Healing Sands (7 page)

“Now that I'm here, I think I'm putting it off, Dr. Ghent.”

“Your search for Belinda Cox.”

“Yeah.” Sully dropped his feet to the floor and swiveled the chair around, his back to the door. “The trail led me here, and I don't think it's a coincidence that this particular clinic needs me at this exact time.”

“God doesn't do coincidence. So have you looked her up, or are you just wallowing?”

Holy crow. Even from thirteen hundred miles away she read him like a picture book.

“The last place she worked as a counselor was at a church a couple of miles from here,” he said.

“You've gone there.”

“Not yet.”

“And why are we dragging our feet?”

“Because I'm still not altogether sure why I'm doing this.”

“Well, I guess you better find out.”

“You're not going to cut me any slack, are you?”

“None whatsoever. But I will say this.”

Sully held his breath, in case the sound of his own air should cover even a syllable that came from those marvelous lips.

“Just be sure you aren't trying to out-God God. You know God won't have that, now.”

“And neither will you.”

“Mm-hmm. Well, it's not me you have to answer to, is it?”

“Since when?” Sully said.

“Mm-hmm,” she said again.

When she hung up, Sully looked wistfully at the phone. If it weren't for Porphyria Ghent, he might be in a psychiatric hospital or tucked, by his own choice, into a coffin. He wouldn't be taking steps back into the life he'd had to leave behind for months while she helped him face his demons.

His wife hadn't been so blessed. She hadn't had a Porphyria Ghent. She'd had Belinda Cox, and Sully had to find the woman and make sure she never did to another human being what she had done to Lynn. And to their baby girl. At least, that was the reason he'd given himself, until other possibilities had begun to muddy the waters.

A tap on the door signaled Olivia and—what was that applicant's name? Sully dropped the phone into his pocket and stood up.

“Come on in,” he said.

Olivia poked only her head in. “He's waiting in the conference room.”

“I think I'll see him in here, Olivia.”

She pressed her lips together until a deep dimple appeared on either side of them. “He's cute,” she said.

“That being one of the major qualifications, things are already looking good for Mr.—”

“Kyle Neering,” she said.

Sully didn't know from cute in other guys, but the tall, slender, thirtysomething man Olivia showed in a moment later was definitely a sharp dresser. He also had a neat haircut and a firm handshake, and he looked directly into Sully's eyes when he introduced himself.

“It is a pleasure, sir,” he said.

“It would be a pleasure for me if you wouldn't call me sir,” Sully said.

Neering shook his head as he took the chair Sully offered him. “Sorry. I just have a lot of respect for you and your work. I've wanted to meet you for a long time.” He gazed around the room as if he'd just entered the Oval Office. “So this is where it happens.”

“Where what happens?”

“The amazing things you do with people.”

“I don't see clients in here, if that's what you mean.” Sully sank into the other client chair, which fit him the same way a necktie would. “In fact, I'm not seeing clients at all at this clinic. I'm just here to make sure it's going in the right direction.”

“And I'm here to convince you I can help with that.” Kyle leaned forward. “I've read everything you've written, studied your pod-casts— I even caught your seminar in Little Rock a couple of months ago. I'm a total admirer of your work.” His face glowed from handsome jaw to dark brown hairline.

“Well, don't stop now,” Sully said drily. “You were just getting warmed up.”

“Look, I'm not trying to pump up your ego. I mean, I would love to have this job, but I couldn't pass up an opportunity to tell you what your ministry has meant to me.”

Sully slid Kyle's file from his desk and opened it. He was already familiar with Kyle Neering's fairly impressive credentials. He just needed an excuse to get away from that practically idolatrous gaze.

“That your family?”

Sully's head came up. He followed Kyle's point to the photo on the shelf behind his desk, and he felt the familiar cave in his chest.

“My wife and baby,” Sully said.

“They're both beautiful. You're obviously blessed.”

Not by a long shot, pal,
Sully wanted to say to him.

