Every Time I Love You (24 page)

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. The scratch on his cheek was starting to bleed again. “Oh, Brent,” she whispered, touching it.

She started to cry; she felt wretched. He couldn't soothe her and he couldn't make her stop. He just held her. And when she had quieted at last, he swung her around to meet his eyes.

“It's going to be all right. It will be all right, Gayle, because I love you. No matter what happens I love you, and I will love you to my dying day.”

He stroked her cheek and she kissed him, and at last she laid her head against his chest and slept. She didn't have any more dreams that night.

* * *

Gayle never could lie down in Dr. Shaffer's office. Dr. Shaffer didn't mind. He always said that his patients should sit down, lie down, stand straight or even on their heads—whatever made them comfortable.

That day she sat in the wing chair in front of the fireplace and sipped tea. She told him what had happened the night before and he listened, and then he began to question her. It was always Do you think...? Do you think that your husband would hurt you? Do you think that you're harboring jealousies? Do you think that your marriage might have been a mistake? No, no, and no. She told him what Brent had suggested about Thane, that she wanted to make Thane pay; therefore she was trying to make Brent pay. Brent thought she should take some time and really explore this avenue.

Gayle was certain that she wasn't trying to make Thane pay for anything. He was dead. He'd paid enough.

Then Shaffer asked her if she worried at all that Brent might be trying to make her appear mad or going crazy. There was something in his voice that really irritated her—she had this odd feeling that he was convinced there was nothing at all wrong with Brent, except for his choice of a mate for a lifetime.

She had always liked Shaffer, even if she had believed her sessions with him were worthless, but that day she hated him. In the end, when he kept at her—telling her that he couldn't help her until she chose to help herself—she burst into tears and raced out of the office. Then she got mad again and slammed back in to face him.

“I didn't hate my mother and I had no strange fixations on my father. My folks were great people. I'm sure that I did refuse to eat my peas somewhere along the line, and I'm equally sure that I was furious with them at some point for grounding me. I lost them and, yes, it hurt; it hurt damned badly, but I coped with it very well, thank you. As for Thane, yes, hell, I felt guilty. But I was never stupid, Dr. Shaffer. I know that he was self-destructive; I know that there was nothing that I could have done. I am still friends with the man's family, for God's sake. Dr. Shaffer, we have a real problem. I want help; I'm lost. But if you can't help me, please don't make me really crazy on top of everything else!”

He looked at her and he smiled, and then he looked down at his notes. “Sit down, Mrs. McCauley, please.” He spread out his hands with a shrug, undisturbed by her tirade. Gayle hesitated. “Please,” he repeated, and she sat down once again. He folded his hands over his notes and leaned toward her.

“I don't think that you are crazy, Mrs. McCauley. Neither is your husband. In fact, for his profession, and especially considering his success, he seems to be an exceptionally well-balanced man, with a wide perspective on the world. I find you to be very bright, and I believe that the two of you are very much in love with each other, and it should be very nice altogether.”

Gayle stared at him blankly.

“Of course,” he continued, smiling, “there are always things within the human mind and the human heart which are kept secret from others. I could continue to see you and I could continue to see your husband. Something may come out. But quite honestly, Mrs. McCauley, I don't think that I can help either of you.”

“You can't?” He was so matter-of-fact.

“I'd like to suggest another approach.”

Gayle leaned forward, anxious. “And that is?”

“A parapsychologist.”

“A what!”

Shaffer repeated himself. Gayle just stared at him. Then she blurted out, “You're talking about a fortune teller! A medium, a Tarot card reader—”

He shook his head. “I'm talking about a parapsychologist. Not a witch doctor.”

“Oh, my God! You think that we're possessed!”

Shaffer started to laugh. “I didn't say that at all.” He sighed, looked down at his notes, and started to read, quoting her from their last session. “'He acted as if I had done something to him, something terrible. He kept calling me Katrina. I thought he hated me, but that wasn't it, not entirely. He wanted revenge, but even that wasn't it. He said that he loved me—or Katrina—or whoever he was talking to, but it was so strange, and so awful. Can you hate someone so deeply and love that same person at the same time?'“

Gayle looked down at her lap, fiddling with her purse.

