He has this incredible way of making people feel at ease. He makes friends with strangers everywhere we go, if he is in the mood. I have never met anybody else with his ability to break down walls and barriers" she says with an air of admiration in her voice. "Ironically, people line up to be his friend, but he does not truly think anybody is worth his attention. He is a complete riddle. He is the most amazing, hurtful, brilliant, broken, harsh, charismatic person I have ever met, and I love him to the core." With her elbow on her knee Grace leans her head on her hand and sighs as if her confession has left her exhausted.

Gullible girl falls for bad boy. Bored.

"What about intimacy and love making?" I ask, attempting to move the conversation away from gushing praise to something which could potentially be a little more interesting.

"No thanks Jonothan, I am happily married" laughs Grace, her quick wit taking me by surprise, but lightening up the mood.

I laugh a little, but press on, realising it is likely that she is deflecting. "Grace, often a couple's sex life reflects the nature of their relationship. I understand this may be uncomfortable for you, but in order to see the full picture I need to ask these questions. What is Chris like when it comes to intimacy and love making?" I have a feeling this is going to be hard for her, so I lean in and wait patiently.

Grace gathers her thoughts. "For Chris, sex is the ultimate expression of his self-centeredness. He expects intimacy on his own terms, and turns me down frequently. He will use any excuse to shut me down, and somehow make me feel bad for trying. He expects oral sex on a whim, which is fine, but he won't ever take the time to ask me about my day. When we make love, his eyes are absent. I don't know if he is thinking of somebody else, or what is going on. All I know is he is not there with me."

Interesting

She continues, "I have some friends that get loose with their tongues after a few wines. They all joke about Chris being a wild-man in bed. They think because he is sexy, extroverted, adventurous and charismatic that our love life must be spectacular. I wish it was, but it is not. Our bed is the place of mind games, frigidity and angst. It is the coldest place in my life."

Grace clasps her water and sits silently for a few minutes. Her lips pressed tightly together as if battling against further confession. She breaks the silence seconds before I do. "Jonothan, there is something great inside Chris, I can see it. I know deep down in my soul that one day Chris will become a great man that will do great things. What am I supposed to do until then?" My stomach jolts as her pleading eyes search mine for answers. I shift awkwardly at the sensation. From nowhere I feel surprising urge to genuinely help this woman. Could I actually _care_ about helping this client? I push this disturbing thought to the side for personal assessment later. Focus. What should she do about her player husband?

Run. She could do better...probably

"Do you have any children, Grace?"

If she is surprised at the deviation of topic, she doesn't show it. "No" she responds.

"Do you plan to have children?"

"Yes. Chris wants four but I only want two. That is partly what made me come to see you." Grace gestures my way.

What?! You want me to decide on how many children you will have?

She continues, "It's probably something I've needed for a while, but it's like going to the dentist- until you need to go, you put it off" she admits. I don't quite follow where she is going until she elaborates, "I have friends with young children and I am under no illusions, I know that kids put strain on a couple's relationship. I want my children to grow up with an example of a happy, healthy marriage. I don't have that... yet."

"That is a noble goal" I say impressed. If only everyone was so insightful it would curb my desire for a law which prevented idiots from procreating. The population would plummet. "I will endeavour to help you as best I can Grace, but I must stress again, there is only so much progress a couple can make when only one partner is here." She nods in acceptance. I move on, "do you own your own home?"

"No, I had an apartment but we sold it when we married. We are currently renting while we look for somewhere else. I am not fazed to be honest, so long as we have room for a family, but Chris is often scouring websites looking for an undervalued property."

Him and every other guy looking to upscale their life

"My suggestion would be that you take some time together this week and talk about your core values as a couple. To me, it seems like you are approaching life from opposing perspectives. Taking time to evaluate one's core values can help a couple clarify if they have the potential to build a life together that has the ability to last. One easy way to do this, and perhaps Chris will agree, is to look at your life in the context of a ten-year plan. It is an easy way to determine what matters. This week, why don't you fill out the following questionnaire, and ask Chris to do the same. Even if he won't, at least you will get some clarity. These categories do not cover everything, but they cover the most important aspects of life."

PHYSICALLY

How am I going with this today? Where would I like to be one year from now? 5 years from now? 10 years from now?

EMOTIONALLY

How am I going with this today? Where would I like to be one year from now? 5 years from now? 10 years from now?

FINANCIALLY

How am I going with this today? Where would I like to be one year from now? 5 years from now? 10 years from now?

RELATIONALLY

How am I going with this today? Where would I like to be one year from now? 5 years from now? 10 years from now?

PROFESSIONALLY

How am I going with this today? Where would I like to be one year from now? 5 years from now? 10 years from now?

"What about spiritually?" Grace enquires, with eyes remaining fixed on the worksheet.

"Pardon me?"

"Spiritually. You have not included spiritually as one of the categories" Grace notes, pointing to the sheet.

"I did not think to, but if that is important to you, please feel free to add it to the bottom of the list."

Grace seems committed to the task at hand, so we finish up the session and she is on her way. She won't be an exciting client to have but at least she is pleasant.

"See you in two weeks Grace."

"Thank you Mr King" she says with her cheeky smile.

"Please Grace, call me John"

"See you in a fortnight" she counters, as she disappears down the stairwell.

## Chapter 7

I catch myself gazing through Candice as our first session draws to an end; thankfully, I have a relieved feeling it is going to be our last. I have an uncanny knack for immediately irritating any person in _that_ demographic, and the feeling is mutual. _That_ demographic is not always easy to define, but Candice is typical of it. It is _that_ woman in her 50's with a new-found sense of purpose. She is usually somebody that has spent the last 30 years raising children, and now that they have flown the nest, she is looking for something else to help her feel significant.

You can spot them in lecture halls sitting at the front row, completely unaware that everybody else was born three decades later. They are _question statement_ people that _must_ respond to every sentence the professor utters. Usually, they begin every phrase with "don't you think...?" I have noticed that most Professors do not seem to get annoyed by their self-absorbed statements. I guess annoying money is still money.

This demographic tacitly believes they could have _easily_ become accountants because they did manage the household budget after all. If not, then lawyers, or CEO's or hostage negotiators... or therapists. Candice yabbered on for 220 dollars about some sort of styling business she was starting with a few girlfriends. I was just appreciative there was only 20 dollars to go.

"Well I am really pleased to see your enthusiasm for life, Candice" I interject, exactly like I did to her mid-50's doppelganger last week. "I have every confidence that this new season is going to be extremely fulfilling for you. Thank you for coming in today, and we can fix up the session fees on the way out."

"When should I come back in to see you?" She enquires.

"Candice, I have an extremely full client list at the moment, and..."

"Well, I am happy to wait" she insists, cutting me off.

I wonder if I could convince her that a face-palm was a new style of therapeutic treatment?

Obviously accustomed to getting her own way, she draws herself up and looks at me defiantly "when is the next available appointment?"

I take a deep breath, "You are doing so well Candice, and it is a great expense to pay my fees when you truly have no need for my help. My opinion is that you no longer need to see me on a professional level" I say smiling, expecting my charm will elicit compliance.

She blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl, causing me momentary confusion 'til she asks in a pitch higher than usual "you mean... you want to see me on a _personal_ level?" She gazes at me with expectation which is both alarming and disturbing.

Hell no!

I clear my throat awkwardly, "as lovely as you are Candice, what I meant was that I no longer need to see you because you no longer need specialist help. I am not permitted to form outside relationships with clients for professional reasons. I am sure you understand."

Some of my colleagues do happen to date past clients, but that's a line I would never cross. There are plenty of fish in the sea without casting into the murky waters of your backyard pond. I surmised that her pure embarrassment at this misunderstanding would result in my never seeing this woman again, but she repeats "So when is your next available appointment?"

You've got to be kidding me.

"Six weeks from now" I reply reluctantly, knowing a woman from _that_ demographic will not leave until I relent, and I want her gone.

Annoying money is still money

She smiles proudly, as if she has won first prize in a debating contest. She takes me by surprise as she reaches out and strokes me on the arm gently saying "thank you Jonothan." Inwardly I reel. It certainly wasn't the first time a client has hit on me, but coming from that old hag I feel the sudden urge to shower... or drink... or both.

Shaking myself off, I walk over to my laptop. I check my outlook only to discover the good news that my next client has emailed me with a cancellation for today's session because he is ill. My cancellation policy ensures I still receive full-payment for appointments cancelled within 24 hours, so I can take some time while still getting paid. I decide to juggle the rest of my clients around to give myself an extra-long lunchbreak. I deserve it; I have been kicking some serious goals lately.

I grab my iPhone and re enable full functionality. I always keep my phone on airplane mode during my sessions. Some of my colleagues only use silent mode, but the sound of a vibrating text is just as unprofessional as a ringing phone in my opinion. During lunch, _the_ text message finally arrives. Ever since seeing Jason, I had been waiting for my father to contact me. I admit that I am curious to see what the old man wants.

"Hello Jonothan, I hope you are well. I would like to make a time to catch up with you, please call me when it suits you. Dad"

Check Mate!

"When it suits" is complicated. I think my best move would be to wait four days and then call him in between clients. That way, we won't have to talk for more than five minutes, and he will be forced to cut to the chase. I love modern day technology; he will know I have read the text, but will wonder why I have not replied. I think four days is very generous on my part. One day for every marriage he has cocked up. Maybe he is getting married again? I wonder if he is dying; that could definitely motivate retirement. My Father used to mock anybody _weak enough to retire_. Gee he is a wanker.

For some reason, I start to consider if I would cry if he did die. People cry in my office all the time; while I understand it on a professional level, personally I think it is a very curious thing. I decide that it is unlikely I would cry if my father died. When I went to Jason's father's funeral last year, I did not cry then, and I was much closer to his father than my own. I usually only cry once every three or four years, last time was in that kid's movie, _eight below_ ; that was a strange moment, but then again, I was quite drunk.

I play out all the possible scenarios. Initially, I thought he must need an organ, or a transfusion, or some other operation that required his own bloodline, but that would be far too predictable. Plus, knowing my old man, he probably has other accidental blood line options stashed all over the country. It must have something to do with money; surely that is it. I hope he doesn't want a loan. He has his own money, but maybe he made some stupid choices? Would I loan him money? Hell no! If I had listened to his career advice, I would have missed out on my sweet apartment. If he has messed up his life again, it is not my responsibility to fix it.

After my uncomfortable encounter with bulldog Candice, there is one text I _do_ want to send before lunch finishes

"Hey Sarah, what are you up to? Would you like to come over tonight, I'm making your favourite dessert?" I press send while demolishing the last of my Panini.

"I'll see you at 8" she replies within seconds.

Better get back for my next appointment

## Chapter 8

My first appointment after lunch is with a new client, Dr Daniel Sandgate. I have never met Daniel before but after spending all morning regurgitating psychology 101, I am eagerly anticipating some more stimulating conversation. I have very few clients that are doctors, probably because they are too proud to admit they needed any help. Daniel arrives whistling a tune I can recognise, but cannot place.

I greet him enthusiastically, extending my hand. "Good afternoon Dr Sandgate."

"And a good afternoon to you as well Jonothan, please call me Daniel." Daniel's deep, clear voice replies with equal enthusiasm and the skin around his eyes crinkles deeply as he smiles. His hand is strong but the skin soft, his handshake is firm and respectful, without being overbearing.

I gesture to the sofa "Please, make yourself at home."

"Thank you. I think I might" replies Daniel, sitting down promptly and sliding off his shoes.

Slightly surprised, a genuine chuckle bursts from me. I nod at his empty shoes, "I appreciate a man who takes me at my word."

"And I appreciate a quality chesterfield sofa" he responds immediately, rubbing his hands over the perfect tufting.

My kind of Man

Daniels cologne is unique and rich. It complements the Italian leather perfectly. The combination somehow causes me to crave a strong coffee or whiskey with extra peat. Although I occasionally offer hot drinks to my clients, I neither serve it to them as a rule, nor do I ever drink with them. Such is the atmosphere of my newest client however that I find myself breaking my own boundaries as I eagerly serve us both double espressos with hot milk on the side.

"In which speciality do you practise medicine, Daniel?" I ask, reaching for my notepad and pen.

"Oh, I am not a medical doctor" replies Daniel, enjoying his coffee with a sigh. "I get called _doctor_ because I have a PHD" he says, with a mischievous look on his face. Daniel's deep brown eyes twinkle as he speaks and his expression suggests that he is continually thinking of something quite humorous. "I am not a _real_ doctor" he asserts with a grin, adding some milk to his espresso.

Daniels manner is both tranquil and unnerving. In the few short minutes that he has been in the room my curiosity has piqued intensely. His demeanour is confident, bordering on eccentric, and yet I am sure he is highly competent at whatever it is he does. He presents well, with his navy suit pants and light pink shirt offsetting his deeply tanned complexion and dark, albeit slightly greying hair. My guess is that he is around 55, but he could very well be anything from mid-forties to late sixties.

"What may I ask was your PHD thesis about?" I enquire curiously, expecting something abstract, consistent with most PHD thesis.

"18th century poets, and the impact their work, philosophy and lifestyle had on society" Daniel replies.

"Like William Blake?" I say, digging deep into my long-term memory. Daniel nods affirming, but does not respond with the impressed look I expected. I continue, "I think of Willian Blake especially because, if I recall correctly, his work drove him into depression for almost a decade. I vaguely recollect that his friends and family members thought he was insane. While I am not incredibly familiar with his philosophy and lifestyle, or poetry for that matter, his life makes for an interesting study in Psychology."

"It does." Daniel replies matter-of-factly with a smile.

His response indicates he is ready to begin the session in earnest so I start. "William Blake aside, what is it that brings you here Daniel?"

"You."

"Pardon?" I enquire, unable to conceal my surprise.

"I assume you are the psychologist whose name is on the door, are you not? This is a very nice reception area otherwise" he says gesturing around the room.

"Oh..." I stammer, feeling the heat in my cheeks. "Of course. I simply meant what _issue_ has brought you here to see me today." Daniel chuckles and beams with delight at the interplay, and I almost take offense until I realise that it is without malice. Daniel's strong and charismatic personality has allowed him to reconstruct the usual client-psychologist dynamic. This is new, and out of curiosity I will let it play out... for now.

"No issue in particular, Jonothan" Daniel replies, "I find it agreeable to have an objective sounding board so to speak; to converse with, regarding matters of the heart." He looks at me as though I am his new best friend. Some of my wealthy clients only engage my services for the illusion of friendship.

Is he lonely or is this his attempt to skirt admitting he needs my help?

I attempt to clarify, "Are you speaking of love?"

"Amongst other things... Like I said," Daniel waves his hand casually, "nothing in particular." My agitation sparks at his response.

Answer the question, why are you here?

Momentarily stumped on how I should play this one, I sit silently waiting for Daniel to continue, elaborate, or leave. I'm not sure what to expect from this enigma, philosopher indeed; but I refuse to enter into some game.

Daniel appears comfortable in the silence, and I wonder for a moment if he might be using drugs. He smiles at me in the silence and crosses his legs as if awaiting something.

This is weird.

I stare at his socks and avoid his gaze, grasping for a moment of clarity. If this _is_ some strange kind of stand-off, or game I have never played before, I am missing the point.

I cough awkwardly, putting down my notepad. "So... Daniel, how about you start by telling me about yourself?"

"What would you like to know?" He asks with enthusiasm.

Are you using?

"Tell me about your family."

We spend the remainder of the session talking about Daniels wonderful wife of forty years, and grown and successful children (he must be in his late sixties). There appears to be no obvious cracks in his home life and I am still not sure as to why he is here, but I am sincerely enjoying the time with Daniel, quirks and all.

Daniel glances at his watch and slips his shoes on, preparing to leave. I hadn't noticed the time. "I won't take up any more of your time, I'm sure you need to prepare for your next client. Thank you Jonothan" he says in his deep voice. "I thoroughly enjoyed our meeting today and look forward to seeing you again soon."

"As did I Daniel" I reply. "Please, call me John."

After settling payment, Daniel smiles, shakes my hand, and looking me in the eyes says with conviction "May your day be truly great." He turns and leaves.

I sit down heavily on my sofa to take some notes. The room which had seemed so full of atmosphere during my discussion with Daniel now feels somewhat empty. I glance down at my notepad... where do I even begin?

## Chapter 9

Alex and Jade were due to arrive at any moment. I came into the office early to refresh myself with the previous case notes. I also acquired more resources from Professor Baker; I certainly want to be prepared for this session. As I hear footsteps getting louder, I strategically leave a cushion behind the door to absorb the force of Jade Vesuvius. Instead, Alex slinks in alone, looking tired and worn down. Perhaps his illness last week was worse than Jade implied. I look around the waiting room for the Godzilla but her presence is absent. Maybe she is away sick this week.

One can hope.

It takes me a fair while to get the conversation underway. After a few false starts; Alex fixes his gaze upon mine.

"Jade left me" Alex starts, reaching for his handkerchief. It seems his appearance is not from battling the flu, but distress over his broken marriage. "I came home from work and she was gone. She said earlier in the day that she couldn't handle the pressure anymore, and that she needed some space. I did not think she would actually go. I have looked and called everywhere I can think of, but I have no idea where she is, or when she will be coming back. I don't even know if she is safe." His voice is tight and the concern for his wife leaks from every pore.

"I expect that this has surprised you Alex, taking into consideration how adamant Jade was that she would make things work when we last met."

Alex looks up with determination, "John, I understand that people do not always keep their vows, I do."

"Unfortunately, Alex, it's often the faithful partner who receives the raw end of the stick." Alex's eyes sink in a deep frown as I continue, "it may not be that Jade wanted to hurt you, but she was a very broken woman, and was likely incapable of being the wife you deserve. How do you plan to proceed now she has gone?"

"Keep _my_ vow" Alex stoically replies. "I will wait and she will come back to me. She always comes back."

It takes me a moment to register what I have just heard. "Alex..." I utter as I lean forward, "Do you mean to say that Jade is in the _habit_ of leaving you?"

"Yes"

"And you are in the habit of taking her back?"

Alex shrugs his shoulders as if it's no big deal. "Yes."

I notice that my voice has changed pitch in obvious astonishment, so I clear my throat before I continue. "How often does that happen?" I ask. I have counselled a number of spouses with a saviour complex. Typically, the need to 'save' the spouse stems from insecurity; a need to be needed, or it creates for the saviour a feeling of purpose and control. The weak partner in such situations typically reacts either by sinking deeper into depravity to enable their partner, or they end up resenting their partner's help. Alex however displays no pride in his attitude, nor a desperation to continue an illusion of control. He genuinely appears to have abandoned all personal privileges to help his broken wife, despite the extreme personal cost.

"It has happened 6 times since we have been married."

Stunned, "How long does she usually take to return?"

"It varies. The shortest has been 24 hours, and the longest was eight months."

"Eight months?" I repeat, flabbergasted.

"Yes, that was the longest we had been apart since we met."

"When you met...Yes." I need to be delicate. "Alex, when you met, it was not under the most romantic or ideal circumstances. I have found that when a relationship starts _that_ way, it creates a foundation, a pattern of behaviour and relating, which can be rather difficult to redefine once the relationship continues."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, genuinely baffled

Pretty woman is fiction Alex!

I hold back the urge to sigh. "Alex. It is almost impossible for a relationship that begins on the basis of a transaction to evolve into something fully functioning and healthy" I say. How can this be difficult to grasp?

"Transaction based?" Alex repeats, looking confused. I cannot tell if I have been mumbling or if Alex's mind was back in Africa, but I have been trying to be as tactful as possible. Maybe Jade was lying about how they met, although I didn't sense any deception cues when we last spoke.

"You and Jade met while you were hiring her as a prostitute every week, correct?" I clarify.

"Yes and No"

"Yes and No?" I repeat "What do you mean?"

"Jonothan, why do _you_ think I hired her every week?" His deep dark eyes search me.

"Alex," I start in my most assuring manner, "I am not here to pass judgement. I am simply pointing out that paying to sleep with the woman who you then marry is not the greatest way to commence a long-term relationship."

"You are making many assumptions Jonothan."

"Is that so?" I ask.

"Yes, you are." Alex returns, just as confident, so I wait for him to explain. "Yes. I paid for her time as a prostitute. I did not sleep with her until we were married."

As much as possible I attempt to conceal my shock at this revelation. I would probably doubt the credibility of a man hiring a prostitute to _not_ sleep with her on most other occasions, however the man sitting in front of me is nothing if not full of integrity. He is serious.

I can't believe he is serious!

"How did that come about?" I ask, attempting to keep the strain from my voice.

"I call it divine appointment" he replies. "I knew as soon as I saw her that I had to marry her. It took a long time to convince her. Jade was, as you say _broken_ ; much more so than now. Eventually, she came to accept that I love her."

I have been in this profession long enough that I have become quite difficult to shock. Although it's not morally depraved or emotionally gut-wrenching, I struggle not to wrestle with what I am hearing. There is so much about what Alex is saying that I simply cannot comprehend. Part of me feels like confronting his off-key illusion of reality, yet I feel strangely compelled to acknowledge that he may be grasping something which may be quite real. His character supports his theory, but ... seriously? Uncomfortably, I fight the urge to squirm in my seat and decide to address what I know.

"There is a good chance that Jade will return to you, especially since that has been her pattern. I must warn you though, it may be time to acknowledge that while you love Jade, the chances of you making your relationship succeed are extremely slim. I think you have to face some hard questions."

"Such as?" poses Alex

I take a deep breath. "For starters, why do you allow her to treat you this way?" You could have any woman you like and..."

"Stop." Alex interjected sternly, yet with respect. "I do not want any _other_ woman, I want Jade. She is my wife and I love her, and will continue to love her for the rest of my life, no matter what."

"I know you say that _now_ Alex, but how many times do you think you will be able to take her back before it all becomes too much? She cannot just keep leaving on a whim and expect that she can waltz back in whenever she likes, especially after all you have done for her. Do you even know why she left this time? You mentioned that she felt stuck and pressured, but what is the _real_ reason? Why did she leave all those other times?" I feel myself becoming frustrated that Alex refuses to accept his situation and take steps to move forward. He has so much potential...

How is it that I'm beginning to sound like Jade?

Alex looks deep in thought for a few moments before answering. "I think she feels unworthy to have a man love her and trust her unconditionally."

I nod. "Generally, yes. I think you are right. It is likely that her self-perception is the underlying condition, which she needs to address, but such conditions have what I call presenting problems. These are the issues which stem from the deeper condition, and may have certain triggers which set them off. Has anything happened in the last couple of weeks that may have triggered her latest exodus?"

"What do you mean?"

"It could be a range of things... perhaps an old friend came to visit, or you went to a certain place that held some sentiment, or she reached a milestone, or had a celebration of some kind."

Alex sat quietly thinking for a moment "her elder sister phoned her from China two nights before she left. They are not a very close family but her sister is the only one that ever makes contact."

"Do you know what they spoke about?"

"Her sister was proud because her only son had been accepted into university. She was only 18 when she gave birth to Li Wei and things were difficult for many years. He has worked very diligently and is now going to become an electrical engineer, I am quite sure they were speaking about him."

While I couldn't care less about Li Wei, but I have an aptitude for numbers and as Alex infers his nephews age, and the fact this sister was older than Jade; something in the recesses of my brain picks up a discrepancy. I feel the blood draining slowly out of my face as I do the math. Alex and Jade were married nine years. If Jade's _older_ sister has a son old enough to begin a degree, and she only had him at eighteen...

I hope electrical engineering is a post-graduate degree in China.

"So" I say, with forced self-composure "did Li Wei study general engineering before entering into electrical engineering post-graduate?"

"No, he received a full scholarship to Tsinghua University directly from Secondary School."

No, no, no.

"Is Jade's sister much older than Jade?"

"No, they are very close in age... less than 18 months I believe."

That makes Jade approximately 35 years old. 13 years as a prostitute. Over 9 Years since meeting Alex...she would have barely been in her teens when she started turning tricks!

A wrenching pain seizes my stomach and I feel winded. Breathing out slowly my voice almost squeaks, "Alex, I am so sorry."

Alex gives me a puzzled look, concerned even, obviously wondering what is going on with me. If I offended him earlier, I'm certainly scaring him now. I swing from shock and disgust over Jade's past to hopelessness for the man sitting in front of me.

"I just realised I have neglected to adequately factor the implications of Jade's childhood into consideration." Alex looks up at me with an attentive scan, and is about to say something but I cut him off. "Jade's childhood is one deeply rooted in trauma; she is bound to have trust and identity issues. Her defence mechanisms, including control issues, abrasiveness and escapism are unlikely to ever truly be overcome, though they may be managed. I understand that you love her, Alex. What you have done for her is truly beyond human, I respect you for it. While I genuinely want Jade's full recovery, you must understand that you are set up to fail in this situation. I believe you have underestimated the challenges ahead. It is likely that she will never give you the love you deserve and desire. While Jade's behaviour can be understood, it is an unhealthy behaviour which will consume the rest of your life. It is unlikely she will be happily married no matter what you do, but you have years left to enjoy a healthy relationship with a woman who loves you, and maybe even have a family."

Poor guy.

"Jonothan, I came to you because I will do whatever it takes to make my marriage work. I had a friend recommend you as somebody that successfully helped him. The truth is that when I initially asked my friend about you, I was uncertain of your suitability to work with Jade and I. I was also astonished that you charge the same amount for one hour as I earn in one entire day, but as I said, I was willing to do whatever necessary to fix my marriage.

"I am the best, and I want to help you" I declare

I really do.

"Thank you Jonothan, I do appreciate that, but I think this will be my last session. You are an intelligent man, but I think our opposing worldviews will continue getting in the way of my progress. You do not respect my choice to persevere with Jade and you keep encouraging separation even though I have told you repeatedly that this is not an option. Jade was broken and betrayed by people who should have known better. I came to work out a way forward, not a way to part. I thank you for your time but I think I am going to go now."

And just like that, Alex is gone.

## Chapter 10

Grace turns up suddenly as I open the waiting room door. In fitted jeans and a charcoal singlet top, she is flushed and breathless, with beads of sweat all over her, as if she has been getting chased... It's not an unattractive look.

"Is everything ok?" I ask, wondering what has happened.

"Everything is great!" she replies enthusiastically, customarily reaching for the complementary water. "I bet myself that I could run all the way up the stairwell in under one minute" she pants. "I won the bet!" she beams, her blue eyes sparkling attractively. Grace's toned physique indicates she is aware of her figure, but not obsessed with continual exercise.

"Congratulations" I say, in my usual charming way, biting back a laugh. "It is nice to see you again Grace." I am impressed to see that she has returned with her worksheets completed. She holds a transparent folder under her left arm and I can see her completed template through the plastic cover. Her causal dress causes me to conclude that she must have taken the day off work.

"What do you do for a career Grace?" I enquire, remembering we didn't cover this in her first session, and I don't remember what she wrote on her admission form. Her intellect makes me think accounting, but her personality leans towards kindergarten teacher, or nursing home.

"I am in Human Resources" she says as a matter of fact, displaying obvious indifference to the topic.

"What kind of company do you work for?" I ask, even though she isn't interested.

"I work for the government, so I get moved around within different departments. I have been at the department of civil works for the last three years, but I will be moving to the police department in a few months" says Grace, placing her open folder on the table. Clearly, she is ready to get down to business.

"How did you go with your homework?" I ask, looking at the extra worksheet she has slipped in front of me. She has printed off two copies, one for me, and one for herself. I immediately notice she has rearranged the worksheet. It doesn't bother me; I just find it interesting since I have never had a client do this before. Her husband Chris' homework was absent.

No surprise there

"Chris had a busy week and did not quite get around to doing his" she says apologetically, as if reading my thoughts, "but I'll bring his answers in when they are ready, if that's ok?"

Detecting the nervous anticipation in her question, I can only imagine what she went through this week in attempt to coerce compliance from her husband. I clear my throat, "Obviously, this particular activity is most effective with both partners' answers, however until Chris is...ready... we can proceed with what we have." She nods enthusiastically, relief evident in her face.

"I gave the questionnaire a lot of thought, but my answers are quite short. I didn't know how detailed you wanted me to be." Grace qualifies, perhaps anticipating disapproval.

"What you have here is fine Grace, as long as you have thought it through." Graces smiles as her head bops up and down enthusiastically, assuring me she has been mindful. "Your answers will provide us with a platform for further discussion, and I will help you reach your goals. Do you mind if I take some time to read through your answers Grace?" I ask, directing her to the coffee station, "feel free to help yourself, I'll need about ten minutes."

"Sure thing" she agrees readily. "Can I make you something while I am at it?" she offers. This may be the first time a client has actually made this offer.

"I am fine, thank you." I reply. As she moves gracefully across the room the pleasurable scent of her perfume mingled with sweat reaches me, and I glance at her over the pages as she begins fixing herself an English breakfast tea. I fight the smile which tugs at my lips and shake my head as I begin to read.

SPIRITUALLY

TODAY: Leaning on God for strength.

1 Year: Know my bible better. Possibly take a short course?

5 years: Really using my spiritual gifts, serving others, enjoying God

10 years: Act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with my God.

PHYSICALLY

TODAY: Need more discipline in diet and exercise.

