Page 48 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
“Why do you call me that? I can possibly see when Valeria is awake you might think using the name she uses for me would help her trust you, but the child is sound asleep, and I find it insulting to speak to me in such an immature manner.”
His face never twitched. “I see. I’m sorry to have upset you.”
“I’m not upset. I’m simply expressing how I feel about a grown man with numerous degrees from respected colleges referring to me in such a nonsensical way.”
“Oh, good, I’m glad you’re not mad. You rarely get mad, though, correct?”
I blinked at the question. “Of course I get angry. I just refuse to let emotions steamroll me or force me to do things that are not what I consider to be acceptable behaviors.”
He folded his legs into a lotus. I disliked that he sat like that. It was not at all the way a counselor should sit. Right now, I was beginning to dislike a great deal about this man. From the way his nose sat on his long face to his unkempt hair to the pull on the sleeve of his pale green sweater. Why had he not trimmed that loose string?
“I envy that control of yours, Mr. Barlowe.” I bobbed my head in acknowledgement of the proper terminology. “Do you ever feel any kind of fear or have you learned to choke out all emotions that may lead to becoming attached to someone?”
My mouth fell open. The cheek of the man. “I am not going to be riled by your prodding about, Dr. Bajaj. I learned years ago that this sort of mental push and pull is just a means to extract weaknesses from a boy. Man. From a man.” I rushed to clarify when one of his thick black brows arched. “I meant a man. Do not think a simple slip of the tongue is some deep Freudian gaffe.”
“I never mentioned Freud,” he softly said as his sock feet rested on his knees. “I was just curious about your incredible willpower. Not everyone can build such impenetrable walls to protect them from caring.”
“I care a great deal about many people!” I barked out as I rose from the stupid bean bag chair. My ascent was not pretty. I ended up having to roll off the damn thing to my hands and knees andthenstand. Once I was on my feet, I tugged my tie from my shoulder and leveled a burning glare at the smug ass. “I love Valeria.”
“Yes, you do, and I am so happy to see that.” He smiled warmly at me, which took some of the wind from my sails. “You said many people. Who besides your niece do you care greatly about?”
“There are many,” I repeated as I stalked to the window to glower down at Boston. So many people hurrying about doing what they could to earn a living.
“Excellent. Tell me about them all.” I refused to turn to look at the man.
“I do not see what any of this has to do with Valeria.” I kept my sight locked on a small brown bird that had landed on the sill with some wiggly worm in its beak. It hopped to the corner of the window where a small nest filled with little birds had been built. The hatchlings were all red mouths and spindly wings. “I pay you to help her with her past trauma. If I wished to discuss my childhood, which I do not, I would go see a therapist who wore shoes.”
“You dislike my socks.”
I forced myself to watch that mama bird shove a worm down her little one’s gullet. “I dislike your socks, yes.”
“Would you prefer I wear the alligator ones instead of the pink flamingo ones when you and Valeria come for a session?”
That did it. I spun from the haggard mama bird to throw my darkest look at the fool in those tacky pink flamingo socks.
“I would prefer it if you kept your damn shoes on like a grownup! What kind of idiocy is it that propels you to remove your shoes? My God, show the children who come to see you some decorum. Instill in them the rules of society. Show them that shoes and ties and proper clothing worn to all functions is a sign of a person who is in possession of themselves at all times. Frogging about in socks with sweaters that have pulls and not combing your hair shows a lack of control!”
He sat quietly as I panted like an overworked mule. “Do you think emotional ties to others is a sign of weakness? That caring for someone, loving someone, is a loss of control?”
Valeria murmured in her sleep. I gaped openly, unsure of how this timid man had led me around in such exasperating circles.Fuck.
I found myself sitting on the windowsill, unaware of when my knees folded under me.
“Letting people get close ends in pain,” I whispered as my sight flitted from the man in the unkempt everything to the nestlings. Their mother had flown off to find a bug or herself or a man who would boss her around while she was high/drunk/combo of both and then slap her little boy around. I shook that off. Stupid of me to think that. Birds didn’t behave like humans. Birds loved their nestlings. Some birds did elaborate dances, feigning to be injured, to lure predators from their little ones. Humans were not birds, but oh, how wonderful it would be to fly high above the rejection and fear of being unwanted.
“Sometimes, yes, that is true, and sometimes loving someone brings joy unfettered.”
Wind blew over the nestlings, lifting some dander from the stick and trash-lined nest. Mama had found a burger wrapper somewhere and had shredded it to add to her nest. How clever.
“I’ve not found that to be the case. I have found one needs to be in control all the time, especially in matters of the heart.” I felt his gaze on me. I looked across the office at him. His expression was caring. It pulled at something deep down inside me. Something I did not want him or anyone else to see. Something a little boy had erected many years ago to keep his heart safe. A fortress of stone walls that had stood tall for many years. Until a small girl and a man in a ghastly purple top hat had strolled through the castle defenses, over the drawbridge, and had set up camp in his breast. “Or I thought I had total control over my life.” I glanced down at the tiny child snoozing so peacefully under a plush throw. “Valeria and Lennon have…” I felt words in my throat, words that expressed more than I had ever dared, andI did my best to swallow them down. It was too much.Thiswas too much.
“Would you like a cookie?”
“I…what?”
“A cookie. I have some in my backpack. My wife made them last night. They’re butterscotch chocolate chip.” His big brown eyes danced as I tried to find a mental neck brace for the whiplash I had just suffered. “I usually give them to the children when they’re stuck in a dark emotional place. A cookie works wonders, for little people and big people as well.”
“You are the oddest therapist I have ever met,” I confessed as I pushed from the windowsill on slightly wobbly legs. I made my way back to the seating area, stepping over Valeria curled up like a little bug on a soft rug, and dropped down into a chair. “A cookie sounds nice.”