“He called you by another name, Mrs. McCauley. There's something going on here. And your husband is not schizophrenic; I'd stake my career on it.”

Gayle exhaled slowly. “You can't believe in any of that type of thing, Doctor; you're a man of science—”

“Many a gastroenterologist would dispute that,” he told her with a grin. “I'm a man of the mind. Let's put it that way, shall we? The main thing I learn as I go along is that seeming impossibilities do occur, and life itself is very mysterious.” He pulled a pad of paper toward him and began to write on it. “This is the name of a friend of mine. She's associated with the university. She has a medical degree too—she's a psychiatrist, but she doesn't practice psychiatry, per se, anymore. Give her a call. I have a great deal of confidence in her.”

Still not quite believing what he had suggested, Gayle realized that she was being dismissed. She stood up and offered him her hand, and he stood too. They shook hands and he smiled. “Mrs. McCauley, now you're staring at me as if I need some analysis. I probably do. We're supposed to be a crazy lot ourselves, you know.” He didn't believe it one bit; she could tell by the tone of his voice. “Call Marsha. I think that you'll like her. She's fascinating.”

Gayle had the little slip of paper in her hand. She thanked Dr. Shaffer, and told him goodbye.

She was tempted to toss the paper into the trash on the way out. She didn't, though. She stuffed it into her purse.

She expected to find Brent when she came out on the street. He wasn't there waiting for her. Instead, she found Geoff.

He was sitting on the hood of his Ferrari, arms crossed over his chest, waiting. He grinned at her startled frown.

“Brent got held up. He was working and by the time he realized how late it was, he knew that he'd never make it in on time. He caught me in the office and so I promised to meet you and drive you home.” He stopped smiling, watching her. “What's wrong?”

“Oh, Geoff!” she murmured miserably. She stepped up and kissed his cheek, then hurried into the car. She thanked him distractedly for coming for her; then, as he pulled out into the traffic, she blurted to him, “He has to be a quack, Geoff! He has to be! He's telling me that I need a—a medium, or something!”

Geoff didn't respond. She had expected him to laugh, to denounce Shaffer dramatically. He didn't do anything of the kind. He looked ahead at the road, and then he shrugged.

“Maybe you do need—something else.”

Gayle gasped. “Geoff! Oh, please! I know that you don't believe in—in ghosts.”

“I don't believe in ghosts,” he told her flatly.

“Oh! You think that we're—oh, please! We are not possessed, or—”

“Gayle, Gayle!” Absently he patted her knee, trying to calm her down while he wound through the rush-hour tangle. “No, I'm not thinking exorcist, Linda Blair, green pea soup all over the place. But...” He hesitated again. “Gayle, considering the things you say are happening, it wouldn't hurt to explore a new avenue, would it?”

She thought about that for several moments. “I don't know,” she said glumly. “I—I had a bad enough time getting Brent to see Shaffer. He'll never see a medium or a parapsychologist, or whatever this woman is.”

“Who is she?”

“What?”

Geoff repeated the question and Gayle dug into her purse for the name. “Marsha Clark. Dr. Marsha Clark.”

Geoff nodded as he drove. “I've met her. She's not what you fear she is.”

“You've met her?”

“Yes. At a benefit for the opera. She was telling me about her field of study and I was very impressed. Gayle, face it, there are things that cannot easily be explained. And according to Marsha, they should all be explored.”

“'Marsha'?” Gayle repeated skeptically. “Geoff, this lady isn't another Boobs, is she?”

Geoff made an impatient sound. “No, she isn't. And Boobs' name was Madelaine. It still is.”

“How is Tina? Have you two made up yet?”

“We've a date for tomorrow night.”

“Good for you.”

“Umm. You might want to call Marsha. If only because she's interesting.”

