A Place Called Home Page 19

  Thea slid off the countertop. “I remember.” They traded places while she got out the dinnerware and he found the frying pan and set a kettle of water on to boil. They worked without conversation for several minutes. Mitch poured pine nuts onto a small tray and put them in the toaster oven. He gathered other ingredients as he remembered them.

  “So how did you know?” Thea asked suddenly.

  “Know what?” Mitch was frowning over the open cookbook. Before Thea could respond to his question, he asked her, “Can you get my glasses? They’re in my office on the drafting board.”

  She disappeared, returning with them more quickly than she would have guessed. “Here. Don’t strain yourself.”

  “Funny.” Mitch put them on and bent over the book again. “Okay, that’s a pinch of salt. I didn’t think an inch of salt could be right.”

  “My taste buds aren’t that uninformed,” she told him. “I would have noticed.”

  He grinned, straightened, and checked the toasting pine nuts. “What was your question?”

  Thea backed up to the other side of the table, setting the mats and bowls in place, before she answered. “How did you know I wasn’t ready? I said I wasn’t and you said you thought so. How did you know?”

  Still stirring, Mitch turned halfway toward her. “You never once put your hands on me.”

  Thea’s eyes dropped to the table. “Oh.”

  “It’s okay, Thea. You’re not ready ... you’re not ready.” Mitch turned up the flame under the skillet and waited a few moments before he added a tablespoon of butter. It sizzled and began to melt. He hit the button on the mini food processor and it finished chopping the onion pieces he’d put inside. “I noticed you’re not wearing your engagement ring. I probably made too much of it.” He emptied the finely chopped onion into the pan and spread it out with the tip of his spoon. With his free hand he reached for his beer and took a swallow. “Plus, I was smarting from the good guy comment and the fact that I’d let you write that check at the car dealer’s. Guess I thought I needed to show you I had a cock and balls.” He saw her blink and a light flush steal over her fair features. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” She knew her face was hot. “I know what they are and I know that you have them. I don’t know why I’m blushing.”

  “Because you’re a good girl.”

  “I don’t mean to be.”

  He grinned. “You can’t help it. Besides, I kind of like it.” Mitch turned down the gas under the onion while he cubed an eggplant and sliced a carrot into thin medallions and a red pepper into strips. He swept the colorful contents of his cutting board into the skillet, added more butter, and stirred. When he was satisfied, he searched for and found a baguette. He put it in the oven to warm. “Tonight, ma’am, at Ye Olde Cock and Balls, our special is spiced couscous with fruit and—dare I say it?—nuts.”

  Thea laughed. “Do you have any lemon?”

  “In the fridge.”

  She found it and cut a wedge for her water. “Do you want some?”

  “I’m sticking with my beer.”

  “Beer and couscous?”

  “It’s my restaurant.”

  “Okay.” She cleaned up around him, tossing a few of the things he was done with into the dishwasher, and the rinds and peels into the garbage disposal. “Look, it’s snowing.”

  Mitch glanced out the kitchen window. “So it is. Open the patio blinds so we can watch.”

  Thea drew on the cord of the vertical blinds and pulled them across the track. The flagstone patio and walk, both of which had been cleared, were now covered. She turned on the porch light. It wasn’t quite dark yet but the light still illuminated each individual snowflake. It was a mesmerizing dance from the moment they entered the arc of light until they fell to the ground. “Mitch?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I need to tell you where I was when Gabe and Kathy were killed.”

  Mitch’s stirring slowed. He looked over at her. She was standing at the window, her back to him. Her narrow shoulders were hunched as she hugged herself. It was a posture he didn’t necessarily associate with cold. This was something else, more of a withdrawal, even as she offered to share. “That’s up to you,” he said carefully.

  Thea turned slowly, her hands falling to her sides. “Are you familiar with Warwood Place?”

  He considered her question. “That’s not a Monopoly property, is it?”

