Chapter 13
T he next afternoon, Ben sat cross-legged on a crimson velour cushion in The Well Space’s relaxation room, trying to focus on his breath. Vanessa had filled the room with soft chairs, colorful lamps, and candles, and patients often used the space as a quiet refuge before or after therapy. He’d never spent much time here.
On a break between patients, he’d come down here—to do what? Try to learn to relax? The room had the opposite of a relaxing effect. The longer he sat here, the more his brain turned to all the things he should be doing upstairs, and also all the ways he’d failed in his progress so far. He’d been at the office for half days, but they needed to be full days. He still wasn’t back to normal.
Nell’s visit to his house yesterday had made that much painfully clear. He’d gone backwards in his progress during their conversation, and almost had another panic attack. Just when everything seemed like it was back under control, it wasn’t. So he’d have to buckle down and try harder, because going back to how he’d been two weeks ago was unacceptable.
Shoulders tense and spine rigid, he gave up and checked his watch. It’d been ten whole minutes—long enough. He unfolded himself from the cushion just as Vanessa walked past the open door. She stopped in her tracks and poked her head inside.
“I don’t believe it.” A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Were you meditating?”
“No. I was trying out a breathing exercise.”
She raised an eyebrow. “In here?”
“I thought it might be useful. For research purposes. So I’d know what it’s like for clients. But I’ve got an appointment, so I’m heading back up to the office.”
Ben never over-explained himself, and Vanessa was onto him in an instant. She arched a brow and blocked his path out the door. Today she wore maroon velvet pants, a pink silk blouse, and her usual sky-high heels.
“Anything else going on?” she asked, scanning him up and down.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You never do.” She shook her head. “Hey, while you’re down here, do you have a minute to stop by my office? I’ve got some numbers to show you. And maybe I’ll get you to spill all your secrets there. Oops, did I say that part out loud?”
“You did. And I won’t.”
Vanessa excelled at getting secrets out of people. As the senior couples’ counselor on staff, she worked with clients through some of the worst relationship problems he’d ever heard of. He was grateful for her expertise in the area—he could never do couples therapy. He just had to stay clear of her prying into his own personal life.
“Come on, Ben. I’ll even make you a cup of tea,” she offered.
“All right. I’ve got ten minutes.” He shook his head and followed her down the hallway to her office.
Where Ben’s office had heavy cherrywood furniture and cream carpeting, Vanessa’s office was a riot of pink, red, and floral prints. Along one wall stood a dark pink couch with white and rose-patterned pillows. The windows boasted red silk curtains with beaded ties, and she’d strewn heart-shaped accessories all over the desk.
She boiled water in her kettle, poured it over a tea bag in a mug shaped like cherries, and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” He set down the cup on the edge of her desk without drinking. “You’ve added some new decorations. If Valentine’s Day was a room, it would look like this.”
A frown creased her brow. “Normally, I’d say good, because that’s my favorite holiday. But it’s not my favorite anymore. I should re-do this room. Maybe in shades of gray,” she huffed as she flopped into her pink desk chair.
“Any particular reason why?”
“My boyfriend broke up with me. I think he was cheating, but I guess I’ll never find out for sure.” She stirred her own tea too vigorously with the tiny silver spoon.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Well, it’s better I find out now, rather than later, that he’s a cheating cheater who cheats.”
“Definitely. But I remember you saying this guy was special. You were sure he was the one.”
“Well, he wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Ben repeated. It was a really good thing he wasn’t a couples counselor.
“Well. Enough about my love life. Let’s talk about your problems.”
“You said you had some numbers to go over?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine. Yes, let me pull up the report.”
Ben sat across from her and she turned her computer screen so he could see the numbers.
“Overall, appointment numbers are down from last year. Fewer new patients are coming into the practice, but also, we had a few leave, like I told you.”
“Have we seen any change in that trend in the last two weeks?”
“Since the flowers you sent and the social media posts we were tagged in, we haven’t had any more patients leave. So that’s the good news.”
“And the bad news is …”
Vanessa cradled her cup in her hands, blowing steam across the top of it. “The bad news is, we need to get some of those patients to return, or else book new patients who might still be deciding which provider they want to use. We’ve stopped the exodus, but we need to see an increase again.”
Ben rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I’ve been brainstorming ideas on that front. I’ve outlined a patient referral program I think could bring in new people. I’ll email it to you once I’m back at my desk.”
“That sounds great. I’m not sure why we haven’t had a referral program in place before.”
“We didn’t need one before. We had more patients than we could handle for a while there. But since I …”
“You haven’t been around as much,” she supplied.
“Right. Since that. I haven’t gone to any conferences, or done any book signings or local events, like I used to. I know I need to be back full time. I’m still planning to go to Chicago to accept the award. I’m going to think of a way to fix this.”
He couldn’t lose the clinic, the goal he’d worked toward for the last decade.
“I might be able to help you fix it if I knew what was going on,” she said softly.
Ben met her steady green gaze, and suddenly didn’t feel like lying anymore. He jumped from his seat and paced the length of her office.
“I’m going to tell you what’s going on, but you will not tell anyone else at the clinic. This stays between you and me.”
Vanessa set down her cup, her expression turning serious. “Of course. I’d never break your confidence.”
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you.” He took a deep breath. “The reason I haven’t been here is because I seem to have … It’s gotten worse over the last year, but I’ve always …”
He dropped back into his chair and made himself say it. “I have generalized anxiety disorder. With agoraphobia. And panic attacks.” There. It was out in the open. Unlike him. “I’ve always had it, but this year it’s gotten worse. I haven’t been able to control it as well as I could before.”
“You’ve … always had it?” Her brow creased in a tiny frown.