1 Year: Healthy. Eating well.

5 years: Healthy. Exercising regularly. With children.

10 years: Healthy. Able to meet the demands of being a good mum

I glance up at Grace again, she is stirring her milk into the tea. It's a lot of milk, so despite her hippy spiritual answers she isn't vegan or anything. She has a good figure, but a bit of exercise would tone her right up. It wouldn't' take much. Her movements are fluid, almost like a dancer, I wonder if she is as flexible as she looks. Her skin looks soft... I shake my head and focus back on the worksheet.

EMOTIONALLY

TODAY: Hurting. Lonely. Fragile. Tormented

1 Year: Stronger.

5 years: Loving, joyful, at peace. Free. Happy.

10 years: Loving, joyful, at peace. Free. Happy

FINANCIALLY

TODAY: Able to pay the bills and give generously

1 Year: Continue to help paying the bills and saving for kids?

5 years: Have money for raising children. Possibly living on one income.

10 years: Money to get the children through a good school while working little as possible

RELATIONALLY

TODAY: Struggling marriage. Slightly isolated

1 Year: Stronger marriage. A few deeper friendships.

5 years: Children. Strong marriage. Strong friendships.

10 years: Loving healthy family. Great lifelong friendships.

PROFESSIONALLY

TODAY: Good.

1 Year: Be a blessing to my workplace in effectiveness and attitude.

5 years: Full time parenting? Possibly working part time?

10 years: Full time mum? Possibly working when the children go to school?

Either Grace is not a goal-oriented person, she does not understand this activity, or her life-goals are incredibly simple. As I glance at her sipping her tea contently I am inclined to think the latter. Most women in her demographic are young enough to still desire money, beauty and romance (often unrealistically) but as I peruse her answers once again, it appears Grace has let these dreams go. I study her again. She is no Sarah, but she is attractive and she is obviously capable. She could probably make a go of success where others strive in vain.

She sits quietly waiting for me to begin conversation. Not many people are comfortable in silence, Grace seems to be one of the few.

I clear my throat and smile. "I see you have done some real reflecting here Grace."

She beams like a child who had just received an A+ on her report card. I continue, "Our next step will be making these general goals more tangible and specific. Unfortunately, while I understand the importance of spirituality for wholeness of wellbeing, and I realise it is a priority for you, I am not a religious man. While I can assist you reaching the majority of goals here, I'm afraid you may need external assistance from your...priest in regards to your spiritual goals."

Handballing is always the way I deal with the varied spiritual expressions which my clients have. If fanatics want to convert people to their cause they can deal with the consequences; that's not my job.

"That's totally OK Jonothan, I assumed that. I just wanted to have the whole picture to see it in perspective." Grace replies.

"Ok then. How about we spend the rest of the session discussing the next topic on the list, the physical? I assume that accounts for the stairwell challenge?" I chuckle, remembering her entrance.

"It is" she replies, returning the smile. "And I've cut back to only one sugar in my tea!" She lifts her cup proudly with the announcement.

Curiosity piqued, I ask "how many would you usually have?"

Grace blushes slightly, "Two. Well, sometimes two and a half... rarely three." I find myself grimacing at her confession. She laughs at my reaction, "What? I guess you are all health nut, Mr Perfect? Do tell us mere mortals, what do you drink?"

I laugh at her jesting, and am uncharacteristically taken in by the banter "Firstly, I don't know if you can call it tea with all that sugar. Secondly, while I've asked you to call me Jonothan, or John, I now insist you continue calling me Mr Perfect; without the sarcasm, of course..."

Grace laughs and nods, playing along, "Of course."

"Finally, if you must know I'm an espresso coffee man."

"Are you now?" She asks with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky smile.

I don't know how to respond to that, but find myself adding "...sometimes with a side of hot milk."

She smiles, a large, genuine smile and I shake my head and chuckle. "While we still have time, let's talk about factors which come into play when addressing physical goals shall we?"

As I wrap up the session with Grace, I conclude that she is a great client to have. It's always nice when earning money isn't hard work.

## Chapter 11

I was feeling slightly lethargic as the day edged toward closing. I didn't have the greatest sleep last night because I spent several hours analysing and documenting my brief time with Jade and Alex as clients. It is extremely rare for me to have a client discontinue without my initiation. I feel like I never had the chance to really get in and help Alex before he cut me off; it's a shame really, I actually liked the guy. Not only that, my expertise and experience would have surely resulted in positive change. The challenge would have been nice too.

I sigh. I have already completed seven appointments today, so I decide to place that encounter in a mental locker and be done with it. One of the best things about understanding human psychology is that you learn to be the master of your emotions. Many people are victims of their own toxic neurological pathways, and most are unwilling to do the necessary work to rewire their thought life. Not me, I have a job to do, and I am going to do it well.

Today was the first time that Jeremy has been early for his appointment. I am not ready to throw him a tick-a-tape parade though; it _is_ the last session of the day. Plus, it is obvious by his defeated body language that is was not going to be an inspirational start.

"What happened?" I ask, cutting straight to the chase. There is no point prolonging the inevitable.

"I went for a drink with a lady after my gig last night."

"I guess it was not what you were hoping for Jeremy"

"No" he confesses.

"What happened?"

"Well, it was another gig where I played heaps of different instruments. I like those the most" he smiles, just like the last time he told me, but with less animation. "I do not like to brag Jonothan, but the session was tight and the atmosphere was pumping. It was one hell of a night, maybe one of the best."

Jeremy performs a little _chair dance_ while recalling his successful gig. His belly is jiggling around like an excited animated piglet.

"After we finished playing, a lady from the dance floor walked straight up to me and...." He pauses, looking sheepish, "well, she made a really strong pass at me."

"What did she say?" I ask, feeling momentarily proud of Jeremy.

"A man that plays so many instruments must be good with his hands" he replies, blushing; not knowing whether to smile at me or not.

I smile. "That is quite the line" I admit, "what happened next?"

"We swapped names and she told me to come see her at her table once I had packed up my gear; so I did. I put all my stuff in a backstage locker and went to the bar for some drinks. I was nervous as hell, so I had a quick shot of Sambuca and took two millers back to the table."

Nicely played so far Jezza

"Please, go on" I say calmly, but I have a million questions buzzing around in my head.

"Once we got talking for a bit, I could see she was not right for me. Yep, she liked muso's, but she didn't care about me as a person. Plus, she was kind of annoying. The more she had to drink, the more annoying she became."

Beggars can't be choosers

"At one point" he continues, "she was playing what I can only describe as an _air oboe_."

Confused I ask, "What is an _air oboe_?"

"Well, you know how people sometimes play the air guitar, well; she was doing the same thing, but playing an invisible air _oboe_."

I accidently laugh out loud. I am not being offensive or condescending and Jeremy knows it. He and I both crack up for a few moments before regaining our composure.

"Jeremy, how did you tell her you were not interested?" I ask, struggling to maintain my professional appearance, as my lip twitches involuntarily.

"I didn't have to. She saw somebody over my shoulder and ran off. By the look of things, I think she was an old friend. I thought she would bring her back to the table to chat but she didn't. She stood a few meters away from me, laughing and joking and having the time of her life, while I sat alone feeling awkward. It's the story of my life Jonothan. I am always near the fun, and never a part of it. I don't even think she noticed when I left."

"Jeremy, I'm sorry you did not meet the love of your life, but that is a remarkable story. She came and spoke to _you_ because _you_ made an impression on her. Before last night, you had not had a date in 11 years, and then out of nowhere, a lady propositions you in a way that would make a sailor blush. I consider this a victory."

"But today, I am still alone" he moans, squinting at the carpet while tugging at his messy beard.

"Maybe, but you are one step closer to fixing that." I allow a long pause. When it comes to Jeremy, it is always important knowing when _not_ to speak. "How about the rest of your life?" I enquire, breaking the silence. "Did you get to all your gigs on time?"

Jeremy looks up with a pleased, soft smile. "I did Jonothan. And it is a good thing I did".

"Why is that?"

"Well, Greg, the manager at the club I play at every Monday took me aside for one hell of a man-to-man chat. He told me that he had been thinking of firing me and finding somebody more reliable. I didn't even know it, but after being late all the time, he had decided I was on my last chance. Last night he thanked me for being on time twice in a row, and he looked forward to seeing that continue. He even said the last two weeks have been the best ever"

"That is excellent Jeremy, how does that make you feel?"

"It makes me feel good" he booms enthusiastically with a smile, and the waft of stale cigarettes assaults my nose.

"100 percent again" I respond immediately while holding as much air in my lungs as possible. "Keep this up, and you will be a new man in no time."

"Thanks Jonothan" Jeremy puffs his chest out a little.

When Jeremy walked in and hour ago, his shoulders were slumped and his attitude defeated. Now, I am sure that whatever I suggest for homework, he will believe is possible. I need to choose my next words carefully.

"You have proven that you are capable to get to your gigs on time. From now on, we let's make this the continued expectation. You have been able to ace this challenge twice in a row, how about this becomes the new standard? Do you think you can handle that?"

"Absolutely" Jeremy responds, looking eager for another challenge.

"Next," I pause. "I would like you to write a letter to your mother."

The blood drains from his face. I have not witnessed such an intense colour change in quite a while.

I gesture to the complimentary water, which momentarily reminds me of Grace, and continue, "I realise you are not able to physically give her the letter, but you and your mother have much unfinished business. Writing a letter will help you begin the process of reconciling her decision to leave. The letter does not have to be eloquent or fancy but it does need to be genuine. It is an opportunity to tell her the things you never got the chance to say."

"I don't know if I can do that" Jeremy stutters out, shaking his head.

"Jeremy, I once challenged you to write a list of ways you can make you mother proud. One of the things you wrote was that you were going to try and be happy. This is a chance to start moving toward happiness. It is going to be hard. I am not going to lie. But going through this process is the only way toward complete victory."

"Hell Jonothan, I don't know, I really don't know."

"Jeremy, please listen to me. What most people do not understand, is that the only way to _get through_ the deepest issues in life, such as grief, loss, and disappointment, is to actually _go through_ the process. Consider grief; many people will do anything and everything to _avoid_ facing grief. They will try to ignore it, or distract themselves with busyness, or turn to alcohol to numb the pain. All these methods inadvertently prolong the pain, instead of allowing people to deal with the cause of the pain.

The only way to _get through_ is to _go through_. We need to taste and experience the pain, in order to get through the grief. We must _sit_ in the pain, and acknowledge it fully. We must learn to confront the cause of our grief, no matter how agonizing that is, in order to actively deal with it. This letter will help you commence this process."

"OK, Jonothan, I will give it a go" submits Jeremy, looking at his watch. "How long do I have to finish the letter?"

"How many gigs do you have this fortnight" I ask, taking up my notepad again

"Only 2, it is a slow time."

"Then how about we try to have this letter back for our next appointment? It appears that your lighter schedule makes for good timing."

"I will try by best" he replies, as he slaps the wad of cash on the table. "See ya next time buddy."

"Thank you Jeremy, all the best."

## Chapter 12

Why the long face?

Bradley Allen, my 2pm client, looks more like a horse than any other person I have ever met. I really get a kick out of counselling people that resemble animals. Not only did Bradley look like a stallion, he also had a _first name last name._ Many people look like monkeys, or apes, or other pre-evolved humans; but to get a _horse headed first name last name_ man mid-afternoon was a nice surprise indeed; I feel like I have won a prize.

I once dated a _first name last name_ woman called Joanne Whitney. While she did not look like an animal, she did make an impression. It seems like I have met more men with _first name last names_ then I have women. Bradley was one of my only clients that came to therapy with his daughter. He was a single Father and his daughter, Isabella, was twelve going on twenty. I initially turned him away as a client, since I was not interested in working with children, but he offered to pay the couples rate, so I made an exception.

Isabella likes to be called _Izzy_. Even though she is also cursed with a _first name last name_ , Izzy Allen has a nice ring to it. Essentially, Bradley is up for the fight of his life. He has a pretty daughter going through puberty and he can't make heads or tails of their complicated relationship.

Speaking of complicated relationships, I remember that I never called my father back after his text. I was going to make him sweat by making him wait four days but it has now been over three weeks.

Whoops, that is hilarious!

I nab my chain of thought before it deviates too far, Bradley and Izzy sill have 55 dollars remaining in the session. Izzy is feeling uncomfortable talking about her bodily changes with her father; Bradley is obviously just as uncomfortable. I end up referring them to a female colleague of mine for the interim. Although I appreciate the extra compensation, I cannot be bothered chatting through the complexities of pre-teenage insecurities. I organise for the duo to come back in six weeks, after two sessions with my colleague.

Bradley settles the account early thanking me profusely, which leaves me 7 minutes until my next session. I figure it is time to call my father and see what he needs from me. I have my answers prepared for each of the three most likely scenarios.

If he is getting married again, I am happy to meet the bride and be at the wedding. If he wants a loan, I do not want to further complicate our relationship by adding the awkwardness of debt. If he is dying and needs an organ or some blood, he can find somebody else.

You need to be prepared when you're coming up against a shark.

The call goes straight to voicemail so I hang up. Moments later his name flashes on my vibrating phone, beckoning me to answer. I do not really want to, but I am too curious not to.

"Hello" I say, unenthusiastically

"Jonothan, it is your Father, thank you for calling me. Sorry it went to the mailbox, I was on the phone already."

"That's no problem. I do have a client arriving soon, so I don't have long to chat, sorry." I say expecting Dad to start his sales pitch.

"How have you been?" he asks

"Fine, everything is going well."

"It sounds like your practise is still busy, how is work?"

"Work is good, I like what I do."

"What else has been happening in your world Jonothan?" he asks. He is either going senile or deliberately overlooking the signs I am clearly sending. I am not interested in small talk.

"Nothing much" I snort. "Same job, same apartment, same gym, still enjoy cooking... everything is good."

Cut to the chase old man

"That's good to hear Son; you have done very well for yourself."

Physically or financially? Is it an organ or a loan?

"Well, I know you don't have time to chat now" Dad said, in his best impression of a telemarketer, "but I was hoping that I could come and visit you for a few days when you have some free time. Do you think we could lock in a time that works for you?" he asks, clearly determined to leave me hanging.

"I don't have any holidays scheduled in the near future, but I guess you could come sometime over the weekend. I could make some room next weekend... but"

"So could I. I'll come the Saturday and we can spend the weekend together" he interrupts energetically.

The whole weekend?

"Dad, you must admit, this is a bit weird. We have not spoken in ages, and we are not exactly accustomed to father son camping trips. Why do you want to come see me?"

"I just want to spend some time with you" he replies sounding hurt; at least, I think he sounds hurt. I have no compass to navigate these waters.

"Ok" I drawl out. "Have a look and see if there are any hotel rooms available, then drop me a text. I really have to go now."

"I was hoping I could stay at your apartment with you?" His statement generates a deafening silence.

Master Shark

That sly fox now knows I am free, he knows I still live in the same apartment with spare bedrooms, and he knows that he is more likely to get whatever it is he is after, over some _bonding_ time.

"You want to sleep over?" I clarify.

"I think it could be fun... plus, there is no point in me renting a hotel while you already live in one."

"It's not a hotel."

"No Jonothan, it's better than a hotel!"

"Fine, you can stay at my place, but I am not free until noon on Saturday, and you will need to leave by dinner Sunday."

"Great!" He booms "I'm looking forward to seeing you."

Should have said by lunch on Sunday

"Ok then, bye Dad"

And that is what being played by Sabastian King feels like. It was a seemingly innocent conversation with small talk and a polite negotiation. All of a sudden, my weekend is stolen and I'm having a sleepover with my father like in some old-English childhood adventure novel. I think I am about to discover what it's like to wake up in an ice bath without my kidneys.

## Chapter 13

Grace is dressed in her work attire. Even though her uniform is quite boring, she manages to make it look elegant and attractive.

"Good afternoon Grace" I say, leaning in for a warm two-handed handshake.

"Good afternoon Jonothan" she returns with a smile, making herself comfortable on the sofa.

"Please Grace, call me John. How has your day been so far?" I ask, noticing she is wearing lipstick.

Did she do that for me???

"It's been ok I guess." She answers with less lustre than usual. "I had to take some time off work to make it here on time and my boss was a bit frustrated. I'm not too worried because he is a good man; he was just getting inundated with mundane problems." She sighs in sympathy as she reaches for the complimentary water, which I made sure was chilled before her appointment; seeing as though she made a habit out of actually drinking it.

"Well thank you for making this a priority. I see you have your homework folder with you. In our last session, we spoke about creating some tangible physical goals. How did you go?"

"33 by 33" Grace answers, knowing I would have no idea what she was talking about.

"33 by 33?" I query, raising one eyebrow.

"It is my 33rd birthday in 47 days. My goal is to do 33 work-outs before my birthday. I am shooting for five sessions per week for seven weeks."

"I really like that idea" I say encouragingly, and am rewarded with one of Grace's smiles which light up her face. "Five sessions per week is quite a heavy load but it is ideal for somebody wanting to get results. Will they be group sessions, or team sports... or more stairwell challenges?" I ask, holding back the grin which threatens to break free.

Grace smiles playfully, but answers "One session in the pool, two on the treadmill, and two sessions of Pilates. Chris was actually really encouraging when I told him about my physical goals, this is improving my marriage already! Last Wednesday when I got home from work, I discovered he had secretly brought me a treadmill! I love getting gifts. I know it seems materialistic, but it's honestly not the expense that matters to me, it's the thought." From most people I would doubt that, but after our last sessions and reading Grace's goals, I believe her. She continues babbling in her joy "So you can imagine my delight when, knowing my favourite room in our home is the library, Chris arranged the furniture so the new treadmill looks out the big window. It was amazing! He can be so thoughtful."

"That's nice," I fob. "How did you arrive at this precise physical goal?"

"After we spoke about it last session I researched goal setting and came across the _Smart Goals_ concept. Everybody seems to claim it as their own, so I have no idea who originally thought of it but I have found it very helpful. The basic concept is that all goals need to be S.M.A.R.T. Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Relevant, and Time Specific" she counts them off on her right hand, raising one finger for each acronym.

Obviously, I know about _smart goals;_ everybody in my profession does but I don't see the benefit in pointing that out to Grace. Besides, as I look over her worksheet, it is obvious she is taking this process seriously and doing an excellent job. Not only has she completed _smart goals_ for the entire physical health row, she has gone ahead and completed the same task for every section on the worksheet. That was another further 16 sections, not including the Spiritual section for her priest, or rabbi, or whatever.

"Grace, you have done a really good job. This would have taken several hours. How did you get time to do all of this?"

"I know this is important so I made time" she replies pleasantly, still gazing at her worksheet with enthusiasm.

"Well, you have done a great job with your physical goals; I look forward to seeing the results. Unless you want to speak about this further, why don't we move onto the next section of the worksheet, the section that deals with emotional health?" I ask, while reminding myself of her original answers

"Ok" Grace replies simply, her mood obviously dampening as her smile takes on grimacing qualities.

"You said you are emotionally hurting, and that you feel lonely, fragile and tormented. Could you please take some time to elaborate on this?"

"Wow. Sounds super melodramatic" she chuckles half-heartedly. Laughter is clearly one of Grace's coping and deflecting mechanisms.

"I am not judging what you have written Grace, I am asking that you elaborate."

Grace slouches forward with her elbows on her knees, softly sipping a glass of water. "I know, sorry. I suppose I feel like Christopher is the sort of man that needs a nemesis. He does not seem to be able to function unless he has somebody in his life that he is warring against. He loves a fight. At the moment, he is treating me like I am this nemesis and while I would like to think that I am emotionally strong enough to flourish while he wars, I'm not. Not really. Even if I can look that way outwardly, in reality it takes over my world."

I wonder if he is short... small man syndrome?

"How does he usually choose his enemies?" I ask while taking a few notes.

Grace pauses for a few moments. "I wish I knew... then I could stay on his good side," she smiles weakly. "Unfortunately, it seems to be quite random... like it could be anybody. It may be a work colleague that annoys him, or a neighbour that makes too much noise, or a family member that has a habit he does not like; at the moment, it is me."

"What does this look like exactly?"

She stares at the ground again, obviously feeling uncomfortable.

"You can give me _any_ example that comes to mind" I suggest, needing to pry

As usual, she chooses her words carefully. "Chris _is_ the definition of a storm in a teacup. He loves creating a storm. . . He gets in these erratic moods that start small but end big. Like, he might knock over a glass of water that was left out, and then, instead of realising how little that matters, he will swear and start carrying on as if it was a major incident.

That will lead to him concluding that the house isn't clean enough, so he starts huffing around the house, throwing anything in the bin that he feels is out of place. He will mutter loudly under his breath about how terrible his life is, how we live like pigs, how our house is a brothel; and eventually, will crack it, call me lazy, or other names, and scream off in his car, or lock himself in our room.

This is the continual pattern. It is as if there is a bubbling reservoir of hate fuelled venom just waiting to erupt out of him. It does not matter what I do, or don't do, if he is feeling like this, he will find _any_ reason that justifies his explosions. At the moment, I know I am his nemesis because every eruption ends with him belittling my contribution."

"Do you mean your contribution to the marriage?" I ask, actively taking notes.

"My contribution to _anything..."_ Grace says helplessly. "He knows just how to hurt me deeply."

Grace pauses but I know there was more she needs to say.

"When he gets like this, he intentionally uses disgusting language just because he knows I hate it. He claims that he is just talking to himself and processing, but I am not stupid. I know that he knows when I am within earshot, and I know he uses the foulest language just to upset me. What I do not understand is _why_ he wants to hurt me. He is my best friend and I love him dearly. I am not out to humiliate him or emasculate him, I just want the best for him but he seems to use any excuse to crush me."

Grace can be a little insecure and quirky in her own charming way, but I realise I've become fond of her can-do spirit and lively smile. Seeing her now with a crushed demeanour somehow ignites a strangely protective instinct in me, which I squash as quickly as possible.

She may not be what she seems.

"How do you usually respond when his is like this?"

"I am naturally a calm person, so I just pay extra attention to my self-control. I don't want to escalate the situation so I do not say much, I just let him vent, and wait until he realises how immature he is behaving. More often than not, he is apologising profusely within a short while. In the short term, it appears to be the only solution, but long term... I am... well, I am left with a broken heart." Her voice breaks at the admission and a tear trickles down her cheek. Her eyes which are normally twinkling with good humour and vibrancy stare distantly and she is lost in another world, enveloped in anguish.

She continues staring beyond me as she continues in almost a whisper, "I know he says horrible things because he is just trying to hurt me, but it's got to have come from somewhere, right?" Her eyes look to me, beautiful and blue although rimmed with tears. "I want to help him Jonothan, I want him to be happy and free... and to love me." She looks down, slumping forward on the sofa. When I see her shuddering shoulders as she silently cries I find myself drawn towards her, with the oddest desire to hold her. I pass her a tissue instead.

"Grace, how often does this happen?"

She takes deep breaths in an attempt to control her breathing. "Every few months or so" she replies, gathering herself. "I call it his _man_ stration cycle" she jokes lamely in an attempt to lighten the situation, but I refuse to let her palm this off with a joke.

"You know you do not deserve to be treated like this. What Chris is doing is emotional abuse, and you should not have to stand for it."

"I know that I do not have to stand for it" she admits, "but he is getting better slowly, and I cannot give up on him."

"Does he ever hit you, or push you, or raise his fists at you?"

"Never" she says emphatically.

"Does he ever shove you, or barge past you with his shoulder?"

"No, he doesn't do that."

"Does he ever force you to have sex with him against your will?"

"No!" she replies shortly, shooting me a piercing glance. "Jonothan, I am not a foolish child that keeps running into harm's way. I would not be here if I didn't believe that Chris has the capacity to be a great husband. Chris is broken and he lashes out from that brokenness within."

"Chris may not be physically abusing you Grace, but you are being harmed by this relationship. While Chris may very well have all the potential you claim he does, you must understand that he also may never change. All things considered, are you sure that this man deserves you?"

He doesn't

"I know where you are going with this line of questioning Jonothan and I do not need you to sit here giving me reasons why I should leave him; I need you to give me the tools to help our marriage flourish!" The statement hits me like a bus, it could be Alex sitting across from me all over again. This is what comes from getting emotionally invested in clients; something I have always been so good at avoiding, until now.

What the hell is wrong with me lately?

I have not seen Grace fire-up until today. She reminds me of a mamma-bear protecting her cubs. Before now, I thought that she may have simply been too weak to leave (or stand up to) her scumbag husband, but now I realise it's a display of her strength. It's breathtaking. Chris obviously doesn't realise what an amazing woman he has in Grace. He deserves a punch in the neck.

"I'm sorry Grace, but I have a duty of care to press these issues" I say, deflecting to the rule book.

She understands but we both continue staring at the ground for several moments before the air clears.

"You said that Chris usually apologises quite quickly, do you think he is sincere?" I ask, breaking the silence. I'm surprised at the effort it takes to keep the bitterness out of my tone.

"Absolutely" she says, looking back at me. "He is the most repentant, remorseful person I have ever met. Once he has settled down, he suffers extreme guilt and shame at the hands of his own actions. Every time he blows it, he weeps bitterly at his own depravity. He will then spend his next days in one of two ways. Either he will start trying to make it up to me by continually apologising and doing things for me... or, he will reflectively enter a cone of silence and emerge a week or two later. God only knows what goes through his mind during his solitude but I just pray and wait."

Grace and I spend the rest of our time discussing methods of effectively dealing with toddler husband Chris. As much as I do not think this relationship has a chance, some of the material from Professor Baker was very helpful and insightful. Grace descends down the stairwell with some valuable tools in her belt, and I resolve to keep my clients at arm's length. Not that Grace _means_ anything to me. It's not like I'm attracted to the woman.

## Chapter 14

My profile is all updated and Jeremy has not yet arrived. He has wasted 92 dollars already but I am not going to hammer him for his tardiness; it is _letter week_ after all. I did wonder if he was going to show up. Some people are not willing to take the necessary steps. He arrives exactly half way through the session, to the second. That act would have been hard to execute intentionally, yet it was comically accidental.

"Sorry I am late" says Jeremy, plopping heavily onto the sofa.

"Not a problem" I reply

Same rate either way

Jeremy has a blue and black checked shirt on today. On a slighter man, it may have looked handsome but unfortunately for Jeremy; his stomach was evenly poking through between the buttons all the way up his torso. It looks like somebody has tried to cook haggis for the first time. I can see some notepaper popping out of the top of his pocket, it is probably the letter.

"How have you been Jeremy?"

"I've been ok... It's been a hell of a week." He says, reaching for the letter. I am surprised he is so forthright in addressing his assignment. "Here ya go" he says, handing the folded paper over the coffee table, risking the buttons of his shirt which are impressively holding underneath the strain.

"Would you like me to read it Jeremy, or is it between you and your mother?"

"Read it" he insists, lying down on the couch as if in a cliché movie. It seems so out of character for Jeremy to take the liberty to lie down. I debate if I should insist he sits upright, or just to let him be. I decide to let him be. It is the first session of the day and I am feeling more lenient than usual. The letter is folded four times, like a love-letter from my childhood school days. The penmanship is legible, although riddled with scribbled out words and crossed out spelling mistakes. Clearly Jeremy wrestled with this process.

"Thank you for writing this letter" I say. "How long did you spend on this?"

"Almost every day."

"How was the process for you?"

"I don't know." he murmurs. "It was hard, but ok, but crap... I don't know." It seems like Jeremy is carrying some back pain, hence the morning sprawl on my couch. It appears the tension he felt writing this letter has affected him physically. The letter is set out like a shopping list, with a new point for each new thought.

"I commend you for having the bravery to start the process of healing. Please, make yourself comfortable as I have a read."

Any more comfortable and I'll be hand feeding him peeled grapes.

Dear Mum

My friend Jonothan said that I should write you a letter saying all the things I never got to say. There is so much I want to say, but this is hard.

I am angry that you left but I don't blame you for leaving.

Dad deserves to burn in hell for what he did to you.

I am a grown man now, and if he was around, I think I would get him

I wish you could come back.

I have been trying to cook that cake you always cooked me but mine is not as good as yours.

I still play music a lot and I am pretty good. Whenever I do play, I usually think of you and the songs you used to sing me.

I am sorry for disappointing you. You were perfect.

I sometimes remember your perfume.

I must have been really hard work as a child. I am sorry.

I think I want to come to where you are, but I am not sure.

Maybe see you soon

Jeremy

The letter is surprisingly revealing, considering its simplicity. Although it probably has not dawned on Jeremy, his answers have painted a very helpful picture and I am confident I have the method to formulate a path forward. "Jeremy, you have expressed some real emotion in this letter, and I want to thank you for being authentic. I would like to break the letter down and analyse it with you for the remainder of today, and also for the next few sessions. Does that sound like a plan?"

Not a rhetorical question

"Jeremy?" I repeat in an attempt to get his attention. "Does that sound like a plan?"

Jeremy responds with a snort like snore. He has fallen asleep in the few minutes it took me to read his letter. There isn't long left in the session, and if Jeremy is like every other male I have ever met, he is not going to be very emotionally insightful after a snooze. I decide to let him sleep until the time is up.