  She smiled faintly. “No. Not Monopoly. It’s a clinic outside of Rapid City, South Dakota. At the foot of the Black Hills. Very exclusive. Very quiet.”

  “A clinic.”

  “Mmm. Rehab. Drug and alcohol.” She saw his eyes shift to his beer as if he wanted to sweep it off the counter and hide it behind his back. “I’ve made a decision not to drink right now, but that isn’t why I was there. I was abusing painkillers and tranquilizers. Pretty classic stuff. Something to keep me loose and something to keep me looser.”

  “Prescription?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t have to score illegally, if that’s what you mean. It’s like you said. I’m a hood ornament. Classy but not very functional.”

  “Jesus, Thea.” Mitch dropped his spoon, started to take a step toward her, thought better of it. She was no longer hugging herself but neither was she exactly open to him. What did he have to offer her anyway? She was pretty clear earlier about not wanting someone to protect her. In any event, it was a little late for that. “I didn’t mean any—”

  “I know,” she interrupted. “But it was a good description.” She gave a short laugh that was not entirely self-mocking, but actually hinted at some humor. “I wish I had thought of it.” She pointed to the skillet. “Don’t burn our dinner.”

  Mitch automatically turned back to the meal preparation and went through the motions while his thoughts spun in a completely different direction.

  Thea sat at the table and sipped her water. “Not many people know about my addiction,” she said. “Gabe knew. He was the one who called me on it. Kathy sat with him while he told me I was a druggie. I think it might have been the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d never looked at me that way before. I did the usual. Denied it. Told them they were crazy. Said I didn’t really need the pills; that I could give them up. In a moment of complete insanity I tossed a full bottle of Xanax in their kitchen sink and ground them up, just to show them I could. Of course, on the way home from their house I was on the phone to my doctor to get a refill.”

  “He did that for you?”

  “She. Not that gender matters. I had several doctors, Mitch. Dr. A didn’t know about B and C, B didn’t know about A and C, and so on. Some of them wouldn’t have cared anyway. Besides, you can always find one who will do what you want if you’re willing to walk. I was willing. If they wouldn’t? Screw ’em. I found someone else who would.”

  “Shrinks?”

  “Sometimes. It didn’t have to be.”

  “How long?”

  “How long have I been using?” Thea saw him nod. She watched him pour boiling water into the bowl of couscous before she answered. She didn’t want to be responsible for him scalding his hands. When he put the kettle back on the stove, she said, “Off and on since I was eight.”

  Mitch’s hand jerked as he pivoted to face her. “You’re kidding, right?” He knew immediately it was a stupid question because he could see that she wasn’t. Holy Judy Garland, Batman. He didn’t even know he had spoken aloud until he saw her face go slack with surprise and then crinkle with laughter.

  “Oh, Mitch, you really have no sense of the gravity of a moment, do you?” Thea dabbed at her eyes with one corner of a napkin. “Thank God. Rosie says I need to stop taking myself so seriously. I know she’d approve of you.”

  Mitch added ground coriander and a pinch of salt to the vegetables in the skillet, then tossed in raisins, chopped dried apricots, and the roasted pine nuts. “Who’s Rosie?”

  “My sponsor. I go to NA meetings. Narcotics Anonymous. And AA meetings wh
en I can’t find or make an NA. I went to one this morning before I drove here. It’s part of the rehab aftercare. I see a counselor, too. Someone associated with the clinic, but local. It’s a little bit like having a probation officer. I also agreed to random drug testing. Completely voluntary, since there were no charges in my case. It helps keep me honest.”

  “You’re tempted?”

  “Every day,” she said. “Several times a day. Sometimes several times an hour.”

  Mitch sliced three tablespoons of butter, added them to the warm couscous and worked it through with a fork until it melted and the grains were fluffy. He turned off the gas and emptied the skillet mixture into the couscous and stirred. “Ready.” He carried the bowl to the table, set it down, and then removed a baguette of French bread from the oven, tore it in half, and put one half on a small serving board. Almost as an afterthought he picked up his Corona. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” Her eyes followed him as he sat down across from her. “You’re not going to get all weird on me every time you have to take an aspirin, are you?”

