Rock My Body (Black Falcon #4) (6 page)

“Oh my gracious, that’s an adorable name,” she says, and her heavy country accent makes me smile. “Well, Frannie, I hope you like your cottage. Dr. Shepherd allowed me to decorate it for you.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. I love the design of the place. Did you put the entire color scheme together?”

Kimmy nods enthusiastically. “I did. It’s my dream to be an interior decorator one day. I’ve been taking some online classes because there are no schools close by that specialize in that. I can’t afford to make the drive every day to one of the bigger cities, and I for damn sure can’t afford to live there, so online will have to do until I can save enough money to move.”

I study the young woman. She can’t be more than twenty, and yet, she clearly knows what she wants to do with her life and is already on a serious path to getting it. I’m envious of her, wishing I’d had her drive at that age.

“That sounds like a terrific plan.” I strain my neck to peek around the side of the house. “Which is the best way to get into the house? The back?”

Kimmy stuffs her phone and earbuds into the pocket of her skirt. “Come on, I’ll show you around. I bet you’re pretty anxious to meet everyone and get settled.”

“That would be lovely.” I follow her back through the door she just came out of, and we enter into a large library.

The grand ambiance that encircles the outside of the place doesn’t shy away from the inside one bit. Large wooden bookcases stretch along the back wall from floor to ceiling; every spare inch of the shelves filled with books. I take a deep breath and give myself another pep talk about maintaining my professionalism and not going absolutely gah-gah in front of this young woman. She might not understand my obsession with the written word.

Kimmy catches me staring and laughs. “It’s a lot of books, right? I’d never seen so many in all my life—not even in the libraries I’ve been in. Our towns around here can’t afford anything so extreme. We’re lucky to have three bookcases for the whole place—for every kind of book.”

“That’s a shame,” I tsk. “There’s nothing like getting lost in a fantastic story. No one on earth should be deprived of that.”

“I agree.” Wayne’s smooth voice coats the room, jerking my attention to him. “Sorry, ladies, I didn’t mean to intrude, but I was passing by and overheard your last statement, and I couldn’t help but get excited right along with you. It’s a shame that small towns like this get deprived of a decent library.” Wayne turns to direct his attention to Kimmy. “Since I’ve caught you, do you mind preparing a room in the men’s wing? I’ve just received an urgent request for program enrollment, and our new client will be arriving tomorrow.”

She folds her hands in front of her and nods, almost giving off the impression of a slight curtsy, saying, “Right away, Dr. Shepherd,” before she hustles out of the room.

I stare after her, and Wayne catches my attention when he speaks. “Bright girl.”

“She is,” I quickly agree.

“You don’t find many employees like her nowadays; smart, kind, and obedient. She follows every rule I set here to a ‘T.’”

My mind drifts back to all the previous jobs I’ve held and how many times I’d screwed off—cutting corners and sneaking time off when I could. I was definitely not the model employee that Kimmy appears to be. Wayne’s probably right. Finding someone like her is very much like finding a diamond in the rough.

“I trust you found your living quarters agreeable?” Wayne walks over to the bookcase and rearranges a couple of books on the shelf, like he couldn’t stand them being out of order. “If you have any additional requirements, please let Kimmy know. She can arrange to get anything you may need.”

“Really, Wayne, everything is perfect,” I reassure him.

He turns to me and extends his elbow to me, reminding me of an old movie, where the classic hero, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, escorts the heroine around. I’ve always been infatuated with the idea of finding a classy man like that.

I hook my arm in his and allow him to lead me through the door of the library into the main hall of the house. Deep mahogany wood covers the floor, while the crisp white walls lighten the entire space. Black and white portraits of different people are spaced evenly apart and one photo of a young woman with long dark hair catches my attention. Although I can’t see her face, the sag in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she stares at a vacant field tells me she’s unbelievably sad.

“That’s one of my favorites. There’s just something about her body language that draws me in and makes me wonder what she’s thinking.”

I nod in agreement. “Yes.”

“I believe hanging photos that represent the possible feelings of our clients shows them that they aren’t alone—that everyone feels sad from time to time. You’ll find that we have them all over the main house.”