I wake him gently and he is visibly embarrassed. I assure him that he has nothing to worry about. His emotionally taxing week has disturbed his sleep routine, but now that the letter is complete he should be expecting a few more restful nights.

"Jeremy, next time we meet I want to focus on this letter, are you up for it?"

"Yep, and next time, I'll go to bed earlier." He jokes, trying to kick into gear. "Thank you so much for all your help Jonothan; I really enjoy our time together."

"Good man Jeremy. This is a tipping point in your progress; you are going to start seeing some significant change in the coming months. Have an excellent day and I'll see you in two weeks."

Jeremy pays cash as usual, and then scuffs his way out the door and down the stairs.

Helping people is complex. Technically speaking, a man just paid me 240 dollars to update my profile then read a letter while he snoozed on the sofa; but it is so much more than that. I make life better for people and I am good at what I do. Most of my clients do not have the power to get out of the graves they have dug themselves; I help give them that power. Today is going to be a good day.

## Chapter 15

My work week zoomed past with typical success. Now however, the minutes seem like hours as I wait for my Father to arrive for our first _sleepover_. Despite my best effort, I am uneasy; my mind ticks over like a broken record, returning always to the question, _what does he want from me?_ Running through the myriad of possible scenarios which could possibly present themselves today, I do my best to distract myself in the kitchen. When I discover I have accidentally undercooked my breakfast, I'm far more perturbed than I usually would be. At least the espressos are a consolation; they are perfect, thanks to the new seals on my machine and the freshly roasted beans. Despite the coffee and great view, I feel edgy and frustrated. I told Dad not to arrive before lunchtime so I have three hours to kill. Just knowing my father would be here soon causes my jaw to clench. I decide to let out some steam out at the gym.

I am determined not to let the old man get in my head.

_ - _ -_

My father arrives with a small luggage bag trailing behind him.

David Attenborough had a special on great white sharks last week. I missed it, but it would have been apt research.

After the world's most awkward embrace, I show him to his room and offer him time to settle in. Instead of taking his time he immediately follows me back to the kitchen.

"How was your trip?" I ask, as he perches at the island bench like a pelican.

"It was good" He responds, eyeballing the la Marzocco.

"Would you like a coffee?" I ask, accustomed to spotting the idiosyncrasies of fellow caffeine addicts.

"Only if you are having one"

I hate it when people say that. If you want a coffee, just say you want a coffee

"Sure, I'll have one too. How do you have yours?" I ask, hissing steam through the wand to check the pressure.

"However it comes"

I hate it when people say that too! What if I placed a piece of human faeces in it? Would you still say that?

I don't hide my frustrated sigh. "Dad, what would you usually order at a coffee shop?"

"Extra strong cappuccino with one teaspoon of raw sugar."

"Then that is what I will make you, feel free to sit on the balcony if you like."

He doesn't reply, or move. He just rolls his fingers on the benchtop and watches me quietly as I work the machine. I barely hold in another sigh.

This is going to be a long weekend.

I reckon his issue must be physical rather than financial. He looks like a shadow of the man he once was. When I was little, my father was always somebody others feared or revered. He wasn't a bad-ass or a criminal, he was just an intimidating, charismatic character. Now however, he just looks worn out. The skin on his face has given up grip. His eyes are sunken, yellowish and defeated. His hands reminded me of an arthritis commercial I once watched. It is strange for me to recognise that he is now somebody I would consider _old_.

Old sharks still bite

I hand him his coffee and we move out to the balcony. I want him to cut to the chase but we spend most of the afternoon discussing peripheral issues. I figure there are only two logical reasons for holding his cards back. Either he wants _me_ to bring it up so that he can lead with _well since you asked..._ or he is going to wait until the last moment to maximally leverage our _bonding time._ Either way, I am not going to succumb to his games. We speak for hours about politics, holidays, food, childhood, fishing, weather and every other space-filling topic.

As the sun sets over the still ocean, I realise the sheer beauty and calmness of my view juxtaposes perfectly how I am feeling internally. If an artist crept up behind us, he could be stirred to paint an inspired picture. A father and son chatting for hours on end, as the crisp gradations of orange and pink brilliantly light up the twilight sky. It would look like a perfect moment frozen in time...except that it would be complete bullshit.

As the time ticks on I feel heat building up and burning inside my neck. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to sit still because my body longs to twitch with annoyance. While not overtly offensive, this guy is stealing away more hours of my life than I am comfortable with, and he still hasn't told me what he wants. After hours of inner turmoil I am actively fighting the urge to backhand this old fool and force him to wake up to himself.

I need a drink

How long are we going to sit here ignoring the elephant in the room? For the life of me, I cannot figure out what he is smiling at, do I have something on my face? Why the hell is he here? "Dad" I suddenly blurt out, wanting to unleash "I need a drink and it's nearly time for some food. We have been out here for hours, what do you want to do for dinner?"

He springs to his feet and leans over the railing "How about I buy you dinner down at that Marina?" he asks, pointing down to my usual restaurant. This could go many ways. On one hand, it would be nice to be taken to dinner without footing the bill for once, but on the other hand, I feel I am getting buttered up in order to be screwed. I don't really have a choice. If I refuse, I would end up having to cook anyhow. At least if we go to the marina, I may bump into some people to help dilute the situation. "If you're paying, it sounds good enough to me" I echo while heading to the master suite to get changed. At least if it's going to get awkward, I'll have a few drinks in me.

The pleasantly chipper waitress that usually serves me cruises over to our table. "Hello Mr King" she smiles, shooting me a suggestive glace. As usual, she is resting her pen on her lip as she waits on our order. This is a subconscious tell, a flirtation technique, to draw my attention to her mouth. She has made it blatantly obvious on a number of occasions that she wants to give me more than what is on the menu. Last time I was here with Jason, I momentarily considered taking her number, just to piss him off, but Sarah was still asleep upstairs so I didn't bother.

"It's actually Mr Kings" my father interjects, thinking he is being incredibly witty. The waitress looks at him blankly, clearly not following his logic. I order two whiskeys, assuming my father will reveal his actual motive after a few drinks. He claims to be paying so we go straight for the top shelf. Two turned into four and four turned into eight. I thought the alcohol would take of the edge, but the night just gets more and more awkward. He peppers me with stories about the great times we used to have... maybe he can't manage his liquor, but I swear none of them are about me. More than a few sound similar to scenes from movies. Again, it goes on for hours. At one point, I thought he was going to cry.

I need to get away from this man, cut to the fucking chase!

I can't handle his ramblings any longer and I am determined _not_ to ask him what he needs, so I decide to call it a night. True to his word, he pays the bill and we walk briskly back to my apartment. I am not even tired but now I am trapped in my own room, pretending to be asleep so I don't have to talk to my father anymore. If this continues, soon I'll be popping pimples and visiting the bathroom with a lingerie catalogue. This is a joke.

Usually a few whiskeys have the power to draw me into a deep slumber, not so today. After pacing around my bed and glancing at mindless late-night TV shows, I remember I have some melatonin tablets in my bathroom cabinet. They are not a sleeping tablet or anything with codeine, but they do seem to relieve my anxiety and settle me down. As my eyes became heavy I can only speculate about the strange antics my father will bring tomorrow.

I barely notice the time pass when suddenly the feint clanging of stainless steel interrupts my restless slumber. I was in and out of that familiar dream where my teeth were being shattered and I was powerless to do anything about it. Every time the dream resurfaces, I wonder why I am the only person in the scene. There is never anybody punching me, I am not crashing a skateboard; skipping the cause of the injury the dream goes straight to my teeth shattering and falling out, crumb by crumb.

The clanging continues. I do not want to leave my bedroom as that would only result in more awkward conversation, but I can't stay put since my father is obviously messing with my kitchen. I am surprised when I notice it is already 8:15. That is only 225 minutes until my father leaves.

I can handle this.

I start gathering my clothes until the hiss of my coffee machine pierces the air. My blood instantly boils; that is too far. That coffee machine costs as much as a new hatchback!

I storm out, once again, ready to unleash on my father but I am hushed by an aroma that triggers instant salivation. "Good morning Son" he beams, gesturing to the table. "I hope you don't mind, but I helped myself to your kitchen."

"This actually smells fantastic" I admit, "But where did you get all the ingredients?"

"The Marina has a fresh food market every second Sunday; turns out it was today. I was going to try and make you a coffee but I could only make it hiss" he jokes, shrugging his shoulders and smiling. In that moment as he grins charmingly, I have a brief flashback to Dad's more capable days. He must be so disappointed in how quickly he is deteriorating.

His chorizo sausage is grilled perfectly. His stuffed mushrooms are impeccable. His sourdough bread is lightly drizzled with olive oil and rosemary before being charred flawlessly. I cannot believe it but this breakfast is faultless. "Thank you for breakfast Dad, this is amazing. I didn't even know you liked to cook."

"There is a lot you don't know about me Jonothan."

Finally!

"Such as?" I ask casually, moving my way toward the coffee machine.

"Well, I have recently retired from work."

"I knew that already, Jason told me a while ago."

"Why didn't you bring it up last night at dinner?"

"I figured you would tell me if you wanted to talk about it. Ironically, Jason told me a while ago over lunch at the same restaurant you chose last night." He gave a slight laugh through this nose then pressed his lips together.

"Dad" I continue, "it's none of my business anyway, what you do with your life is your choice."

"Well, it's _not_ actually none of your business, it does affect you."

"How?" I ask, thankful my curiosity was about to be satisfied.

"Now that I have more time on my hands, I would like to come and see you more often. I would like to make it a regular part of my life."

Many years of practice prevents me responding immediately. Although I have been softened by some excellent breakfast, my guard is astutely in place and I am not about to let it down until I am certain I have uncovered the scam.

"Why do you want to do that, have you been given six months to live?" I laugh and grin, implying I am joking, but he and I _both_ know I am fishing for an explanation.

"No, nothing like that" he replies, reaching for his napkin. "Retirement has _not_ been something I have slipped into naturally. While most of my peers are playing golf, and sailing around, I have been in turmoil since the day I walked out. I have felt lost and insignificant and my head has been a mess. I feel like my identity has been taken away and I am useless. I feel like I don't have anybody I can talk to."

Free therapy? That is why we are here! Free therapy!

Truth be told, that describes my relationship with my mother to a tee... but it is not her fault, she was left alone due to the actions of the man in front of me. I did not expect this from Sabastian Shark King.

Dad continued dribbling, clearly unaware of my frustration. "When I was working, my phone would ring non-stop; now, it lasts all week before it needs a charge. I thought I mattered to the people in my life, but evidently, it was all business. I have been forced to evaluate my life. I need to spend my last decades making good choices; I figure that seeing you is an example of a good choice."

"Dad, you know I am not able to see you as a patient. Firstly, I already have a full client list, but secondly, and most importantly, there is a duel-relationship in play and if I..."

"That's not what I meant" he interjects softly.

"Pardon me?"

"That is not what I meant" he repeats, huffing and slouching forward on the table top. He is searching for his words as he huffs again and shakes his head slowly.

"Dad, can we please stop treading on egg shells. I'm tired of trying to figure out what you are doing here. Please with no _B.S_ , what are you doing here?"

He squints at me, looking more doleful than ever before... "I just want to be in your life."

He looks away as I meditate on his comment. I search my heart and dig deep to try to reciprocate, but there is nothing there; I do not _feel_ a thing. Cognitively, I understood how somebody in his position may attract some sympathy... but I have absolutely nothing.

"Dad, I really don't know what to say. Since we are being honest, the truth is that I rarely think about you. It is not that I am intentionally blocking you out, or trying to isolate you; you just never seem to pop into my mind. After your text, I intended to call you within a week, and three weeks went by before I even realised."

"I was wondering about that" he says, pressing his lips against his teeth.

"You see, I realised a long time ago that I just don't _need_ you anymore and I have gotten used to that. I am not interested in digging up old skeletons but you were not there when I needed you... and now that I don't really need you anymore, you want some kind of relationship because it benefits _you_. We have never had a typical father-son relationship so I feel no obligation typical of family ties. What you are trying to create here, I apologise, but that ship has sailed."

"Well, what about me?"

"What do you mean?"

"What about me? Jonothan, I am so lonely I don't know what to do with myself. Terry is going camping with his son next month, and Rodger is having Grandkids. Marlene and Stuart are in _India_ and their kids are joining them next week..."

Angered now, I interrupt. "Terry and Pete have gone camping every year since he was a kid, I don't know Marlene or Stuart that well, but good for them. As far as grandchildren go, talk to Chantelle, you aren't getting any from me..."

"What about Sarah?"

I glare, "Sarah and I are not together, Dad. I don't want to discuss it with you."

"You broke up?" He looks at me as if shocked.

My jaw is clenched as I speak slowly, "I am sure you of all people can appreciate my relationship with Sarah for what it is; we are, and never have been _a couple_. But that is beside the point. Dad, you are experiencing grief over the loss of your job, so you need to find something else to occupy yourself with, something that is not me."

"I don't know what to do."

"I am sorry but that's not my problem."

"I know it's not your problem, but you could be a part of the solution."

"Dad, I am just not interested. If this is about you trying to make up for lost time because you feel guilty or whatever... you don't need to. I am a grown man and I am over it. Just move on with your life."

"Son, you are an emotionally intuitive man and excellent therapist. If you were treating a client in my situation... would you tell _him_ to simply move on with his life, and forget about it?

"Probably not" I admit, continuing to feel numb, "but that really has nothing to do with this situation."

"Why is _this_ any different?" he asks, squinting at me again.

"It is different because _that_ is my job. I choose when to have a vested interest in my client's well-being. I choose to work hard and be the best therapist in the city. I choose to help hundreds of people every month and I choose to allow them to pay me accordingly. If I had a client in your situation going through the same issues, I would choose to treat them professionally because that is what I am trained to do."

"So then, why not help me?"

"As I have said, there is nothing inside me compelling me to do so. I don't feel a sense of sentimental obligation because our history hardly intertwines."

"But if we started making time for one another, our _future history_ would intertwine giving us something to build upon. One day when I pass on then you can remember the dad I _became_ instead of the dad I was..." He looks at me with a hopeful gaze.

"Dad, please hear me, I am just not interested. I am sorry that you are hoping for more, but your choices made our relationship what it is, and these are the repercussions. My life is complete without you, and frankly, I just do not care."

I am astounded by what I am saying, and the ring of truth to it momentarily silences the room. I know he is going to leave soon, and probably turn around half way down the hall with a lingering stair like a lost puppy, but all I can think about is another espresso and some peace and quiet. There is no emotion to be found.

"Don't you think that is sad?" he asks, genuinely searching for a lifeline

"No... actually, I just don't think it matters."

He stands up and paces slowly around the kitchen "you know me, I have never been good with expressing emotion, so I don't even know if this whole thing is sad... or not, but it just doesn't feel _right_."

I stand and lean against the refrigerator "it is what it is." I shrug, "the family unit is rarely what it once was and our perception of normal or right must adjust accordingly. Some of the repercussions aren't ideal" I continue, gesturing at his newfound introspection, "However, I can give you the details of somebody in your city that could help you process your feelings if you like."

Dad squints at me once again "no it's ok, thanks anyway."

## Chapter 16

As Grace gathers her bag and stands from her chair in the waiting room, I notice a large scratch on her face, running alongside her cheekbone. She has been in the sun recently and freckles which I have not noticed before appear against the tanned colour of her skin. She greets me warmly "hello Jonothan, I hope you are well." I gently squeeze her shoulder gently in greeting and she smiles as she passes me into the office, taking a seat on the chesterfield before pulling out her table of life goals.

As a psychologist, there are many discussions which I am privy to; conversations which go beyond the norms of social interaction. I assist people as they confess the darkest of secrets, the biggest of fears and greatest of goals. My natural abilities in using tact and charm have been enhanced by my profession, yet somehow it remains a mystery for me to know whether or not to draw attention to a physical defect of a female patient.

Some of life's challenges are universal to men.

I return Graces warm smile and decide not to comment on the scratch or sunburn. It doesn't look like the result of abuse, therefore it is irrelevant to our session. I _am_ curious though. As my mind wanders with the possibilities as I ask "How have you been this fortnight Grace?"

"Great" she replies. "33 by 33 has been going well," she reports. "Although I have found it a little more difficult this last fortnight" she grimaces. "I enjoy the exercise but I'm no spring chicken and my body is aching!" She laughs as she stretches. I can see that after our last session Grace now feels comfortable again in my presence.

"You may feel your age, Grace, but it is quite astounding how young you look. Especially considering you have really only just begun your healthy diet and exercise." Grace's body is transforming quickly with the exercise. While she was never out of shape to begin with, I can see she is toning well. She is dressed appropriately for work; however, her clothes appear to be looser than they ought to be. In fact, if I swing my chair slightly to the right I can see her lacy bra through the gaping of her blouse. I remember Jeremy's gaping shirt and almost laugh at the contrast. Appreciatively I notice that Grace is one of those lucky women whose breasts don't shrink as they lose weight. I should swing back the other way. I really should. I don't.

"I know." Grace replies, "I have a baby face. People _always_ assume I am younger than I am." She appears more exasperated than excited by the fact.

"Some people would consider that a good thing" I point out.

"I know," she says again, rolling her eyes, "I suppose I should be grateful. I just think that one day I will wake up and all my aging will have happened overnight. I'll be wrinkled, grey, toothless and all saggy" she giggles, squinting as she pushes her lips over her teeth so that she appears toothless. Catching my surprised look at her antics, she flushes a deeper red and sits up as she clears her throat. She has the demeanour of a student who has just been scolded for talking in class time. Calculating the best way to put her at ease, I am about to reassure her when Grace breaks the awkward atmosphere by saying "...Or perhaps people assume I am younger than I am simply because sometimes I act that way" she smiles and laughs in a self-conscious, endearing way.

She has a great laugh

I chuckle along. Grace asks, "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you Jonothan?"

"I am 36" I reply, wondering if she thinks I look older or younger than I am. Most women assume I am younger. Grace simply nods.

"So when did you feel like you were a responsible adult?" She enquires. Her tone is light as she leans forward questioningly.

I laugh and her grin widens. "You don't feel like a responsible adult?" I ask with a smile.

"Mostly, yes" she nods. Grace holds her hands in front of her as if she were shaking an invisible ball "...but there is always this part of me that wants to dance in the rain, order the milkshake, smell the flowers, jump in the puddles, eat the cake batter, have a food fight... put three sugars in my tea!" I can't help but smile.

"And run up the stairs?" I add.

She exclaims "yes!" with a bubbly laugh. Grace lowers her voice as if disclosing secret information, "Sometimes I catch myself doing adult things like going to work, driving a car, paying bills... things I do quite regularly and competently, and I feel like someone is about to stop me and tell me to stop impersonating an adult, you know?"

Many adults share the feelings Grace is expressing, however I have no doubt in my mind that Grace is articulating her personality perfectly. As she becomes more comfortable throughout our sessions, there have been an increasing number of occasions where the childlike component of her personality has bubbled to the surface. I am slightly surprised to realise that I don't find this unpleasant in any way. It doesn't detract from her intelligent, capable and responsible nature ... it somehow enhances it.

Childlike, but not childish...there is a significant difference

I have met childish adults before; in fact, many of my clients exhibit childish behaviours- tantrums, pouting, and manipulation. What Grace possesses is a childlike joy and wonder that makes her appear more alive and more real than anything else in that moment. "In your mind, what would an _adult_ do differently?" I ask.

"Probably not run up the stairs or act like an elderly lady in front of her therapist." She laughs and I join her.

"I think most adults would give their last penny to have the youthfulness you retain, Grace" I confess, "so my advice would be to enjoy it while you have it. You are discerning enough to know what is appropriate in most situations; your capability is not compromised by your enjoyment of life, so make the most of it."

Grace smiles at me warmly "thanks, I will. Shall we get down to business?"

I can't help but smile, "Of course. How has your marriage been this last fortnight?"

"This last fortnight has been _so_ good!" she replies enthusiastically.

"How so?" I ask.

"Even though Chris and I have some difficulties, for the most part we are actually really good together." I wait for her to elaborate. "This last weekend we went out on the boat for some fishing and wakeboarding." Grace's hand runs to her burnt face, "I didn't re-apply my sunscreen often enough, obviously" she giggles. "Which, you _did_ notice but didn't ask about" she says playfully accusing as she points at me.

Shamefaced, I smile and shrug bashfully "what should I have said?"

"Hi Grace, I can see you have been enjoying yourself in the sun. What is with the enormous scratch which has ripped up half your face?" she smiles.

I chuckle as I raise my eyebrow, "and that would have gone down well?"

"It is better than making me wonder why you haven't said anything" she declares wide-eyed. "It's not like I don't realise I look like I've lost a round of MMA" she plays.

"Just because something is the true, it does not necessitate its being said. _Maybe_ I thought it might have _embarrassed_ you, you may be sensitive about it" I retort, equally playful.

"That's fair enough. Thank-you for being so considerate" she grins impishly.

"Ever the gentleman" I say in a mock bow and she giggles. Perhaps childlikeness is infectious. "So, now that the elephant has been addressed, what happened?"

"We had a great day out on the boat with our friends, as I said."

"Your boat?" I ask. Living over a harbour I often contemplate buying a yacht.

She raises her eyebrow with a smile, "you don't want to know what happened, do you?"

"Of course, I thought it might pertain to the story, since you mentioned it _twice_."

"It doesn't really" she admits "I was just, you know, providing the setting."

"Fair enough. Please continue."

"Long story short, our friends are about to sail off round the world and have a cat they needed to offload. We took it, and the stupid thing nearly ripped my face off." She gestures to the cut again. "It's not the best look for someone in HR."

I chuckle "it's really not that bad." She raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "Really, it's not!" I protest, "It accentuates your cheekbones, isn't that what women want to do?"

She laughs "blush is usually what women use, not blood" she smiles deviously. "Anyway, apart from getting sunburned and adopting a cat... I'm really more of a dog person" she clarifies, as if I might judge her for becoming a cat owner. I can understand that, I'm a dog person too. "Chris was so proud of how I caught so many fish and stood up on my very first time wakeboarding."

"That's impressive" I say.

"You should have seen the way he looked at me" she says, barely hearing my comment as she continues with a far-away look on her face which makes me want to puke. "When we got home I de-scaled the fish, he filleted them and cooked them... _so_ good! We had the best time, and the best night, and the last few days..." She smiles, lost in thought. Since Grace is off evoking what I assume are orgasmic memories I take the opportunity to peek through her shirt again. Unfortunately, the gap is not so wide now that she has shifted in her seat.

As if she suddenly remembers I am here she asks "do you like fish, Jonothan?"

"Please Grace, call me John. I do as a matter of fact."

Grace nods. "Do you have any pets?"

I smile "no, my apartment doesn't allow them. Strictly speaking, I don't allow them in my apartment."

"Are you married?" She asks with curiosity.

"Is this 101 questions?" I answer and she smiles.

"Sorry, is that inappropriate to ask?" she says apologetically, "I've never been to a shrink, before you that is."

I smile, "It's OK Grace. Usually when you go to a _shrink"_ I say teasingly and she smiles, "the session is designed to help the client, not the psychologist. Therefore, the psychologist is _usually_ the one who asks the questions, which the client" I gesture to her, "in turn, answers. Because the client is paying for the session, usually they prefer to answer questions which have greater depth than 'what do you like to eat?' and 'how did you cut your face?'" I smirk triumphantly.

"But that does not answer _my_ question" she replies, matching my smirk "is it _inappropriate_ for me to ask you questions, such as 'are you married?'"

I laugh in resignation. "It depends on the circumstances. In this case, it is fine. No, I am not married."

"Good" she replies.

"Good? Good that you can ask, or that I am unmarried"

"Both. Not good for _you_ that you are unmarried, but good for _me_ that you are."

Interesting

"I have some married friends who sometimes try to give me advice. The thing is, they are so clouded by their own relationship that their advice is irrelevant or plain bad."

"Subjective."

"Exactly!" Grace says appreciatively. "I think that being married can help you sympathise with the hardships of marriage, but it is for that exact reason the truth can also become clouded."

"I am glad you see it that way" I say with genuine gratitude.

"So, what are your questions Jonothan? Fire away!"

I shake my head "let's take a break from the goal chart today, and how about we talk about why you decided to adopt a cat that you don't really want." I smile in my most charming manner.

"Oh" she says taken by surprise, "there is no safe conversation when you are around is there!" I chuckle.

Grace and I discuss the layers of factors which motivate her decision making. Time moves quickly and I am somewhat dismayed when her appointed time is over.

## Chapter 17

I open the door for my newest client, and I catch my breath. Miss Stephanie Ballow is _hot_. The body of a supermodel, darkly tanned skin, long thick black hair, deep brown eyes, the perfect smile... this woman leaves even Sarah in the dust! "Welcome Miss Ballow, I am Jonothan King. Please, make yourself at home." I gesture to the sofa and watch as she slinks across the room in her impossibly high heels. I may need to re-evaluate my 'dating past clients' rule. Stephanie has booked an hour session for her first meeting, and I feel that everything is coming up King.

"Thank you Mr King, please, call me Steph." She replies in a sultry voice. She looks me over.

"Sure Steph, please, call me John" I counter with my most charming smile.

I glance down at Stephanie's information sheet I notice she is a professor at the local University.

Hot and smart. Am I dreaming?

I fight the urge to pinch myself.

"I see you lecture locally, what subject do you teach?"

"Business, mostly" Steph smiles that killer smile.

"Impressive. Why is it you have come to see me today Steph?"

"I recently divorced, and it was quite messy. I thought it would be good to speak to someone professionally about processing it all."

Single

Unfortunately, as Steph continues to talk, and talk she does, her sultry voice becomes annoying and her ability to speak without taking a breath is increasingly frustrating. I could leave the room and I doubt she would notice, she is so wrapped up in her monologue. Some clients do this from time to time, but I pick up the cues that this is Stephanie's typical form of interaction. I don't mind the eye candy as I tune out her voice but I am severely disappointed that such a beautiful, and supposedly intelligent woman is so... boring. She makes a perfect business professor I suppose- nobody talks back, the content is better than a sleeping pill. Maybe her husband left because he was afraid she would eventually talk him to death. I sigh as I try and make the most of the view.

If her vocal chords could be removed she would be the perfect woman

As the end of the hour rolls around I feel drained. I'm going to have to find a space in the monologue to try and bring the session to a close. I have decided that this woman is definitely not worth breaking the 'no dating clients' rule for. I don't know if I can even stomach another session of her poorly told stories. Once upon a time I would have done anything to bed a woman as hot as Steph, could I be getting old?

"Thank you for sharing with me today Steph" I say, cutting into her story. "I appreciate your openness with me, unfortunately however my next appointment is about to begin so we need to come to a close for now."

Steph stands up and gushes "Oh John, you are such a good listener..."

Like you gave me a choice

" ...and so handsome." She adds coyly. "Is there anything you can't do?"

A panicking image of me trying to rip my own ears off prevents me from saying the wrong thing. I smile "date clients."

She laughs. "Understandable."

As I walk her out I pick up the file for my next client, Daniel Sandgate.

Daniel is in the waiting room, and offers Steph a kindly smile as he walks past her into the office.

"That is a very beautiful young lady" He says once she is out of earshot.

I did not expect such a conversation starter from Daniel. Most men, yes. I have found however, that Daniel sits well outside the norm on most every other occasion.

"I suppose so" I reply politely, not knowing weather this is the time to delve into Daniels monogamy, or lack thereof. As a professor who is handsome, personable, older, albeit peculiar, I am certain there would be plenty of opportunity to stray with women just like Steph. I wonder if they know one another from academic circles? Our last discussion centred around his love for his family. Maybe he has an open marriage? "It is good to see you Daniel, please come in. Can I get you a drink?"

Daniel laughs then shakes my hand enthusiastically. "I enjoy your company immensely Jonothan, it is good to see you. I would love an espresso from your wonderful machine if it is on offer. Otherwise I am more than happy with water."

Daniel's quirky welcome warms me, and I quickly make us both an espresso. "Make yourself at home" I smile, wondering what kind of socks he is wearing today. Thinking of his socks leads me to wondering again about this man's wife.

"What is on your mind John?" Daniel asks.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You look as if you are busting to ask me something. My guess is that it may have something to do with the young lady who just left?" Daniel smiles.

He is good

"To be honest with you Daniel, I was wondering about the nature of your marriage." I confess.

Daniels eyes widen slightly with surprise but he continues smiling. "And what is it that you would like to know?"

"I was just considering that in your profession there are plenty of women, like the one who just left, who would appreciate the company of a man like yourself."

"I see." Daniel answers with a twinkle of humour in his eyes. "You are wondering if I am faithful to my wife?"

"Not necessarily. Like I said, I was curious as to the nature of your marriage, you may have an open relationship."

Daniels head cocks to the side and he studies me. "Do you consider open marriage to be a legitimate form of marriage Jonothan?"

There is no winning answer to this question

"If you are uncomfortable with my question Daniel, please don't feel pressured to answer."

Daniel smiles, "I am not uncomfortable with the question, I would love to discuss marriage with you. I am simply trying to gain your opinion on the topic from the outset so that my answers do not sway your conversation."

"I appreciate you thinking of me, however it is my job to look objectively at the issue so I may help you in any way necessary."