“Yes. But I take medication, and it was always under control. Until recently. Some days, I couldn’t even …” He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t go out and get the mail.”
Vanessa’s eyes fixed on him, wide with shock and sadness. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t understand?”
“It’s not that. It’s that people counted on me to be in charge. I had so much to take care of, and if people knew, they’d think I needed help. That I couldn’t manage everything, when I can. I’ll get past this episode and things will be back to normal, I promise.”
She leaned back in her chair, silent for a long moment before speaking. “I am so, so angry at you right now.”
“I’m sorry. I know I should have told you earlier.”
“Not because you didn’t tell me, you idiot. Because you didn’t get help for yourself. God, Ben, did you not think you deserved to be helped, same as any of your patients?”
“I didn’t think of it that way. With everything I know, I thought I should be able to take care of it on my own. And I kept it in check just fine, for years. Until I couldn’t. But I’ve adjusted my meds now, and I’m getting better. I’m here, right?”
She let out a breath. “Yes. You are. And we’re glad to have you back. But don’t push yourself. Now that I know what’s happening, we can plan better. We’ll be careful with your schedule so we don’t overload you with patients. We’ll schedule local events with someone else. We can work around this.”
“But that’s exactly what I don’t want. I don’t want accommodations. I don’t want people looking at me like something’s wrong with me. Feeling sorry for me.”
“That’s not what this is—”
“No one finds out what’s going on.” He stood and folded his arms over his chest, tone steely.
“Of course not. I only want to help you. We’re friends first, not just coworkers. You know that.”
Vanessa rose from her chair and approached him. She opened her arms and folded him into an awkward hug, which he tried to return, but his spine remained stiff with tension.
They broke apart, and he cleared his throat. “I’m headed back upstairs. I have a client in twenty.”
“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I can’t imagine how hard this past month has been for you. I wish you had family here, someone to help you out.”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “There is someone who’s helped me. Helped me a lot more than the medication, if I’m honest. We’re dating.”
Where this sudden urge to tell Vanessa about his personal life had come from, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the atmosphere in her pink and red office, all plastered in hearts.
Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, this is better than Valentine’s Day. Tell me about her.”
“She’s a single mom. She accidentally delivered flowers to my house, and I had a panic attack right in front of her. That’s how we met. The least romantic meeting of all time.”
“Hmm.” Vanessa folded her arms over her chest, considering him.
“She’s different from anyone I’ve known. I want things to work out with her. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Yesterday, I almost had another panic attack, sitting with her on my patio. She’s had a hard time in the past, and she deserves someone who can take care of her, but how can I do that if I’m not well? What if I never get better, or I get better and then it happens again?”
“Ben. Would you tell any of your patients they can’t be in a relationship, just because they have anxiety?”
“Of course not.”
“You know what’s wrong. You’re taking steps to get better. In fact, it seems like she’s the difference.”
“She is. She makes me want to get better.”
“I wish you could see your face when you talk about her. So soft, when you’re normally all closed off. Sorry. No offense.”
“None taken.”
Vanessa tapped a finger on her chin. “I’m having a theory.”
“Oh, no.”
“No, hear me out a minute. You’re normally all closed off because you like to be in control of everything. But from the very start, you let yourself drop your control around her. Or you had to, in a way. Your anxiety forced you to do that. She’s seen you not be in control, not be in charge of everything for once. And maybe that’s what you needed. To have to show your real self to another person.”
“I—” Ben snapped his mouth shut. Vanessa was far, far too good at her job. “You could be right about that. Possibly.”
She patted his arm. “I’m always right about love.” Then she frowned. “Except my own love life. There, I couldn’t tell you what went wrong.”
* * *
That night after work, Ben put on his running clothes—athletic shorts and a thermal long-sleeve top. The spring air would still be chilly in the evening this time of year. He laced up his running shoes, the same brand he’d worn for years. This particular pair had no dirt from outside on the soles.
He would put on the same clothes to run on his treadmill, but that wasn’t his plan tonight. He was going outside. The itchy feeling was back under his skin, like he needed to move, to get fresh air. He’d been trapped in the cage of his house for too long.
At the front door, he didn’t let himself hesitate. He grabbed his keys, stepped out the door, and shut it behind him. On the porch, he did a couple of warm-up stretches, careful to keep his gaze down. The less he looked around, the better.
One sprint around the block would take three and a half minutes, if his treadmill times were comparable to an outdoor run. In three and a half minutes, how much could go wrong? He’d sat on the patio for longer than that at this point.
Eyes down, deep breaths. He ran down his steps to the sidewalk, then eased into a jog. His sneakers ate up the pavement, thudding to the time of his heartbeat. Time to open up into a run.
Drawing his elbows tight to his sides, Ben lengthened his strides into a sprint. His long legs ate up the distance and soon he’d reached the first turn of the block. A woman pushing a stroller appeared in his peripheral vision, but in front of him, it was just pavement and his own feet.
His breath echoed in his ears, accelerated from running, but not a panic attack. Another minute and he’d be around the second corner.
He increased his pace a notch, coming close to his top speed. And there it was—the moment when his breath and heartbeat and the straining of his muscles all fell away, and there were no thoughts, no anxiety, only pure exertion. Heaven. This was why he ran, why he would always be a runner.
He rounded the final corner on the block and slowed a fraction as he approached his porch. He took the steps two at a time, and jogged in place for a few minutes to cool down. He rested his hands on his knees, breath going fast, sweat dripping down the sides of his face and soaking his shirt.
An unexpected laugh bubbled out of him. His first run outdoors in over a month. Tomorrow, he’d go again, for longer.
He’d always told his patients there would be bad days and good days in the fight. And this was one of the good ones.