Instead, he crossed one leg over the other knee and said, “Let's talk.”

CHAPTER SIX

B
y the Sunday after Jake's hearing, I had discovered that soccer can eat up your life the way termites consume your woodwork.

I was at Burn Lake all Saturday morning and all Sunday afternoon. So, unfortunately, were the other soccer moms. I wasn't sure at first whether Victoria and J.P. were there to watch their respective sons practice or to scrutinize my lack of understanding of team-motherhood.

I got the snacks right, and I'd made a vow not to yell anything until I'd had a crash course in soccer terminology. But J.P. didn't hesitate to tell me that Alex's shin guards were too big for him and that she saw him picking his nose when he was supposed to be watching the ball. If it hadn't been for Poco continually changing the subject while we sat, interminably, on the bleachers, I probably would have told her to take a look at her own kid.

Because even with my uneducated eye, I could see that Cade wasn't doing so well down there. He was a pudgy boy, for starters, and his cheeks remained an almost neon shade of red at all times, as if just walking were an exertion. He never had the ball longer than two seconds before someone else snatched it from him, and when one of the other boys yelled, “To you, Cade!” he was usually gaping off in the other direction and missed the thing completely.

By Sunday, even J.P. was admitting he was a mess. “I think he's starting puberty,” she said.

“At ten years old, J.P.?” Poco said, more gently than I ever could have.

“I don't know what else would cause him to suddenly turn into a complete klutz.” J.P. shoved the trickles of graying hair back from her forehead. “It could be his weight, I guess.”

Whatever it was, it hadn't improved since the day before. Halfway through practice, J.P. fretted that Dan was going to eliminate him from the team. I laughed out loud.

“I don't see what's funny,” J.P. said.

Poco put her hand on J.P.'s arm. “I think Ryan was just—”

“I can speak for myself,” I said. “Dan would keep a quadriplegic on the team if it meant he could avoid a conflict.”

“I don't think that's funny either.”

“Anybody want a drink?” Poco said. “I brought a cooler.”

J.P. shook her head and gazed dismally at the field. Victoria ordered a water. Poco grabbed my hand and pulled me with her. My plan was to tell her when we got to the bottom that I didn't need her to play mediator—that J.P. could bring it on as far as I was concerned.

Poco opened the cooler, thrust an icy bottled water into my hand, and had me sitting with her several sections over on the bleachers before I could protest.

“I thought a little space would be a good thing,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said, “but if I need space, I'll make some.”

“I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about J.P. You intimidate her.”

I grunted. “I don't think she intimidates that easily.”

“She doesn't.”

“So are you the protector of the psyches in this group?”

“Yes,” she said simply.

I found myself staring at her. She was a tiny thing, but there was something big about her spirit.

“You're probably right,” I said. “I'm spoiling for a fight.”

“Is it because of Jake?”

I homed in for signs of gossip gathering, but Poco's black eyes were soft. As if she truly did give a flip.

“How did you know?”

“Dan asked a few of us to pray. I'd already read the article, but of course they didn't mention Jake's name.”

“Yeah, well, it's not what it sounds like in the paper.”

“It never is. No offense.”

“None taken. Working for the
Sun-News
is not my lifetime goal, trust me. I'm just doing it so I can be near my boys.”

I took a long drink from the water bottle. Why was I telling her all this? I didn't normally open a vein for perfect strangers, or anyone else.

“Jake's fortunate you're here right now,” Poco said.

“He doesn't think so.”

“He
would
be pretty upset. Alex too.”

I looked out on the field, where Dan had the boys gathered around him. Alex was standing a little apart from the group, ball parked on his not-there hip. He looked small and lonely.

“I'm sure you and Dan will do a great job walking them through this,” Poco said. “But in case they—or you—need another ear, I can totally recommend the Healing Choice Clinic.”

I pulled in my chin. “You're talking about therapy.”

“It's not like you think. When I was going through a bad time, I saw a woman there—Carla Korman—and she was amazing. I think I would have become an alcoholic or something if it weren't for her.”