"I understand. What is your objective opinion about marriage Jonothan?"

I take a deep breath. "Marriage is a legal commitment to a lifelong relationship which is often the foundation for procreation."

Daniel nods. "I agree with you that one of the greatest levels in the foundation of marriage is commitment. Is that your role in counselling then, to encourage people to continue in their commitments?"

I consider the question. "I believe my role is to help couples to maximise mutual satisfaction in their commitment."

Daniel looks serious, and genuinely pained. "It is a devastating thing to see a marriage full of pain and suffering."

"Is it something you have experienced?" I ask as I set down the espressos with a side of milk.

Daniel nods as he reaches for his drink and takes a sip. "I brought a lot of hurt and baggage into my marriage Jonothan. Most people do. My incredible wife had to deal with a self-absorbed, prideful and broken man for many years. I do not exaggerate when I say I could not be half the man I am without her love and commitment to me and our vows."

"She sounds like an incredible woman."

"She most certainly is. In answer to your question, my commitment to her is absolute. I have experienced real love and refuse to settle for less in our relationship."

"You are never tempted to stray?"

Daniel chuckles. "From time to time I feel an attraction to other women, but I address the issue quickly and am never _really_ tempted. I love my wife, and investing in her has only brought out even more of the beauty and wonder of who she is. She is no runway model, but I am more attracted to her than anyone else. She is truly beautiful to me. I respect her. I value her opinion. She is my help in good times and hard. I can run to her for comfort, or celebrate with her when things are great. More importantly, I can sit comfortably with her in silent contentment. She does not care if I'm professor or toilet cleaner, she speaks to who I am, and I like who I am when I am with her. I am more like my true self when I am with her."

For someone so mature and married so long, Daniel speaks so romantically and so convincingly of his relationship that I find I'm hanging on to every word. It sounds unbelievable, so foreign.

"Is it real?" I ask.

Daniel chortles "Oh its real my friend. You doubt it can be so?"

"In my experience, relationships like the ones you describe are _extremely_ rare. My office is filled daily with people who damage one another mercilessly for their own gain, and I can't help but believe that it would be more beneficial for both parties to acknowledge their lives are not compatible." A memory of Alex sitting before me makes me continue "or there are marriage's where one person lives the love you describe, but with an impossible partner, and it is bound to end with their destruction."

Daniel nods "A one sided marriage is difficult, but not impossible with real love."

"Love is what started the marriage in the first place." I point out.

"Perhaps that is so" Daniel acquiesces. "Do you oppose marriage Jonothan?"

I sigh. "Not the type of marriage you have, no. In fact, it sounds incredible. You live the ideal, the theory, which I wholeheartedly support. However, what you have is tied closely to the people you are, and the choices you have both made. If I am honest, I cannot pretend that I personally have much faith in a lifetime commitment to another person, given all the variables."

"Is it you that you do not have faith for, or your potential spouse?" Daniel queries.

"Both." I admit. "I live a bachelor's life, and I am happy with it. My needs are met. I have met many women, and I haven't experienced the type of affection which you share with your wife, therefore I don't feel at a loss without it. I doubt I would make a very good husband, given that I feel a wife would not increase the value of my life. I am unwilling to bring children into the world without a solid marriage, but that is something I don't grieve over."

"I congratulate you for your honest insight. Marriage is a blessing to me, but I do agree with you that it is not for everyone. The Apostle Paul was unmarried in order to commit wholeheartedly to his work. You are still young though Jonothan, do not overlook the possibility for love in your life, you know the theory, so you are on your way to becoming a successful practitioner."

Daniel and I continue talking about relationships for the remainder of our time together. I can't help but wonder what life would have been like growing up with Daniel as a father, in a successful marriage, with a solid family. Perhaps I would not have become so driven and successful. Perhaps I would believe that I could have my own family. The thought of a woman in my life like Daniel describes is intriguing. Have I even met any women like that? I shake the thought loose. I don't have a wife, but I do have dinner with a hot friend tonight and that is more than satisfactory to me.

## Chapter 18

As I finish the last touches on our dinner I glance over at Sarah at the table, swirling her wine. Her long legs are crossed as she sits, staring absent-mindedly towards the balcony. Sarah is smart, stunning, independent, and all class. She knows how to appreciate nice things but uses her own money. She is everything most guys want, but here she is with me.

Sarah knows the deal, I keep it casual, and I believe her career focussed lifestyle agrees with casual. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. Admittedly there have been times we have fought about our relationship, (or lack thereof), but I have never wavered. I am unwilling to go there and she accepts it. Glancing at her now I question whether it would be so bad being in a relationship together. It's a wonder she hasn't been married off already, come to think of it... Would I regret it if she married some other guy? I sigh as I search my heart, probably not. I can't pinpoint it, something just seems to be... lacking. It certainly wouldn't be the wedded bliss Daniel spoke of today. Sarah is practically the perfect woman, so what kind of woman would it take? Certainly no-one like blabbermouth Steph.

She speaks to who I am, and I like who I am when I am with her. I am more like my true self when I am with her...

Daniel should work for Hallmark. My mind is distracted as I carry the plates to the table, setting them down with the announcement "dinner is served."

"It looks good, and smells good." Sarah smiles and breathes deeply, taking in the aroma "you are such an amazing cook." She pours another glass of wine and hands it to me.

"Thanks Grace."

Shit

She stops short. "Grace?"

"Yeah." I reply, as if this were a planned discussion. "Did you want to say grace? Give thanks? You know, for dinner." She looks unconvinced so I continue on, but with more confidence, "You went to a Catholic school, didn't you?" I keep talking as I sit and place a napkin on my lap as casually as possible. "I have had a few religious clients in my office lately...

The best lies are half-truths

...and it has occurred to me that I am not always sensitive to others views on spirituality. I thought perhaps you might want to say grace." I keep an innocent look on my face, but inwardly I am churning. It's not as if Sarah has any illusions that I am monogamous, after all this is casual; but _no_ woman wants to be called by another name, and... Grace?

Where did that come from?

Sarah stares at me like I am crazy.

Maybe I am.

"I did go to a Catholic school, but I really don't say grace" she says slowly. "Thank you for being so thoughtful though John." Realising she may be offending me, she awkwardly pats my hand and nods, as if to a child "you can go ahead if you want to though."

I pick up my cutlery and paste a smile on my face, "No, it's fine, let's get started."

Her head tilts as she studies me and it takes all of my self-control to continue acting like nothing is unusual. She shakes her head lightly, raises her eyebrows and after taking an unusually large mouthful of wine begins her meal.

"So, how are things at work?" I ask, casually as possible...

## Chapter 19

"Grace, come in. It's good to see you again." I say reaching out to guide her in with my hand. "Would you like a tea or coffee?" I ask, quietly enough so that my exiting client doesn't hear.

"Hi Jonothan, sure, a tea would be great!" Grace replies. As she walks in with my hand lightly touching her back, her gaze lingers on me and her smile widens, causing crinkles around her eyes. She sits down and exclaims "Jonothan, you look so happy today, it's wonderful! Have you had good news?"

"Really?" I ask, genuinely puzzled as I make us both an English Breakfast Tea. "There has been nothing extraordinary happening, although I am curious to know what I normally appear like, if not happy" I question playfully.

She continues smiling, but rushes to assure me, "Oh you are always polite and professional, don't worry about that." Amused, I stir in the milk and sugar and nod for her to continue. "You know, it's just that..." a sudden look of concern crosses her face, "well, your eyes sometimes seem kind of sad and distracted. Which, considering your job is understandable. Sometimes I wonder if it takes its toll. Then I feel guilty because I know whenever I'm here I'm not exactly a ray of sunshine. People come here concerned with their own problems, and I doubt many patients check to see how _you_ are going..." She suddenly stops short, realising she may have just offended me, but then as she looks into my eyes she breaks out in a smile and gestures towards me "but today you look fresh and alert, and well... happy!"

I laugh, feeling pleasure at both her genuine joy and concern for me. "Sad and distracted hey?" I say, handing her the tea. It's not unusual for patients to project their feelings onto their therapist, but the sudden knot in my stomach as I speak informs me that it's more likely Grace has picked up on something in me that I haven't seen. "Well, I'll try and work on that" I assure her, while doing my best to ignore the nagging heaviness.

"By the looks of it, just keep doing what you're doing" she replies, grinning widely. Her smile melts the growing fear, and I feel lighter instantly.

"Well alright then" I chuckle. "Now, if you have finished your assessment of my wellbeing" I play, "shall we see how you are getting along?"

"I suppose I should let you have a turn too" she jokes. "It's actually quite fun being therapist."

I laugh. "I am sure you would make an excellent therapist Grace, you are perceptive and intelligent."

"And you are flattering me, but I don't mind, it's your job" she counters with a cheeky smile. "I don't know why everyone doesn't go to therapy; you walk out feeling like you can conquer the world!" She raises her fist in the air enthusiastically and laughs. I sit back as I watch her and don't hide my smile. As her giggles subside her smile remains and I realise we are watching each other contentedly, grinning like idiots.

"Let's talk about your goals" I say awkwardly. I need to get my professionalism back with this woman.

I am her therapist, not her friend. Therapist. Not friend.

Grace switches to business mode immediately, but her smile remains.

"Chris and I have been going really well this last two weeks and I have tried to implement the tools you have given me where possible."

"That's great. How about 33 by 33?"

"I'm doing really well. I have substituted some exercises for others but I am enjoying it and I think I'm really going to make it. I'm feeling good."

"You are looking good."

"Thanks." She fobs off the compliment. "The exercise is really helping me eat correctly too. There is nothing like trying to run after eating a few donuts. Donuts are my favourite, but not the second time around if you know what I mean." She screws up her face in mock disgust.

"Grace, I would like to talk about finances if that is ok with you."

"Surely _you_ don't need a loan, with your fees" she jokes, waving both hands over the chesterfield like a swan. Grace has an innate ability to point out the obvious without sounding judgemental. I like it.

"No, but I will let you know if I do" I reply with a smirk, now glancing at her homework folder.

"What does Chris do for work?"

"He owns a small construction business." I suddenly don't care if Chris is a successful business owner.

"Your financial goals are not at all extravagant. You don't strike me a lady of leisure, or somebody wanting to fraternise with your girlfriends all day while Chris works to support your shopping sprees. What is behind your desire to stop working once the children come along Grace?"

She answers, "I have always wanted to stop working once the children come along. Chris is also a big advocate of the idea. I want to make sure to give my children my best, especially while they are young. I am not against the idea of working part-time, as long as it doesn't impact my ability to raise my children the way I want to."

"You said Chris is in agreement, are you sure he is not going to change his mind once he realises the cost of raising children?"

"No, Chris has got his problems, as you know" winking at me mid-sentence "but he comes from a good family and his own mother was blessed to be able to be full-time at home. If possible, he wants to provide the same opportunity for our children as well."

"Do you ever think you will be bored with that life? I am not trying to mock your choices, I think they are commendable but you are an extremely capable woman, do you think you will be fulfilled as housewife and mother?"

Grace looks at me and leans in smiling. "Jonothan, have you ever met a dog that is completely idiotic?

"It depends on what you mean by idiotic"

"You know those extremely annoying dogs that bark all day, chase cars, fight other dogs, mount legs, dig holes, roll in the mud... idiotic."

"Yes, you basically just described my neighbour's dog when I was kid, his name was Rex."

"Well Jonothan, Rex didn't start as an idiot... his training as a puppy, or lack thereof, _taught_ him to be an idiot; it is not actually his fault. He did not know how to behave properly because nobody ever took the time to show him. As an adult dog, his behaviour would be so deeply entrenched that it would be almost impossible to correct it...."

I feel I know where this is going and I answer, "Sounds right to me"

"Well," Grace continues enthusiastically, "as a mother I will have the opportunity to release two children into society that could be amazing... they could help people, or develop new medicines, or teach people mathematics, or build orphanages... or... I could release a couple of idiots. Even if I have to stay home for five years, or even ten years to make sure they are raised correctly, I figure it is a good use of my time."

"That sounds great for the children, but what about your career?"

"It's just a matter of priorities for me; I do like my job but it's only a means to an end."

"Can't you have both?"

"Some people can, but not me. I am just not wired to have divided interests. I would prefer to do a few things well, rather than many things poorly."

I had always thought Jason's family situation was rare, as his mother also worked minimal hours, but now Grace is humming a similar tune, only 35 years later. I can imagine Sarah and her work friends gossiping about somebody like Grace behind her back. "She is _only_ a stay-at home mother" or "she has giving up on her dreams" or "what a waste of a university degree." The problem is, however, that Grace seems genuinely _excited_ about the prospect. Not only that, Grace seems happy; truly happy. Despite all her issues with Chris, she carries a peace, or centeredness, or an aura or _something_ that I have rarely seen in a woman.

"Do you want to have children Jonothan?" Grace enquires with a fixed gaze, breaking me out of my musings.

"I don't think so; I'm not really a _children_ type of guy... You know you can call me John..."

"But you like to work with people don't you? Kids are just little people." Grace smiles, lifting her eyebrows excitedly.

"It probably more my issue that theirs, I have no idea what a good father is supposed to look like"

Overshare! Rein it in John!

"What happened to your father?"

"Nothing happened to him, we just don't really _do_ the Father-Son thing..."

Until recently

Grace looks genuinely disappointed for me. She shouldn't. "That's a shame... but it makes you make sense to me" I can see by her growing cheeky grin that Grace is longing for me to bite. Despite my earlier professionalism vow, I am willing to indulge her. Who wouldn't be curious to see what is on her playful mind, anyway, it feels good to make her happy.

"How so?" I ask, smiling in anticipation.

"Puppies Jonothan, it's all about puppies." I roll my eyes and chuckle. I walked into that.

After spending some time discussing Grace's relational goals again I once again regret my time with Grace coming to a close.

I wish I didn't have another appointment right now.

"Grace, I feel we have made some great progress today. In regards to your next appointment, do you think that our next session could possibly take place at the end of the day?"

If Grace finds my request strange, she does not show it. "Sure. Later might be better for work too, now that you mention it."

"Fantastic."

## Chapter 20

It has been just over two weeks since Jeremy presented his letter; I am looking forward to helping him move through his grief. He waltzes in 40 dollars late with two take away coffees from the café downstairs.

"Here you go John" he declares, shoving one of the cups into my hand. "I'm not going to fall asleep this time" he beams, knocking his cup against mine. "Cheers!"

"Thank you Jeremy, that is very kind of you." Although nobody makes coffee quite like me, I appreciate the gesture. I have not had time for caffeine as yet and I can feel a withdrawal headache looming.

"I got us triple shots; hope it's not too strong for you."

"It tastes good thanks Jeremy. How have you been going?"

"I got to all my gigs on time again... other than that, not much has been happening... Oh, I went for a walk the other day to try and lose some weight, I didn't get far, but it was ok."

"Good work Jeremy. Are you ready to start talking through your letter?"

"Not ready... but willing... I guess"

"Excellent. Have you ever heard about the five stages of grief?"

"Ahhh, I don't know. Maybe... Is it like the 12 step AA thing?"

"Not really... There was a Swiss Psychiatrist called Elisabeth Kubler-Ross who wrote a book on grief back in the 60's. She proposed that there were five stages of grief that people would pass through when facing their own mortality... She later proposed that the stages are not only relevant when facing one's own death, but also for those processing the loss of a loved one."

"Oh yer" Jeremy interjected... "I think I remember this from a Simpson's episode when Homer thinks he is dying?"

"I remember that, it was when he ate the puffer fish, right?" I say smiling to myself, suddenly I picture Homer listening to the Bible on his Walkman all night... it makes me think of Grace.

"Yep" chips Jeremy

"Ok, do you remember the stages?"

"No sorry... I think anger was one... but that's it."

"Anger is one of them. Kubler-Ross contended that people experiencing grief go through stages of: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and eventually, acceptance. What you need to know is that Kubler-Ross wrote this book decades ago and while there has been much research since her book _on death and dying,_ was written, I believe she makes some valid points that may help you process your mother's choice to leave."

He looks up at me silently, but receptively.

"Jeremy, when I challenged you to write the letter, you were initially hesitant, and that is totally understandable. But you took on the challenge and wrote the letter, even though you knew it was going to be extremely difficult. It demonstrates to me, that you are further along the journey than you realise.

"How?"

"Well, let's reconsider the letter" as I pull the note out of his file, Jeremy shudders at the sight of it.

"It's ok Jeremy...I want to show you how you are doing much better than you think." I point to each written line as I lean over into his personal space.

I am angry that you left but I don't blame you for leaving. There is obviously a nuance of _anger_ , but also glimpses of _acceptance_.

I wish you could come back. Here, you are doing some bargaining

Dad deserves to burn in hell for what he did to you. I am a grown man now, and if he was around, I think I would get him. Once again, there is obviously a degree of _anger_ as you blame your father for driving her away.

I am sorry for disappointing you. You were perfect. I must have been really hard work as a child. I am sorry. Depression... Here is some of your brokenness coming out in your letter. This is also evident in some of your unmotivated life-choices.

I think I want to come to where you are, but I am not sure. Maybe see you soon. You no longer blame her for leaving, and you are considering perusing reconciliation. Without even knowing it, you are moving through the stages toward _acceptance_."

"But it is just a letter" Jeremy exclaims with a searching glance

"No Jeremy, it is evidence of progress. As I said, this theory is not perfect, but it does acknowledge the necessity for people to sit in their pain, in order to pass through the grief process. You have been doing this without even realising."

Jeremy nods silently and rocks slightly on the sofa; I allow him several moments to gather his thoughts.

"Have you ever heard the phrase... _the new normal?"_

"No"

"Well, when you first lost your mother, it felt like there was a hole in your life; it just did not _feel_ right or fair. It was like you had a fresh gaping wound. After a while, just like with a physical injury, a person learns to continue on and get used to life with an injury. Life with the wound becomes the _new normal._ It means that life will not be the same, but it can still be good. Over these last 20 years or so, life without your mother has become your _new normal_."

"Ok, I follow, so what do I do."

"Keep _doing_ what you are _doing_ because you are _doing_ is far more effective than you think. Keep coming to me for coaching and guidance, keep honouring your mother by living a life she would be proud of, keep pushing forward with your music career. When your mother left, it was like a part of you had been amputated... you can still have a full life with an amputation.... It's just about learning to negotiate the _new normal_.

"That makes a lot of sense" says Jeremy, looking hopeful

"I am glad to hear it. I would like to circle back to your decision to go for a walk this week; what motivated that decision?"

"Have you seen me Jonothan? Hell, I haven't seen my penis in 15 years!"

I can't help but to chuckle... every now and then Jeremy comes out with a few clangers.

"Other than your penis, what is behind the exercise?"

"I don't know... I guess... I want to look presentable if I happen to see my mum again sometime soon."

Jeremy gives me a mixed look. His mouth smiles with hope, but his eyes communicate deep pain

"If that is your motivation, that is fair enough, but remember, your mother will love you no matter what you look like."

"I know... I guess I am also sick of being so fat. Women push me away for all kinds of reasons. I can't change my personality but I can change my body. Maybe if I can see my own penis, some lucky lady will also want to." He winks at me with his pearly whites lighting up the room.

I spend the remainder of the session taking Jeremy through several techniques to help manage the _new normal_. I can see the scales being removed from his eyes as he begins to visualise a path forward. I am pleased to see that after all these sessions Jeremy is starting to make some significant progress.

I am making a difference

## Chapter 21

Mr Fitzpatrick, who is currently perched on the edge of the sofa before me is my second-last client of the day, therefore Grace is next. Throughout my sessions today I have fallen into the same train of thought which has plagued me this last fortnight, replaying my last conversation with Grace. Our last session was full of playful banter, and laughter, which perhaps explains why I thought back on it fondly at first. I rarely think of my clients outside work hours and even more rare is the occasion where a client's personal opinion rattles me.

What is it about her that gets into my head?

Each time the session runs through my mind I become increasingly disturbed and angry. She practically called me a dog, an _untrained puppy_. I am successful, responsible, respectable and _she_ is the one coming _to me_ for help. How dare she insinuate, even jokingly, that I am the result of failed parenting! Once again, I catch my imagination running uncharacteristically wild as I mentally confront Grace for her disparaging depiction of me, and challenge her on her audacity to say such things. I imagine setting clear boundaries with her, including refusing any more personal questions. It's only now as I am wrapping up my session with Terry that I realise that I am anxious, and in fact have been all day.

"Thank you doctor King" Terry says while standing, "you are such a good listener and I am so pleased my wife encouraged me to book with you all those sessions ago. It's made such a difference having someone to talk to."

I shake his hand, "Mr Fitzgerald I am so pleased with your progress, you are a good man and easy to listen to." He smiles broadly as he fixes up his account and I walk him to the door.

I close the door to the waiting room after Mr Fitzgerald. I have a couple of minutes to take notes and prepare for my last appointment, with Grace.

An 'untrained puppy!' Screw her!

After contemplating whether I should make her wait, I shake my head and soothe myself preparing to confront the source of my torment.

I am a professional

I open the door, a little too roughly, and step out. "Grace" ... I boom, knowing she is the only person in the room left but refusing to look her way. Walking into the office without waiting for her I sit on the chair, legs crossed, fingertips touching under my chin; power position.

Grace walks in silently, pushing the heavy door slowly as she enters. From the moment that I see her my anger dissipates, something is wrong. The usually bubbly and confident woman offers a pathetic smile as she greets me with an almost inaudible "hi." Her eyes are rimmed red, and swollen, her skin is pale and her demeanour is defeated.

All spite lost, my heart almost beats out of my chest as I spring out of the chair and walk over to her. She stops before me and her lip trembles as her breathing becomes sporadic. Grabbing her arms, I look into her downcast face which crumples as I ask "Grace, what happened? Are you ok?"

The tears roll quickly down her cheeks. She squeaks "it's been a hard week" before openly sobbing. Without thinking I draw her into my chest. I hold her convulsing body as she weeps, gasping for breath, almost wailing at times. My shirt clings to me, wet and warm with her tears. My heart breaks for her.

What has happened? What am I doing?

I can feel the strong beat of my heart as she leans into me. My shirt is drenched in tears and I hear my voice breaking the silence between breaths, "Grace, I'm here, it's going to be ok. I've got you Grace." I stroke her soft hair, speaking gently. I am startled to find how nice it feels holding her against me, she fits so perfectly in my arms. I have now wrapped myself around her so thoroughly that my mouth rests on her head as I continue assuring her, "Grace, it's going to be ok."

I feel her move as she wipes her face and blows her nose with a tissue from her handbag. As she pulls away, the absence of her warm body against me leaves my damp shirt feeling cold. "I'm so sorry" she says, hugging herself and looking at the floor with a smile of humiliation, "how embarrassing!"

I place my hand gently around her, "Grace, you have nothing to be embarrassed about." Leading her to the couch I sit down next to her and pour her a glass of water. She takes a sip and a deep breath. She finally looks up through severely bloodshot and swollen eyes, which are now shining bluer than ever. Her face is blotched and also swollen, but she attempts a smile, "except of course that I have the ugliest ugly cry in the world, and now my face is going to be puffy for days!" She chuckles as she rolls her eyes, a tear escaping as she does so.

"It's not your best look" I admit, smiling. Her face displays a sudden shock and I hear her intake a breath. I, in turn, hold my breath for fear that I have just said the wrong thing to a severely distressed woman.

She reaches towards me and her fingertips touch my wet shirt, "I have ruined your shirt! Oh Jonothan I am so sorry!" She looks up, full of remorse.

As she pulls back her hand I take it while looking into her eyes, "Grace, it is just a shirt. I am much more concerned about you."

She lowers her eyes and her head follows. "Thanks Jonothan, it's really not that bad, I suppose it just hit me when I walked in. It's... Oh, I don't know." I can feel her pulling her hand away again as she shifts and takes the glass of water once more. I wait for her to wipe her eyes and blow her nose... again.

"I'm guessing this has something to do with Chris?"

"Bingo."

"Care to elaborate?"

A smile creeps onto her face as she replies "Not really, I don't exactly want to spend this whole session as a blubbering mess!"

"I understand, or at least my shirt does" I play as she chuckles with embarrassment, "but it's already ruined so more tears won't hurt today." She smiles appreciatively.

She takes a deep breath, "alright, let's do this then," she says turning to face me. She sits on the couch sideways, crossing her legs in front of her like a school-kid. I have never joined a client on the couch before. I doubt I'll ever do it again considering how difficult it is to face one another without resorting to yoga poses. I lift my knee onto the couch and allow my other leg to remain on the floor, while leaning sideways on the backrest. "I don't know quite where to begin. My sister's engagement party was this last weekend and naturally Chris and I went. He was in a bit of a strange mood before we left as he hates family parties."

'Why is that?"

Grace shrugs one shoulder, "Oh, I don't know really. He gets along quite well with them usually but hates any family commitments. I do my best to keep them few and far between, but it's always too many in his opinion."

"That is upsetting to you." I say, a statement rather than a question.

"It can be, but I'm used to it."

"Alright, what happened at the party?" I say leaning my elbow against the backrest and resting my head against my hand.

Grace groans. "He drank too much. Free booze you know." She presses her lips together and I nod, it's a familiar problem with my patients. She continues, "when people drink they think they are killing it, but really," her eyes begin to well again, and her face contorts with emotions of rage and hurt "...they are not." I grimace.

What's he gone and done this time?

"Chris is the life of any party, he is fun and charismatic. Drunk Chris is fun to some, offensive to others and ... embarrassing to me." Grace is frowning. She glances up and I raise an eyebrow. She elaborates "Chris is charming, and borderline flirtatious. At the party the other night he was either inappropriately grabbing at me in front of my family or was flirting with some girls. Girls flirt with him all the time, that doesn't bother me really." She looks at me with a genuine resignation that her husband is a chick-magnet, but I am sickened. "What bothers me is when he returns the favour. I used to think it was all in my head, that nobody else saw it that way," Graces arms gesture wildly as she winds up, "but when _his_ friends and _my_ friends and my _sister_ find it awkward enough to see if I'm OK, _that_ can't be all in my head can it?!"

I shake my head in disapproval of this ass. "Have you confronted him about this?" I ask.

She laughs a hollow, desperate laugh "the good it did me! He denies he was flirting, then blames the alcohol, which he freely drank of his own accord, then he accuses me of having an affair!" My back stiffens in surprise, which Grace sees "I know right! Me!"

"What makes him think you are having an affair?" I ask.

"Because he saw his friend Corey _talking_ to me" she exclaims with anger flashing in her eyes, "he claims I was flaunting myself, because I was wearing a tight low-cut dress which _he insisted_ I wore because it showed of my new exercised body." It had not escaped me how good Grace was looking, at least she would have been, without the effects of some serious crying.

"In reality, Corey was offering me condolences on the inexcusable behaviour of his friend!" She throws up her hands in frustration.

I take my time to ask the next question, "Grace" I say softly, "do you think Chris is cheating on you?"

Grace melts forward putting her hands to her face, "I don't know, I don't know" she repeats. After a few moments, she sits up straight with tears staining her face once more, "I don't think so. But I don't trust him, especially not with a few drinks in him. But he won't stop drinking, he claims there is no harm in it!"

As she groans again I shift in the chair, spreading my leg out a little further to ease the pressure on my quads. Our knees touch, but she doesn't notice. "We have been fighting about it for days, and I'm tired, almost tired enough to wish he would just leave me for some hussy so it can be done with. Jonothan, what am I supposed to do?"

I sigh. "Grace, you know there is not much I can do to help Chris when he isn't even willing to come here."

"But what about me?" she asks.

"What about you?"

"What can I do to ...make this better? You know, two to tango and all that, I'm not perfect, there must be _something_!" Her desperation and weariness meet her at breaking point and I wonder if a nervous breakdown may very well be just around the corner.

"Please Jonothan," she leans forward with her hand now on my knee, "I don't care if it's brutal, I trust you, and you know me, surely you can see something I can change?"

Grace's eyes are filled with expectation and I am distracted by her hand on my knee. My mind spins and I realise that I have no reply.

"I wouldn't change you Grace" I answer honestly, and the truth of the statement hits me. "Your husband doesn't appreciate what he has in you, but that doesn't mean what he has is faulty in any way. He couldn't find a better wife."

Grace puts her face in her hands again, no longer crying but distraught. For a moment, I think she may even have fallen asleep. I contemplate laying her on the sofa to rest for a while, that she may have some rest and peace that she so desperately craves. Chris is a dick. I reach out and stroke Graces arm gently. I think about how much better she could do when I recall something Grace has said. "Grace" I almost whisper, and she lifts her eyes above her hands. "Did you want to wear that dress to the party?"

"What?" She replies uncovering her face.

"You said Chris wanted you to wear a dress that was revealing to the party, did you want to wear it?" From what I have seen Grace is not ashamed of her body, but her clothing is kept conservative.

"No. I bought it to wear around the house... when it was just the two of us." Despite the tears, mascara, and possibly snot on my shirt, Grace is still bashful in front of me and shyly looks away before she continues. "I thought Chris would appreciate my figure now its toned and so forth," she pauses ever so slightly signalling my poker face has not been successful "and he does, but in his pride he keeps trying to 'show me off.'"

"So why did you wear it?" I ask.

