Mind Over Mind (21 page)

“I was just being proactive, sir!” Roger managed to look stricken and innocent.

“Your actions were neither pro nor active.” He turned to Malachai. “Have you heard exactly what happened, or did you just get his version?” His tone indicated what he thought of Roger’s story.

“I haven’t heard all the details, but I’m sure we could discuss it at a later time,” the senior psychiatrist said with stiff reserve. “Why don’t we check calendars after your group sessions?”

“That’ll be fine, Randall. Josh, you’re with me. I want you to pick another client to work your NLP magic on, and this time lead me through it step by step.”

_*

The rest of the morning was a blur, with two group therapies, and an intense meeting with Dr. Malachai in which Joshua was grilled on the orderlies’ behavior as well as his own. Carter, also in attendance, got visibly angrier and angrier, but instead of standing and shouting, sat calmly until finally he interrupted, “Excuse me, Dr. Malachai. How you believe Joshua should have handled the situation is your business, but the fact remains that I was physically threatened by that orderly, and this is not the first time. What are you going to do about that?”

Afterward, as Joshua followed Carter out the door, he heard Hoffman say to Malachai, “See what I mean? No shouts, no panics, not a word of ‘THEM.’ And I would say he was plenty provoked, wouldn’t you?”

He managed squeeze in an hour with Ydrel, in his room. Joshua looked over his book report, then taught him how to do a compare/contrast summary. “Why don’t you try it out on two warfighting strategists.”

“Strategists?”

“Yeah, you know, like Sun Tsu?
The Art of War
?” The names came dredging up from his memory. He’d never read the book, but LaTisha had studied it in a business class. When he’d laughed, she’d given him a particularly feral look. “Business is war,” she’d said. He should have known then…

Ydrel actually looked embarrassed. “I...haven’t read much theory. I’m usually trying to find specific information—”

“You mean, you’ve been laying all these tactics and tech on Taz with no overarching strategies? No wonder she’s confused. Fine. There’s your assignment for the week.”

After lunch, Floyd found him and they went to work again on the tapes, so he didn’t get to see Sachiko. He thought about suggesting they call it quits about dinnertime, but Floyd quietly informed him Dr. Malachai wanted the tape complete with commentary for Monday morning, so they agreed to press on. At 6:00, Floyd went to get them dinner while Joshua scripted out a particularly telling section. He returned with a tray and an envelope, with Joshua’s name in Sachiko’s writing. As casually as he could, Josh opened it.

Hey, you,

I heard what you did to Roger—we all did! We just might get him fired this time. I could kiss you—and I will tonight!

-Ko

PS. Floyd knows and keeps more secrets than NSA. He’s cool as a go-between as long as we don’t abuse his generosity. See you around 10:30!

Joshua looked at the older man, not sure what to say.

He smiled. “She deserves someone good in her life,” he said, then turned back to the tape he was queuing up.

Joshua smiled as he re-read the note, then put it in his back pocket. Then he wolfed down his food and turned back to the tapes, determined to finish as quickly as possible.

CHAPTER 25

Sachiko guided her motorcycle into Joshua’s driveway, glad that she’d decided to make a side trip to find it before going to work; it was much harder to spot in the dark. The modest little cottage was in a fairly good neighborhood, but had definitely seen better days. The twisted shadows she passed attested to the wildly overgrown yard, with a few “tamed” areas—a swatch of neatly cut lawn, some ivy trained to the trellis—telling of Joshua’s efforts. The attic had been converted to a small apartment with a separate metal staircase on the side of the house leading to it. Despite the soft soles of her sneakers, it rattled as she climbed it.

Joshua opened the door before she could knock. He was dressed in one of those trendy yellow short-sleeved button-down shirts with dragons on each side, and a loose pair of black shorts. His feet were bare, and he had his cell phone cradled between shoulder and ear. He took her hand and led her in, saying, “uh huh” to whomever was on the line.

His apartment was much nicer on the inside than it seemed from the outside: one room held a small kitchen along one corner with a small refrigerator and stove and one of those small washers with a dryer over the top. The table, too, was small, but made of wood, as were the four chairs around it. A day bed doubled as a couch and had at least a dozen pillows of varying sizes and designs neatly lining the painted metal railings. A short bookshelf doubled as an end table and held a laptop computer. Behind the couch/bed was a long closet, then the bathroom. Although the ceiling slanted in, it was at a shallow angle and the push-out windows with benches helped keep the room from being cramped. Both were open with fans to pull in the cool air. Between them, on its stand and with a small stool, was his keyboard. The walls were “apartment beige,” but he’d added some framed photos of mountain scenes, and a large dream catcher made of branches and feathers. There was also a crucifix on the wall between the windows and copies of both the Serenity Prayer and the Prayer of St. Francis on the pantry doors in the kitchen.

She just had time to take all this in when he thrust the phone at her.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” he said. “I really have to get something out of my car, so would you talk to my parents for a minute? Really, I’ll be right back.”

And he was out the door.

Dropping her backpack near the door, she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Sachiko. I’m Maggie.”

“And I’m James,” added a voice from what sounded like an extension. “Heard you’ve had quite a week.”

