Page 33 of Love Me Knot

I nod in agreement. “Better make it devastatingly wealthy. Harding might be willing to speak to us in passing, but if we come across as supporters and a campaign finance well, he won’t only talk but fall all over himself to befriend us.”

“Good. That’s good,” Birdie says, scribbling furiously. “Now, Chelsea, give me a city you know well with diverse financial class representation. I’ll align you with some super-rich family there while making it so you don’t have to learn an entirely new town history.”

“Go with Redding, California. I haven’t lived there in ten years, but that could be easily explained. Because we’re keeping Jackson in the Navy, we’ll say college was in Norfolk, and I stuck around after that.”

“Great. Now, what do you want to be when you grow up? I mean, what should I present as your degree major?”

“Oh. God. I have no idea. I majored in engineering before the Marines, but I couldn’t fake my way through a conversation about that.”

Jackson pipes up. “How about psychology?”

“Now who’s being funny?” I ask.

“Not funny.” Jackson straightens in his seat and leans forward in thought. “I’m being serious. Psychology isn’t exactly a comfortable topic for discourse, and you can’t deny being an expert at reading people. Harding will likely be impressed but otherwise glaze over the subject of your profession.”

I nod, agreeing with Jackson’s logic. “Well, I guess Dr. Danforth, it is.”

“Don’t you mean Dr. Bennett?” he teases.

“Okay,” Birdie chirps. “I’ve got what I need to get started. The next thing is for the two of you to come up with stories about your personal lives, both separately and collectively. Don’t worry about where you live. I’ll come up with locations for past and present.”

She turns away to start clacking at her keyboard, and Jackson stands up with me. Just as I turn for the door, Birdie speaks again. “I don’t know what you guys did for lunch, but based on the change I’ve seen, you should do it again tomorrow.”

I hold in a dirty comeback, keeping my eyes on the door. Barely. Jackson steps forward to grasp the handle. His shoulders are shaking, fighting the same battle.

Jackson

Chelsea and I part ways in the main lobby with simple expressions of, “See you tomorrow,” and Chelsea’s, “Later.”

One of Knot’s security taxis me back to Little Creek to pick up my truck, and on the drive home, my mind is on Chelsea. I wouldn’t call today a breakthrough, but at least she’s speaking to me on purpose and without attitude. Still, I can’t let go of this nagging sense that her wounds will keep us from moving past where we are.

Captain is in the backyard when I get home. I’m less than enthusiastic about life right now, so I sprawl out on one of the Adirondack chairs to watch her for a while.

Captain brings me her floppy frisbee, dropping it at my feet. I throw it on autopilot, not even watching her race across the grass. The fresh scent of spring carries on the cool breeze but also goes ignored. I should feel some hope after today, but instead, I seem to be talking myself out of trying.

I keep launching the frisbee for Captain, who gives out after seven or eight more throws. She eventually collapses to her bed beside my chair, and neither of us moves until the back door opens an hour later.

“There you are.” Caleb drops into the chair beside mine, stretching out his long legs. When I don’t acknowledge him, he leans forward, waving his hand in front of my face. “Dad? You okay?”

I suck in and blow out a deep breath before answering. “I spent the day with Chelsea for work. I can’t explain why.”

Caleb’s voice reaches an unnatural high when he asks, “What? And?”

“She feels about me the way I do about her,” I answer, monotone.

“And instead of celebrating, you look like someone just died.”

Captain gets up and drops the slobbery frisbee in my hand. I let it roll off my fingers to the deck. “She’s attracted to me but doesn’t want to date. She doesn’t even want to be my friend.”

“Did she tell you why?”

“In a way. Chelsea dealt with bullies as a kid and in college. Apparently, they were the subversive type. She’s got some residual trust and esteem issues. She won’t give me a chance because of what someone else did.”

“Ah. I get it,” Caleb says.

I tilt my head to stare at him. “What do you mean, you get it?”

Caleb shrugs. “Well, I don’t get it, but I understand what’s going on. I’m guessing by subversive you mean something like a Carrie situation.”

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