Grace raises her hands "I suppose as a peace offering for dragging him to the party to start with, and to make him happy, and perhaps so he would be only looking at me." She runs her fingers through her hair. "It didn't work very well did it?" she laughs bitterly at the irony.

I lean forward again, "we have established that Chris is not motivated by the carrot, no matter how good it is" I wink.

She catches my line of thinking, "so I take lessons to be a dominatrix?" She chuckles with a raised eyebrow. Seeing her smile energises me, and I laugh.

"Ahh, not the stick I was thinking of, but hey, whatever works right?" I smile.

She laughs wholeheartedly. "I think sometimes it would get great results, and give me great pleasure to beat him with a stick, but it's not exactly 'what would Jesus do?' is it!" She continues laughing and the tension she has been holding releases as she does so. I finish laughing before she does, and see her wipe a tear from her eye, this time from laughter. "Oh it feels good to laugh" she declares. "I never really would hit him you know" she clarifies.

I chuckle "I know."

"So, about that stick?" she smiles.

"Yes." I reply. "Next time, don't wear the dress. You aren't comfortable in it, don't do it. Go to the party without him, you will probably enjoy it more. If you have any weakness, it is that your love is too soft and it enables your husband to be a prick."

"Hmm," she smiles "is that a professional term?"

I laugh "Possibly."

"I just want to know if I can justify using it is all." She smiles and I laugh again.

"Someone wise I know uses the analogy of untrained puppies, we could use that if you prefer?" I say attempting to keep any emotion out of my voice.

Her smile slowly fades as she studies my face, "did I offend you, Jonothan?"

I start to deny it, but I know she will see through me again so I shrug, "I suppose you did." I've never felt so vulnerable as I do right now.

Grace winces as if the pain of the revelation is physical, "I really didn't mean to," she says leaning forward with her hand gently on my knee once again, "I am really sorry. Will you forgive me?" Her eyes are glued to me, as if the world will crumble if I refuse her apology. I am struck by the beauty of this woman, red eyes and all. I have never felt so drawn to someone, so engaged by their presence.

Get it together man

I find my tongue, "Of course, Grace." I don't only forgive her, I feel a genuine ass for being so childish.

She smiles and leans back, relieved from the suspense. "Thank you."

I cough and mentally shake myself. "While I don't recommend you sharing this with Chris, it may be helpful to view his behaviour as a puppy you have trained badly."

"Me?" she asks with mild surprise.

"We teach others how to relate to us by how we respond to their behaviour. By not placing the proper boundaries in your relationship, you have taught Chris that you will tolerate being treated as worthless. This behaviour has established a value system for Chris which minimises your worth to him."

Grace has deep frown lines set between her eyebrows. I can see I have struck a chord. I continue, "He, on the other hand, has not been easy on you, and you in turn spoil him like a fat rich kid."

She splutters, "for goodness sakes Jonothan, you're right! Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because I needed all the facts, remember I haven't even met Chris" I say defensively.

Not that I ever want to.

She nods "of course, I didn't mean you aren't good at what you do, you're the best. I just am astonished, I never would have thought it of myself." She laughs "I can't believe you haven't met Chris, it feels like we have known each other for years, and we talk about him so much! When you finally meet him you might conclude that I've got it all wrong and I'm a complete Looney Toon!"

I smile "I doubt it."

"So how do I do it? The stick, proper boundaries and all that. I love Chris..."

Cringe

"...and I really want the best for him and our marriage... especially before we have kids!" The gravity of the task appears to have motivated Grace as opposed to disheartening her. I on the other hand, enjoy the fleeting mental picture of Grace beating her lousy husband with a stick. Inwardly, I sigh.

"Why was it important to you that he went to the party Grace" I ask.

She takes a moment to think. "Respect I think, and pride I suppose."

"Am I right in assuming that you mean respect to your family, and your pride in your marriage?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Tell me about them."

Grace and I talk about her family, then mine, swapping stories of childhood and laughing 'til our sides hurt. Without warning she bolts upright as she gasps "Jonathan it's so late! I am so sorry, now I haven't only ruined your shirt, but kept you at work late, and this session is going to cost me a fortune!"

"It's OK Grace," I assure her with a chuckle, "usual fee, and there is no better way to have spent tonight... except maybe over dinner, rather than cramping my legs up. I don't know how you sit like that!" My stiff legs ache as I move them around.

She laughs. "I appreciate the sentiment Jonothan, but if _that's_ the truth you should really see a shrink yourself."

"You haven't tasted my cooking." I challenge with a smile.

"That good huh?" She raises an eyebrow and laughs "maybe I should steal your dinner to take home tonight then."

"You're welcome to join me" I ask before I catch myself. I hold my breath in anticipation, I don't know if I want her to say yes or no but my heartbeat is through the roof.

"Tempting, but I have a stick to prepare for Chris, and get some teabags on these eyes before work tomorrow" she chuckles as she walks toward the door. "Same time in a fortnight?" she asks as she opens her handbag which is now full of used tissues. "I'll pay for your shirt to get dry-cleaned, or replaced too" she says apologetically.

I shake my head "No need, Grace, like I said, it's just a shirt. I'm just glad to see you happy again, albeit slightly puffy still." I reach out and trail my finger along the side of her face. She wrinkles her nose at me and I smile.

"Prick is a medical term?" she plays, lifting her eyebrow, and I pout. "But really, I am so sorry again for falling apart today and I really appreciate you being there for me." She turns to leave, "next time you see me will be much less messy, I promise."

"I look forward to it" I smile.

I really do.

## Chapter 22

Jeremy arrives 28 dollars late with coffee in hand once more.

"You had better stop drinking so much coffee Jeremy; you don't want to yellow those pearly whites"

He nods and flashes me a cheeky smile, before handing me my brew. "Cheers Jonothan" he beams, helping himself to the sofa.

As I sit down I notice the chesterfield sofa looks larger, or at least, Jeremy looks smaller. "Have you lost some weight Jeremy?"

"12 pounds actually" he retorts instantly

"In two weeks! What did you do, cut off a leg?"

Jeremy bursts into laughter far out of proportion for such a predicable joke. I figure he must be feeling joyful at his noticeable weight loss.

"What have you been doing?"

"Mainly just walking every day... and avoiding burgers. When you're a fat as me, the weight just falls off."

"Well done Jeremy, you have been kicking some serious goals over the last few months."

"Thanks Jonothan. Hey, I have been thinking of that _new normal_ stuff you went on about last time."

Went on about? Glad to see my expertise is so highly regarded.

"Great, what have you been thinking?"

"I am thinking I have spent way too much time living the way others want me to live. I'm gonna start doing what I want to do."

"What brought you to this resolution?"

"Well, with that five stage thingie, he forgot sadness."

"Who forgot sadness?"

"That shrink... with the book"

"Oh, sorry, the author was a woman; I didn't know who you meant... but you are correct, she does not overtly mention sadness."

"Well I have been sad for too long now; I have chosen I am going to be happy."

"That is positive, how are you going to be happy?"

"Hell, I don't know yet, I haven't worked it out... but once I know, I'll make sure to let you know."

"Sounds like a plan to me, I'll look forward to seeing what you come up with. We can chat about some techniques now if you like."

"Ok, let's do it."

Jeremy and I spend the next thirty minutes discussing several applicable techniques. I am impressed at his ability to interpret my principles into practises that are relevant to him. I think his aptitude for music has given him a grassroots ability to grasp abstract concepts creatively. I want to end the session with a challenge; it is time to circle back to the deeper problem.

"Jeremy, as we only have fifteen minutes remaining, I want to close today with something from your letter."

As usual, the blood drains from his face

"You wrote in the letter... Dad deserves to burn in hell for what he did to you. I am a grown man now, and if he was around, I think I would get him.

"Do you remember writing that?"

"Yep" he nods, struggling to maintain eye contact

"What inspired you to use those specific words? What were you thinking about as you wrote it?"

"Well, when I was writing this letter, I had a flash back to this one time me and mum were home alone. It was after school at about 4pm when my father was at work. I remember she was trying to teach me the trumpet... It was so much fun."

Jeremy has that familiar satisfied look only his mothers memory can invoke.

"I couldn't work the mouth piece right and the trumpet kept tooting a high pitched toot. Whenever it happened, my mother would laugh hysterically... I loved to hear her laugh so I kept making it toot. It was so vivid; I can even remember the colour of her dress."

"That is a nice memory, but judging by this part of the letter, that's not the end of the story."

"Dad _was_ home."

The satisfied look disappears

"I thought you said he was at work"

"We thought he was.... He had come home early and was tinkering in the tool shed. We didn't even know he was there because he used the side gate. He hated noise and he hated it when we played music."

Jeremy's face regains colour, but keep progressing until he is tomato red with rage

"I can remember it like it was yesterday Jonothan. He stormed in the back door behind mum and she never saw him coming. In the foreground, mum was laughing and clapping and looking so beautiful... but in the background, all I could see was my father charging toward her with his hand raised above his head... he was holding a spanner."

"Then what happened?"

"I tried to scream but I froze... nothing would come out of my mouth... So I threw the trumpet at my father. I didn't mean too, it was just a reflex."

Jeremy sits silently for a few moments, I wait silently

"It hit my Mother"

"Was she injured?"

"It didn't hurt her, but some of her dark curly hair got stuck around one of the valves as she leapt to her feet to avoid being hit. She didn't even know my father was there, until he started roaring with sarcastic laughter and shaking her all around the room. He kept yelling _good shot son_ as he mocked my mother calling her.... a _simpleton_ ...

I can still see him roughing up her hair, and banging the trumpet up against the side of her head to make the knot worse. She was crying and gasping and begging him to stop. He pushed her into the corner and made her sit on the shoe polishing stool. Dad kept yelling _Look at the dunce son, look at this imbecile!_ Once again, for no reason, her happiness was stolen away. One moment, she was smiling and singing, the next; she is being stomped on again by that son of a bitch"

I allow Jeremy to sit for a moment before I continue...

"You said in your letter.... _I am a grown man now, and if he was around, I think I would get him_ , what would you do if you were back there in that situation, but as the grown man you now are?"

"I would walk over to my Mother and give her a hug to settle her down as we untangled the trumpet carefully.... Then I would pick up the stool and beat my father to death with it."

"Good"

Jeremy looks up with a surprised expression

"Good" I make sure to fix my eyes firmly on his

"What do you mean _good_?"

"Stage two of the five stages is _anger_. As you are sitting here telling me this story, I see you _feeling_ and _tasting_ and _experiencing_ the anger for all it has to offer you. Remember, you will never _get through_ the pain without _going through_ the emotions."

"But _then_ what?"

"Eventually, you will learn to live with what he has done... to you, and to your mother. This too, Jeremy, will become a part of the _new normal_.

Jeremey looks up at me, questioning the sanity behind that statement.

"I... how... I don't get it" he stammers

"You are angry because you regret how that situation turned out for your mother. You tried to help, but you feel like you made it worse. Correct?"

Jeremy nods, looking down at his folded hands

"The problem with regret is that it is based on our limited perspective of how situations eventuated"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what if you actually _saved_ your mother that day?"

"What?"

"What if your father was going to bludgeon your mother to death there and then, and your tangled trumped saved her life. What if he was going to kill you? What if he used that spanner as a weapon in a fit of rage? There are infinite possibilities... By facing the anger, you will eventually move from _what happened_ to _how you feel about what happened_. You will never be able to change what happened, but you can come to terms with how you _feel_ about what happened.

Although it is extremely difficult for Jeremy, we spoke for the rest of the session about embracing the new normal; I could see he was listening attentively. Jeremy was a completely different man to when I first met him. Every week now, he seems to be on the up and up even though he is processing some serious issues.

One of the best things about being a therapist is that you literally change the course of somebody else's life; the results are infinitely exponential. At this rate, I think that Jeremy will be able to stop seeing me after five or six more sessions; at least for a while. When I first took Jeremy on as a client, I questioned his ability to commit to the counselling process, as well as his ability to pay for the sessions. He has surprised me on both fronts.

## Chapter 23

A bell begins to tinkle as I push open the heavy glass door to the pawn shop beneath my office. Despite functioning as a pawn shop, this store is situated in the heart of the city and therefore caters for wealthy clientele. Its carpeted rooms are decorated richly and are filled with many items which far exceed any regular budget, including some artwork which runs into the six figures. I gaze around, breathing in the familiar aroma of leather and rich mahogany. Grace's birthday is next week and after a fortnight of indecision I have finally made the call to get her something.

I don't usually buy gifts for my clients, but I reason that Grace has earned a reward to celebrate not just her birthday, but achieving her physical goals. That being said, I refuse to buy her a pair of shoes, some dumbbells... or a treadmill. That's why I am spending my lunch break _here,_ I know Tiffany jewellery will not mean as much to her as something meaningful and unique. As I slowly walk past the landscapes tastefully hanging on the wall I gaze at the vases.

A well-dressed man in his sixties smiles at me as he approaches. "Welcome Mr King, my name is Robert, is there anything I can help you with today sir?" At my startled expression, Robert chuckles, "you work in the office upstairs, it's important in my business to know who's who." Robert is on the shorter side, but is lean, tanned, with a full head of short grey hair. He wears designer glasses over his blue eyes which have smile lines etched around them. Robert strikes me as a man who enjoys his work and is good at it.

"Thank you, Robert. I am looking for a birthday gift for a friend of mine" I reply with a smile. While I am certain that Robert is a man who understands discretion, I suddenly realise that _I am here to buy a gift for a client_ could give the wrong impression. "I am not sure exactly what just yet, but I'll let you know when I decide."

"Of course." He responds with his smooth voice as he tactfully moves away.

I walk through to the second room which appears to be dedicated exclusively to musical instruments. There appears to be everything in here from a classical piano to a digeridoo. I suddenly wish I knew if Grace played an instrument, I should have asked.

I continue wandering around, glancing at the jewellery section when suddenly a necklace catches my eye. I had resolved that jewellery was not a good gift for Grace, despite using it as the go-to gift for most women. This necklace however seems just right. I call Robert over, asking to take a closer look.

"This is a simple but beautiful piece" he nods at me, approvingly. "It is a shame that most people don't understand that it is the simple things which often display the most beauty."

Just like Grace. It's perfect.

He lifts the necklace as he continues "this is a unique piece, and I didn't expect it would stay here long." He sighs as if parting with a good friend. "It was brought it in only yesterday in fact. The necklace was designed by the original owner's husband when they were sweethearts, almost a century ago."

I take the necklace and look closer. The pendant is spherical. One half is a perfectly round black opal and the other half appears to be silver with a slight rim surrounding the opal to hold it in place. Though simple in appearance, it would have taken a very gifted jeweller to make this. I run my finger along the chain when I realise with dismay the clasp is broken. Robert's eyes are scanning his store when he hears my grunt. He lifts his eyebrows questioningly.

"The clasp is broken" I report. He appears genuinely surprised and leans closer to have a look. Apologising profusely, he claims he can have it fixed for no cost. "Speaking of price, what are you asking?" I enquire. While there are many expensive items in the store, there are other more reasonably priced articles; given the situation, I am hoping for the latter.

He looks slightly embarrassed at the clasp oversight, and with his reputation at stake I surmise I have bargaining power. That is, until he begins with "It _is_ a unique piece as I said..." He sees my disapproving face and backpedals "...but the chain and pendant are silver, not gold; and the opal, while rare and of excellent quality _is_ rather small." I nod.

Perhaps in order to save face Robert began to reason weakly "I think I could sell this, even with a broken clasp, for quite a price." He had me there. "However, for you, and only for today, mind you..." he continues... We settle a price, inside I am overjoyed. I found the perfect gift at a good price. Walking towards the door I ask Robert when I can pick up the repaired necklace.

"It should be ready by tomorrow morning" he assures me.

"Great, I'll be here at eight."

"My apologies Mr King, but we do not open until nine."

I stop walking and trying to suppress my annoyance say "unfortunately that won't work for me Robert; my first session of the day begins at nine. Could you perhaps make an exception?" I smile in my most charming manner.

Robert slowly shook his head "I am afraid not, Mr King. In the morning I pick up my goods from various specialists, so you see it's not that I _will_ not, but I simply _cannot_."

I look at the ceiling, then at my watch. I have to make this quick, my lunch break is almost over and my next client will be arriving soon. I think out loud, "I have a lunch organised with a colleague tomorrow... but if you can assure me that the necklace will be ready I suppose I could drop in beforehand to pick it up then?"

"Of course Mr King, that would be no problem. Thank you for understanding." Robert smiles. He is a charismatic man and despite my frustration at his ludicrous opening hours, I am happy with my purchase and I like the guy.

The bell tinkles once more as I exit the store.

## Chapter 24

Edgar cruises in and assumes his usual position, crouching on the sofa as if using a Vietnamese squat toilet. He is in line to be some sort of aristocrat, or lord, or duke or something... consequently, he has way too much money, and all the time in the world. Other than his peculiar seating habits, I have not been able to pinpoint anything in his life requiring professional attention. I have told him this countless times, but he keeps coming back. We usually spend the hour taking about football, or women, or movies; I think he just likes hanging out here.

Today is no different; we spent most of the time spinning my globe around while swapping travelling stories. Having Edgar as a client is like being friends with a guaranteed slot machine; we sit around telling funny stories, and every fifteen seconds, I picture a dollar falling out of him. He lives across the road from my office and frequents the same restaurants I use for lunchtime meetings; that's how we met. I could give the guy a break and hang out with him as a friend, but I suspect he likes the security of paying for my friendship. I am not going to argue with that.

Our time was up and as Edgar heads for the door, he pauses, glancing back with a slight look of concern. Perhaps this is the day he finally becomes a real client. "I have a question for you John."

I stand up to mirror his posture "What is it Ed?"

"How many psychotherapists does it take to change a lightbulb?"

"How many?" I ask, sitting back down.

"Just one, as long as the light bulb _wants_ to change. See you next time!"

I gather my things and head downstairs to the pawnshop.

Robert smiles at me warmly as I hurriedly make my way toward his counter. I have already received a text from my colleague letting me know he is sitting at a garden table. A text like this is informative on two levels. On one level, he is informing me of his location within the restaurant, on another level, he is informing me that I am running late.

Robert opens Grace's necklace and displays it proudly; it is perfect. He intuitively recognises I am moving hastily so he presents me the mended clasp for my inspection, and looks satisfied when I nod at the repair. He efficiently places the necklace in an antique leather jewellery purse. During our barter yesterday, we never addressed the packaging; in fact, I was not expecting the necklace to be accompanied at all. I eyeball the purse, admitting to myself that it certainly is the icing on the cake.

"Don't worry Mr King; the purse is my gift to you..."

I really appreciate people that are perceptive of body language and pre-empt conversation; Robert is exceptionally gifted in this department.

"Thank you Robert." I start heading for the door while speaking over my own shoulder "it is a pleasure doing business with you."

"And you, Mr King. Have an excellent afternoon."

As I walk toward the table a few minutes later, I can see Brett Sanderson preparing another text message... he promptly deletes it as he notices me bee lining him. "Sorry I am late" I declare, gathering myself and settling into the chair. Although I am feeling warm after my brisk walk, I am not going to part with my jacket; not while Grace's gift rests safely in my inner pocket.

"Not a problem John, how have you been going?"

Obviously, Brett wants to get to business. As a therapist, I am required by law to have professional supervision at regular intervals. I burnt through several supervisors in my first few years, but Brett has been my supervisor for over six years now. Brett is a decent human being, although he did charge $180 per hour. Quite a joke really, considering I usually ended up paying for lunch. It always amazes me that a man that is so swift to arrive on time is always so slow to reach for the bill.

"I've been well thanks Brett...and you?"

"I've been fine thanks."

A waitress I haven't seen before takes our lunch order, and I realise that even after six years with Brett, I still find it awkward fending off flirtatious advances in his presence. The waitress gets the hint and leaves a carafe of sparkling mineral water behind. I rarely drink alcohol on a lunch break but never drink it while Brett is watching.

Brett shakes his head as the waitress saunters away. "So Jonothan, have you had any clients that have been particularly difficult lately?"

Brett's method is predictable, but effective enough. Firstly, he checks on my professional competence... If he was a bolder man, he would simply ask if I had cocked anything up lately... but as a supervisor, his documents need to be systematic.

"Nothing out of the ordinary ... marriage problems, relationship issues, depression, anxiety, family tension... just the usual really."

"Have you been experiencing any frustration, anger, distress, or anxiety?"

"No not really. I have a full caseload so I am occasionally tired but I make sure to stay healthy and fit and that seems to help keep my mental health in check."

Brett is probably just cutting and pasting my answers from last time. Although this process is pleasant enough, I don't really _want_ to sit here being analysed all lunchtime. I just wanted to tick the box, eat my steak, and get back to work. I cannot imagine there is much variance in my responses.

"Have any of your clients ventured beyond the boundaries of a healthy therapist/client relationship?"

"In what capacity?" Brett is aware of the multiple times clients have hit on me, but is equally aware of my stance on the topic. There are numerous ways clients can cross professional boundaries. Brett raises an eyebrow at the question, but clarifies, "has there been any inappropriate touching, or unprofessional practise, or anybody tempting you to go beyond your job description?"

Grace's pendant is burning a hole in my chest. I unintentionally rub the place on my chest that she had saturated with her tears. I know that my relationship with Grace is grey, and the lines are becoming increasingly blurry. I don't know if I am out of line or not... Even if I am, there is _no way_ I am going to mention this to Brett.

"No Brett, I have been diligent in compartmentalising my life."

"Are you sure about that?" I frown at his prying, even though it's his job.

Brett leans in, as if he knows about Grace. I assure myself, there is _no way_ he could possibly know; nobody knows, not even Grace. Maybe he picked up a non-verbal cue I hadn't noticed. Although Brett didn't have a successful practise like mine, he was no fool. I think I had better offer up _something_ to get him off my case.

"Well, there _was_ this one client"

"What happened?"

"During the sessions, I started to respect the client... but the respect grew into more. I saw the client as a potential friend, and the truth is I was hoping that something could eventuate once he stopped being a client." I realise as I talk that this is still a sore point for me.

"He?" Brett looks surprised, "I did not know you were bisexual."

"No, not like that... I just thought he was a nice guy and I began hoping we could be friends."

"Oh sorry, I assumed you were talking about a romantic friendship. As you know there are no legal issues with befriending a client, given that you keep certain boundaries, however it _is_ against your usual personal practice. I apologise for jumping to conclusions. Earlier, when I first asked the question, it looked to me like you were thinking of somebody romantically... you just had a certain glimmer in your eye; sorry Jonothan, my mistake."

My mistake

"That's ok Brett, his name is Alex."

"You said he used to be a client; were you successful in helping him?"

Rookie move King, in offering up Alex to avoid talking about Grace, I opened a different can of worms.

"No actually, he discontinued the appointments after three sessions." There is no point lying since Brett is already reading my mind. I wonder if this is how my clients feel.

"I have known you for many years John; I can barely recall _any_ clients firing you. How did that make you feel?"

"He did not fire me, Brett, he discontinued the service because he did not think my advice lined up with his worldview... also, I was revealing truth about his failing marriage that he was not willing to embrace. Alex wasn't ready to answer the hard questions objectively."

"Jonothan, how do you expect a client to answer questions about his own struggling marriage _objectively"_

"What do you mean?"

Analysing marriage, while being in the middle of a marriage breakdown, is the definition of _subjectively._ The most self-aware person on the planet would have trouble being objective, hell, it's why we meet for professional supervision- relationships cloud judgement. But, you still haven't answered my question... how did it make you _feel_ when Alex discontinued the sessions?"

"Shitty"

"Why?"

"Because I am a good therapist, no, a _great_ therapist, and Alex removed my chance to do what I do best. You should have seen his wife, she was a complete mess. We never even scratched the surface before Alex ran away with his tail between his legs. I have never met a more whipped man in my life."

"I thought you said you liked Alex and wanted to be friends?"

"I did... I do"

"Then why do you think you are speaking about him with such disrespectful language?"

"Because I'm hurt."

"So by _shitty_ , you really mean _angry_? You are angry because somebody you wanted to befriend did not want to befriend you. You're angry because you feel like you failed professionally. You're angry because you did not get your own way."

Clearly, I had underestimated Brett's ability. His observation smacks me in the forehead.

"Yes" I admit, shaking my head in self-disgust.

"John, this is why we do supervision. I can see by your face that you hate yourself right now, but the truth is this is something you will get through quite easily if you follow my advice. We all mess up now and then. You have had a good run, but trust me, if this is as bad as it gets you are doing well. We all get fired now and then. We all risk building unhealthy rapport with our clients. The trick is to catch it early before you do something you will regret. Did you ever do anything to engage Alex once he had removed himself as your client?"

"No"

"So you didn't contact him, or email him, or message him?"

"No"

"There would be little harm if you did it in the right way, but considering the way you feel, you chose well. We can chalk this up as a win- we caught this at the right time. There is nothing as dangerous as forming personal relationships with a client when there is a potential for the client to get hurt, that's when it certainly crosses the line."

The necklace in my pocket feels 100 pounds.

## Chapter 25

I open my office door to John Candy carrying two jumbo coffees and an iridescent smile. At least, John Candy reincarnated as my first client Jeremy. As expected, he is 32 dollars late; unexpectedly, he looks fantastic.

"What has happened to you, handsome?" I ask, genuinely impressed with Jeremy's new look.

Jeremy smiles and blushes a little "I thought it was time for a change. Cheers, here is your coffee."

"Although I appreciate the gesture, you know you don't have to keep bringing me coffee Jeremy"

"Hell, its ok... what are friends for?"

"Thankyou... and cheers"

Jeremy and I both make ourselves comfortable in our usual positions.

"So, what made you shave the beard?"

"I had that thing for 20 years... I just wanted a change." Jeremy replies, running his hand over his bare face.

"Jeremy, you look incredible" It is true. Twenty years of facial hair has preserved his face perfectly. There is not a trace of sun damage, nor a wrinkle... there is not even one freckle.

"Thanks Jonothan, I do feel great. I've lost another 11 pounds" he grins and blushes again. Perhaps Jeremy blushed often.

"Well done...very well done..." hey Jeremy, I don't know if anybody has ever said this, but you look exactly like..."

"John Candy" interrupts Jeremy. "I have been told that 4 times since losing the beard."

"John Candy indeed" He and I both smile and take in the moment.

"You said you played the clarinet... there is a scene in _home alone_ when John Candy is playing the clarinet in the back of a bus, or a van or something... I cannot remember exactly."

"You mean _this_ scene" Jeremy holds up a picture on his smart phone, clearly somebody else thought the same thing as me.

"That's the scene"

"Why do you think I wore this jacket?"

I can hardly believe my eyes. Jeremy is wearing a yellow windcheater just like John Candy in home alone. It even has the red cuffs.

"How the heck did you find this jacket?"

Jeremy bursts into laughter

"It's just a crazy coincidence... Some lady at my gig last night mentioned I looked like John Candy and she showed me this picture on her smart phone. I thought I had a similar jacket at home so I got her to forward me the photo. When I got home, I went through my stuff and found _this_ jacket. I have not worn this in ages... I can't even remember when I got it."

"It's almost identical! You could make some side cash doing John Candy impressions... except of course, he died ages ago."

We both laugh and make small talk for several minutes before getting focussed.

"What would you like to talk about today Jeremy?"

"What do you think we should talk about?" he asks, fiddling with the sofa arm.

"Jeremy, you have made some wonderful progress, and I do feel like I have been pushing you quite strongly. How about for today, we just talk about whatever you like... as long as it relates to your development, or something we have already touched on."

"Ok, sounds good... just give me a minute"

I sit and wait for Jeremy to respond. I need to take a few case notes so the silence is well timed

"Hell"

I wait for Jeremy to continue... he often starts sentences with the word _hell._ He doesn't continue.

"Pardon me"

"What do you think about hell?"

"Hell? Um, I don't know really, is _that_ what you want to talk about?"

"When we were chatting about anger last time, I was thinking about how I wrote to mum that dad deserved to burn in hell for what he did. Do you think that arsehole will burn in hell?"

"Jeremy, I am not somebody that really thinks about that kind of thing. I have a few clients that I really respect that are spiritual, but it's not really for me. As for your dad, I do believe in justice. He has done many atrocious things in his life, and my hope is that he somehow pays for that."

"If it does exist, how do we know _what_ is bad enough to send us there?"

Jeremy's questions are ones I haven't pondered in years, but between Grace, Alex and Daniel, I must admit that my thoughts lately have begun turning towards spirituality with increasing frequency. Still, to say that I am comfortable with discussions like this is a gross overstatement. I need to deflect this conversation quickly. "Jeremy, I am sorry. I know I said we can talk about whatever you like, but I am not somebody who is qualified to talk about this. I could put you in touch with my friend Grace who may be able to help you."

Think before you speak Jonothan.

"No, it's ok; I was just pondering it all. I just wonder what happens to people when they die... On another note, I feel like I am beginning to feel the _new normal_ becoming... _normal._ "

I welcome the change in topic. "That is excellent Jeremy; could you please give me some examples?"

"Sure, well I was thinking about the time my....." Jeremy's phone interrupts him with a James Morrison solo. He looks down at the screen "Jonothan, it's that woman who send me the John Candy photo... what should I do?"