“Well, not so much as your son,” she said, as she peeked out the window. There was a light on in Joshua’s car, and she could just make out his form leaning across the seat. She let the curtain drop. “He’s been spectacular, in more ways than one. People can’t say enough good things about him.”

“That’s good to hear,” his father said.

“And how about you?” his mother added archly.

“I think he’s wonderful.”

“He feels the same about you.”

“Oh? Is that why I’m being set up here?” She winced as soon as the words left her mouth.
Great way to make an impression, ‘Ko.

But after a moment’s silence, both his parents laughed. “What gave us away?” his mother asked.

“What could he possibly have to get from his car for you?”

“Registration?”

“At 9 o’clock on a Friday, your time? Besides, two ‘really’s in as many sentences is a dead giveaway.”

“You noticed?” his mother shrieked. “Oh, you haven’t told him—”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s a pretty ingrained habit.”

“You need to understand,” his father put in gently, “Joshua had a rather bad experience with a girl this last year, and it’s made him a little unsure of himself. In fact, it’s a testimony to your character that he’s given his heart so readily.”

At the words “given his heart,” her own gave a happy little skip, but she said firmly, “James, we’ve only been dating a week—”

“Just a figure of speech, my dear. I mean he trusts you in a romantic situation.”

Sachiko peeked out the window again. Joshua was leaning against his car, looking at his watch. He started for the stairs. “He’s coming back up.”

“You won’t give him a hard time about this, will you?” his mother asked.

“‘Describe Joshua in one sentence?’” Sachiko pretended to repeat as the door opened.

“Apparently so,” she heard his father say to his mother.

Sachiko smiled at Joshua’s surprised look, and pretended to give the question some thought. “How about…He’s as adorable as he is arrogant.”

Joshua stared at her opened-mouthed. Then he rolled his eyes and thrust out his hand for the phone. She sauntered away, causally putting the table between him and herself as she spoke over his parents’ laughter. “Hmm, you want examples?”

“Oh, give me the phone.”

“Well, he flirts with the nurses. It’s true—he’s shameless. And he’s convinced one client that cleaning the toilet is therapy—”

“Give me that phone!” He started toward her. She moved, keeping the table between them.

“He’s one-upped his boss on more than one occasion—very innocently,
perhaps
, but nonetheless—”

“Give me that!”

“And what’s this thing he has about roses?”

“’Ko!” He lunged over the table and yanked the phone from her hand. He put it to his ear, then pulled it away, glaring at it as if his laughing parents could see him. He turned his glare at her, but she batted her eyes innocently, so he turned his attention back to his parents. “Mom! Well! They didn’t have thorns—it was heinous! I— uh, huh. Uh, huh. Oh! No, I— uh, huh.” His expression went from anger to one of intent listening. She waited a couple more “uh, huh”s, then picked up her bag and pointed to the bathroom. Distractedly, he waved her on.

In the bathroom, she changed out of her t-shirt and riding leathers into a green silk skort with embroidered flowers and matching sleeveless blouse. She really wanted to take a shower, as she always did after work, but settled with washing her face, then re-applying some green eyeliner and lipstick. She brushed her hair until it fell smoothly over her shoulders.
Best I’m gonna do
, she thought as she repacked and returned to the main room.

From the way Joshua’s eyes shone when he saw her, she’d done well enough. “I think I’d better go now,” he told his parents, then laughed. “She is, and I am! OK. Love you, too. Bye.” He folded the phone and set it on the table.

“I am and you are what?” she asked suspiciously.

“You are as beautiful as you are perceptive, and I am in big trouble,” he said. He cut off her chuckles with a kiss. After a moment, her arms tightened around his neck. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he murmured.

“Depends,” she murmured. “You know what they say about paybacks?”

“Oh, oh.” He pulled back to smile at her. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well,” she coyly traced little designs on his chest with her index finger. It felt so good to be in his arms.
“If
I can get enough studying done and
if
you aren’t too busy with that yard, I thought we’d take a drive down to Newport and you can meet my family.”

“Really?! I mean, oh-baby, you wouldn’t do that to me—”

“Stop!” she shoved him playfully. “So what do you have in mind for tonight?”

“How do you feel about scrapbooks?”

Scrapbooks?
“On a second date? Are you sure we’re ready?”

“Now you stop! I just thought you’d like to see where I come from. That’s all, really.” Suddenly, he looked uncertain, and young. “If you’d rather do something else—”

She cut him off with a kiss. “I’d love to see your scrapbook.”

Soon, they were settled on the couch with sodas, chips and Joshua’s homemade guacamole and a large, 3-ring photo album. The first page was a large standard family portrait: His mother sitting, with him and his father behind, each with a hand on her shoulder. They all wore matching ski sweaters and black jeans. Sachiko leaned into Joshua, intently comparing his face with those of his parents. His father had the same strong features as Joshua—the squarish jaw, the slightly hollow cheeks—and the same intent gaze, and a gentle smile. His mother’s face was much rounder; from her, Joshua had inherited his eyes and sensuous lips. And—

“Look at your hair!” she exclaimed. Both he and his mother wore tight beaded braids: hers, styled elaborately on her head; his, hanging loose. “Was it really that long?”

