Lifelines: Kate's Story
Read Lifelines: Kate's Story Online
Authors: Vanessa Grant
Tags: #murder, #counselling, #love affair, #Dog, #grief, #borderline personality disorder, #construction, #pacific northwest
LIFELINES
Kate’s Story
by
Vanessa Grant
Copyright
and License
First Edition –
Published By Muse Creations Inc
© 2013, Vanessa
Grant, Muse Creations Inc
Cover design ©
Angela Oltmann,
angieocreations.com
Internal flourishes
licensed from ©
bigstockphoto.com
This book is a work
of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents in this book are either
products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This book is dedicated
to
the special people who
are my lifelines.
One
J
uly
The
hand-carved doors of Madrona Bay’s log church swung closed, cutting off a
raven’s raucous cry. From her seat in the front pew, Kate Taylor smelled cedar
and fought a wave of nausea.
They
made coffins from cedar.
The
Reverend John Baxter stepped up to the scarred pulpit.
“David
Taylor will be sadly missed by us all,” he said. “Particularly his wife Kate
and daughter Jennifer.”
Jennifer
jerked at the sound of her name. Kate reached for her hand, but Jen refused the
contact and wrapped her arms tightly across her midriff.
“This
man was beloved of God,” said the pastor as he gestured to the coffin.
No,
Kate thought. Whatever was in that box, it wasn’t David.
Sarah,
on Kate’s right, whispered, “Hang in there. You can do this.”
She
wished she could pull away, like Jennifer.
I
hear David calling, but I’m standing wrist deep in tepid dishwater, irritated
by the urgency in his voice. Plastic scouring pad in my left hand, stubborn
baked-on roasting pan lumps. Today a client committed suicide.
“Kate!
Come here!”
“Wait
a minute!” I grab the decorative towel from the oven door and dry my fingers.
I’m
in the doorway to David’s study ...
“Breathe,”
murmured Sarah. “Just breathe.”
The
pastor surrendered the pulpit to Penny Graham, president of the Madrona Bay
Historical Society. The tears on Penny’s wrinkled face sent a sharp pain
shafting into Kate’s own throat. She thought of clients in crisis being checked
into the psych ward, and yearned to batter the walls with her fists until they bled.
“Until
the walls bleed,” asked David, “or the fists?”
“Either
... both.”
“Most
of you know David Taylor as the principal of Madrona Bay High School,” said
Penny. “I remember him as the boy who wouldn’t stop asking questions when his
grade five Social Studies class came to the museum. David loved the Pacific
Northwest. He was working on a creative non-fiction account of our first
settlers, entitled
Madrona Legacy
. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to
finish it.”
Kate
turned and saw Jennifer’s lips pressed together, strands of her black hair
trapped by tears on her cheek. Even in grief, Jen was visibly her father’s
child. She’d inherited his dark hair rather than her mother’s mixed brown,
David’s height instead of Kate’s rounded average stature. After the funeral,
they would go home together, but she hadn’t a clue what to say to her daughter.
If Jennifer were a counseling client, she’d know the words, but this was life
and the house rang with David’s absence.
She’ll
be going back to university soon.
I’ll
be alone.
Penny
stepped down from the pulpit. Her cane tapped on the hardwood floor as she
passed Kate with a sad smile.
Kate’s
turn.
She
stood.
Move.
One
hand on the back of the pew, one foot in front of the other. She tried to find
Jennifer and Sarah among the blurred colors, but the funeral morphed into a
wedding and she lost her place in time.
She’d
married David in this pioneer church. David, tall and thin in a gray suit, had
vowed eternal love. Right here—her feet faltered two steps from the pulpit—she’d
promised
until death do us part
while the ocean breeze whispered
outside.
Only
a few witnesses that day: David’s parents, Kate’s best friend from university,
and three of David’s fellow teachers. Kate’s mother hadn’t attended, and she
wasn’t here today.
The
congregation resolved into a blur of color around Jennifer, who glared at Kate
from the pew. Earlier, Kate’s nineteen year old daughter had proclaimed that
funerals were barbaric. The counselor in Kate recognized Jen's words as an
expression of grief, but she had been too wrapped in her own numbness to
respond.
Kate
spoke dry-eyed from the pulpit, because if she cried she would disintegrate.
“When
David and I talked about the future, we always imagined ourselves together:
attending our daughter’s graduation, her wedding, our first grandchild’s
christening ... together.”
Jennifer
looked away and Kate’s eyes filled with burning tears. She might not know what
to do for Jennifer, but she needed to make a promise to David.
“A
few days before David’s—before his heart attack, he finished the first draft of
Madrona Legacy
. He promised the book to the Historical Society before
the end of January, but now...”
“I
have your notes for the revisions, David. I’ll make sure
Madrona Legacy
is
delivered on time. I love you, darling.”
S
ix months
later - January
The
fan hanging from the ceiling of Kate’s office rotated slowly, circulating warm
air from the baseboard heaters as she introduced herself and handed Rachel
Hardesty a copy of her disclosure statement.
“Anything
you say to me is strictly confidential, with certain exceptions.” Kate had
spoken these words so often they required no thought, enabling her to study
Rachel as she spoke.
Her
new client stood five foot nothing, with blonde hair a smooth waterfall to her
waist. She looked Jennifer’s age, but she’d filled out the client information
sheet claiming she was twenty-nine and married to a man named Richard. She sat
in the leather chair furthest from the door with her legs crossed and hands
clasped over one knee as she watched Kate with guarded blue eyes.
“This
disclosure statement outlines the exceptions to confidentiality,” said Kate.
“Let’s read it together.”
“Don’t
bother.” Rachel glanced over the paper. “I’m familiar with the legislation
relating to client counselor privilege. I come from three generations of
Hardesty lawyers—Samuel Hardesty was my father.”
“Hardesty
is your maiden name?”
“My
only
name. I’m not about to give up the Hardesty name for a husband?
Give me your pen and I’ll sign this. Child abuse won’t apply, and I’ve no
intention of threatening anyone—including myself—with grave bodily harm.” She
scrawled her signature on the document and handed it back to Kate.
Conflicting
body language: smooth face and voice, tense hands.
Kate
placed the paper on her desk beside the picture she’d taken of David and
Jennifer at Salmonberry Point. She remembered David swinging eight-year-old Jen
up onto his shoulders. Jen had demanded daddy gallop like a horse, and Kate had
lifted her camera just as David turned back to share a smile.
Snap
out of it, Kate! Focus on the client.
She
concentrated on the pressure of the floor against her feet, the chair against
her back.
“Rachel,
why don’t you begin by telling me what brought you here, and what you’d like to
accomplish in our sessions.”
“You
need to talk to my husband. He’s emotionally abusive.”
Kate
leaned forward, making her posture open in contrast to Rachel’s hands, which
now gripped her tightly crossed knees. “If you want relationship counseling,
I’ll need to see you and your husband together.”
“Richard’s
the one who needs counseling.” Rachel released her knees and crossed her arms
in front of her. “I’ll tell him you need to talk to him. You’ve got to
understand about Richard. He’s angry, and this morning he—”
“Rachel,
you need to understand I won’t counsel a couple when I’ve previously seen one
of the partners for individual counseling. When I counsel a couple, both
partners hear and see everything that takes place in the sessions; neither is
at a disadvantage.”
“You
won’t see Richard?” her voice sounded little-girl, betrayed.
I
don’t want to deal with this woman.
Get
a grip, Kate. She’s a client. She needs your help.
“We can talk
about your relationship, explore changes you might make. When one person in a
relationship starts behaving in a new way, the other partner’s behavior often
changes in response.”