"Answer it and see what she wants." Jeremy looks visibly nervous.... almost nauseous

He better not vomit in my office.

"It's ok Jeremy; _she_ is the one calling _you_ ... the ball is in your court. Put it on speaker if you like; ill help you if you need it."

Jeremy dubiously presses the green button as if it is poisonous. "Hello"

"Hello, is this Jeremy?" A woman's husky voice fills the room. I raise my eyebrow at Jeremy and nod.

"Yes, it is." Jeremy croaks out while wiping his free sweaty hand on his pants leg.

"Hello, its Alisha here, I hope you don't mind me calling. I still had your number from sending you that picture." I start gesturing and mouthing words like a child playing a game of charades.

"No that's ok." Jeremy picks up confidence, "How are you?" I smile and nod enthusiastically.

"I am good... I had fun last night. You mentioned you had the day off today, I was just wondering if you wanted to get brunch?"

Jeremy's eyes stretch wider than I've ever seen them. "You mean today?" His voice shakes and his breathing is much faster than it should be.

"I mean now... if you're not doing anything important...." The sexy voice tails off.

"Well actually..." I could tell Jeremy was about to refuse her offer on account of our session... I began waving my hands wildly, nodding and mouthing the word _go_ over and over. Jeremy takes a dep breath and replies, much more confidently, "Actually, now works fine. Where would you like to meet?" He looks to me for approval and I smile.

"How about Ricky's deli in half an hour?" Now I am nodding profusely once again, compelling him to commit

Jeremy replies, "Sounds great, see you soon."

"Bye Jeremy, see you soon."

"Bye now." Jeremy hangs up the phone and looks at me worriedly.

"Don't worry Jeremy, this is fantastic!" I am genuinely excited for Jeremy. He has been taking control of his life, and people are starting to notice.

"What do I do?" he asks, looking dishevelled

"Get your things and get out of here" I say enthusiastically.

"But..." Jeremy starts.

"But what?"

"But I don't have any more money and I don't know where Ricky's deli is?"

"Ricky's deli is literally 4 blocks from here, I'll put it in your phone GPS. We have only been here for half an hour, just pay me half and you will have enough money left to take Miss Sexy Voice out to brunch. This is the _new normal_ Jeremy."

Although he looks nervous, Jeremy smiles. I am confident this will be a good experience for Jeremy. I give him a few pointers and send him on his way. Technically speaking, I am paying for brunch for both of them, but I don't mind, it feels kind of nice, and I feel proud of the guy. I decide to lie on the sofa and relax for a few minutes. As usual, Jeremy was my first client of the day and I still have a big caseload in front of me.

After a few daydreams and case notes, I glance over my client list, disappointed to discover that it had already been two years, and Ellie was due to come in next. Last time I saw Ellie she was easy on the eyes, but hard on the ears. In my younger days as a therapist, I had allowed her to be far too flirtatious during our sessions. Nothing inappropriate ever happened, but if she had her way, it would have become highly inappropriate. As she knocks on the door, I can only hope she has gained some helpful perspective about her low self-esteem while travelling through Europe. As the door swings open, it is quickly apparent that she has not.

Ellie glides in looking like a cross between a buxom wench from ye old English days and a sexually starved vampire. I have never seen boobs hitched higher than those resting on Ellie's chin. She has a body that would make any man double take, but in this outfit, it is all just too much. It is highly likely she unknowingly purchased her getup from a party costume store. At one point in her life, she may have pulled this look off sensationally. Evidently, those days had passed.

"Good morning to you Ellie, how have you been going?" I say, gesturing to the sofa. Physical boundaries are always important, but especially so in this case.

"Good morning to you too John, I can assure you that I am _very_ good." She replies suggestively.

"That is good to hear Ellie" I say, intentionally overlooking the not-so-subtle innuendo, "but please, would you mind calling me Jonothan?"

Only friends, family and lovers call me John, you are none of the above.

"Give me five minutes alone in the dark and I'll call you whatever you want me to call you, Jonothan" Ellie winks then giggles, covering her mouth with her hand, as if telling a secret to a school friend.

Gross

As I suppress the urge to throw up in my mouth, I am astounded that while Ellie enjoys playing the role of seductress, this is more than mere flirtation to her. Her body is giving clear symptoms that she actually believes she has a chance with me right now. I mean... what does she think is going to happen here? It's not like I am going to throw her on the sofa and give her the King Jonothan... I need to manage this woman, pronto.

"Ellie, we spoke about this before you went away. I will not be able to engage you for therapy if you continue to use sexual innuendo."

"I was just playing sugar. It won't happen again." She pulls out a bright red lipstick and hand mirror... I wonder what exactly she is planning to do, considering there was no way in hell any more lipstick could be applied... "I'll be good" she purrs.

"I appreciate that. If you remain respectful you know that I am always here for you on a professional level. Especially if you need help managing your addiction. How have you been going with that part of your life?"

"Once an addict, always an addict" she admits, "But it is just pot... it's only ever been weed."

I spent the next 136 dollars trying to explain the links between marijuana use and mental illness; my arguments _apparently_ do little to dissuade Ellie, but I know better.

"I know it's bad for me, but I just love it" is her continual rebuttal. A fly on the wall would have judged it a failure but I was content with the outcome of our session. If I know Ellie, and 15 previous sessions prove I do, I am certain she is listening far more thoroughly than she would have me know.

With a few seconds remaining, she slaps the cash on the table and the urge to be _Ellie_ overcomes her ability to contain it... "I'm happy to get it, even if I have to pay for it. See you next time handsome!" she hollers, laughing and running away.

## Chapter 26

My palms are sweaty as I conclude my session with Barbra Sutton. She is eyeing me suspiciously, and I don't blame her, I'm not myself. Grace is my next appointment and the necklace I have prepared for her is in my pocket. Meanwhile the words "crossing professional boundaries" play over in my mind after the lunch with my supervisor Brett Sanderson. Giving a gift is not necessarily breaking any codes, nor is conducting a session while out to dinner... strictly speaking.

To mask the dampness of my hands I pat Barbra on the shoulder, as opposed to my customary handshake. Her monobrow burrows down as she is startled by the gesture. "I'll see you in a month Mr King" she croaks in her gravelly voice, "I do hope you are feeling better then, this flu is certainly getting around. Be sure to take lots of Vitamin C won't you?" she counsels.

"I will certainly be doing that, thank you Mrs Sutton" I reply, closing the door behind her. Grace once again has the last appointment of the day. For the thousandth time, I tell myself 'it's just a gift.'

Bullshit

I can't pinpoint the moment I fell for Grace. At first, she was just another client, another pay-cheque, I certainly did not anticipate this outcome... whatever _this_ is.

I open the door and step into the waiting room. Grace hears me and looks up from her phone with a big smile; all my hesitations drift away. "I did it!" she yells as she jumps up, "33 by 33!"

As she cheers, her arms are raised as if crossing a finishing line, and I step forward to hug her, lifting her slightly off the ground. "Congratulations" I roar, "and happy birthday."

I put her down gently and she adjusts her shirt while laughing. "Now all I have to do is stay fit!" she groans, smiling.

"I'm sure you will" I assure her, "you look great." Once again, I am struck by the youthful appearance of this woman, no wonder she can freely celebrate 33 while her peers avoid it at all costs. I can't believe I thought her plain when I first saw her. She is not going to be winning any beauty contests, but the woman is gorgeous.

"I feel great!" she replies as she walks into my office. "It's been such a good week, birthday celebration after birthday celebration!"

Now or never

"Speaking of which, I got you something." Grace's surprise is evident, but the smile on her face remains. My stomach is churning with anticipation. I realise that emotions of all kinds are enhanced when I am near Grace, and I can't decide whether to enjoy the tide of feelings or battle them. I smile as I move toward her, sitting next to her on the couch. "As a celebration of your birthday, and 33 by 33. I remember you saying how much you love gifts so..." I cut myself off from rambling and pass her the gift.

"Jonothan, you got me a gift! You know you didn't have to," her face turns serious, "I wasn't hinting or anything when I was talking about gifts..." I glare at her in reply and she looks down at the purse, "are you even allowed to give gifts to clients?" My stomach rolls at the question, but she stops short as she gasps at the jewellery purse.

"Open it" I urge.

She looks at me with apprehension, and I smile and nod, egging her on. She slowly opens the purse and another gasp tells me my instincts were right, she loves it. Grace lifts the necklace by the chain and stares with her mouth and eyes wide, awestruck. I feel a goofy grin on my face which refuses to go. "Do you like it?" I ask.

Upon hearing my voice Grace snaps out of her daze and looks at me, "of course" she stutters, "but Jonothan, I can't accept this, it's too much." She attempts to put the necklace back, shaking her head, but using my hand I stop her. She looks up at me questioningly.

"It's not, really. Please Grace" I smile reassuringly, but her face remains anguished.

"It is" she stresses, "this would have cost you a fortune!" Grace thrusts the necklace towards me.

"You know as well as I do, that it is not the price of the gift that counts, but the thought behind it." I challenge, pushing her hand towards her once again, "I saw it and knew it was the perfect gift for you, tell me it's not!" The look in her eye says it all, I am right.

She sighs and is about to speak, but I interrupt, "and it wasn't outrageously priced, so you need not worry about that, in fact its second hand." Her eyebrow raises and I plough on as I see her wavering. "It was custom made from a guy for his girlfriend nearly a hundred years ago, the clasp was originally broken so I got a great deal."

She looks at me disbelievingly, "nearly a hundred years ago? Custom made? And you are trying to sell that as if it is cheap." Grace sets her face, determined, "you know I love it, who wouldn't? It's the most beautiful thing I ever saw! And I love that you thought of me when you saw it, I really do, but seriously Jonothan," she says in a voice like a scolding mother, "flowers or chocolates, a card even, come on!"

Despite her determination, I let out a laugh, " _You_ come on! I'm proud of you, of what you have achieved, flowers and chocolates really don't cut it, you deserve it. I'll show you the receipt if that is what you really want?" She smiles, I know there is no way she will call my bluff. "If you prefer, I can go and buy some outrageously priced necklace from Tiffany that looks only half as good..." I begin.

"Who the hell buys people Tiffany necklaces for a birthday gift?!" She laughs disbelievingly, then with a roll of her eyes adds, "Really Jonothan, you are from another world!"

" _I_ buy gifts for people from there _all the time_ as a matter of fact. And just so you know," I say teasing "nobody until _now_ has ever complained!" I smile smugly, telling she is beginning to cave.

She looks at the necklace shaking her head with a smile and sighs. "What about Chris?"

"What about him?" I respond.

Be casual, act natural

"You know how jealous he gets if another guy just looks at me. What's he going to do when he finds out a good looking, wealthy guy, who I have been meeting one on one has bought me this?!" She lifts up the necklace. "It's not really appropriate, is it... buying a married woman jewellery?" She tilts her head to the side with a frown.

She finds me attractive

I strain a chuckle, "It's a necklace, Grace, not a proposal."

She flushes with embarrassment, "Of course not."

"Grace, if you really don't want it, I'm not going to push it on you. However, in light of our recent discussions regarding the way Chris treats you, I would hope that you could graciously" she bites her lip at the accusation, "accept a gift, which you do like..." I smile knowingly, "as a celebration on your birthday."

Congratulations Jonothan you just officially crossed professional boundaries with that manipulation.

Grace is silent as she thinks it over. "Of course." She replies apologetically, "I'm sorry Jonothan, of course you are right, I didn't mean to be rude. I really do love it, and I am very grateful. Still need more practice with that stick perhaps." She looks down at the opal in her hands and smiles, "it is so incredibly beautiful."

I attempt to hide the relief that sweeps over me. "Shall I help you put it on?" I ask holding out my hand. She undoes the clasp with her delicate fingers and passes the necklace to me before turning around, lifting up her hair. She is so close, the skin on the back of her neck is so soft, she smells amazing...

Focus!

I reach around her and intentionally graze her neck gently as I pull the necklace clasp together, my hands are starting to shake.

Get it done

"There you go." I say as the clasp snaps shut. Grace puts her hair down and tugs lightly at the pendant as she looks down at it. "It's a black opal" I say to her unanswered question.

She looks up "how did you know I was just about to ask?" She chuckles, "I love opals, but this is... it's something else."

"It's better than flowers" I grin, feeling cheeky now that Grace is smiling again. Being with her is so enjoyable, I like who I am when I am with her, she brings out the best in me.

"Hey, I love flowers!" She declares.

"I'll remember that next time" I beam and she shakes her head with a smile.

"I don't want to make you run late again tonight, so we should probably start our actual session." Grace says, looking at the clock, "and don't feel compelled to sit on the couch either. Unless of course you have been practicing sitting cross legged" she smiles.

I stand, "not me," I reply. "The only way I'm on the couch is if I'm lying on it, and you are in my chair."

Or laying with me

"Is that an invitation?" She asks with a devious smile. For a split-second I wonder I have spoken my thoughts aloud, and my heart leaps into my throat, but then see she is looking at my chair.

"Sure" I reply sitting down and spinning the chair 360 degrees, "all you need to do is get a degree in Psychology and it's yours!"

"Hmm, that might take longer than half an hour. I'll take the couch."

Grace and I discuss her progress in the little time we have left. She is closely watching the clock and right as her session is scheduled to finish she stands. "I refuse to keep you at work late again" she insists as she begins walking out, "I know you have a life outside these walls too."

"Grace, I enjoy your company, I wouldn't stay late if I didn't." I confess.

"All the more reason why I don't want to take advantage of your kind nature" she replies genuinely. "Same time in a fortnight?"

I desperately want to ask Grace to dinner, and even have the perfect meal planned, but I can see she is determined to honour my work hours. "Actually, as I hijacked half the session, how about you come back next week, free of charge, to make up for the lost time?"

She looks at me shrewdly "Wouldn't you already have someone booked for next week?"

"No," I lie. "I had a last-minute cancellation earlier today, the spot it yours if you'll take it?"

"OK, sure." She accepts, but clarifies "you really don't have to though you know."

I groan and put my hand on my face mockingly, "I am not accustomed to saying things I don't mean my lovely little Grace, please stop making it so hard for me to offer you things."

Grace laughs and puts her hands up in surrender, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Jonothan."

Continuing the mock exasperation, I ask, "And when will you start calling me John? I'm sure I've told you a hundred times I would prefer it."

"Oh, have you?" She asks, laugher still bubbling out spontaneously, "I thought you preferred Mr Perfect?" She squints slightly as if assessing me, with bursts of laughter erupting. "I suppose you have. I'm sorry, you just don't look like a John to me."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean? You aren't going to say Fido would be a better fit would you?" I challenge her teasingly.

She chortles "No, no nothing like that. Oh, you did say you had forgiven me for the puppies thing, I thought you had?" She questions.

I step closer. I can smell her perfume and it is intoxicating. "You know I was playing, I could never hold anything against you. But I am still waiting, why don't I look like a John? What do I look like to you Grace?" My voice is deep and soft and I am tempted to take the last step which will close the gap between us.

She smiles bashfully, "Well, I don't know if it's going to sound crazy..."

I gesture around, "You are in the right place for that."

"Ha! True!" She laughs. "The name John reminds me of two things. First, a dignified old king with twinkly eyes and a big grey beard," she says making beard like gestures. She then pauses, "which is funny though because your name is Jonothan King, and your eyes are quite twinkly!"

"Are they?" I flutter my eyelashes and she giggles. I love making her laugh. "So, what you are saying is that I need to be more dignified and grow a beard?" I play, glad that she hasn't left yet.

"Hmm..." As Grace looks at me I feel my face flush under her scrutiny and smile in an attempt to hide it. "I guess you would probably suit a beard, but you don't look old enough" She concludes.

"A look for later life, I suppose" I shrug. Grace shrugs too and smiling, begins turning to go.

I take another half step closer as I stop her. "Wait a minute, didn't you say there were two things John reminded you of? King John is one, what's the other?"

She turns toward me again, now needing to lift her face to see mine "you might get offended."

"Only if you start calling me John after telling me it reminds you of something awful" I point out. "But then, I can also assume you think of me as a dignified royal; handsome and brave!" I pose in a flex and realise that in any other situation I would feel foolish, but I am completely comfortable in Grace's company and enjoy the ridiculousness.

"True," she giggles "but would you ever know which of the two I'm thinking?" She winks.

I pretend as if I am deflating. "Alright then, 'fess up."

"Well," she says, clearing the laughter from her throat in preparation for her answer, "it's just that growing up, every now and again I heard the bathroom being called..."

"...the John" I finish for her, rolling my eyes.

"Yes! I don't know why it stuck in my head, but it does. You don't very well want me calling you John now do you?" she asks with a laugh. "Why don't you like Jonothan?"

"I like it fine, but it does seem very formal. I think we are past formal, aren't we Grace?"

"I suppose we are. How about Jonny, or Jono?" she asks screwing up her face "...Kingy?"

I cringe, "Dare I ask, what do those names remind you of?"

She smiles, "If you were an unemployed man sitting by the beach drinking beers, or on a worksite with a bumcrack hanging out. That could suit any of those names."

"Well there you go, it reminds me of the same!"

"So, I'm not crazy then!" she says elatedly pointing at me in triumph. She is enjoying herself with me, and I wish she wasn't so intent on leaving.

"Or we both are" I retort, pointing back at her.

"So be it" she declares joyously. "Jonothan it is, until we find something more suitable. I like it anyway, it sounds like a song. See you next week!" She sings out as she heads for the stairs. "Oh, and Jonothan."

"Yes Grace?" I smile, wondering what will she come out with next, but enjoying every moment. This woman has turned me inside out.

"Thank you for the necklace, I love it!" I hear her bound down the stairs, full of life and humming a tune I suspect she is making up as she goes.

She speaks to who I am, and I like who I am when I am with her. I am more like my true self when I am with her...

## Chapter 27

Until I received the reminder on my phone, I had forgotten that Jason and I were catching up for an early lunch today. I only had a few minutes to get ready so I overlooked my usual preparation. Being a Saturday, I haven't shaved, and I enter the restaurant wearing jeans and a shirt. Approaching the table I see Jason's eyebrow cocked in question of my attire, and I realise that I have probably made a mistake. He stands, dressed impeccably in a suit.

"What, did you just roll out of bed man? Please tell me you have the excuse of a beautiful woman and you aren't just turning into an old lady?"

Jason and I exchange our traditional man hug before taking a seat. He is about to speak, no doubt to repeat his question, when flirty waitress appears next to me asking for our drink orders.

Jason smiles up at her "On a beautiful day like this, with such a beautiful view, I'll have the steak, and a beer to top it all off." He winks at her and she smiles in return. I can't help but smile at how forward Jason is with women. He can afford to be, he has the looks and money to back himself; the approach seems to work for him.

"And you, Mr King?" she asks, turning to me, "what would you like?" Her gaze rakes over me suggestively. From the corner of my eye I see Jason cringe at what is an obvious dismissal of his advances. Once upon a time I would have revelled in this, but today I am exasperated by the whole game.

"The same." I reply, perhaps a little too bluntly considering I often banter with the waitress.

It's never a good idea to mess with the people who serve your food.

"A steak and beer it is." She says perkily. "Oh, and Mr King?"

I look up at her, half expecting some kind of rebuke for my rudeness. "Yes?"

She runs her hand along my shoulder and lowers her voice. "I really like this casual look on you. Very sexy." She winks before heading toward the kitchen. Well, at least she won't spit in my drink.

Jason's laugh barks loudly as he slaps the table. "Only you can get away with looking like a homeless man and still pick up. How do you do it man?"

"Didn't you hear the woman Jase, I don't need to dress up to impress the ladies." I smile as I sip on the table water. I am ashamed to admit that flirty waitress has just saved my dignity. My outfit cost around a grand, despite being casual; and many of the other diners are in similar clothes, but I was embarrassed by Jason's earlier remarks.

Why do I care so much about what Jason thinks?

"How are things?" I ask, turning the attention back to him.

Jason and I do our usual back and forth. My mind keeps drifting to thoughts of Grace, and I catch myself wondering how Jason would react if I told him about her. We used to talk about stuff like that. I doubt he would approve of her, but he did fall pretty hard for a girl like her back in the day so maybe he would get it. I come to the sad realisation that over the years my friendship with Jason has become increasingly superficial, to the point that I don't know if I really know the man in front of me anymore. We used to be close. Now I feel closer to some of my clients. I look at Jason, I wonder if he knows who he is, apart from the charade.

Do I even know who I am anymore?

As my thoughts turn to Grace again, and the way I enjoy myself with her, Jason interrupts my thoughts.

"John, are you OK man?" He asks, a concerned look on his face.

I shake myself back to reality, "Yeah. Sorry, what were you saying?"

"John, you were a thousand miles away. I was saying how I saw Sarah at a business dinner and she said she hasn't heard from you in a while. She said you were acting a little unusual."

"Really?" I ask. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Sarah since the awkward night I called her Grace, and I've been fobbing off her texts. I didn't realise it's been months. "I suppose it has been a while."

"Only you could overlook the fact you haven't been with the hottest woman in the city in months. What's going on? Was she clinging?"

I laugh. I suppose I have been known to take drastic measures for my independence in the past. "No, she is good like that. I guess I just got caught up with other things." I really should have lunch or something with Sarah. We aren't a couple, but she is someone I usually catch-up with regularly.

"What's on your mind John?"

"Actually, I was just thinking how much we have been through together. We've come a long way, haven't we?"

Jason's façade is broken momentarily and a wistful contentedness washes over his face. "Yeah, we have." His reaction sparks a surge of hope within me; maybe our friendship hasn't completely dissolved.

"I suppose I've been thinking a little lately about what's next."

"What do you mean?"

"I have everything I ever wanted, and more." I see Jason's face begin to harden defensively so I continue, "I know you do too. Your dad would be proud." Jason nods, his features composed but I see how my compliment has affected him. Jason had the kind of dad who made you want to make something of yourself. I know so much of my friend's drive has come from a desire to please his father. Admittedly, I wanted to make him proud too, he was just that kind of guy. "So what's next?" I ask.

"This isn't enough?" Jason asks.

I see where he is coming from. A month ago, I would have agreed. "I don't know Jase. Maybe I'm getting old, but I'm..." _Bored, lonely, unsatisfied..._ "thinking I'm missing out."

"On what?"

"I don't know. It's not like I am all for the wife, kids and white picket fence, you know that; but..."

Jason's laughter takes me by surprise. "I can't believe it! I can't believe it! Jonothan King, eternal bachelor ready to hang up the dream!" I endure the embarrassment as tears roll down Jason's face as he tries to compose himself. "Is that why you're dressed like a stay-at-home dad?" Jason can barely keep his seat he is so overwhelmed with laughter until he stops dead with eyes wide, "Wait, is that what's happened? Did you knock someone up?"

"No!" I growl.

Jason's smile spreads wide again "but you want to."

I huff. This is the price of taking things to a deeper level. "It's not that." But even as I say it, I can't help but picture Grace with my baby in her arms, and I'm surprised the image doesn't terrify me.

Jason sobers, but the smile remains, "OK, OK, sorry bro, but you got to admit, it's a lot to take from you."

"I get that, I do." I admit.

"What ever happened to ' _married_ men miss out?'" He asks, throwing my words back in my face.

I cringe. I used those exact words when Jason was thinking of marrying Beth, the girl who was like Grace. She broke up with him shortly afterwards because of his refusal to commit. "I know that's what I thought..." I confess.

"And you were right!" Jason exclaims. "Think of everything you would miss out on if you were chained down" he nods towards a nearby table where the flirty waitress is taking orders.

I sigh. I do love my independence, but it comes at a price; and to be honest, chasing women is no longer fun, it's exhausting. "Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if you had married Beth, had a couple of kids?"

Jason's face immediately hardens. "Like I said, I would have missed out." It's been over ten years and I can see her memory still brings him pain. Guilt eats away at my stomach.

Apologetically I continue, "I used to think that would be the case. Jase, you know my dad never could have both family and success, so I never thought it was possible for me. Now he is stalking me for playdates and sleepovers because he is so lonely. I'm not saying I want a family, but I don't want to turn into him."

Jason's face contorts in anger. "Your dad is old and still gets good tail and he has money to do what he likes. From what I can see, his only problem is his whinging son who won't take some time to catch up with him. As far as I'm concerned I'd be happy to end up like your dad."

"Jase, I'm sorry I seem so ungrateful when your dad isn't here but..."

He cuts me off "Look man, don't worry about it. You want to go do your mid-life crisis then whatever. Things come easy for you, John, they always have. The rest of us have had to work our asses off to get what we have, but at least it helps us be grateful for it. I'm not going to throw away everything I've worked so hard for. If you can't appreciate what you have been given, more for me." He stands, throwing money on the table for his meal. "I've got to go. If you want to come to your senses then give me a call. I'll see you."

That's certainly not how I thought this lunch would shape up. I sigh as I fix the bill and leave the restaurant. I never realised how much of Jason's bravado was caused by jealousy, hurt and justifying his decision with Beth; a decision I pushed him to make. No wonder he was angry at me. Considering my profession, I should have seen it a mile away. I should have cared enough to be a real friend.

How many real friends do I have?

## Chapter 28

I open the door to the waiting room, stepping out with a spring in my step and a smile on my face which is so wide that it makes muscles in my face ache- that's never happened to me before! All day I have been filled with a nervous anticipation. After my conversation with Jason on the weekend I am more grateful for Grace than ever. I'll need to take it slow, for both our sakes, and I may need to swallow a lot of humble pie on the way, but she is worth it. "Grace..." I start to call when I halt mid stride, thrown completely by the presence of a man sitting beside Grace. In a nano-second I register that the man is Chris and it takes a conscious effort to keep a smile plastered on my face. "And it looks like Chris will be joining us today, how wonderful!"

I step forward to shake his hand, "It's lovely to finally meet you Chris." He looks me in the eye as he takes my hand in a grip which is tighter than necessary.

He begins to speak as he clamps my hand, "Grace told me you were good looking, Jonothan, but she didn't say you were running for bachelor of the year, look at you!" He smiles easily, but shoots an accusing glance at Grace, who shrugs helplessly.

In a rare state, am tongue-tied, what am I supposed to say? I could return the compliment- Chris is in fact a good-looking guy. He must work out because he is the same build as I am, and I am only slightly taller.

We are evenly matched

While I have a natural tan from my mother's side, Chris is just as brown but sun-kissed. His hair is light, with shades of blonde from being outdoors, and his brown eyes are lighter than mine. He must use the same dentist as Jeremy with his perfect teeth. Come to think of it, we don't look too different.

Except that he has Grace.

"I could say the same about you" I reply. He chuckles and raises an eyebrow. "Come on through" I gesture. I take a look at Grace as she trails behind her husband. She is beaming at me, oblivious that her agenda for tonight is completely the opposite to what I had in mind. She grabs my arm as she passes me, squeezing it with a nervous excitement and a knowing look. I simply nod and gently push her along. I want to be excited for her, but her excitement simply increases my frustration- I am pissed at her for bringing him.

As I walk in, Chris is making himself at home on the sofa and looking around. I can see how his easy-going nature and charm are a great advantage to him. "It's a nice place you have here, Jonothan" he smiles as he pats the chair close to him, gesturing for Grace to move closer. As she does he wraps his arm around her possessively but she flashes him a scolding look before leaning out of his hold to pour them both a water.

"It does the job" I shrug and Grace smiles at me appreciatively. "Chris, let's get down to business, shall we?" He nods, as if he wouldn't mind either way. "I have spoken with Grace and know why she is here, what brings you here today?"

Grace has her hand resting on Chris' knee and stares at him wide-eyed as if willing her husband to speak. He is oblivious to her, but nods toward me, "excellent question." He takes a moment then continues "A number of reasons."

"Which are?" I prod, feeling as though I am somehow walking into a trap.

"You, firstly."

"Because I am a qualified Psychologist" I answer, thinking of Daniel. Chris looks surprised at my reply but Grace chuckles at my joke.

"Yeah, I guess so." Chris replies but upon glimpsing Grace's smile continues, "But moreso because you are the guy who is taking my money each fortnight to hang out with my _wife_."

"So you are here to see if you are getting what you pay for?" I question with an eyebrow raised.

"I know I'm getting what I paid for, believe me" Chris says looking at Grace who smiles at him. "My wife could be a swimsuit model because of you, and I am extremely grateful, if you know what I mean!" Chris winks at me, but his stare has a hard edge to it, Grace's smile drops with embarrassment.

"I do Chris, and we can cover the topic of sex in our discussions if you are so inclined. This is a safe environment to do so, and physical intimacy is an important aspect of marriage. In saying this, I must draw to your attention to the fact that Grace is visibly uncomfortable by your comment." I gesture towards her and her face turns beetroot red. I instantly regret placing her in this position, but not as much as I regret the offer to discuss Grace's sex life with this guy.

"Sorry babe" Chris says softly as he rubs her back "you know I am just so proud of you. I don't know how I snagged you to be my wife!" It's hard to tell if Grace is convinced, or if the words simply bounce off. Chris sounds sincere, but I doubt this is the first time he has used an apology to escape the consequences of being a schmuck. Regardless, she smiles at Chris gratefully, she has obviously become an expert at hearing apologies like this.

