The New Husband(36)
“Why was that? I thought you were worried about the kids, how people would react?”
Nina had an answer at the ready, because she’d analyzed that one long ago.
“I guess when you shine light into the dark,” she said, “you see it for what it really is, and it loses all power over you.”
CHAPTER 20
The Davis Family Center was located in a neocolonial home with white clapboard siding, green shutters, and three dormer windows poking out of the roof. The middle window looked into Nina’s cramped new office, where she had a desk, a phone, and a metal filing cabinet. There was no room for comfy chairs like those in Dr. Wilcox’s office, but all personnel had access to the conference room on the first floor. Nina didn’t have to handle billing, client intake, or a host of other duties, so she could focus on helping those in need to “achieve the maximum each day and successfully face life’s challenges”—the center’s motto.
She had a boss—sort of—a pleasant woman in her sixties named Rona Wosk, who had an affable smile, rosy cheeks, and a hands-off approach to management. Rona described her role as a facilitator. She would assign cases to Nina, help push through bureaucratic obstacles, and request updated status reports. For the most part though, Nina would be a solo operator.
Rona gave Nina a brief tour of the office, helped get her set up with opening-day paperwork, and introduced her to the other therapists, social workers, and mental health professionals who used the center as a home base for their private practices.
As a collective, The Davis Family Center offered a full spectrum of services, including family counseling, divorce and coparenting support, LGBT support, and substance abuse assessment.
Nina spent the morning meeting and greeting, signing documents, getting her email running on the company-provided laptop, and reading through various company policies from the human resources department (a department of one). Rona assured Nina she’d be given a decent-size caseload, one that wouldn’t be overwhelming, and her ramp-up period would be a gentle one.
On her way out, Rona hesitated in the doorway of Nina’s new office. “We’re so happy to have you with us and we have all the confidence in the world in you.” She paused, a thoughtful look coming to her face. “We know you’ve been through your own ordeal, but trust me when I say you’ll do just fine here.”
Nina thanked Rona for the encouraging words and hoped her faith wasn’t misplaced. She had religiously completed her required forty hours of continuing education each year, doing some of her coursework at home and some in seminars and workshops. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about her profession since Maggie was born, but still, she did feel a bit like the Tin Man in need of oil.
She spent most of the morning refamiliarizing herself with New Hampshire family law. Rona had told Nina her first assignment would be a custody case, helping a judge make the determination for two children, ten-year-old Chloe Cooper and her eight-year-old brother, Chase. It would be her job to get to know the parents as well as the children. She had to understand the issues within the marriage, analyze the behaviors, and ultimately determine, in a neutral and objective way, what was in the best interests of the children—a finding that would profoundly influence the judge’s decision.
“You’ll do just fine,” Nina told herself with a long exhale, echoing Rona’s words, though wishing she shared her confidence.
Near midday, Nina found her way to the bathroom, where she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She had tried not to feel self-conscious or fiddle with her hair during the day, not to tug, twist, and shape it into the original style Simon had suggested. If only Simon had gushed the way she had expected, she’d be quite happy with this new look. Even a tepid reaction would have been preferable to what had happened.
Nina returned to her desk, trying to put the haircut and last night’s disaster out of her mind. She skipped lunch to continue her reading on New Hampshire custody law.
At a quarter to two, her cell phone rang. It was Simon. Her heart sank a bit. He was probably calling to talk about what happened—hopefully to apologize, at least for part of the catastrophe.
It had all started when she had walked in the front door. She had expected a lot of oohing, aahing, and fawning over her new “do,” which she had gotten from Maggie and Connor, who both loved the fresh look. Maggie was especially complimentary and thought her mother looked younger and even more beautiful—her exact words. But Simon’s reaction was completely unexpected. It seemed he could focus only on the sides, which weren’t swept forward and angled, and the bangs, which weren’t cut straight. It was different than the photograph he’d shown her, and he’d even fetched the magazine to drive home his point. He had said it was no big deal, that she looked great no matter what.
Nina had been crushed, and later, when they were in bed together and the children asleep, she told him that his reaction had been hurtful and maddening. Simon was all apologies after that. He explained that he had been fixated on the cut from the magazine, so sure it would be perfect on her, but he’d never imagined she’d actually do it. The surprise clouded his thinking, and he needed a moment to adjust his expectations. He assured her, over and over again, that he loved it, that her hair was gorgeous, and apologized profusely for suggesting otherwise.
Nina wasn’t sure she believed him, but he kissed her neck in the right places to get her thinking she could accept his apology. His touch sent a shiver racing through her body. She tilted her head as his probing fingers found the perfect spot to massage. She breathed slowly, heavily, in response to an electrifying sensation as his fingers traced long lines up and down her arms.