Chapter 25
Red was so furious she could hardly drive.
How dare Sam treat her this way.
Oh, he might look like he had his act together. He was doing an amazing job running the wine consortium. But she knew better. Beneath that effortlessly seductive exterior, that square jaw softened by the requisite, lumbersexual stubble was an arrogant narcissist who didn’t know the first thing about how to love.
Every callous thing he had ever done came back to her. Like how he considered what they had simply a means to satisfy their basic, physical needs. How in the company of their friends he treated her no better than any other, random woman.
He was the last man on earth she should want as a partner.
To think of all the nights’ sleep she’d lost over him, going back to when they were just kids. Sam was one of the characters that had led her to go into psychology in the first place. To this day, she still couldn’t fathom how he’d willed himself not to cry that time he fell off the monkey bars and the bone was sticking out of his forearm. Or the time when he was at bat and that fastball broke his nose.
Red had yet to diagnosis George. He might have dementia, and then again, he might not. But after Sam’s outburst, she was inclined to do the opposite of what he wanted, professionalism be damned. It would serve him right.
* * * *
When Red got home, Grandma stood at the table, emptying Albertson’s grocery bags.
“I remembered who he is.”
“Who whom is?” asked Red with foreboding, rising wearily from picking up a wet leaf Grandma had tracked in.
“Sam Owens. He’s that boy who got his nose broke back when you were in ninth grade. The one you made me take to the hospital.”
Red hadn’t forgotten that incident. But from the way Grandma had acted—as if Sam weren’t good enough for her—she hadn’t been anxious to remind her.
“So?”
“You wouldn’t believe what I found out about him today,” said Grandma, closing the cupboard on a large box of Lipton Tea Bags.
Red didn’t know if she could take anymore bad news today. Her head was still pounding from her confrontation in the Woodcrest parking lot.
“I talked to your mama today. Wanted to tell her about that house you found.”
Red sighed. “If I had wanted to get Mom involved, I could have asked her months ago.”
Ignoring her, Grandma plowed ahead. “She gave me an earful. Did you know Sam has a sister by the name of Cindy about the same age as her? Cindy and your mama went to school together in McMinnville. Stayed friends even after they got out of school, until Cindy moved to Arizona.”
“How did you two figure this out?”
“I told her you were seeing this boy named Sam and then about that saltbox house you’re so excited about. But it was the strawberries that did it. She remembered the place. The chickens and everything.
“This Cindy always talked about this way littler brother of hers. She felt guilty not taking him in when her mom left, but she couldn’t stand to be around their dad. Psychodad, she called him. That’s how she left home…the mom, that is. The strawberry money.”
Red’s handbag fell to the floor with a thump.
No wonder Sam hated strawberries. She pressed her fingertips to her temples.
Grandma yammered on. “Haven’t you learned? Some men are beyond fixing. If you keep on being Suzy Sunshine, you’re going to end up going down the same road as your mama, and look where it got her: throwing away her life on one broke down man after another… Sophia. Look at you.” She frowned. “You’re soaking wet. Why, you’re shivering.”
“I’m going to go get out of these clothes,” Red said through chattering teeth. As cold and miserable as she felt, she was grateful for an excuse to get away.
* * * *
Red peeled off her clothes, wrapped her head in a towel and donned a bathrobe. Then she walked sedately over to her bedroom window, threw up the sash, and opened her mouth to scream.
Just in time, she snapped her mouth closed.
The worst part of being a shrink was not being able to vent in public. She couldn’t afford to scare away her clients.
She had to settle for a sigh.
She lowered herself to the edge of her bed.
Poor Sam.
Poor Sam? Where had that thought come from?
But in spite of her anger, her concern for him wouldn’t let go. She knew firsthand what it was like to lose your mother. At least she had had Grandma, however shortsighted she was. Sam had been stuck with a cold, uncaring father. No wonder he had issues.
Numb, she lowered herself to the edge of her bed, trying to make some sense of everything she’d learned. She should hate Sam, not feel compassion for him.
Maybe Grandma was right. Maybe she was attracted to fixing broken men, just like her mom.
Sam boded nothing but trouble. She should run from him as fast as she could. He was like a lion—proud, imposing, but ultimately, treacherous.
She fell back on her bed.
But he made her laugh with his stupid jokes. And that wasn’t all. She bit her lip. Whether in bed, a deserted vineyard, or anywhere else they happened to make love, in their most intimate he made her feel cherished. If she lost him, she’d spend the rest of her life making comparisons.
What was more, Sam wasn’t the only one who’d behaved badly. She’d used professional techniques to her advantage to get him to open up about his issues.
He’d given her no choice.
No. There was always a choice.
It wasn’t as if she’d tried to dupe him behind his back. She had asked for and received his permission.
But she was a psychologist; he wasn’t. And she’d used her professional knowledge to manipulate him for her benefit. She’d bartered sex for secrets.
He might be repressed, but she was unethical. Instead of acting like a professional, she had screamed at him. Called him crazy. A therapist never told anyone he was “crazy.” Psych 101.
She put her face in her pillow and screamed. Crazy was exactly what Sam Owens made her. Crazy with a capital C.
And now she was tasked with diagnosing his father. No matter what she concluded, her decision would have a far-reaching effect on Sam’s life.
A vision of Sam standing in the rain, yelling at her, came back to her.
“‘It’s all in your hands,’” he’d said. “‘You can’t let him go back there.’”
Or what? What was so important that he had to rush over to Woodcrest in the pouring rain to tell her?
She had lashed out at him, called him irrational. But he wasn’t always irrational. He was a natural leader who didn’t make a move that wasn’t well thought out. Despite his shadowy past, in two short years his dedication had inspired the respect of every grower and winemaker in the county.
There was something about that house. Something so painful it made him resort to outright lying…to her, of all people.
She’d been spending all her time trying to get others to talk. Now she was in desperate need of someone to talk to.