  “I’ll try not to,” he said dryly. Mitch realized he forgot the serving spoon for the bowl and got up to get it. “You first.” He pushed the bowl a little in her direction.

  “It smells delicious but I don’t trust a cook who won’t sample his own wares first.” She grinned when Mitch started to pull the bowl back. “I’m kidding. Tear me off a hunk of that bread, buster. Feeeeed me.” Her imitation of the man-eating plant in Little Shop of Horrors wasn’t too bad, or at least Mitch was polite enough to laugh. He also drew back his hand quickly, proving he knew what Audrey II was after.

  Thea filled her bowl and didn’t wait for Mitch to serve himself before she tucked in. “Oh,” she said around a mouthful of food. “Oh, yes. This is very good. Just the right amount of coriander and I’m tasting every one of those butter pats I saw you toss in.”

  “I tried it with oil before but it didn’t have enough flavor.”

  “It’s perfect now.” She felt his eyes on her and froze, her hand and fork halfway to her mouth. “What?”

  “You enjoy your food.”

  “Yes, I do.” She put the forkful in her mouth and chewed with exaggerated relish. “More so since I left rehab. Seems as if I have time now.”

  The reference to rehab sobered Mitch. “How did it happen, Thea?”

  She understood the question. “I was a neurotic child. Nervous. Worried. Afraid of most everything: snakes and sticks. It was as if I couldn’t distinguish what could and couldn’t hurt me. Everything seemed a threat to me. My parents politely referred to it as being high-strung.” She saw his puzzled look. “I’m talking about the Wyndhams. I don’t really remember the Reasoners ever mentioning it, but I was sick with the renal problems then, and I was very young, so perhaps that’s why.”

  Or perhaps she’d just felt safe with the Reasoners, Mitch thought. He said nothing, figuring that’s what she had a counselor for and just listened instead. He tore some bread for himself and ate it with the couscous.

  “Mother decided it would be a good idea if I saw her psychiatrist. She was on antidepressants so the idea of medicating me didn’t give her pause. I tried a cornucopia of meds from that time until I left for college. It wasn’t a steady diet. More like supplements. After a while you get the idea they’re like vitamins. I’d be on for a while, off again, and then Mother and Daddy would see signs I was regressing. Nightmares. Stomach and back pain. Crying spells. Things like that. Before I knew it I would be trotted back to the doctor for another round.” Thea’s voice deepened dramatically and took on the self-important resonance of a newscaster. “High-strung or strung out? You decide.”

  Mitch’s mouth twisted to one side. He regarded her inquiringly. “So I guess the therapy wasn’t working.”

  “Therapy? I was seeing my mother’s psychiatrist. His practice wasn’t children. He saw me for ten minutes and listened to a list of complaints from my mother before he scribbled something on his pad. When someone asked how I felt I rattled off a list of physical symptoms. It’s what I understood and could talk about. That led to more tests and pain meds ... eventually to other meds.”

  “How did you meet up with Gabe again? You never told me.”

  Thea took another bite of food. It was interesting to her that she could sustain her appetite and still talk about these things. It used to be that thinking about one shut down the other. “Gabe and I met at dance classes when we were eleven. We had the same instructor.”

  Mitch almost spewed couscous. “Gabe danced?”

  “Mmm. He was good.”

  “He was built like a linebacker.”

  “Before puberty he was a ballet dancer. Even afterward.”

  “Now I understand why he never told me.” Mitch shook his head, trying to take it in. “Gabe Reasoner, a ballerina. That’s great.”

  “He was not a ballerina.”

  Mitch waved that aside. “So you met again at classes. Wasn’t there a problem with court orders? I thought the Reasoners weren’t supposed to be in contact with you.”