From there, Wayne continues the tour through the front parlor and then on to the kitchen, where a heavy-set woman with a deep tan and dark hair pulled up under a hairnet is buzzing around. Her tiny button nose compliments her dark brown eyes which are currently fixed on the cake she’s decorating. With a few swift motions of her hand, she creates a tiny red rose and then attaches it to the cake.

“That’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to do that,” I say.

The woman glances up and smiles. “Thank you. My mother taught me.”

“Dr. Mead, this is Sue, our head chef here at Serenity, and the best baker I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting,” Wayne introduces us.

I release my arm from Wayne’s and begin to extend it toward her, but remember that she’s cooking and think better of it. “It’s nice to meet you, Sue.”

“You, too, Dr. Mead.”

“What’s on the menu tonight, Sue?” Wayne asks.

“Steak with mashed potatoes and green beans, and of course, chocolate cake for dessert,” Sue answers.

“Sounds fantastic. I’m looking forward to it.” Wayne turns to me and extends his elbow again. “Shall we?”

Wayne sweeps his arm toward the door on the other side of the kitchen. Before I follow his direction.

“Aloha, Dr. Mead,” Sue replies, alerting me to the fact that she’s of Hawaiian descent.

We move into an elegant dining room with a table that appears big enough to seat twenty. A grand fireplace sits off to the left side of the table, and it’s tall enough for me to walk into, if I wanted. The place settings have been arranged like something from a fine restaurant.

“This is impressive,” I tell Wayne. “I would never have pictured all this for…”

I don’t finish my thought because I don’t want say the wrong thing and offend Wayne.

“A rehab facility?” He lifts an eyebrow and grins.

I shrug. “Yes. I mean, this setup could rival some of the best restaurants in the world.”

“Thank you. We pride ourselves on making sure our clients are well taken care of. When they come here to detox, it’s not the most pleasant thing to go through, but we try to comfort them by making things nice, allowing them only positive things to focus on while they are here.”

Wayne pulls out a chair to the right of the head of the table. “Please, sit. The clients will all be here shortly, and we can get started with introductions.”

A few moments later, the sound of laughter comes rolling in from outside the room. It’s not exactly the mood I expected from a group of people struggling from an array of addiction issues. The first person through the door is a tall, statuesque blonde, with a model face and legs to die for. Everything about her, from her boobs to her eyebrows, couldn’t be more perfect if they were drawn on. Second to arrive is a very handsome man with a broad frame and blond spiky hair. The two of them are smiling, and it makes me think they are the ones I heard laughing just moments ago. Behind them follows a short, balding man with a beer belly who doesn’t appear quite as jovial as the two who preceded him. A few more women and men follow in after that, and each and every one of their curious eyes land on me; wondering who I am and what I’m doing here, I’m sure.

Wayne stands as the new group joins us at the table, each taking a seat. “By the sounds of it, it appears you all enjoyed your day out.”

“Oh, we did,” the blonde says, and then directs her attention to the spiky haired man who came in with her. “Randall ensured we all had a great time.”

Randall stiffens his back and directs his gaze at Wayne. “Everyone had fun at the fair and was on their best behavior. It was a nice change of pace to get out of here for a while.”

“Good, good,” Wayne praises before turning to me. “This is Randall, our activities director.”

I return the smile that Randall shoots me with one of my own, as I’m ecstatic to meet another one of my new co-workers.

Wayne clears his throat and addresses everyone who is now seated at the table. “I’m sure you’re all curious as to the new face in the room. This is Dr. Francine Mead. She’s the new addiction therapist here at Serenity and will be meeting with some of you individually and hopefully develop a relationship whereby she can assist you with your recovery process. I’ll ask that each one of you show her the same respect that you show me.”

Everyone around the table listens to Wayne intently and they nod in all the appropriate places.

The blonde is the first to speak. I can already tell she is the type of woman who is used to having all the attention in the room. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Mead. I’m Josie Sullivan. You might’ve heard of me? I had a hit single called ‘Working on a Star’ a couple of years ago.”

