Chapter Five: Romy
I get to group supervision early and make a few notes about the case I want to talk about. I met with Laura this morning at the shelter. She’s been there for a few days, but is considering going back to her husband. He’s never hit her, she says. Maybe it’s not domestic violence. Sure, he forces her to have sex with him if she wants the car keys or money for groceries, but that’s normal, right?
My hands shake and I clench my fists to steady them. Not for the first time, I wonder whether Jude was right about this internship hitting a little close to home. Alex’s words have been loud in my head today.
When I looked in the mirror this morning: Don’t wear that skirt. You want every guy around to stare at your legs? You look like a slut.
When I got behind the wheel (after changing into pants and then back into the skirt): Where will you be this afternoon? Who will you be with? You’re not cheating, are you?
When I realized I still had a bit of gray paint between my fingers: You’re going to spend time on that useless hobby instead of with me? Are you trying to avoid me?
It’s been months, and he still gets to whisper in my mind. “You don’t own me,” I whisper back. “I’m in charge.”
Fortunately, I’ve shut my mouth before Dr. Greer walks in. “Romy,” he says, nodding at me and smiling. “How’s it going at Sojourner?”
I ratchet an answering smile onto my face. “Good. I have my first client.”
“Well, as soon as everyone else arrives, we’ll get started.” He sits down at one of the chairs in the circle as Jude walks in, looking a bit frazzled.
He drops into the chair next to me and leans his head against my shoulder. He smells like CK One, a scent I associate with comfort and safety. I pat his cheek. “Rough day?”
He nods. Dr. Greer tilts his head and gives Jude a sympathetic look, then greets the other three counseling students in this supervision. Once we’re all situated, he asks who wants to get started, and Suzanne volunteers. She talks about a depressed veteran she’s working with at her placement, the local hospital clinic. We all listen and offer suggestions, and Dr. Greer asks her to consider whether the client is reminding her of her own father, who, as it turns out, is a Gulf War vet. After her, I talk about Laura, and fight the tremble in my voice as I describe how she’s considering returning to a man who basically rapes her in return for basic necessities.
“You’re angry at her,” Dr. Greer observes quietly.
I sit back in my chair. “Of course I’m not angry at her! I just don’t want her to do something so obviously bad for her.”
He stares at me for a few moments, and I remember when he showed up at Jude’s, wondering why I’d fallen off the face of the earth. I shiver a little as a cold sweat prickles the back of my neck.
“She’s ambivalent, Romy,” he says. “Of two minds.”
I sigh. “I know, but—”
He shakes his head. “You say you know, but let’s get concrete. What would she gain by leaving him?”
“A life free from control and abuse?” I fail to completely conceal the edge in my voice.
“I would hope so,” he says mildly, “but what would she lose by leaving him?”
I open my mouth to say “Nothing!” but then I think about it. “She doesn’t work. And he owns the house.”
Dr. Greer nods. “Does she have any skills? A college degree?”
“I don’t know, actually. I need to ask her.”
“Friends? Family in the area? Do they know what’s happening to her? Would they support her if they did?”
I bite my lip, and Dr. Greer’s eyes crinkle at the corners. He knows he’s got me. “Consider making a list of pros and cons in your next session with her,” he instructs. “You’re only thinking of the benefits for her if she leaves. But if she’s ambivalent and you argue only one side, she’ll push back with all the reasons she should make the best of it and stay. If you acknowledge both sides and explore that with her—without judgment—she’ll be better able to decide for herself.”
My cheeks are hot. He’s so right, and so gentle, and I feel like the most insensitive person in the world. “I want her to be safe,” I say, my throat tight. “I don’t want him to hurt her anymore.”
Jude wraps his arms over my shoulders. “You all right?”
I shake my head before I can think about it, and then I stop myself. “I’ll be okay.”
Dr. Greer gives me a look that says we’re talking about this later, then asks Jude if he’d like to present a case. Jude sighs and I move away so I can see his face. He gives me a cautious, almost apologetic look that I don’t understand, then starts to talk about his new client, Catherine.
“On the surface, it seems like she’s got everything going for her,” he says. “She works at the library part-time. She says she has friends, boyfriends sometimes. But she lives with her older brother, and … she’s scared of him.” His gaze flits in my direction again. “He doesn’t understand her. Tries to control her. Always wants to know where she is and who she’s with.”
As he goes on, I know why he was looking at me like that. The things this brother, whose name is Cabe, says to her … he may be her brother, but he reminds me of Alex. Criticizing what she wears, calling her constantly … my stomach turns as I listen. Finally, Jude stretches his legs out and shrugs. “I was thinking I should bring this guy in for a session, like a family meeting?”
I sit up like I’ve been poked in the ass. “What? Therapy is supposed to be a safe place, and you’re going to let him in? How will that feel to her?”
The other students look at me nervously, but Jude is used to me being blunt. He grimaces. “I know. But … I feel like I need more information. It’s hard, because she wouldn’t sign any releases to let me talk to her previous therapist or this brother or any of her other family members. She’s hard to pin down.”
“Maybe she doesn’t trust you yet,” says Suzanne gently. “You’ve only had one session with her, right?”
“I’d work on forming a solid alliance with this young woman before you seek more information elsewhere,” says Dr. Greer. “I’m not saying you don’t need it, but Suzanne is correct. She has to feel safe and trust you before you can move forward. Be patient. One of the easiest things to do in therapy is to rush things, but you’re in the free clinic, and that means there’s no insurance provider breathing down your neck. Build something good here, Jude. Don’t be complacent, but don’t push too hard, either.”
