Trevor's
last expression haunted Mercedes. Should she have pressed him? Had she avoided
the moment for her own comfort? Maybe to satisfy her own fears? Would that kind
of moment ever happen between them again? Trevor needed to face his demons and
it was her job to help him do so. She hadn't been honest and it bothered her.
Doubt
filled her. She wasn't a psychologist. She wasn't trained to psychoanalyze
anything, but was specialized training really necessary in Trevor’s case?
Obviously Dr. Whipple didn't believe it was or he wouldn't have assigned her to
Trevor's case with the strict instructions, 'Gain Trevor's trust. Only when he
trusts, will he open up and he must do so to fully heal.' The moment of truth
had arrived, but she had failed to have the courage to do what needed doing. It
had come at an unexpected moment.
She’d
followed Dr. Whipple's instructions to the best of her abilities and, in the
process, fallen in love with her patient. If Dr. Whipple knew of her foible,
he'd remove her from the case. She couldn't reveal her secret. She needed some
time to organize the cacophony of emotions racing through her in order to
congeal her thoughts and set boundaries where Trevor was concerned. She wished
the past few days hadn’t happened.
Trying to
distract herself, she rearranged the photos of Trevor on her laptop with the
magnifier at her fingertips; she carefully compared the muscle tone. Distracted
by the man rather than the muscle mass, she allowed her thoughts to linger, her
hands tingling with the memory of his flesh under her hands. If only… Her
imagination took her to forbidden thoughts. Feeling guilty she pulled herself
away and retired. Even so, her mind refused to rest.
She had
given herself over to Porsche's brand of behavior with disastrous results. A
few minutes of titillating fun may have cost her her future. Oh sure, she could
find jobs doing the usual therapy for patients recovering from minor accidents,
but that wasn't her big dream. Dr. Whipple had shared his vision of holistic
healing with physical therapy in the forefront. It had taken all of three
seconds for her to recognize that his exegesis evoked a dream she had suppressed
her third year at college. She wanted and needed to make a name for herself,
one her parents could be proud of, one she earned without their assistance.
Her dreams
for a bright career clashed with her dream of a man. Not just any man, but
Trevor. Her emotions swam, sinking into a whirlpool of chaos. Her head on the
pillow, the turmoil finally succumbed to sleep.
She and Porsche shared their favorite
treat, perfectly roasted marshmallows. But they weren't by the campfire; they
held the marshmallows in their hands roasting them in the oven. Dreams don't always make sense. She
allowed the moment to linger. Porsche shoved
a toasted confection in her mouth. ‘Take care of him. Heal his heart. Love him
for both of us.'
The sweet
farewell of the dream lingered after Mercedes woke, the early dawn of the
morning beckoning to her. Mercedes took the time to call home. Ilene answered.
"I'm
so glad to hear your voice."
"Mom,
I miss you. How is Porsche doing?"
"It's
been over three months now. Friends and neighbors have been generous and we are
using your father's IRA and will even get a second mortgage on the house if
necessary. Your father and I are meeting with the doctors today."
"And?"
Mercedes couldn't bring herself to ask the real question. September 3rd, that
had been the marker they had all, the doctors, her parents and herself, settled
on. A mile marker Mercedes had thought would never arrive. Today.
"Yes."
Ilene answered the question. "We'll make the final decision."
