Back in Service. Isabel Sharpe

mouth more suited to lazy smiles and lingering kisses than sneering and barking orders. Totally wasted on him. He must hate that mouth every time he looked in the mirror.

      All through elementary and middle school he’d harassed her pretty steadily, mostly egged on by his odious older twin brothers. In high school there had been fewer incidents, since Hayden and Mark had graduated, thank God. Senior year Jameson had whipped Kendra for class president, not because he’d run a brilliant campaign, but because she’d been eccentric, brainy and overweight, and he was a Cartwright. Every Cartwright sibling had been president of his or her class.

      “You know how our family is all in the military.” It wasn’t a question.

      “Air Force, right?” Pilots going back generations, most attaining high rank or managing to be heroes of one sort or another, at least according to the Palos Verdes Peninsula News, which had done a rather gushy piece on the family some years back that Kendra had skimmed and tossed.

      “Jameson did Air Force ROTC at Chicago University. He graduated last June with the Legion of Valor Bronze Cross for Achievement.”

      Kendra interrupted her who-cares eye roll. Wait, this past June? Kendra had graduated from UCLA and gone on to complete a two-year master’s program in counseling at California State by then. “He just graduated?”

      “It’s a family tradition to take a year off before college and travel in Europe. Jameson settled in Spain and...sort of took two. Anyway, after college, he finished basic officer training at Maxwell Air Force Base, a distinguished graduate for top marks in test scores and leadership drills.”

      My, my. How lucky Kendra was that she’d never have to suffer the pain of being so utterly perfect.

      She entered Lena’s bright yellow kitchen, where Byron was already lying in his crate, tired out from his frantic exercise at the beach. Such a good dog. “Then?”

      “Then he was injured his first day of specialty training at Keesler Air Force Base, in Mississippi. He tore the ACL in his right knee and had to have surgery.” Matty’s voice thickened. “He’s back home in Palos Verdes Estates on thirty days of personal leave while he continues recovering enough to go back and recover some more.”

      “Tough break.” Why was Matty telling her this? Jameson needed a Scrabble partner? Someone to read him bedtime stories? Kendra closed Byron in his crate and blew him a kiss. “What do you need me for?”

      “He, uh...” Matty mumbled something. It was suddenly difficult to hear her, as if she was speaking through cloth. Kendra pressed the phone harder to her ear. “...accident...with a stray...”

      Kendra waited impatiently. Stray what? Bullet? Land mine? Grenade? “Sorry, I didn’t hear. Accident with a stray what?”

      “Cat.” She said the word sharply. “Jameson was injured tripping over a cat. On his way to dinner.”

      Omigod! Kendra clapped a hand over her mouth to keep Matty from hearing her involuntary giggle. Seriously? Not that she’d wish that miserable an injury on anyone—even Jameson Cartwright—but karma must have had a blast arranging that one.

      “What a shame,” she managed weakly, barely stifling more laughter. Latest Cartwright’s Journey to Hero Status Cut Short in Fierce Battle. Victim’s last words: I tawt I taw a puddy tat.

      “You can imagine what this means to a Cartwright.” Matty spoke stiffly. “This could end his military career before it even starts.”

      But how is the cat? Kendra couldn’t bring herself to be wiseass enough to ask. Though she couldn’t imagine in a million years making a statement like “You can imagine what this means to a Lonergan.” Like they were a rare and special breed of humans the rest of the world could barely comprehend. “I’m sure it’s been hard.”

      “It’s been awful.” Her voice broke, making Kendra feel guilty for being...catty—ha-ha. “Jameson is furious and severely depressed. I’ve called several times. He only picked up once and would barely speak to me. He won’t talk to the rest of the family at all. I don’t know if he’s eating or anything. I’ve never seen him like this. Can you help him?”

      Kendra’s laughter died in the face of Matty’s anguish. Depression was not a joke, no matter the cause. Kendra had been paralyzed for months after the sudden deaths of her parents mere days after her graduation from college. “How did you hear about me?”

      “I was talking to a friend whose friend recommended you. She said you get referrals from doctors and therapists and hospitals, that your work supplements whatever care they’re giving people in various stages of grief. That your methods are unusual but effective. Jameson won’t accept traditional talk therapy.”

      “No?” Oh, there was a big surprise. Cartwright men didn’t need some sissy talking out of their feelings. Why would they, when it was so easy to punch or ridicule someone and feel tons better about themselves?

      “We...weren’t exactly raised on sensitivity and openness.”

      Well. Kendra raised her eyebrows at the unexpected admission, and at the bitterness in Matty’s voice. At least she recognized that much. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to—”

      “I know what you’re thinking.”

      “You do?” She doubted it.

      “That Cartwrights don’t have any whining rights. That I’m being arrogant and overprotective looking for professional help for a guy who isn’t suffering from anything more than wounded pride. That he should get over himself and deal.”

      “Uh...” Darn. That was exactly what she’d been thinking. Except the last part. Telling a depressed person to get over it was not generally effective.

      “If it was one of my other brothers or my dad, I’d agree with you. There’s no way I’d ask you to try to help one of them. But Jameson is different.” Her voice softened. “He’s always struggled to fit in. I think life would have been easier for both of us if we’d been born into a different family.”

      Kendra blinked in astonishment. She didn’t know Matty at all, but Jameson? Struggling? He’d always seemed to fit the Cartwright mold to perfection—arrogant, entitled, self-centered...should she go on? “Huh.”

      “I know, you don’t believe me. But he’s different from the other guys in the family. And that’s why this is hitting him so hard. It’s worse than just losing out on his planned future. It’s like the final proof that he can’t cut it. You know? I don’t see it that way, and Mom...who knows...but you can bet Dad and my brothers do.”

      Kendra stood in Lena’s living room, phone pressed to her ear, having a very hard time processing this information, given that it contradicted everything she’d ever thought about Jameson.

      “I just know that I can’t help him right now, and while traditional doctors and therapists might, he won’t go, and he really, really needs help.”

      “What makes you think he’d let me help him?”

      “He...knows you.”

      Kendra gave an incredulous laugh. He knew her? He knew how to typecast her, he knew which buttons to push and he knew how to make her feel loathed and worthless. Thank God her parents had been psychologists and had taken time and care helping her through the pitfalls of childhood with her self-esteem intact. “Not very well. In any case, I’m pretty booked...”

      “Please, Kendra. I’ll beg if you want me to. You’re the first ray of hope I’ve had in weeks.” Matty sounded as if she was about to burst into tears. “I haven’t slept all night in so long I forget what it’s like.”

      Oh, geez. Kendra closed her eyes, torn between sympathy for Matty and her instinct telling her she wanted less than nothing to do with men like the Cartwrights ever again.

      “Just call him, Kendra. Talk to him. If you think I’m overreacting or it doesn’t feel right, then fine, you