therapist-patient relationship.
Sheila’s anxiety was through the roof. After several days of icy, monosyllabic communication, Morris had disappeared. Sheila hadn’t heard from her fiancé in forty-eight hours, and after leaving numerous messages on Morris’s cell phone and direct line at the bank, she had finally caved and called his executive assistant directly. She was flabbergasted to learn Morris was out of town on business. Darcy wouldn’t tell her where and would only say that she’d have her boss call when he returned. Morris had never gone away without telling her.
And was it Sheila’s imagination, or had his secretary’s tone been a bit snippy?
Marianne didn’t think it was anything to be concerned about. Sheila had told her about their failed attempt at lovemaking, and Marianne was convinced that Morris was just taking some time to lick his wounds.
In any case, the last thing Sheila wanted to talk about was her dead father.
“Okay, then.” Marianne folded her hands in her lap. “Moving on. There’s something new I want to discuss with you. And I want you to hear me out before you say no.”
The therapist’s tone was ominous and Sheila looked at her in surprise. She’d never seen her friend look so serious. “You’re scaring me,” Sheila said, half-joking. “What is it?”
Marianne took a deep breath. “Do you consider me a friend?”
“You know I do.”
“You remember I had reservations about being your therapist in the beginning?”
“Yes, and we’re past all that.” Sheila had no idea whereMarianne was going with this. “Clearly it’s worked out. You’ve retained your objectivity—”
“Have I?” Marianne said, her brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. I’m starting to think I’ve let our friendship get in the way of our therapy. I think I might be doing you a disservice by being your therapist. I’m not nearly as objective as I should be, and I think if you’d been treated by someone else, you might not have ended up in this mess in the first place.”
Sheila’s mouth dropped open. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. She thought she was going to get another lecture about Ethan, or another list of reasons why Morris should have been told everything up front. She would never have guessed Marianne was doubting her own abilities as a therapist.
“What are you talking about?” Sheila was shocked. “It’s because of you I’ve been doing so well—”
Marianne put up a hand, looking tired even though the day had barely started. “No, you haven’t been doing well. If you were truly doing well, you wouldn’t have relapsed. And you did relapse, Sheila. Badly. On my watch.”
Sheila stared at her in disbelief. “You and I both know a psychologist can do only so much. Therapy only works if you make it work. I screwed up. I own that. It would have happened whether you were my therapist or not.”
“I’m not so sure. Which is why I want you to consider this.” Marianne leaned over, reaching for something on the side table. Apparently it had been there the entire time, but Sheila hadn’t noticed. “Here, take it.”
Sheila looked down at the brochure in her hand. Glossy color trifold. Serene faces pictured against a beautiful backdrop of green trees and blue sky. An italicized slogan across the bottom that read, You don’t have to do it alone. We’re here for you.
It was a pamphlet for the New Trails Treatment Center for Addiction in Roseburg, Oregon.
Sheila didn’t bother to unfold the pamphlet. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“You want me to go to rehab? In Oregon?”
Her friend nodded.
Sheila opened the brochure and read it quickly, the hysteria rising in her gut. She jabbed at the page with a hard finger. “Marianne, it says this an eight-week, in-facilit y program. I can’t do this. I have a job. I’m getting married in two weeks. I haven’t even talked to Morris yet.”
“Then the timing is
Sheila’s anxiety was through the roof. After several days of icy, monosyllabic communication, Morris had disappeared. Sheila hadn’t heard from her fiancé in forty-eight hours, and after leaving numerous messages on Morris’s cell phone and direct line at the bank, she had finally caved and called his executive assistant directly. She was flabbergasted to learn Morris was out of town on business. Darcy wouldn’t tell her where and would only say that she’d have her boss call when he returned. Morris had never gone away without telling her.
And was it Sheila’s imagination, or had his secretary’s tone been a bit snippy?
Marianne didn’t think it was anything to be concerned about. Sheila had told her about their failed attempt at lovemaking, and Marianne was convinced that Morris was just taking some time to lick his wounds.
In any case, the last thing Sheila wanted to talk about was her dead father.
“Okay, then.” Marianne folded her hands in her lap. “Moving on. There’s something new I want to discuss with you. And I want you to hear me out before you say no.”
The therapist’s tone was ominous and Sheila looked at her in surprise. She’d never seen her friend look so serious. “You’re scaring me,” Sheila said, half-joking. “What is it?”
Marianne took a deep breath. “Do you consider me a friend?”
“You know I do.”
“You remember I had reservations about being your therapist in the beginning?”
“Yes, and we’re past all that.” Sheila had no idea whereMarianne was going with this. “Clearly it’s worked out. You’ve retained your objectivity—”
“Have I?” Marianne said, her brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. I’m starting to think I’ve let our friendship get in the way of our therapy. I think I might be doing you a disservice by being your therapist. I’m not nearly as objective as I should be, and I think if you’d been treated by someone else, you might not have ended up in this mess in the first place.”
Sheila’s mouth dropped open. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. She thought she was going to get another lecture about Ethan, or another list of reasons why Morris should have been told everything up front. She would never have guessed Marianne was doubting her own abilities as a therapist.
“What are you talking about?” Sheila was shocked. “It’s because of you I’ve been doing so well—”
Marianne put up a hand, looking tired even though the day had barely started. “No, you haven’t been doing well. If you were truly doing well, you wouldn’t have relapsed. And you did relapse, Sheila. Badly. On my watch.”
Sheila stared at her in disbelief. “You and I both know a psychologist can do only so much. Therapy only works if you make it work. I screwed up. I own that. It would have happened whether you were my therapist or not.”
“I’m not so sure. Which is why I want you to consider this.” Marianne leaned over, reaching for something on the side table. Apparently it had been there the entire time, but Sheila hadn’t noticed. “Here, take it.”
Sheila looked down at the brochure in her hand. Glossy color trifold. Serene faces pictured against a beautiful backdrop of green trees and blue sky. An italicized slogan across the bottom that read, You don’t have to do it alone. We’re here for you.
It was a pamphlet for the New Trails Treatment Center for Addiction in Roseburg, Oregon.
Sheila didn’t bother to unfold the pamphlet. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“You want me to go to rehab? In Oregon?”
Her friend nodded.
Sheila opened the brochure and read it quickly, the hysteria rising in her gut. She jabbed at the page with a hard finger. “Marianne, it says this an eight-week, in-facilit y program. I can’t do this. I have a job. I’m getting married in two weeks. I haven’t even talked to Morris yet.”
“Then the timing is
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