Page 42 of Issued
“No.” I hang up before my anger gets the best of me and I say something unnecessary to the woman doing her job. If only she knew the account might contain information to put away a murderous crime boss.
Luckily, I have all the information they requested. When I had to close some of my father’s other accounts the companies requested the same information. I’d made digital copies of the death certificate, obituary, and all the other standard paperwork, so it only takes me a couple of seconds to fire off the email to the internet service provider.
I slam the laptop closed and fall back against my pillows. I turn my head into one and scream. The jarring motion of screaming and beating my fists on the bed sends spikes of sensation through my broken arm, and I gasp, curling around it until Dad’s sweater is near my face, and my knees are drawn up nearly to my stomach.
Maybe the DVD will contain information to finally put away Marco and Santoro. Maybe this nightmare will finally be over and I’ll be able to live a normal life without always being scared of the monsters from my past finding me.
A soft knocking on my bedroom door draws my attention. Jim pokes his head in, a gentle smile on his face. “Just got home but we do have to head out so we can make the meeting on time.”
I jolt upright. In all of the excitement about finding my dad’s secret account, I’d forgotten all about our upcoming counseling session. I’d take that as a good thing.
My heart flutters when I look into his eyes and I want to ask about how his medical checkup went and what the doctor said about how his recovery is coming along. But he’s right. We need to get going to make our appointment with the IPP committee marriage therapist for our every-other-month check-in. “Be right down.”
Jim nods and ducks out the door. I tuck the slip of paper back into the pocket of my father’s sweater, then head downstairs. Jim and I hop into his truck and drive to our meeting. My stomach twists with anxiety from both not knowing what to expect when talking to the therapist and from having to wait to find out what my father had on the cloud drive.
Jim places his hand over mine, which is resting on the console. “How’s the arm doing?”
“Better.” I spread my fingers so his slip in between mine. “How’d your doctor’s appointment go earlier?”
Jim curls his fingers so he’s holding my hand. “Doc said I’m progressing well. Should’ve taken the meds sooner. Might’ve been back in the field already.”
I swallow hard. With the TBI, Jim’s been home—at least working at base—so I’ve never really thought about him going off to war. While I’m happy he’s getting better, part of me is worried about what it means. Worried about what happens—whatcouldhappen—if he’s cleared to return to active duty.
Inara’s question from earlier races through my mind. Am I in love with brash, take-no-shit, honest-to-a-fault, low-key, geeky, inherently sweet Jim? I stare out the windshield and continue holding his hand. He hasn’t changed his mind about the annulment, or at least he hasn’t communicated as much to me. But with each day that passes, my connection to him grows and my heart wants more.
I glance back over to my husband and my throat tightens.
Am I ready to bury another man I love?
When Jim parks the car and leads me up to the counselor’s office, I know I’m quieter than usual. The stress of the situation crawls under my skin and writhes in my gut. What had I been thinking, marrying a man I’d never met? And worse, developing feelings for him? Jim doesn’t want a wife. He wants a way to reclaim his career.
This counseling thing is just an exercise in futility. But we’re here now, so I suck in a deep breath and hold my head high as we enter the counselor’s office.
“Welcome, Jim. Taya, it’s nice to meet you both.” The middle-aged man with a thinning hairline, round glasses, and a soothing smile engulfs Jim’s hand between both of his, and then turns to me and does the same. He gestures toward a plump blue couch and upholstered chair. “Sit wherever you like.”
I sit on the left side of the couch while Jim settles to the right. Our counselor sits in an empty chair across from us, his searching gaze on me. “My name is Dr. Owens. And while I’m planning to start off with a few simple getting-to-know-each-other exercises, I sense a little tension between you, so why don’t we start with you both telling me how things are going so far?”
Crap.
Why couldn’t I have found the information for the cloud drive after our appointment because this is not the time nor the place to slip up and mention my past? Not with someone who reports directly back to the committee. Not when both Jim and I have so much to lose.
Dr. Owens adjusts his glasses and shoots Jim and me a pointed look. “The only way we’re going to make progress is if both of you are open and honest. This is a safe space. There’s no assigning blame here. No right or wrong. Only you expressing yourselves and listening to each other, finding better ways of communicating and connecting.”
Yeah, right. Withholding information about my father’s murder from the committee is definitely wrong.
Dr. Owens pushes his glasses up his nose before targeting me with a warm smile. “Taya, can you tell me how you are feeling?”
Of course I have to be the first to talk. Murphy’s Law be damned. Well, maybe there is something I can bring up. One I’m sure won’t get either of us in trouble because if I sit here silent, who knows if the committee might view that as a form of insubordination. So, I take a deep breath. “I’m frustrated. Jim was forced to enter the IPP program and this marriage. I thought I was being paired with someone who really wanted to make the marriage work.”
Dr. Owens nods and turns his attention to Jim. “Jim, does her statement accurately represent how you feel?”
Jim rakes a hand through his hair and shifts his weight on the couch. Then clears his throat. “My C.O. made it clear I needed to join this program if I wanted to get back to active duty.”
“And how did that make you feel at the time?” Dr. Owens asks.
“Trapped,” Jim blurts out. “Mad. I have—had—no interest in marriage.”
Dr. Owens nods. “Those seem like reasonable reactions to being forced into something as important as marriage. Is there a reason in particular that you had no interest in marriage?”