"What were your other reasons for coming along Chris, you said you have a few."

"The other reasons are you too" Chris says pointing at me with a smile.

"Oh yes?" I say innocently.

"It's not every day Grace comes home late from a meeting with a guy, and it certainly is the first time she came home with an expensive piece of jewellery from a guy." Chris' appearance is still relaxed but his eyes fire at me accusingly.

Grace sits straight and glares at Chris "stop that Chris!" she insists as he ignores her. "Sorry Jonothan" she looks at me, embarrassed at her husband's behaviour. I feel a pride surge within me at her defence of me

Little does she know.

"Grace, I appreciate your concern, however Chris needs to know he is free to express himself here." Grace's anxious look contrasts Chris' nonchalance, yet I know underneath he is as seething as I am. "Please continue, Chris" I smile. His smile flashes a sneer before he relaxes back on the couch once more. He is gathering his thoughts, deciding on his next move.

"I just thought I'd let you know that my birthday is in September and I desperately need a new watch" he chuckles.

I laugh "I've been told flowers are a better use of my money" I nod at Grace, "Some roses perhaps?" I lift my eyebrow at Chris and Grace laughs. He joins in with a strained chuckle.

"You are protective of your wife, Chris and that is a commendable thing. Grace is a wonderful woman and it is natural for you to want to guard your marriage, it shows you care."

One point Jonothan

"She is the most amazing woman I have ever met" Chris says, gazing at Grace lovingly, who, startled by all the sudden attention, smiles shyly as she leans into her husband.

"For that reason, can I also assume you are here for your marriage, Chris?" I ask, moving the conversation out of dangerous waters.

Chris puts his arm around Grace once more, but this time she doesn't avoid it, she is too delirious that we appear to be getting along so well. "I don't know what Grace has told you but while we have the occasional spat, I really think we have a great thing going on."

"Even the best marriages can benefit from the occasional check-up" I reply, regarding Graces frustrated look at her husband and his determination to avoid any real counselling.

"They certainly benefit the shrink" Chris says rubbing his fingers together, "how often do you go to counselling with your wife, Jonothan?" Chris asks as he leans forward to take his water.

"I am unmarried, as you know" I reply calmly.

"Must have slipped my mind" he smirks.

Grace speaks up "As I have told Jonothan before, I think it's excellent to have an unmarried marriage counsellor, because it allows for objectivity- Jonothan being single means he won't be swayed by personal experiences."

"I'm not sure it does" Chris says, glancing at me, "but let's agree to disagree, shall we?"

"Moving on" I say, beginning to wish the session was over. It's the end of the day, my plans have nosedived and the last thing I feel like is having a pissing contest with this prick. "In our first session, Grace completed a table of life goals which we then used as markers to assist in her personal development. 33 by 33 was an outcome of this task, and something she completed commendably." I flash a fleeting smile at Grace and she beams proudly, which even now warms my heart. I continue "the ideal way to use these goals is to compare them with your own, Chris, so that you are unified in your life's direction, therefore in your marriage. Have you had an opportunity to complete this table yet Chris?" I ask casually.

"I took a look at the sheet, and Grace told me what she had on hers" he pauses and I know immediately that Chris was anything but enthusiastic about hearing Graces goals. "I've been taking some time to think about it" he says while nodding his head as if he were deep in reflection.

"That's great you are taking this so seriously." Nobody in this room believes it, but it is in everyone's best interest that I play along. "So, tell me what you have so far?"

Chris' panicked look is so momentary that I vow silently that I will never play poker with this man, he is good.

Not that I ever would

"Well to start with, there is the physical..." Chris says confidently.

"Yes?" I prompt.

"None of us are getting any younger" Chris replies while looking at me, "and I'd like to think that Grace and I could continue looking after ourselves physically."

"Chris has been such a wonderful encourager as I did 33 by 33," Grace gushes "he has even been doing a bit extra at the gym at his work too!"

"That's great to hear" I say as enthusiastically as possible. "What are you planning on doing now that 33 by 33 is over?" They stare at each other blankly. "That's ok," I assure them. "This is an opportunity for you to discuss this together. How about I hear what you come up with next time we meet?"

Grace nods enthusiastically. "Sure" she says, but Chris merely grunts.

"Perhaps that will also provide time for Chris to complete the table and bring it with him so we can discuss the other areas of life?"

"I think I lost my copy" Chris admits with a shrug, "never was good at homework!" He chuckles at his incompetence and as a disarming technique it is effective for most people. "Not like this one!" he says, grabbing onto Grace once again, who rolls her eyes playfully.

"That's ok babe" Grace says in a cheery voice, "I can make you one."

"Or I could give you a blank copy now if you prefer?" I offer.

"Why the rush Jonothan? We have hours after all." Chris says with a smirk as he emphatically relaxes back on the couch.

"I beg your pardon?" I ask. Grace looks as confused as I feel.

"Isn't that what you do?" Chris asks feigning innocence, "You really go the extra mile, right? Chatting late into the night, I was expecting some dinner! Apparently, you are quite the chef, isn't that what you said when you were asking _my wife_ to dinner?"

Grace looks as if she could melt into the furniture and I feel the heat rising up my neck "you are right Chris. However, what you are referring to is an extraordinary circumstance. One of my clients" I gesture to Grace, "was extremely distressed due to the _false allegations_ of her husband" I gesture to Chris. I never would have thought Chris' accusations would have worked in my favour, but as I mention it Chris looks slightly mollified as Grace throws an accusing glance in his direction. "I took the time necessary to do my job properly. I have a duty of care to ensure my clients are of a sound mind, and to ensure the environment they return to is safe."

Chris cracks at the implication. "Bullshit. I am not an idiot Jonothan, you think I can't see what you are doing. Hiding behind all your psychobabble shit, you are seducing my wife!"

Grace pleads, "please Chris, not again, stop it! There is nothing going on with me and Jonothan. Please, he is trying to _help_ us!"

My heart is pounding so fast I struggle to maintain control. I don't know whether it will smooth over with Chris or if it will turn into a punch on- I can only imagine having to tell Brett I decked a client! Seeing Grace so upset helps me force myself to remain calm.

"You are upsetting your wife, Chris." I say.

Chris laughs menacingly, "she's not the only one here who is upset. You think you can try to steal my wife from me, just because you have a big bank account, a wank-factor coffee machine and a smooth tongue?"

I start to reply but Chris isn't finished "you think you can have whatever you want, just because you want it? You think she is going to open her legs for you just because you flatter her and tell her what a shit husband I am?" Chris is standing up and yelling now, and Grace moans in humiliation while looking ready to pass out. "You think I'm going to let you buy her gifts, and take her to dinner late and who knows what else, and not do anything about it? You are lucky I don't knock you into next week you pretentious self-obsessed wanker!"

"Chris, stop it!" Grace yells hysterically as she jumps up and pulls on his arm, tears flooding down her face. I can't tell if she is upset, angry or embarrassed, but she directs her flood of emotions towards him so I remain seated, gripping the armrests of my chair so hard it's a wonder they don't crumble.

Chris turns to Grace, "yes, I am going to stop it. I'm putting a stop to it right now. Grace, I will go to a counsellor every week of our lives for whatever the hell therapy you want to get, so long as it isn't with this prick." He points towards me. I realise I am holding my breath.

Surely she won't agree to this.

I want to say something but I am struck dumb, I don't know what I would even say. Grace, whose staggered breathing sounds loud in the silence, with a tear stained face stares at her husband with contemplation. "Do you really mean that?" she asks. I feel as though I have been kicked in the stomach.

"100%" he answers without pause.

"Do you promise?" she asks like a child who has had a lifetime of broken promises.

"Yes, but its him or me." Chris thrusts out his hand towards me again. Somehow, I am standing. Waiting in anticipation for her answer.

She hugs him passionately with glee "Yes, yes, yes!" Grace says before pulling away "and I am going to hold you to your promise" she says pointing her finger at his face. She turns to me "Do you have the number for someone good Jonothan?"

I cough, "sure" I fumble towards my desk. "I'll get that for you now."

"I'll see you in the car Grace" Chris says, as she moves towards me, ready to receive my recommendation. "I assume this session is still free?" Chris challenges me.

I hold my hands out, the non-verbals of a generous man "Of course."

"Good" he replies gruffly before heading down the stairs.

I write the number of a colleague on a sheet of paper, and I can hear myself babbling about his credentials, but I am numb. I hand Grace the paper and feel a catch in my throat that as I realise that this is my last session with her. I am ashamed that I thought, I hoped, she would have chosen me over her husband. I assumed too much. I am mortified that Chris called me out like that. Mostly, I am devastated. "I'm going to miss you Grace" I say out loud, my voice barely a whisper.

She steps forward to hug me. "I'll miss you too" she replies, "you are amazing." She smiles at me admiringly and my heart breaks, "you knew just how to push Chris' buttons to make him fight for me! I admit I didn't know that's what was happening 'til it worked, but that's why your name is on the door, right?" She laughs. "I am so sorry too; for what Chris said, and did, and well, everything! I know you weren't trying to seduce me" she says embarrassed. "I'll recommend you to everyone. And if it's ok I'll keep the necklace as a momento of the incredible man who saved my marriage?" She fingers the necklace as she looks at me.

"Grace, it's yours. I couldn't imagine it on anyone else" I reply as I hold her fingers with the pendant in them.

"Thank you Jonothan." She hugs me again, and I don't want to let her go. "I better go, Chris is waiting."

"Grace?"

She looks at me in reply and I savour the big blue eyes and perfectly formed pink lips, "remember the stick. Just remember I'm here... any time you need me."

She winks "you bet. Take care Jonothan. Thank you. For everything."

"Goodbye Grace."

As the door closes I slump back into my chair. I feel as though a piece of me has just died.

She's gone.

## Chapter 29

As I drift in and out of sleep, I can hear the feint sound of what I suppose is a knock at the door. "Surely not" I say to myself, "It's one in the morning."

The knocking persists

I drag myself to my feet and grope for a bath robe. "Who the hell would be visiting me at this hour? I hope it's not Sarah asking for a booty call; I am just not in the mood."

I open the door revealing two police officers both holding their hats in their hands

This is not good

"Sorry to bother you at this hour... are you Jonothan King?" The taller officer speaks in a calm and quiet tone.

"Yes, I am; what happened?"

"We are sorry to inform you sir, but there has been a death and you are listed as the emergency contact."

I knew dad was sick, why didn't he just tell me?

"What happened to my father?"

"Your father?" the taller officer questioned... "Jeremy Green was your father?"

"Jeremy Green? What are you talking about?"

"Mr King, we are here about the death of Jeremy Green"

I am struggling putting everything in its correct order. "Jeremy? Jeremy is dead? What happened?"

"We are not entirely sure of all the details, but an investigation is underway. He was killed last night." With my mouth hung open, I invite the officers to come inside; they comply, being led by the taller man

"How did he die?" I ask, still spinning.

"He was struck down by a bus on the motorway. He died instantly. Mr King, how long have you known Mr Green?"

"A few months... He has been a client of mine... I am his therapist"

"You were his _therapist_?"

"Yes sir"

Both officers look at each other curiously

"Then why are you listed as his next of kin?

"What?" I ask, still feeling bewildered "I am his next of kin?"

"Yes Mr King... that is why we are here."

"I have no idea why that is the case; other than being a client, I have nothing to do with Jeremy outside of work."

Once again, the officers look at each other puzzled. "But Mr King, not only are you his next of kin, you are the _only_ person he mentions in his suicide note."

"Suicide note! Jeremy killed himself?"

"Yes Mr King. We are still looking at the traffic footage, but it seems he intentionally ran in front of a bus going sixty miles per hour"

I feel a knot instantly jerk in my stomach. "I'm sorry officers, but I'm feeling a little light headed." One of them gets up, draws me a glass of water and helps me to my seat. "If it happened last night, why are you here tonight?"

"We needed some time to identify the body. Unfortunately, Jeremy was horribly disfigured in the accident, and since he was not carrying any identification, we needed to rely on dental records. Jeremy had dentures so we were able to find a match."

"But it doesn't make any sense... he was doing so well" I say, resting my heavy head in my hands. I feel an emotion I am unable to identify. It is like a hybrid of guilt and anger. Why would Jeremy commit suicide? Did I miss something? Why am I mentioned in his suicide note? Am I being implicated? Am I under investigation? "Sorry gentleman, but I have so many questions."

"That's understandable Mr King. You can ask us some questions now if you like, or you can come down to the station tomorrow. Either way, we will need to take an official statement, and organise for you to manage his affairs."

"Manage his affairs?"

"Mr King, you were his next of kin. This carries certain responsibilities. You need to take ownership of his personal effects, or at least, organise somebody to do so. Since you are not family, you are legally allowed to refuse to exercise the duties of a next of kin, and if you choose this, the government will manage the deceased estate... but Jeremy Green _did_ choose you. Maybe your relationship meant more to Jeremy than you realised."

"Gentleman, how can I be the best option if I am not a blood relative?"

"Jeremy does not have any living blood relatives. He was an only child and his parents have long since been deceased. In that case, the next of kin is nominated. He nominated you."

"His mother is deceased?"

"Yes, she has been for two decades, why do you ask?"

What?

"Oh, it's nothing, I just wanted to clarify... Gentleman, I am really sorry, but this has all taken me by surprise, and I would prefer to think it through before I make a decision."

The police officers stand to their feet and start heading for the door. "That is understandable Mr King. How about we let you get some sleep and you come down to the station in the morning? We can answer any questions you may have, and make a plan to handle Jeremy's estate."

"That sounds fine to me; I'll be there at 8am." I close the door behind the officers after clutching a business card from the taller gentleman.

"Jeremy is _dead_ " I say to myself, walking back to the bedroom.

Decent sleep is nowhere to be found tonight. I cannot stop my mind running over my many sessions with Jeremy... In Jeremy's letter to his mother, he was deliberating weather or not he should go be with his mother.... I thought he meant he would take a bus to visit her, not jump in front of one to die like her. He never overtly said she was dead, I never overtly checked.

I'm going to be sick

I run to the bathroom because I feel like vomiting but my body won't allow it. My stomach retches and contorts as I hunch over the toilet. Waves of guilt and regret sweep over me as I repeatedly ask myself... _what if_

What if _I_ was the one that unknowingly gave Jeremy permission to set a date?

What if I had not pushed him to write the letter?

What if he was going to tell me during out last session, and I rushed him out the door to brunch with that lady?

What if he blames me in the suicide note?

I need something to help me sleep... I need something to help shut my thoughts down... I need Whiskey...

And lots of it

After eight or more Macallan's on the balcony, I stumble into the kitchen. If there is one thing I remember about college, it is to drink as much water as possible after a big night. It is 3:18am; I have to be at the police station in 4 hours. As drunk as I am, I know this binge is a bad idea, but at least my mind has stopped running. I collapse into bed half covered by a sheet, hoping the water I drank is enough...

This is the week from hell

## Chapter 30

My alarm sounds like a fire engine as I run toward the bathroom hitting walls along the way. Last night I could not vomit, now I cannot stop. What the hell was I thinking? I have to be at the police station in 35 minutes, followed by a full day of clients. I need a day off, and I need it now. My cancelation policy specifies that if I cancel within 24 hours, the next appointment is free. Cancelling today would cost $1920... and the truth is, I do not even care... I just need to get some food to stay down and to get back to sleep. I text the police officer and prolong him until 2pm. I set my booking program to ensure all today's clients are notified, and then I fall on the sofa and pass out until noon.

Lightweight

There is nothing quite like a hangover to multiply the guilt of professional inattention. As I shower then dress casually, I am thankful the vomiting has not continued. I cannot remember the last time I left the house on a weekday without shaving, but today, I cannot be bothered. Today is going to be shitty, no matter how I look.

My first espresso stays down, I am not going to risk a second; it is time to get to the police station.

Taxi

I pay the driver and start heading for the door until a revelation hits me like a tonne of bricks. "Grace could be in there" I say out loud, surprising a nearby lady pushing a pram. Grace said she would soon be transferring from the civil works department to the police department.

Idiot!

Of all the days to wear jeans and neglect to shave! "You are in fine form you freaking idiot" I yell... luckily nobody is around for that one. It's five minutes before my meeting. There is no way I can reschedule with the police officer without looking suspicious... or stupid. I have no choice, I have to keep going. I look around anxiously as I make my way to the reception counter... "Hello, I am Jonothan King; I am here to see Senior Constable Travis Matthews... could you please direct me to him?"

"Sure thing Mr King, follow me please." The receptionist buzzes me through a glass security door, and leads me past a hallway of office cubicles. It is not a large police department, if Grace is here; chances are we will cross paths.... I can't handle the suspense...

"Excuse me miss?" I say nervously as I follow behind.

"Yes, Mr King?"

"I have a friend commencing a contract in HR at this police department very soon. Her name is Grace, do you know if she has started yet?"

"I don't think so. I know we have a temp running human resources at the moment, but she finishes up at the end of this week. Maybe Grace is taking her position?"

I discretely wipe the sweat from my brow. "Maybe" I say, as I am led into a private office with _Snr Con Matthews_ stickered on the frosted glass door. He is on the phone, but he gestures for me to take a seat, which I do.

"I will call you back in five, he is here now." Travis hangs up the phone and leans in to shake my hand. "Sorry about that, just my boss asking if I had spoken to you yet."

"Not a problem... and thank you for rescheduling; I was not feeling up to it this morning."

"Big night hey?" he asked, obviously used to spotting a hangover.

"Unfortunately so" I admit. There is no point lying, I probably smell like the village drunk.

"No judgement here Mr King.... this is an extremely difficult situation. We have a few things to cover, so let's get straight into it. Would you like to see the suicide note? It is more like a letter to _you_ than a typical suicide note." The officer is holding an envelope which I can only assume contains his letter.

"I guess so."

Travis opens up the envelope... he then extracts a letter sealed in a transparent evidence bag... At least, I assume it is an evidence bag; it looks _exactly_ like one in the movies. "You need to leave it inside the bag please, but you are free to read it. Would you like five minutes alone?"

"I would appreciate that, thank you" I reply as he closes the door behind him.

Jeremy's suicide note is written line by line like a shopping list, exactly like his note to his mother

Dear Jonothan

If you are reading this, I have gone to be with mum

I have been thinking about this for a long time, and I am finally choosing to have peace

Thank you for being my friend

I have never really had a friend, and it was nice to spend my last days getting to know you better

I want you to have my guitar. I remember you once said you played in college, it is a shame you stopped

You can also have any of my other stuff if you want it

I hope your new guitar will help you want to play again

Love Jeremy

I fight every instinct to react, and force all emotion to shut up. His last letter and it's all about me? How is this possible? I signal for the Senior Constable to come back it. I am finished with the letter, for now.

"Is there anything else he wrote? I mean, surely this cannot be everything?" I ask, holding the letter in the face of the officer

"Why do you say that, Jonothan?" he questions, taking the letter from me and placing it on his desk.

"Because, it doesn't make any sense!" I snap, taking the officer off guard. He stares at me. I cannot speak; there are no words to be found. Eventually I slump heavily into my chair and it rolls backwards into the desk

"Look, Mr King, I realise this is an imposition to your life, but we must make arrangements in regards to Jeremy's estate. Without an official will, and with no remaining family, you are responsible to take care of Jeremy's possessions, but also, of Jeremy's body."

"Are you saying I need to organise the funeral?"

"Well, you don't have to organise an entire funeral, but the minimum requirement is that you organise for the remains to be cremated. However, as I have already told you, you have the option to sign everything over to the state and a government department will oversee everything... but that also means you will have no rights to the guitar, or anything else Jeremy may have owned... also, it goes against the last wishes of the deceased."

I know, you have said that twenty times already

Travis continues, "If Jeremy was destitute, and his assets do not cover the cost of a cremation, he will be cremated, and his ashes will be stored at the expense of the government department; unless, you want to pay for the cremation personally. You are also permitted to claim the ashes if you wish."

I know it is the _right_ thing to do... I just wish there was somebody else. I breathe heavily and look down at my feet. "I'll do it. I'll do whatever is necessary, but I want access to his home."

"Mr King, if you are willing to exercise these duties I can make that happen. Otherwise, like I said, we have resources to gather his personal effects and have them delivered to your place, or a storage facility, or a charity store..."

"Jeremy claimed that I was his closest friend... If I am going to commit to this process, I need to know _why_."

"All right then... if you wait here, I'll get the necessary paperwork and be back soon" declares the officer, opening the door and disappearing.

Jeremy's note sits on the table as I read it repeatedly. Although I am quite certain I have memorised it, I decide to take a photo just in case.

"What were you thinking Jeremy?" I ask out loud, realising my audible self-talk is becoming far too frequent.

## Chapter 31

I cannot believe how slowly this day is going. I have only seen my usual quota of clients, and I am absolutely spent. To make matters worse, Leon Ferguson was putting me to sleep with his boring stories jam –packed with non-essential information. We are only 120 dollars through the session, and I can barely be bothered listening any longer.

I breathe deeply and gather my thoughts. Truth be told, my real tussle is not with Leon, or anything else I want to blame; I am going to Jeremy's apartment straight after work, and the whole situation is messing with my head. As Leon continues talking, I find my mind drifting toward the contents of the suicide note. How on earth did Jeremy consider me a close friend?

Senior Constable Travis Matthews gave me an envelope with a key to Jeremy's apartment, plus an official statement to show the building superintendent in case there are any issues. The blank envelope rests on my desk and even though it sits fractionally within my peripheral vision, it's been all I can focus on. I try my best to finish the session well, and I think I get away with it; Mr Ferguson pays his bill as he schedules our next appointment; I can't have blown it too badly.

It is 5pm and I need to get to Jeremy's apartment. Although it is going to be an expensive taxi ride, I am not in the mood to brave public transport at peak hour. When we finally arrive at his complex, I am surprised to see how run-down his neighbourhood is... I look extremely out of place in my work-suit. Yesterday, when I noticed his apartment number was 11C; I had wrongly assumed he lived in a chic musician's apartment downtown, or some kind of funky loft... He lived in an ex-project building that is on the way to refurbishment. _On the way_ is a gross overstatement.

As I take the elevator to the eleventh floor, I start to feel anxious. The elevator is slow and rickety... I assume it is safe enough, but I would not want to ride it every day. Strangely, there are hundreds of apartments in this complex yet I do not see a solitary person. The elevator doors open and 11C is the last on the left. I tread carefully past the dully painted walls and bolted down furniture to arrive in front of Jeremy's home.

"Hello" I call out, as the door squeaks open. I know nobody is here, but I still feel compelled to announce my arrival. I walk into the living room and take a sweep of the area. I can easily picture this being a place Jeremy would live. Although not overtly tidy or organised, there is a quiet charm to the place. Framed pictures of Louis Armstrong, John Coltrane and Billie Holiday tactfully disguise the tired walls. His small dining table is made from reclaimed timber. The carpet is clean, but not steam-cleaned. His refrigerator door doubles as his day planner, with receipts, dockets and post-it-notes stuck all over it. I feel like I am trespassing, or robbing a grave. Everything feels eerie.

I plonk onto the dining room chair trying to calm myself down. I notice that the note paper sitting in front of me is the same colour as his letter to his mother... and his suicide note... he must have been sitting _here_ when he penned his thoughts... I jump up and shake myself off. It all just feels a little too _real_.

I can't do this

I walk into the bedroom hoping for some reprieve, only to discover a national steel guitar lying on the bed in an open case. Upon closer inspection, I realise it has _my name_ engraved into the body...

I really can't do this

I spin around looking for something to hold onto. On the bedside counter, there is half a bottle of Jack Daniels sitting all alone; I grab it, deciding to let it keep me company as I move to the balcony to get my shit together.

Jeremy's balcony overlooks a parking lot. In the distance I can see the city but it looks feint and puny from this far away. I kick his only chair into position and pour myself 3 fingers of JD. The glass is dirty but I don't care. I am _not_ going back inside... at least, not until I finish this bottle.

The more I drink, the more I picture Jeremy leaving my office for the last time. I replay his charming smile as he handed me that last coffee. I think about how disgusted I was when I first met him. I think about his stories, his fumbling about and his love for music...and.... his _mother_ ...

"Pull yourself together Jonothan!" I yell in an anguished drawl. "Just get the guitar and go"

I go to throw the empty bottle off the building before I realise how stupid that is. Knowing my luck lately, I will probably slip over into the glass when I leave. Instead, I venture back inside, still feeling the creeps. I realise why the Jack Daniels has hit me so heavily, I forgot to have dinner before coming here.

"I need food" I snap out loud, resigned to the fact my internal voice is no longer internal. Dare I enter the pantry? I mean, it's not like Jeremy is coming back.... but is eating his food bad form?

"Ah, who cares" I growl again, ripping open the pantry door. Corn Chips, Salsa and a bottle of red wine... Perfect! "Thanks Jeremy" I slur, as I make my way to my safe haven balcony. The Doritos are gone within minutes, so is half of the red wine.... Finally, my mind is starting to settle.

I can see why Jeremy liked it here.... Even though it is run down and average... at least it is quiet.

I place my feet on the railing as I lean back on my chair. The cool air is comforting... I feel like I haven't been able to breathe for days. Suddenly I hear the crack of plastic as I fall to the ground in an undignified heap. I know I am drunk, but that still hurt like hell. I grab the back of my head and scream at the chair, "How the hell do you break _now_ you son of a bitch!"

The tirade continues. "You have been tortured and squashed by a mammoth musician, and you break _now_ you arsehole!" I get up and smash the chair completely. "Let's call it even!" I yell at the inanimate victim, holding my head with one hand, and fist pumping with the other... at least I didn't break the wine bottle.

I head for the kitchen to get some ice. Jeremy's freezer has many things, none of which are ice. He has frozen fish, microwave dinners, tubs of ice cream and one packet of frozen peas. "That will do!" I declare... once again, to Mr Nobody. As I slam the freezer door and the magnets give way, I create a shower of receipts, dockets and random pieces of paper. "I don't give a shit!" I curse, walking to the kitchen table with frozen peas in one hand and cheap red wine in the other...

The sight of the suicide notepad makes we wretch. I grab it, toss it across the room, and place my forehead on the table, staring down at the floor...

"What the hell is that?" I ask out loud, reaching for the ground. One of the receipts from the refrigeration explosion has gotten stuck to my shoe. As I pick up the receipt and prepare to throw it across the room, its familiarity causes me to pause. "I've seen a receipt like this before..."

I guess I just don't imagine Jeremy shopping at the same places I do, so I strain to focus on the blurring receipt in my hand... "Where have I seen you before?" I ask in a slur. I read the name of the store on the receipt and it takes me a moment before I realise it belongs to the pawn shop beneath my office, where I bought Graces necklace.

"Graces necklace" I groan aloud as I feel the world tumble down around me.

I miss her.

Maybe I should call her, she would know just what to say, she always does. I grab my phone and realise that Chris would be home with her right now. Why couldn't he have been the one to jump in front of a bus? Drunk calls are probably not a good idea anyway. I yell in frustration. Maybe I should call mum or Chantelle? No, mum can barely handle her own issues and Chantelle is on holidays. I don't want to talk to Sarah. I can't see Jason answering my call. I definitely don't want to talk to dad. I want Grace. I can't have her.

How did I end up so alone?

The realisation hits

Shit, I'm going to have to call Brett tomorrow.

I throw my phone across the room and mercifully it doesn't break. I lean right back on the chair as I finish off the red and stare at the receipt, turning it in my fingers. This one differs to mine; it is a record of purchase _by_ the pawn shop for one trombone. "Hmmm" I muse. Something triggers in the back of my memory, but it refuses to come to the forefront of my mind. "I think I need some water" I say to the empty wine bottle. I don't want another hangover.

Stumbling towards the fridge, my foot slips on the paper scattered on the floor. My elbow hits the ground hard and my head throbs so much that the pain sears through my eyes. "Come on!" I yell, sweeping the debris across the floor with my hand, which only makes my elbow hurt all the more. I stand, holding onto the kitchen bench as the room sways. A receipt is stuck to my hand. As I try and get it off I realise it is the same receipt from before.

No, wait, that's not right.

I'm sleep deprived and wasted, "who cares" I say aloud as I open the fridge. There is water, but there is also beer. I grab one of each. Making my way back carefully I collapse in the chair and sip some water before opening the beer. "I have a bone to pick with you Louis" I say to the picture on the wall, "wonderful world my ass!"

I catch myself nearly falling asleep so I skull the bottle of water. The little white piece of paper on the table catches my attention. A gnawing feeling begins to rise as I pick up the receipt and look around the floor. I crawl towards the kitchen picking up the papers as I go. "One pawn shop receipt, two, three..." I place them in a line and count them on my fingers. "Trombone, Clarinet, Flute, Trumpet, Alto Saxophone, Xylophone, Electric Keyboard, Violin, Oboe, Saxophone"

I feel dizzy after focussing for so long

"Ten receipts for ten different instruments." No wonder Robert had such a wide variety in his music section. This is significant.

Why?

I am next to the fridge on all fours so I may as well get another beer while I am here. I replay my sessions with Jeremy as I sip. I spread out the receipts and rearrange them in order on the counter. Most of them are a week or two apart... as often as I met with Jeremy. The world spins as the realisation dawns on me

Jeremy was selling off his instruments to pay for his sessions with me.

