“They’re at gymnastics.”
His clipped tone put me instantly on edge. “You’re obviously ticked off over something, so let’s hear it.”
Miller waited until he had my full eye contact, his own gaze fiery and penetrating. “This afternoon Garrett told his counselor he quit.”
“Quit equine-assisted therapy?”
“Quit her, quit almost two years of hard work with someone who was making inroads. Quit a weekly practice that has probably saved his life more than once.”
“I had no idea.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.” I took a step back from his anger. “I would never encourage something like that.”
“You said you didn’t believe traditional therapy worked for everyone.”
“I stand by that.”
“Did you pass that belief on to Garrett?”
What kind of a moron did Miller take me for? “You know me well enough to know the answer to that.” His face said he wasn’t sure. And why did Miller have the absolute audacity to smell so ridiculously incredible? Was that cedar? Spice? Hot temper doused in some expensive cologne I probably couldn’t pronounce? “It would never be my recommendation that any of our clients quit counseling.”
“I told you I felt Garrett had enough going on with the farm and his current therapist.”
“You did.”
“And yet you assigned him to one of your groups anyway?”
“I didn’t recruit Garrett, Miller. He came to me and asked. Did you want me to turn him away?”
“I wanted you to discuss it with me.”
The unabashed arrogance of this man. Was he seriously this much of a micromanaging control freak? “You didn’t tell me I had to clear every client with you. Is thismytherapy program or yours?” I’d been silent for so long—through my breakup, through years of being treated like I wasn’t good enough. Now this? It was too much. My anger was a subway leaving the station, building speed and ready to run over anything that got in its way. “Just what exactly is this about?”
Miller stepped closer. “Garrett is like a brother to me. He’s in a bad place and easily manipulated and overwhelmed.”
“How dare you even suggest—”
“He moves on from one shiny thing to the next. Last year it was painting for a few months, at Christmas it was meditation.”
“All those things have value.”
“But with each new interest, he drops the constants in his life, the things that are working. Two weeks into meditation he’d taken himself off his meds, and we found him contemplating a dive off the Lake Leatherwood dam. He spirals quickly, Hattie, and he needs consistency.”
“I can’t discuss his case with you, but I can tell you today was important. I know the signs of progress, and I saw it.”
Miller stared at a spot over my head, where he probably saw my sisters eavesdropping. “If Garrett doesn’t return to therapy,” he said, “I’m shutting your program down.”
“What?” I imagined the shop stocked with thousands of books, and every one of them flying off the shelves and giving Miller a million paper cuts. The shallow ones that snagged and could make a grown man cry like a baby. “This isn’t some offshoot of your company in San Francisco. This is my practice. A government grant funds me—not you.”
“At my farm.”
“I’ll find somewhere else.”
“And your grant pulls their money.” Miller’s mouth tightened. “I’ve read the contract a dozen times. I called the Department of Veterans Affairs to verify.”
What I wanted was for Miller to hop on one of his green tractors and keep on driving. “Garrett’s actions are his own. I don’t advise clients on anything but their interactions with horses. I’ll talk to Garrett tomorrow, but that’s all I can promise.” I pointed a jerky hand toward the door. “The exit’s to the left. Don’t get lost on your way out.”