“Some of it was extensions. I loved that style, but it’s not exactly a professional image. At least, not in the psychiatric profession.”

“When was this taken?”

“I was 17. About a year and a half ago.”

She groaned. “What are you doing with an old lady like me?” He pulled back her hair and nibbled her neck by way of answer. “All right! Next page.”

“Here’s my other family.” This portrait was of a Hispanic family. The mother, short and not fat, but pudgy, had a tired smile and slightly sloped shoulders, as if wearing the effects of a difficult life. Still, her eyes sparkled. Beside her and more than a head taller was her son, very handsome and slick without looking slimy. Seated in front was the sister, with beautiful long black hair permed in soft curls.

“And this was taken…”

“The same year. Rique’s four years older than me; he’s getting his masters. Sabrina’s actually my age.”

“Not too much like family, I’d wager.” Sachiko noticed the photo of Sabrina and Joshua in formal dress that was on the opposite page.

“Her prom. And we dated for a little while that summer, but—” He shrugged and pointed back to the portrait. “She really is more like a sister. Anyway, this is Rique, my best friend, and my other mom. I call her Mommarosa.”

“Rosa? Is this where your ‘thing’ with roses comes from?”

He blinked at her, gave a surprised laugh. “As a matter of fact. Rique’s father, well, let’s just say that even when he was in jail, Mommarosa had restraining orders against him. He’s dead now; killed by another inmate. When they were married, though, he used to make her take all the thorns off the roses in her garden. Said he liked his flowers beautiful and safe. Not just safe. Defenseless. He liked her that way as well. Anyway, I was maybe ten, and Rique and I were playing in his room when we heard this awful scream. So we run to the living room and she’s standing there with this look of terror on her face, and on the floor is a box of roses. She starts yelling at Rique in Spanish to get the suitcases and pack for himself and Sabrina. Rique just looks at the flowers and he doesn’t even ask any questions, just runs to the closet. Then he hands me a paper sack and tells me to toss the roses in it. That’s when I saw the thorns were torn off. Weird, you know?

“Anyway, we pile into the car, and she starts driving. All around Pueblo, just taking turns at random. She’s crying, Sabrina’s crying, Rique’s swearing. I’m just quietly freaking out! Then we stopped at the police station and she lays on the horn until a cop comes out. He finally escorted us to my house. It was about an hour before she could calm down enough to tell us what happened. She thought he’d gotten out and was coming after her—she’d turned him in, apparently. Anyway, it turned out he’d had a fellow inmate who’d been released send them as a sick joke. I’d pretty much forgotten the incident, but I guess the emotional memory was still there.” He gave her a chagrined smile.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. “And now that you’ve confronted this memory, are you going to freak out over thornless roses?”

He shrugged. “I doubt it.”

“All right, then. You’re forgiven. Next page.”

They looked at photos of his house, of the view from his bedroom window—a wide expanse of beige and green prairie with deep blue mountains suddenly rising from the horizon against a sky that shaded from clear summer blue to an almost white powdery blue. One mountain towered above the rest, snow covering its peak. Pikes Peak, he told her. There were photos of their land in the mountains near Westcliffe, a more rugged terrain than she was used to with lots of rock outcroppings and cactus mixed in with wildflowers, pine and Aspen trees. He had a photo of his horse, a sturdy Morgan he’d gotten through a 4-H program.

When they got to photos of the band, she laughed. “Whose…car...is that?” Joshua and four other guys including Rique were posed with their instruments on and around a brilliant yellow El Camino. On the tailgate was a well-known painting of the Virgin Mary in a pink dress and a blue robe, surrounded by gold.

“Rique’s. I thought my parents were going to kill him—he used the graduation money they gave him to get that paint job. That’s Our Lady of Guadalupe on the back. She’s the patron saint of the Americas, and his chosen patroness, too. This is Carl with the blond hair and guitar; he plays bass and hand drums when we do stuff with more Native American influence. Leon is our percussionist. Austin plays just about any wind instrument you can imagine, but usually saxophone and flute. He’s been teaching me a little of the saxophone. This is actually our professional photo—we’ve used it on flyers, and even had some posters and t-shirts done. Here—” He turned the page, to more photos of them around the car at different angles. She could see in them that in addition to the icon, the car was decorated with a line of chili peppers running along the side.

“There’s no losing that in the parking lot.”

“Yeah. It’s a lowrider, too. Got the bouncing shocks. Fun, fun car. Here’s one of our gigs. A Halloween party the city sponsored at the Events Center. They had three bands, so we got to play and have some fun, too.”

Along with some long shots of them on stage, there were photos of them in costume at the party itself. One was Joshua in a Renaissance peasant’s outfit with his arms around a tall, thin, woman whose costume consisted of angel’s wings and a red bikini and hot pants. She had a halo on her head, but had sculpted her hair with red gel into two horns. She had one hand on his chest and the other low and to the back of his hip. “A fan?”

Joshua snorted. “LaTisha. My Ex.”

“What, wife?” She meant it teasingly, but he answered with vehemence.

“No. Thank God it never got that far!”