We move on from there, letting the other students have their turns, but I’m lost in a fog. What is wrong with me? It’s been months! I should be over this. In my whole life, I’d never been mistreated or abused, and it took only a few months with Alex to make me fall apart. Weak. I’m the opposite of what I want to be.
“You coming?”
My head jerks up. Jude is standing over me, looking hesitant. Supervision is over. “Um” is all I can think to say.
“Actually, Jude, I was wondering if I could talk to Romy for a few minutes?” asks Dr. Greer.
“Oh, sure,” he says, then bends and kisses my cheek. “Film festival on Saturday? Eric will make dinner for us before. Risotto,” he offers in a singsong voice.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
He grins and leaves, and I’m stuck. Dr. Greer pivots in his chair and faces me. “You were very honest with me last semester, Romy. I’m going to have to ask you to do that again now. How was your summer?”
I rub at an ache above my left eyebrow. “Relaxing. I spent some time at my parents’ cottage.”
“And now that you’re back? It can be hard to return to a place with so many reminders of what you went through last year.”
“I have a new apartment.”
He pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “That’s good. And Jude seems like a good support for you. Are you going to start therapy again?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I felt like I got a lot out of it, but …” I spent six months in therapy, and it was definitely helpful. But I don’t want to feel broken anymore.
“What else are you doing for yourself? How are you spending your free time?”
If anyone else asked me this, I’d push back. But Dr. Greer could yank me from my internship if he senses I can’t handle it, and I need to convince him I can. “I’m painting, actually. Taking a class at the co-op. Jude is doing it with me.”
He grins. “You paint?”
“I did, but I hadn’t in a while. I’m giving it another try.”
“Art is a wonderful therapeutic outlet,” he says, and I can tell he’s pleased. “I’m glad you’re taking self-care seriously. Good therapists know how to nurture themselves so they can truly be there for others.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I know. I’m trying. I-I mean—”
“It’s all right,” he assures me. “I simply wanted to check in with you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, I appreciate it.” I stand up, eager to escape. “I have another class.”
He waves toward the door, still smiling. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll see you next week. I look forward to hearing more about your painting class.”
A pair of wolf-gray eyes flashes in my mind, along with the memory of heat and the deep vibrations of Caleb’s voice. I let out a shaky, surprised laugh that causes Dr. Greer’s eyebrows to rise to the middle of his forehead.
My cheeks blazing, I say goodbye and scoot out of there as fast as my legs will carry me.
One more minute of this film and I’m going to claw my own eyes out. There’s little dialogue, and what’s said is in Icelandic, and it’s trying way too hard to be artsy—but to me it just looks cheesy. “Eric, I’m stepping out,” I whisper. “I’ll meet you guys out front when it’s over, okay?”
He looks down at me. “What’s wrong?”
“This one’s not for me, unfortunately. I’m fine, though. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Jude leans around Eric. “You want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. His hand is entwined with Eric’s, and I think they could use the time alone. They’re always inviting me places, but being the third wheel gets old. I get to my feet and edge my way to the aisle, trying not to stumble. The film festival draws hundreds, maybe thousands, every year, but the flicks are hit or miss. When I reach the lobby I feel like I’m surfacing after too long underwater.
The guy at the ticket counter gives me a look. “More people have walked outta that film than any other.”
“I’m not asking for my money back. No worries.”
He looks relieved. “Thanks. And sorry.”
“When’s it scheduled to end?”
He looks at his watch. “About ninety minutes to go. It’s a long one.”
Good Lord. I’m glad I left. I thank him and head for the door. The crisp evening air is exhilarating. I walk briskly up the street, taking in the window displays, heading for Lake Park a few blocks up, where I can sit by the water and enjoy the sound of the waves lapping against the retaining walls.
As I pass the drug store, a tall guy wearing a beanie and carrying a small plastic bag strides out, the bell clattering against the glass door as it shuts behind him. And when I see his angular face in profile …
“Caleb?”
He spins around quickly and his eyes go wide when he sees me. His fist clenches over the plastic bag. “Romy. Hey. I … hi.”
“Hi,” I say with a laugh. “How are you?”
His startled expression softens a bit. “I’m all right.” He looks over my shoulder and frowns. “You alone?”
“I left some friends at the film festival.” I wrinkle my nose.
“Are you escaping from the movie—or the company?” he asks. He shoves the plastic bag in the pocket of his jacket.
“Oh, the movie. It’s called Sorg.”
“What?” he asks, his lips twitching upward. “It sounds like a bad sci-fi.”
His bemused look is utterly adorable, and I find myself grinning. “I think Sorg is Icelandic for trying too hard.”
He snorts. “So you’ve fled from the movie theater to wander the streets.”
“Only for another ninety minutes.”
He pulls out his phone and checks the time. “It’s nearly midnight. You sure that’s safe?”
I rub my arms, suddenly cold. “I guess … maybe not.”
His gaze is on my face. So intense I can feel it. “I could keep you company for a while. If you want.”
Is he serious? Does he actually want to, or is he simply being nice? Because it’s probably the latter, I wave him off. “That’s okay. I’m sure you have somewhere to be.”
He winces. “I wouldn’t mind putting it off for a while.”
Now I’m the one staring. He’s shaved off all the stubble, so his cheeks are smooth, and I notice the tiniest of dimples in his chin. I suddenly want to poke it with my finger, to see what it would feel like. “All right,” I say. “If you don’t mind being waylaid.”
He gives me a rueful look. “Coffee?”
I inhale a sharp breath. Caleb’s own words echo in my head. You sure that’s safe?
No. “Yeah,” I say. “That sounds perfect.”