I sit on the kitchen floor drinking beer until I pass out.

## Chapter 32

The pounding in my head wakes me from my stupor. An instant migraine punches me in the face like a freight train. "Where the hell am I?" I ask gruffly, rolling over onto my stomach glancing around the bombsite. Within a split second, it all comes flooding back to me.

King, you are a mess.

I can't believe I came to Jeremy's house to sort out his affairs, and instead, drank all his booze and trashed his apartment.

What day is it?

I panic, thinking I have to cancel another day of appointments; thankfully, my phone says it Saturday. That doesn't solve the problem at hand, I need to get home. I grab a water bottle from the fridge and drink it all. The desire to throw up is strong, but I must resist the urge... if I start vomiting, I won't be able to stop. Jack Daniels, Red Wine and Beer; a recipe for disaster...

Before I get out of here, I certainly need to straighten the place out. I grab the 10 pawn shop receipts off the counter and stash them in my top pocket. I gather the smashed fragments of the balcony chair and stuff them into a garbage bag... along with the empty beer bottles I lethargically collect from here and there.

The taxi I call is 15 minutes away. That is enough time to gather my things and get out of this place. I walk through the living area for a once over spot clean which leads me to the kitchen, and it turn to the bedroom. As I enter, my heart sinks into my stomach... I had forgotten about the guitar. Last night in my plastered state, I had neglected to decide if I was going to keep the guitar.

I know Jeremy wanted me to have it. It is beautifully crafted, but I just don't know how to process everything properly. I eventually conclude that taking the guitar is the right thing to do. How could I not? It was one of his last requests. If I change my mind, I can give it away later, but if I don't take it now, I may never see it again.

I close the guitar case and go to leave the room. As I do, I see a framed photograph of what must be a young Jeremy with who I presume is his mother. For whatever reason, I take that too. On the way out I notice the John Candy Jacket hanging over the bedhead; the very sight of it makes me grimace so I leave it there and close the door.

My phone beeps with a notification that the taxi is downstairs. I descend down the dodgy elevator with my new guitar in one hand, and a garbage bag full of stupidity in the other. My suit is destroyed, my ego is bruised, I smell like a brewery and my head throbs. In the taxi, I go through my phone to make sure I didn't do anything I would regret. Thankfully, there is no record of drunken texts or inappropriate midnight conversations, it was a close call. I want to go straight to the pawn shop to talk to Robert, but I can't. What the hell has happened to me?

I need to see a Shrink

## Chapter 33

After a humbling meeting with Brett earlier this week for professional supervision after the suicide of a client, I'd texted Sarah. She let me know she was in the middle of a huge deal at work but I asked to see her anyway. Ordinarily at times like these I'd allow her the space to do what she was best at, while making myself available for what we term 'stress relief.' After Jeremys suicide, the thought of physical contact with anyone (apart from Grace) was repulsive. Now that the shock has worn off, I feel there is nothing I need more. Sarah and I had known each other for a long time now, and our communication was efficient if nothing else, therefore as I looked at the message I'd just sent it struck me that it was the first of its kind... "I need you." Sarah couldn't get the time off that night, but her deal would be finalised the next day and she would come around afterwards.

As I open the door and inhale her familiar scent I am so filled with gratitude for her presence that I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, holding her tightly. Waves of emotion wash over me and I almost struggle to take a breath when I realise that in my state I am nearly crushing Sarah as I lean on her. I slowly let her go and as I step back she reaches toward me softly, filled with concern, "John, what happened? I haven't heard from you in ages. Is everything ok?"

I feel the sting of tears in my eyes, but I inhale and choke out a laugh, I hadn't anticipated this scenario. "Let's just say I've had a shit week, and I am so glad you are here." I turn towards the apartment and ask "how about you though, was your deal a success?"

I see her wince from the corner of my eye, yet she replies calmly as she strides forward "a great success actually. But honestly, I'd rather eat one of your glorious dinners and talk about what's going on with you." She pauses mid-step as she sees the take-out bag on the table. She reels as if something horrific has occurred, "take-out?"

"Yeah, I hope that's ok, I just didn't feel like cooking" I answer with a shrug, "but I can whip up something if you'd like?"

"Take out is fine" she says, opening the bag as if it contains a bomb, "and this in particular is one of my favourites... but I am surprised, as you usually laugh at me for saying so."

"Sorry" I say genuinely, "I am a dick."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Yes, you are" she chuckles with a smile "well you can be. You are a charming dick though." She looks me over then her eyes begin to sparkle as she slowly saunters towards me, her fingers trailing the back of the chair and alongside the table. "This dishevelled, honest thing works for you. Were you planning on actually eating that?" she asks with an eyebrow lifted, nodding towards the take-out.

"Not really." I reply flatly, "I toyed with the idea but I'm not that hungry."

Her voice is smooth and seductive, "so you are not going to be concerned when our meal goes cold then?" Her hand reaches around her neck and she begins to undo the zipper on her dress.

"Are you?" I ask, pondering if I want this to go where experience says it will. I'm not really in the mood.

"Not. One. Little. Bit." she replies, as she finishes undoing her zipper. As her dress begins unravelling down her body she leans in and kisses me softly on the neck and face. At first, I am numb to her touch, but soon my hands find their way onto the soft skin of her bare waist as she runs hers along my body under my shirt. She smiles up at me and whispers "what do you say I make you feel better, and work up an appetite all in one?"

"Sounds good to me" I smile.

We kiss more passionately than we have ever done as she pulls off my shirt and flings it away. Moving towards the couch I realise that unfortunately the passion which came so abruptly has gone just as fast. Sarah notices my hesitation and looks up, breathing heavily. I feel her eyes searching me questioningly as she holds me, unmoving.

"Sorry" I say as I pull back and sit down, my head in my hands, "it's not you, I just... I don't know."

"It's ok" she says tenderly as she sits next to me. "Do you want to talk?"

I realise then and there that I don't. I shake my head. I feel her stare as her breathing returns to normal. She shifts uncomfortably on the couch and I can tell she feels lost as to what to do now. I can't help her. A few minutes' pass in silence before Sarah stands and heads towards the kitchen where she pours herself a drink which she quickly skulls before pouring another. She picks up her dress and puts it back on; as she does so she begins to speak, "Jonothan, I am here to help, but I don't know what you want from me." Her tone is filled with desperation and even hints towards anger. I look towards her to gauge her expression but my head feels as heavy as solid concrete and it's an effort. Seeing my response she moves back to the couch, drink in hand. "It's not that I don't want to help, John, but you're the one with the psych degree, not me. I don't know what to do or say, especially when you won't even tell me what the hell is going on. Are you sick?"

The question surprises me, though I suppose it makes sense, "no."

She sighs in relief. "Well that's good" she assures me before taking another sip. "Did you knock someone up?" Her voice has a tremor.

"No, no Sarah of course not!" I reply and her apparent relief is even more profound this time.

"Drugs?" She asks, and I groan.

"No. Sarah stop."

She ignores me, "is it your family?" Sarah has met my dad at a few functions, where he proceeded to unashamedly hit on her. At the time, I admired the way she handled it, but as she asks about my family I realise now that apart from my horny father, she has very little knowledge of them.

"No, they are ok. I think. Look Sarah, I'm fine, they're fine..." I start

"Fine?" She explodes. "This is fine?" She stands and gestures wildly at me. "I am no psychologist Jonothan King, but I can tell you that you are most certainly _not_ fine. This is our problem. You don't share anything with me. After months of dogging me you send me a message telling me you _needed me_ " she spits the words out. "And when I get here you don't want sex, you don't want to talk, you just shut up like a clam. This is not the first time getting information from you was like drawing blood from a stone..." she stops short and raises her hands in surrender then looking to the sky I see her compose herself. She sits back down calmly, but the pent-up frustration which bubbles just below the surface isn't hidden as well as it normally is. Perhaps it has always been there but I have just not wanted to see it.

"Is this some sort of spiritual crisis or something?"

"What?" I ask, confused.

"Grace." She says shortly, and I feel as though I have been stabbed. I glance sideways at her, trying to figure out how the hell she knows about Grace, but her look is far away as if placing pieces of a puzzle together. "That's when I noticed you were... changing. Around then was when you stopped texting me. Remember, that night when you asked me to say grace?" She nods as if confirming something to herself. My heart aches at the name and I lean forward in my hands again, pushing my fingers roughly into my scalp. "That's why I thought you might be sick" she continues "facing mortality or something."

"Nothing quite so profound" I hear myself reply. "Look, Sarah" I sit up as I talk, "I am sorry I have frightened you, and you're right, I am not fine." I take her hands in mine as I continue "I had to deal with some really difficult situations with my clients this last month or so and it has thrown me. I don't expect you to understand, because I am still processing myself. It's not your burden to carry." Her eyes begin to water as I speak and she squeezes my hands.

"That's just it John," she says, almost in a whisper, "I _want_ to help carry your burdens, I _want_ to be there for you, and it's so damn hard having you shut me out." She sobs "There is this guy at work, Stephen, who has been going through some stuff with his brother. I know more about Stephen after 6 months than I know about you, even after all these years." All the emotion Sarah has held back comes rushing out, "I came here tonight _over the moon_ because you said you _needed_ me. You needed me!" She laughs almost hysterically "I thought finally this, us, meant something to you. But even if I mean more to you than a booty call, I will never mean to you what you mean to me, will I?"

Shocked, I can't bring myself to answer. She is right. In this moment, I wish I loved her the way she loved me. I wish I felt for Sarah what I do for Grace. I wish I felt like I could open my heart to her and tell her everything. I wish she was the one who brought out the best in me and saw me for who I was. After all this time, I realise it's what I hoped would happen between us all along but refused to admit to myself. Because, the reality is, I don't. Not with Sarah. I can barely look her in the eye "I'm sorry. Really. You deserve better. Much better."

Sarah nods, and surprisingly looks relieved for the first time tonight. Perhaps she has seen this coming for a while, like the inevitable rip of the band-aid tearing off. "It's not your fault" she smiles sadly, "but you know that we can't do this anymore."

I nod. "I'll miss it."

"Me too." She says as she stands up to go. "Will you be OK?"

"I think so. Thank you Sarah. For everything. I am sorry."

"Don't keep apologising John" she smiles "it will make me feel bad when I give Stephen a call tomorrow." She gives me a wink as she steps out the door.

"He's a lucky guy" I say genuinely.

As I turn towards my immaculately furnished apartment I am alone.

## Chapter 34

It's a public holiday, so no clients today. I turn off the alarm and continue to stare at the ceiling. Sleep has evaded me for too long. My drunken nights have been anything but restful and even the painkillers haven't been enough to knock me into a slumber.

As if on cue, my back begins to ache from lack of movement and I figure I may as well be up drinking coffee if I am not going to be getting any rest. Painfully, I haul myself out of bed and move slowly towards the kitchen like a crippled old man.

How did I end up like this? Is this some kind of karma for rejecting my dad?

Out on the balcony I sip my drink as I stare at the marina below. The coffee doesn't satisfy and the view which I normally enjoy seems dull. A fleeting image of Grace inhaling the beauty of the day dances before my eyes in torment and my resentment festers bitterly. I wonder what she is doing with the jackass today. They are probably hot air ballooning while eating ice-creams; or bushwalking while catching butterflies without a care in the world, or a thought of me.

Screw them

I stand up a little too quickly and my back spasms painfully. Gritting my teeth, I head indoors.

I need to hook up with a physiotherapist

As I grab my phone to book an appointment with my physio, who unfortunately happens to be male, I realise the public holiday means I won't get an appointment today. It also hits me that Grace won't be hanging with the ball-bag today; the police station will be open so she will be at work! For the first time in a long time I feel what may be joy. Grace agreed not to see me anymore on a professional level, but that doesn't mean I can't see her outside of therapy! I look at the time. It's early enough that I can get ready and catch her before she goes into the station. I shower, shave and dress. I opt for smart-casual. The mirror reveals that the last few weeks have aged me, a few more grey hairs and wrinkles have made their way into my portrait.

I'm getting old.

I push aside the disturbing thought and a smile creeps onto my face as I think that today I'll be seeing her again.

As I step out of the cab, butterflies take hold of my stomach. I don't know how this woman came to mean so much to me in such a short time, or even what it is about her that makes me so desperate to be around her. I mill around outside the station, half-heartedly organising my work schedule as I wait for her to arrive. Grace walks the footpath towards the station and my heart picks up a beat. She is typing away on her phone as she approaches.

She isn't going to notice me.

"Hi" I blurt out.

Hi? Come on man, you've got to do better than that!

Grace looks up suddenly and freezes. Despite my embarrassment, I smile.

"Jonothan!" she says in surprise.

"I am a little greyer than when you last saw me, but I don't think the beard will work for me just yet" I say, rubbing my chin before stepping forward to hug her. It's not exactly the warm embrace we shared in my office, but then again, we are in front of her workplace.

Grace smiles a little, although the look of surprise on her face remains. "Hi. Jonothan! What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I wanted to see you" I reply truthfully.

Graces face lights up in response but then suddenly drops. "But Jonothan, I'm sure you understand, as lovely as it is to see you, I can't. I promised Chris."

"I understand that I can no longer be your therapist, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends. Just come with me to lunch, my shout."

"Jonothan I love hanging out with you, but surely you understand that I can't see you, even as a friend. It wouldn't be right." She grimaces, obviously awkward as she steps away. "I have to go, I'm still only new here I don't want to be late. I'm sorry." Her face remains apologetic and she begins to walk towards the building.

The pain and bitterness of the last month begins to swell inside me. I take her arm and lead her round the side of the building for a little more privacy. "Grace, _please_. I have had the _worst_ month of my life, you wouldn't believe it, _everything_ has gone wrong, _everyone_ is gone. I can't sleep; I've hurt my back so badly I can barely walk..." Her face is full of concern and my bitter rant becomes a sorrowful confession. "Grace, I was here, at this station just last week because one of my clients suicided and named _me_ next of kin, you can't imagine the torment I've been through. My world has fallen apart." I can't hold back the tears as they roll freely down my cheeks.

"Oh, Jonothan I am so sorry!" she cries embracing me tightly. As we hold one another time slows to a halt. The tears stop flowing, my pain is replaced by hope, the burden of life is lighter and even my back isn't so sore. I knew she didn't want to walk away, she belongs where she is, right here in my arms. I'll treat her like a queen; I'll make her every meal, I'll buy a dog -whatever it takes! I never want to let go.

"I've really missed you." I say as I hold her tighter, "you're the only one I feel I can talk to, really talk."

The warmth of our embrace suddenly becomes cold as Grace stiffens and steps back. "Jonothan" her voice shakes, "I... I can't be the person to help you through this."

My jaw clenches and the tears roll again. "Grace" I beg, "please."

"I'm so sorry" she says as tears brim in her eyes, "I want you to be OK, I really do, you mean the world to me. But Jonothan, Chris doesn't feel comfortable with me being with you. If I asked him to stay away from a woman because it made me feel uncomfortable it would break my heart if he then was spending time with her- even if it was to help her. I am sure you understand."

I feel sick. I want to run away but I can barely breathe let alone move.

"There is this guy who I know would be really good for you to talk to, much better than talking to me. Honestly. I want you to give him a call." She takes out a notepad and pen and scribbles a number down. I can see her hands are shaking slightly.

She presses the paper into my hand. "Please" she insists.

I nod. She steps forward and hugs me once more, like a mother saying goodbye to a child on their first day of school. "I've got to go inside" she nods towards the building. I don't speak. I can't. I am in a stupor and I wonder if I am about to snap- there is only so much a person can take before their brain begins to shut-down to survive. "Jonothan, promise me that you are going to be ok" she pleads, her voice filled with fear. I look at her.

"Promise me" she insists.

"I promise" I croak.

She squeezes my arm and walks away for the last time.

## Chapter 35

"Jonothan!" Daniel says with his usual exuberance, "so lovely to see you."

"You also, Daniel" I reply. When I saw Daniel would be coming in today my heart lifted slightly for the first time in days. I had actually considered calling him for coffee earlier in the week, however it would have been an unprofessional move and I couldn't handle any rejection at this point if he would have said no.

"I had a most interesting conversation with a mutual friend of ours this week." He says, perching on the edge of the sofa.

"Did you?" I ask, mildly curious as to who the connection might be.

"Yes! In fact, it appears that for a time we shared a therapist!" He smiles, apparently wondering if I could guess. I've seen hundreds of clients over the years, it could be anyone.

"Are you going to tell me, or are you testing my skills to analyse and deduce the correct answer?" I ask. I'm not really in the mood to play games despite being thankful for Daniels presence.

"Hmm..." Daniel responds, as if analysing me, "I see."

"Care to enlighten me?" I ask, somewhat more sharply than I meant to. "I apologise, I don't mean to snap" I lift my hand in resignation.

"It's been a hard couple of weeks" Daniel says nodding, and I'm not sure if he is confessing, asking me, or telling me.

"In what ways?" I ask, assuming that he must be speaking of himself.

"How about you tell me" He says softly.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Perhaps I should enlighten you" he says as he finally leans back in the chair. "The person I am referring to as our mutual friend is Grace."

An ache so strong inside my chest makes me wonder if I am about to have a heart attack. Daniel notices my reaction but ignores it. "From time to time we catch up and go for a walk" he continues. "This week she shared with me that she is very concerned about you."

I look up, not knowing what to do, "She is?" I reply, unable to keep the emotion out of my voice.

"She is." Daniel confirms in his soothing voice. "She said you have had a really hard few weeks at work and gave me your number. She was afraid you would be hesitant to call me, not knowing who I was. As you haven't called, she was right in her assessment. Imagine my surprise when I looked at the number and realised it was you."

"I'm sorry" I shake my head, "I don't understand."

Daniel laughs, "the world is small isn't it! Grace and I have known each other for years, and we go to the same church. You must understand that everything she shares with me is in confidence."

"Sure" I manage, trying to piece myself together again. "I appreciate your concern, Daniel, I do, but it is not really appropriate for me to discuss other clients with you."

"So, you have spoken about all of your difficulties with your supervisor then?" Daniel asks, eyebrow lifted. He sees right through me, and I realise that I want to talk to him, to share with him, and I believe his confidence is trustworthy. I sigh.

"I haven't... not all of them" I reply in resignation.

"Jonothan, you ask me why I am here, and I am here for you." Daniel says, waving his hand toward me. "I assume that there is a confidentiality agreement with such sessions?"

"Mostly" I reply. Despite what people think, Psychologists have a duty of care to report certain things. Daniel nods in understanding.

"Then you can trust that everything you say will be kept confidential. If you wish to confide in me that is"

I smile wearily, "Thank you."

"Grace happened to share about a client of yours who suicided?" Daniel leads. He would be good at my job.

"That's right."

"Is this the first time you have lost a client, so to speak?" Daniel locks his fingers together over his crossed knees, waiting for me to reply.

"Yes."

"I am sorry for your loss" he says genuinely. Strangely enough I feel comforted by his condolences. "If I might hazard a guess, in your situation, most people would be questioning if they could have done things differently, am I correct?"

I nod "you got it." I lean right back in my chair and hang my head back, staring at the roof. "In hindsight it was so obvious, and I shouldn't have missed it."

"In what ways?" Daniel queries. He is appealing to my professional knowledge to soften the blow of the reality of the situation, it helps.

I blow out a lungful of air. "His mother suicided when he was 20, but I assumed he meant she took off. She was abused and he said 'the bus took her.' In reality, she jumped in front of the bus, which is what he then did." My eyes sting with the tears I have been holding back.

"An easy thing to overlook. Was that all?" Daniel questions.

"No." Daniel waits for me to go on. "He referenced 'seeing her again soon.' Sometimes people who are suicidal will chose a date for their suicide" I explain. "The person may then appear as if the weight of the world is off their shoulders, that is, until they take their life. My client did just that. He was improving at an incredible rate, and I sincerely thought he was succeeding at improving his life." I pinch the bridge of my nose as I feel a headache begin to form behind my eyes.

"You were emotionally invested" Daniel nods.

"No. Yes. Sort of." I groan. "In this line of work, it's not healthy to emotionally invest."

"But you are human" Daniel says simply.

I nod "moreso than I thought." He nods knowingly. "This client was annoying and unmotivated. But after a while, especially when he was improving, I began to like the guy. Not as a friend, but I genuinely wanted the best for him. I regret allowing him to get to me, but as it turns out, I was the closest thing he had to a friend." I hang my head in shame.

"You feel guilty for deceiving him?" Daniel asks.

"Yes and no. I feel guilty because the guy was selling off his livelihood just to see me, and I was just counting the dollars!" Hands clasped between my knees I lean forward and study the floor.

"Yet that is your job, is it not? You are a professional friend, in a way" Daniel puts simply. Upon hearing this statement, I feel at least some of the guilt ebb away.

Seeing my relief Daniel continues, "but that is not all that has been happening, is it? When it rains, it pours as they say." He waves his hands through the air, as if some ancient philosopher has possessed his body.

"All due respect Daniel, I think that is enough for today." The last thing I want to do is share about Grace, let alone with a man who knows her.

Daniel smiles. "She is a beautiful woman, Jonothan. While I neither condemn or condone, I can sympathise."

"I'm not sure I know what you are talking about" I reply flatly.

Daniel pushes on. "I heard that you met Chris. He is very similar to you in many ways. What was it like for you?"

Rage bubbles inside me, "if you think I have anything in common with that ...man, I assure you, you are mistaken."

"If you say so" Daniel replies.

"I do" I say through gritted teeth. It is like Daniel has a knife and he is opening my heart in the most painful way possible.

Daniel looks at me with concern "forgive me for pushing Jonothan, but I do care. While it is perfectly understandable that you may not want to admit out loud your feelings, I am sure I do not need to tell you that the road to grief and acceptance is to first acknowledge what you have lost. If not to me, I hope you have done so within yourself."

Once again, a pain fills my chest as I stare into the eyes of my client-turned-counsellor. I want to knock his smug teeth into his head, I want to scream til the air in my lungs are gone... I want to cry.

Maybe this is my breakdown, early mid-life crisis. I need a holiday.

I surrender, releasing the breath I was unwittingly holding. "I didn't see it coming, and now she is gone. I can't shake it" I confess. "Not only that, she was the one who made me realise that my life wasn't as complete as I thought it was, so now she is gone I realise how lacking I am." The pain in my lungs lifts as I release the secret burden I have been carrying now for weeks. It's hard to ask, but I have to know "does she know?"

"No, she doesn't." Daniel assures me. "She believes you care for her as a friend."

I nod. "I do care for her."

"That is new for you?" Daniel asks.

I shrug, "I care for people, but not like with her. I don't know how to explain it."

Daniel nods knowingly. I challenge him "you are taking this pretty well for a guy who is a friend of the married couple."

He laughs "you assume this is the first time I have had this conversation."

"isn't it?" I wonder out loud.

"Heavens, no! Why do you think Chris is so possessive of Grace? He has his shortcomings, I know, but he also has a wife who cannot see it when men fall head over heels for her. She is so full of love that she assumes it is natural for people to respond to her as she would to them. She sees herself as most people do when they first meet her- just another average woman."

I wince. Daniel sees it and asks, "I'm guessing you assumed that she reciprocated your feelings?"

"I don't know" I think out loud. "I don't think I did. I wanted her to."

"But?" Daniel leads

Surprised, I answer, "I also didn't want her to."

"Because her faithfulness to Chris is part of the attraction, yes?"

It dawns on me that what he says is true. "Yes. At the same time though I was hoping he would fall off a cliff so we could be together." I lift my hands and chuckle.

_In for a penny, in for a pound_.

Daniel laughs "you wouldn't be the first to say that either."

I groan. "So, Chris' mate, Corey?" I ask

A look of surprise washes over Daniels face and he chuckles, "I think you know the answer to that question." I shake my head and laugh, though feeling the bitterest disappointment.

"Since you are the expert, where do I go from here?" I question.

"It is actually a benefit to you that you no longer see Grace" Daniel assures me. "Chris must have felt very intimidated by you to confront you" Daniel muses, "usually he places the onus on Grace." I raise my eyebrow to see if he is simply stroking my ego, but as usual, he is simply stating fact. He continues, "in the long run, the man who is attempting to control his feelings without removing the source of his temptation has a much more difficult task ahead."

"That poor bugger Corey" I say mockingly. Daniel smiles at my cheek. "I acknowledge the truth of that, what else?"

"I would suggest that you give in to your heart, and love Grace." He replies with a grin.

I cough and smile, "I must say, I wasn't expecting that advice."

"It shouldn't be so surprising. Love, Jonothan. Have you read any of the New Testament?" I know Daniel is religious, so I shouldn't be surprised he is bringing it into the equation, but I am suddenly awkward.

"I have read parts of it at times, but I wouldn't consider myself familiar with it."

"Love is spoken about a lot in the bible." Daniel continues "one element of love is that it is not self-seeking."

I nod. "I didn't really need the bible to tell me that, but I am still not grasping where that applies in this situation."

Daniel chuckles, "it applies everywhere Jonothan. Tell me, do you love Grace?"

"Umm.." I stammer awkwardly, "look, I don't know how to answer that. To be completely honest with you I am in quite foreign territory here."

"You have never told somebody you love them?"

"My mother, and my sister Chantelle."

"Good. Words carry lots of meaning, but without action they are impotent. In some ways, the words can be irrelevant." He throws his hands in the air as if he were releasing a dove.

I shake my head "I really don't follow."

"Of course you don't" he says, "but in your heart, you understand. I ask you to name someone you love and immediately you go to familiar love, not romantic love."

"Not exactly what you asked me, but sure." I shrug, though I am not quite so sure why he is excited by my lack of love life.

"Which means that you understand that love is not an _emotion of_ _attraction_." I think I am beginning to catch on where he is going with this. He sees the lightbulb moment and asks again "tell me Jonothan, do you love Grace?"

"Yes" I whisper. I feel as though I need a drink or at least 5 minutes to digest but Daniel continues on.

"Good. Now it is up to you to love her _fully_. Without seeking any of your own gain" he points to me, but without accusation. "Which means, learning to genuinely be happy for her when her husband commits to counselling with her at your relational expense."

The image of Grace's joy at seeing my own happiness appears vividly before my eyes, but it quickly turns to reminiscence of holding her sobbing body as she cries over her marriage. "How am I supposed to do that when she is married to a guy like that?"

Daniel sighs. "You saw both the best and the worst of Chris I am afraid. Tell me, what did you see?"

"I don't think you want to hear it."

"Quite the contrary, I think I will find it interesting."

"In that case. I saw a guy who appears charming, handsome and to have it all together, but who plays games, manipulates, seeks his own good at the expense of his wife, and cannot control his temper."

Daniel nods. "If the situation were reversed, and you were in his position, what would you do?"

I fob off the question "I wouldn't be in his position. If I were married to Grace I would treat her like gold."

"I suppose that could be true" Daniel shrugs "but when your marriage is threatened by a guy like you, how would you respond?"

They say the truth can hurt, and it does. It cuts deep. Daniel sees the pain in my eyes and he leans forward. "You can rest assured Jonothan, that Grace's husband loves her, and is she is teaching him love more and more every day. Like you, he is not perfect at loving her just yet, but he will learn."

So many emotions swirl within me, but Daniels deep, clear voice breaks through to my very soul.

Who is this guy?

"It appears I have a lot to learn" I admit.

"Yes. We all do" Daniel replies with great humility. Taking me by surprise he stands, clapping his hands on his knees as he does so, "I think that is enough for today. Thank you Jonothan for being my psychologist during this time, it was an honour." Daniel stretches his arm towards me as I stand, bewildered, shaking his hand.

"You aren't coming back?" I ask, unable to contain the disappointment in my voice.

Another one, gone.

"I no longer feel it is necessary" Daniel replies simply. It causes me to wonder when it ever was. The man preparing to leave my office right now is undoubtedly the most stable man I have ever met.

"I understand."

Daniel stops before opening the door. "Jonothan, I go for walks quite regularly. Perhaps you would consider joining me from time to time?" Daniel looks back at me with a smile, "sometimes having someone objective to talk with can be a great help."

Humbled by his offer I mumble "I would really appreciate that, Daniel."

He smiles, "I look forward to it. You have my number."

"Perhaps tomorrow morning would be too soon?" I ask feeling vulnerable.

Daniel's eyes glimmer with joy as he chuckles "I am walking with a special little lady tomorrow, but how about the following morning?"

"Let's book it in."

Daniel nods, opens the door and closes it behind him.

I fall back into my chair. I have lost another client but have gained something far more valuable. Daniel is not a friend like any I have had before, in fact I would define my feelings toward him differently, he is more like a fatherly figure. As I ruminate over this I am reminded of my biological father. If I am going to learn to love, it's probably a good place to start. I pull out my phone and text

"Hi Dad. Want to go for coffee next week?"

Dear Reader

Thank you for reading my first novel, I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. While I have done my best to ensure the book is edited, mistakes can still be made, and if you have any feedback or suggestions, or have notices any errors or carelessness, please email me at JesseDavidsonShrink@gmail.com to let me know so I can fix it.

If you liked the book, please review it to let others know it is a worthwile read.

Much Love

Jesse
