Home Again. Joan Elliott Pickart

hungry and need a shower, so let’s get this show on the road.”

      “By all means,” Cedar said, rising from the chair. “Heaven forbid that you should be kept waiting now that you’ve graced us with your presence. Promptness is a virtue, Mr. Chandler. You’d do well to remember that.”

      “You had a long day, too, huh? I mean, you’re not exactly Miss Sunshine, Bethany. You’re a very attractive woman, but I bet you’d be even prettier if you smiled.”

      “Follow me, please,” Cedar said, walking past Mark toward her office.

      “Anywhere,” Mark said, then cringed when the receptionist glared at him over her shoulder.

      Nice, Mark thought, his gaze sweeping over Bethany as he trudged slowly behind. She had short, wavy blond hair, delicate features, and sensational blue eyes. Her navy slacks and pale-blue sweater revealed she had curves in all the right places. Oh, yeah, very nice. Except for the fact that she was a tad grumpy.

      They entered the doctor’s large, comfortably furnished office and Bethany motioned for him to sit in one of the two easy chairs fronting a mahogany desk. Mark sank into one of the chairs and propped the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other.

      She stared at him for a long moment, then walked slowly behind the desk to settle into a high-backed leather chair.

      “Mr. Chandler,” she said, folding her hands atop a file on the desk. “I’m Dr. Cedar Kennedy. Please be on time for your appointments in the future, and if that sounds stuffy, tough.”

      “Oh-h-h, hell,” Mark said, closing his eyes for a moment, before looking at her again. “You’re not the receptionist?”

      “No.”

      “You might have said something before I made a total jerk of myself,” he said.

      “But you were doing such a terrific job of it, I hated to interrupt.”

      “Okay, okay,” Mark said, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. “Could we start over? I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry I’m getting your plushy office dusty. That will probably happen again. Look, I need your help and Dr. Gibson, my personal doctor, said you’re the best in the business for dealing with my kind of problem. Will you help me? Please?”

      Cedar sank back into her chair and smiled at Mark Chandler. “I’ll certainly try,” she said. “Now then, why don’t you tell me why you’re here. Just let the words flow and I’ll take some notes as you speak. That way I can… Is something wrong? You’re looking at me so…so intently as though I suddenly grew a second nose or something.”

      “What? Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing that, but…I said earlier you’d be even prettier if you smiled, but that doesn’t even begin to cut it. Your face just lit up and your eyes actually sparkled. I’ve never seen eyes sparkle before. Are you wearing contact lenses?”

      “No, I’m not,” Cedar said, feeling a warm flush stain her cheeks as she digested Mark’s compliments.

      This will never do, she admonished herself. This rough-hewn hunk was throwing her totally off-kilter and that wasn’t like her at all, not one little bit. She had to regain control of this situation…right now. She was reacting to Mark on a personal level rather than a professional one, and that would never do.

      “Mr. Chandler,” she said coolly, “the clock is running and we’re wasting valuable time here. Shall we get down to business?”

      “You’re ticked,” he said. “Is there a rule that says a guy isn’t supposed to tell the shrink she’s a beautiful woman? Like I said, I’ve never talked to a shrink—ah, excuse me—a psychologist before. Could you give me a little slack on the protocol thing?”

      “Agreed,” Cedar said. “Now, tell me, why are you here?”

      He sighed. It was a defeated-sounding sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. Cedar leaned forward, encouraging Mark to talk.

      “I’m here because of Joey,” he said quietly. “He’s so damn sad and I can’t reach him no matter what I do. He’s got walls built around himself and he won’t let me get close to him. We can’t go on like this.”

      Cedar opened the file on her desk and wrote Joey on the paper inside.

      Who was Joey? she wondered, waiting for Mark to continue. From the pain in his voice it was obvious that Joey was very important to him. Dr. Gibson knew her specialty, so Cedar could hazard one guess as to who Joey was.

      “I’m sorry, Mr. Chandler,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a disadvantage. If she were here, Bethany would have had you fill out a form as a new client but I failed to do that. Normally, I would know who Joey is by reading that information. I’ll remember to give you the form after our session. Right now, why don’t we just talk? Are you married? Is Joey your son?”

      “No, I’m not married. Never have been. Joey is my nephew.”

      Hooray, Mark Chandler isn’t married, Cedar thought, then swallowed heavily. Where on earth had that reaction come from? Talk about unprofessional. And talk about out of character for her to be so focused on the physical attributes and marital status of a man she’d just met. This was absurd. She was just tired, that’s all. It had been a very long, busy day. Fine. She was okay now.

      “Your nephew,” she repeated, writing the fact on the sheet. “How old is he?”

      “Seven.”

      “Why don’t you tell me about Joey?”

      Mark sighed again. “He’s my sister Mary’s son. Mary and her husband, John, were killed in an automobile accident two months ago. Joey wasn’t in the car because he was spending the night at a friend’s house.”

      Cedar nodded and made more notes on the paper.

      “I flew to New York for the funeral and was there about three weeks taking care of legal matters. Joey spent a lot of time at the neighbor’s house during those weeks because I was very busy. Finally, though, I was able to bring him back here to Phoenix. I’m Joey’s legal guardian, you see.”

      “How did he feel about all that?”

      Mark shrugged. “He didn’t really react at all. He’s like a zombie. He hardly talks to me, spends most of his time alone in his bedroom, and just seems to be operating in his own little world where no one is allowed to enter. I enrolled him in school and his teacher called me in and said Joey doesn’t participate in class. He just sits there doing nothing, she said. I took him to Dr. Gibson to be sure he wasn’t sick or something and that’s how I ended up here.”

      “How well does Joey know you, Mr. Chandler?” Cedar asked.

      “Call me Mark. My sister and I were close, talked on the phone at least once a week, but I couldn’t get to New York much because of work. I visited for a couple of days last Christmas, but…Joey recognizes me when he sees me, but know me? I guess I’d have to say he doesn’t really know me if that means feeling comfortable with me, or trusting me. I’m just Uncle Mark who showed up once in a while.”

      “Do you feel comfortable with him?”

      Mark uncrossed his legs and shifted in his chair.

      “Not…really,” he said, a deep frown knitting his brow. “I don’t have a clue what to say to him about his parents, or even about something as simple as how his day went. Dinner conversation is something like ‘So, Joey, how’d school go today?’ and he’ll say ‘’kay’ and that’s it for the entire meal. Then he asks to be excused and spends the rest of the evening in his room until I tell him it’s time for a bath and bed.”

      “It sounds as though Joey has his emotions under lock and key,” Cedar said.

      “That’s a good way to put it,” Mark said, producing a small smile. “I’m doing a lousy