  “My parents didn’t know Gabe was in my class. They didn’t know that his mom, or sometimes his dad, sat with the other parents while we all practiced. They didn’t know we found each other again because my parents never took me to lessons. I rode the bus into town alone or was dropped off. Seeing the Reasoners once a week was our secret for a lot of years.”

  And holding on to it had kept her stomach in knots and her nerves frayed.

  Chapter 8

  Mitch wanted to know more. A lot more. He was also aware that Thea had told him what she thought was important. She probably would have been satisfied telling him that she was an addict and leaving it there. That information alone put a lot of things in perspective.

  Thinking of the secrets she had kept as a child, Mitch asked her, “Who knows about you?”

  Thea was quiet a moment. “It’s a pretty short list. Gabe and Kathy knew, of course. Joel knows. I’ve told Hank Foster, the partner at—”

  “I’ve met him. I know who he is.”

  “Right. I forgot. I just got around to telling Mrs. Admundson. She’s my administrative assistant. She and Hank have only heard about this since I came back. Mrs. Admundson wasn’t shocked. She’d worked too closely with me not to suspect something. Hank, though, almost fell out of his chair.” She made a small shrug. “Now there’s you.”

  “Your parents?”

  “They’re in Greece right now. They’ve been in Europe since early December. I called them before I went to the clinic, tried to explain, but my mother mostly seemed interested in making certain I knew it wasn’t their fault. I think it was a relief she could remind herself that we don’t really share the same gene pool.” Thea’s chuckle was soft. “Growing up, we settled the nature/nurture argument by agreeing that if I achieved something of note it was nurture. If I failed, it must have been in my nature.”

  No pressure there, Mitch thought.

  “The thing of it is,” Thea went on, “I don’t blame them, or at least I haven’t for a very long time. There are lots of things I wish had been different, but I have some responsibility in that, too. I wasn’t quite the daughter they wanted, and they knew from the beginning I didn’t want to be anywhere but with the Reasoners. The wonder of it is that we made it work—after a fashion.”

  “Cheery,” Mitch said wryly.

  “Yes, well, we had our moments. My parents were doing the best they could, and I think more clearly about them when they’re an ocean away.”

  Mitch laughed. He took a second helping of the couscous. “Maybe you could convince my folks to take a tour of the Continent,” he said. “Or at least leave the commonwealth. It might improve my perspective.”

  She frowned, trying to gauge his seriousness. “You’re kidding, right? Your parents are—” Thea stopped, searching for the right descriptors.

  “Interfering?” Mitch supplied helpfully.

  “Interested
and involved.”

  “That’s nice, Thea. Really. Even my mother thinks she’s interfering.”

  Thea smiled because there was no mistaking the affection in Mitch’s voice. “You love her, though.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s a given. Ask my sister. Mum doesn’t give you any choice.”

  Thea thought there was probably a grain of truth in that. Jennie Baker could steamroll over you with affection, but what a way to go. “So how is it that she hasn’t married you off?”

  Mitch’s head was bent slightly toward his meal. Now he raised only his eyes, looking at Thea over the rims of his glasses. He pointed his empty fork at her for emphasis. “Classic mother dilemma. She wants grandbabies but no woman is good enough for me.”

  “You are so full of it,” Thea scoffed.

  “God’s truth. She’s had a problem with every woman I’ve dated since I turned twenty-one.” He regarded Thea with an expression of complete innocence. “Can you imagine? Even Gina. What could she possibly find objectionable about Gina?”

  “You’re right,” Thea said dryly. “Gina is young enough to be your mother’s grandchild. You’d think she’d be pleased by that. Then there’s the fact that she’s in her prime child-birthing years.” The look of terror that passed over Mitch’s face wasn’t entirely forced and Thea enjoyed it immensely. “Obviously a factor you hadn’t fully considered.”

  Mitch swallowed. “I appreciate the heads-up.”

  “No problem.” Thea pushed aside her bowl and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “It seems to me that Emilie, Case, and Grant have solved your mother’s dilemma. You have children without having to submit a woman to her for approval. The pressure’s off.”