To avoid any further disclosure, I said, “If it's warranted, I'll give her a call. Thanks.”

Poco formed a fine frown line between her brows. “She left, unfortunately, but I can guarantee you anyone you see there will be wonderful. Are you familiar with Sullivan Crisp?”

“I've heard his radio show once or twice.”

“He's the founder of the clinics, and the therapists all use his principles.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Really, if I see a need, I'm there.” I craned my neck toward the field, where the group was setting up a howl. Even as I watched, Dan quelled it and pulled the team in tighter. Even Alex pressed into the knot.

“What's that about?” I said.

Whatever it was, J.P. was already taking the steps two at a time, with Victoria sailing behind her. By the time Poco and I reached them, J.P. was practically on the phone to her attorney.

“You'd better be right,” she said, looking straight at me. “Dan better not be making cuts.”

As if I had anything to do with what Dan decided.

“What about it, team?” I heard Dan say.

Some kind of tribal shout went up, and this time the players looked a little less hostile. Dan gazed over their heads at the mothers.

“I've chosen a team captain. J.P., you ought to be real proud of your boy.”

Of course. Make the worst kid on the team the captain, or watch his mother file a lawsuit. A typical Dan choice.

As the boys diverted their allegiance to the moms with the snacks, Dan came over to us.

“You know,” J.P. said, “Cade doesn't need to be patronized.”

Could this woman not make up her mind?

“If he's going to be captain, I want him to deserve it, and right now he's playing horribly. What he needs is some help with his skills.”

“He's just suffering from a little lapse in confidence,” Dan said. “I think making him captain is going to give him a boost. Besides . . .” He smiled his slow, crooked smile. “Just because he isn't David Beckham doesn't mean he isn't a leader. I gave him the opportunity. He'll make himself a captain.”

No, his mother will. If it kills him.

Dan went off to join the boys, and I turned in search of my purse. Somebody touched my arm. I looked back at J.P.

“I have to ask,” she said. “Why did you let that man get away?”

“
He
didn't get away,” I said. “
I
did.”

I chewed on that all the way to Dan's, while pretending to listen to Alex go on about how cool it was of Dad to make Cade captain and how Dad wouldn't let the other guys boo when he announced it and how all the guys were saying he was the most awesome coach ever, except the ones that thought they should be captain but they would get over it because Dad was going to figure out a way to make them feel like they were something big, too, because that was what Dad did. I felt like Alex was filling out a profile on Match.com.

When we arrived, Jake and a boy I didn't know were kicking a soccer ball around in one of what Dan called his “sculpture parks.” Could I not get away from this game to save my soul? But at least Jake was outside rather than in self-imposed exile in his room. Out where I could get to him.

At least that was my plan. He took one look at my car and headed straight for the backyard. I left my door hanging open and went after him.

“Jake,” I said. “Just stop.”

He'd gotten as far as the gate that led to the yard off the back patio. He did stop, hand on the latch, but he didn't turn around.

“I know you think I'm going to ask you all these questions,” I said to his back, “but I just have one. I promise.”

He turned with all the enthusiasm of a root canal patient.

“Just tell me
why
you won't talk to me about what happened. That's all I want to know.”

His reply was swift, as if he'd been expecting me to ask. “Because Dad says I don't have to.”

Without waiting for me to go back on my word, he slipped through the gate almost without opening it. I felt every blood vessel pump as I stomped back to the front of the house where Alex was still pulling his gear out of my car. Dan's 4-Runner was now parked beside it.

“Where's your father?” I asked.

“I think he went out to the studio.”

Why had I even bothered to ask?

I hadn't been to his studio here, but it was obviously the long, low adobe building toward the back of the property, and to get there I had to make my way through another sculpture park. It had always been a dream of Dan's to build his pieces as massively as he wanted and then simply plant them where they would be “discovered” by anyone who happened by. That dream had obviously come to fruition.