Gayle was silent for several seconds. “Maybe I should just get a priest to bless the house.”

She thought that he would laugh. “Maybe you should,” he told her. “But I don't think that would help.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Well, it seems to me that this all started long ago.”

“It just began—”

“No, it just began so dramatically. But think back. On your wedding day you passed out.”

“That was the excitement—”

“And your nightmares began two nights later. And Brent started with the war paintings. All right after you had just met.”

Gayle groaned and sank back into the seat. “I don't believe any of this. And even if I did want to meet Marsha Clark, Brent would never do it. He thinks very little of psychiatrists. What is he going to think of a parapsychologist?”

Geoff didn't answer her. They finished the drive in silence.

Brent was outside on the wide veranda, leaning against a column, waiting for them. He smiled and came around to the passenger's side of the car and he kissed Gayle as soon as he helped her out. Then he thanked Geoff for the favor, saying, “Come on in. Let's have a drink.”

He led the way into the passage and directed Gayle and Geoff into the parlor. “Gayle, wine? Geoff—a Scotch?”

“Fine,” Geoff said.

Brent left and Gayle quickly spun on Geoff. “Geoff! I think he was late on purpose. I think that he's stalling. It's as if he doesn't want to know what Shaffer had to say.”

“Gayle, come on,” Geoff murmured unhappily. “I'm sure that's not the case at all.”

“It won't be,” she said grimly. Arms crossed over her chest, she wandered over to the mantel. Brent came back into the room, balancing a wine glass, a Scotch, and a beer can. Geoff and Gayle both thanked him. Then Gayle accosted him flatly.

“Shaffer says we're both sane. Completely sane.”

“Oh?” Brent lifted his beer can to her and sprawled back comfortably on the couch, watching her.

“He did have a suggestion.”

“He did?”

Geoff tried to rise. “I think I should probably get back
—
”

“Geoff, stay!” Gayle pleaded.

He looked at Brent. Brent shrugged. Geoff could already feel the tension rising, and he wanted to leave. Gayle glared at Brent.

“Geoff—stay, please,” Brent said with a soft groan. “I think I'm going to want another opinion here, anyway.”

Geoff sat.

“Shaffer gave me the name of a woman to see. She's a psychiatrist too.”

“Why? Why someone different?”

“She's also a—a—”

“Parapsychologist,” Geoff supplied.

“A what!”
Brent exploded. He was on his feet in a flash, stalking toward Gayle.
“A what?”

“I told you!” Gayle said to Geoff, ignoring Brent. Geoff tried to help.

“Brent, she isn't a witch doctor. I don't see how it can hurt.”

“And how the hell can it help to have a crone running around here tapping the walls and telling the air to be gone? Uh-uh! No way! This is absurd. We'll work this out ourselves.”

“Brent, damn you!” Gayle cried. “We can't work this thing out ourselves!”

“Why not? What has happened? What has really happened?”

“A lot!” Gayle insisted. “Brent—”

He came around to her, catching her hands. “We've acted a little strangely. Chad was telling me once he had an aunt who insisted on singing arias in the grocery store. They didn't waste much sleep on it, though.”

“Brent! This is much more serious than that.”

“Gayle! I will not see this woman!”

She stared at him pleadingly, then turned to Geoff. “Help me!”

Geoff stood uneasily, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He did want to help them, desperately. “Brent...”he began awkwardly. “Ah, hell, Brent, I'm not trying to take her side or anything, but look at the two of you. What you have together is rare; it's the greatest thing in life. It's so very special. Brent, how can you risk that? How can you not grab at any straw, no matter how flimsy it may be, that might help you?”

Brent was very stiff and very straight. Gayle could feel heat waves of anger coming from him, wrapping all around her. But he didn't raise his voice; he just looked at Geoff and apologized softly. “Sorry, Geoff, I just can't do it. Not a parapsychologist.” He dropped Gayle's hands and turned on his heel and strode out of the room. A second later, they heard the front door slam and the Mustang revved into action.