Chapter 30
Isquealed as I surveyed the office, jumping up and down and clapping my hands like a little girl who discovered a magic machine that spits out pancakes.
It. Was. Perfection.
Gone was the dark wood and stuffy furniture. Gone was the tell-me-about-your-mother couch. Gone was the heavy desk barricading me from my clients.
A massive window on the far wall reflected a tranquil basin that surrounded Bridge Island.
Birds took flight and water bugs danced along the surface of the water.
Norbert the gator cut through the sheen, cast one eye in my direction, then continued past. Moss dripped from trees, their knobby knees poking up around their trunks.
It was the view from my park bench.
Several large, potted plants with leafy evergreens surrounded the base of the window. Long, beige curtains framed the view. There were several lamps of brushed gold with drum-shaped lamp shades in a simple white.
In the center of the room, atop a lovely throw rug that swirled tan, cream, and sage, were two chairs opposite a matching couch.
All three were invitingly soft, with thick cushions and simple legs of light wood.
The arrangement gave me options, and I didn’t need a desk in here when I had a perfect one upstairs.
The wall on the left contained a large bookshelf in the same wood as the chairs.
The bottoms of the shelves were filing cabinets.
I didn’t need to check them to know they would only open to my touch.
On the shelves were a few decorative items and multiple copies of some of the books I used to recommend to clients.
And it only got more perfect from there. The corner by the door housed a water feature, a tinkling fountain lit in gold hues. It would soothe clients and ensure privacy if someone was in the waiting room.
My diplomas and certifications were hung in simple gold frames that matched the lamps. An oil painting covered the space over the couch. It was stunning. I peered close to take it in.
The Magnolia. In perfect detail, including the sign I’d created.
Someone had put a lot of work into this.
There was an art store in Illusion Square, could someone there have created this?
In the corner was a small signature. D-RAP.
I squealed again. He was a New Orleans native whose work I recognized.
“What’s with all the squealing in here?” Brianne took two steps in, turned in her own circle, and joined the squeals. “Simone, this is perfect!”
“Right?! Everything is going to be perfect. Or as perfect as things can get.” I grabbed her close and squeezed her tight.
“Well, this is a new version of you. Honey, I can’t breathe.” I released her, but she laughed and hugged me close again. “A lot’s happened since Friday, huh?”
“Ugh, you have no idea. I wish I had time to give you a recap. But I don’t, so shoo.
” I pushed away with a grin, fixing my hair.
“My first client will be here any minute, and I want everything to look professional.” Her brow furrowed, a fraction of an inch.
I squeezed her hand. “He’ll be here, Brianne. I just know it.”
And there it was in my voice again, that rich timbre. Like I weaved words out of silk.
Sure enough, we walked into the waiting room, and Doug sat at one of the chairs, thumbing through a magazine. Gumbo snoozed on his lap. So much for professional.
“Good morning, Doug.” I pasted a welcoming smile on my face, even though my insides were twisted into a thousand excited, nervous knots. Not like he couldn’t tell. “Would you like to come in?”
Gumbo hopped off his lap, returning to the chair he vacated as soon as he stood. I extended my arm, gesturing for Doug to go in first. I wanted to catch every minute of his first impression.
He didn’t clap. Or squeal. Not that I expected him to. He took a slow circle with the most impassive face ever. I stood by the door, my hands clasped behind my back. My thumbs twiddled a thousand circles while I waited for a response.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take the suspense anymore, Doug crossed his arms and nodded.
“Looks good,” he said. He pressed his lips together and nodded again. “Looks real good, Simone.”
“I’m glad you like it.” The calmness in my voice was remarkable. “Would you like to take a seat?”
Doug studied me a moment longer. Then, with a grin the devil would envy, he sat in one of the chairs. I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. I grabbed my notebook and plopped down onto the couch.
We spent several minutes gazing out the window, watching clouds float by. The tip of a vivid fin dipped out of the water, too large to be an everyday fish.
“What would you like to discuss today, Doug?”
“Saw the flower beds out front. They need tending.”
“Yes, they do.” I stifled a chuckle. “We have some overgrowth happening in the back, too. House and I are working on it.”
“I can help,” he replied. “Been mowin’ the lawn for years, may as well do some gardening while I’m at it.”
Huh. So that solved the mystery of the lawn. I guess the house didn’t do everything with magic, which was good to know but also disappointing. I hated dishes.
“I’d sure appreciate it, Doug. Yard work is not one of my strengths.”
“What are your strengths, Simone?”
I took a moment to assess his tone. Doug knew every emotion I was cycling through. Even the ones I was trying to hide. But he was the blankest of slates, and I hadn’t known him long enough to read his tell. If he had one.
I wasn’t sure if he was teasing me or challenging me. So I decided to answer honestly.
“Well, owning up to my mistakes is a pretty big strength. Not everyone can do that. I’m a damn good listener.” I crossed my legs and smiled. “And I know when someone’s avoiding their own crap by focusing on someone else's.”
He drew in a sharp breath that made me hold mine. Then, the most amazing thing happened.
Doug Holloway laughed.
He had one of those full-body laughs that fills a room. The kind you can’t help but laugh along with. He slapped his knee and clapped his hands. When he finally stopped, wiping tears from his eyes, I realized the room hadn’t been perfect before.
The design was perfect. But the room needed this. Someone laughing in a way they didn’t intend to. Someone letting themselves be vulnerable. Someone connecting with their therapist in a way that allows them to feel safe enough to relax.
That is the space where growth begins. Even on a couch.
“So Doug,” I said once he was still. “What would you like to talk about today?”
Doug stared at his lap a moment longer, inspecting fingernails cut to the skin. When he looked at me, all mirth was gone. In its place was a soft, raw sadness I understood completely.
“Well, Simone”—he drew in a shuddery breath—“I think I’d like to tell you about my wife.”
“I think I’d like that too.” I positioned my pen over my pad, ready to take notes on my first real session with Doug Holloway.