My lips pull into a tight line as I root through the limited pop music catalog I have listed in my head. I haven’t had time for much more than studying and spending my time with men. Keeping up on the latest top forty hits hasn’t been exactly high on my priority list. I primarily only listen to alternative music.

I grimace. “I’m not much of a music lover, but I’m sure it’s a lovely song.”

Her expression borders on shock and confusion and then she turns to Randall. “Where did Dr. Shepherd find this one? Under a rock?”

“Josie,” Wayne warns. “Please refrain from insulting the staff. You, better than anyone else, know the rules at Serenity.”

Josie nods quickly, and I get the feeling this isn’t her first visit to Serenity. “I’m sorry, Dr. Shepherd. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” Wayne unfolds the pressed cloth napkin at his place setting and uses it to cover his lap just as Sue comes into the dining room, pushing a small metal cart with a huge bowl on it. “What kind of soup do we have today?”

“It’s a chilled strawberry. I think you’ll like it,” Sue replies as she begins to ladle a portion into each person’s bowl.

The moment the spoon touches my lips and I sip its contents, I fight back the urge to moan. “This is spectacular, Sue.”

She smiles at me. “Thank you, Dr. Mead.”

The rest of the dinner goes on with small talk taking place between the clients while Wayne interjects every now and then. I learn that most of them have been here for quite some time and were very comfortable stating what they are addicted to, talking very candidly about it.

After it’s all over, Wayne escorts me back to my cottage, and I’m still reeling at how open the clients are. “They all seemed to have made wonderful progress. I’m simply amazed at how open they are about their addictions. That’s always the first step, admitting they have a problem, but then to be able to talk about it so freely and share their struggles is above and beyond.”

Wayne nods. “They don’t come here that way, let me assure you. Most come here headstrong and reluctant, adamant they don’t have a problem, and that everyone else is just too uptight or meddling in their business, so it takes time for them to come around. We hold a lot of group sessions, encouraging that openness. Eventually, they become more comfortable sharing with us and others around them. Unfortunately, most of their support systems at home hinder more than help their recovery, and more often than not, we end up seeing them back here.”

“That’s a shame—to see all that progress wasted.”

He sighs. “It is. I always have to remind myself that we can only do so much here. Ultimately, it’s up to them to remain clean and sober with a positive outlook, and remain open about their feelings and their struggles to those around them.”

We arrive at my stoop and I pull the key from my bra. Wayne raises his eyebrows and I merely shrug. “No pockets.”

He laughs. “I see.”

Once I unlock the door, I turn to him and say, “Thank you for walking me. What time do you want me to start work tomorrow?”

“Eight sharp. We have a new client coming in the morning, and I would like to go over his case file with you before he arrives. Everything we have on the clients is electronic. I’ll email your password to access the system so you can look over it at your leisure. I would like for you to take the lead with this one, but I’ll be here to help you in any way I can.”

I lift my chin, proud that he trusts that I’m ready to jump right into the fire and counsel the new client. “Sounds great. I’ll wait for your email.”

“I’ll send it over as soon as I get back to my office. Goodnight, Frannie.”

The rest of the evening, I wait on Wayne’s email. When I hear the familiar ding of a new message while brushing my teeth, I finish up and rush to the open laptop on my bed to check it.

It contains all the proper passwords and links to access all the clients’ files, as well as the information on the client we are expecting tomorrow.

Tyke Douglas, the bass player for the rock band, Black Falcon, will be arriving via private transportation tomorrow morning. Tyke has been enrolled by his twin brother, Trip, with Tyke’s permission. The client has had two DUIs in the past year, and reportedly has issues with prescription and recreational drugs as well.

I tap my bottom lip, curious about the guy, wanting to know more than the small report on the client tells me. I quickly minimize the screen and pull up Google, typing Mr. Douglas’ name into the search engine along with his band’s name. Within seconds, mug shots pop up on my screen, along with the tabloid reports on the downward spiral of Black Falcon. I flip through more photos and come across one where his eyes are closed as he strums a guitar while wearing a sleeveless shirt, displaying his vast array of tattoos perfectly. While his body appears to be absolutely banging, I’m stuck on the sadness on his face—like he’s completely lost in the song he’s playing.