Forbidden Falls (Virgin River #9)(31)

“You seem in a very good mood,” he observed.

“So much better. Really, you can’t let yourself get tired out. It’s bad all around.”

“What kept you from sleeping the night before? Worry? Upset?”

“No,” she said, laying her roller in the pan. “Oh, I’m worried. I try not to let that take over, since worry isn’t going to help anything. But I had my kids with me.” Her eyes lit up. “I snuggled them all night, listened to all their sleeping noises, smelled them fresh out of the shower, and just couldn’t shut my eyes no matter how hard I tried. Knowing I wouldn’t see them for a week and probably wouldn’t get another overnight, I—” She shook her head. “Like a stupid ninny, I was up all night just holding them and watching them sleep. No wonder I wasn’t any good at taking them back on Sunday.”

And he thought, wait a minute! You have all the same problems! Nothing has improved just by sleeping! What the hell…?

“Are you all right?”

“I have a slight headache,” he said.

“Did you take something?” she asked.

“No. It’ll probably pass.”

“Then you must want to have a headache. Right?” she asked, lifting her pretty eyebrows.

“You actually look better without makeup. Without the big hair. And you’re not six feet tall, after all.”

“Please!” she admonished. “Nothing you say is going to make me look like some Amish woman. Besides, all that curly hair is mine—I’m stuck with it. Sometimes I straighten it, but it’s way too much trouble. And I know it would make your life easier if I was really butt ugly and asexual, but I’m here to work, not make your life easier.”

He tilted his head. “Excuse me, but isn’t the job of a pastor’s assistant designed to make the pastor’s life easier?”

“No, Your Worship. It’s to assist. And I am. And I will. And I will look good if I can, thankyouverymuch. So why the headache? Drink too much last night?”

“Think too much, more likely. Listen, you don’t have to tell me if it’s none of my business, but how are you so well adjusted after just a little sleep? You were kind of…kind of…”

“Messed up over the kids last night?” she finished for him. “Yeah, I know. I admit, it gets to me. And no matter how well I sleep, I hate it. This shouldn’t be happening to them. I mean, it shouldn’t be happening to me, either, but I can take about anything. It’s them hurting that tears me up. I think people who hurt children are going to burn in hell.”

“Ah. You believe in hell?”

She tilted her head and smirked at him. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m closely acquainted.”

Take that, he thought. But instead of following his own advice and staying out of it, which kept him awake all night, he crossed the line again. “You going to talk to that woman lawyer? Brie?”

She shrugged. “If the time seems right. Really, my biggest worry is that if I get in Arnie’s face anymore, try to upset his temporary win here, he’ll get worse.”

“Maybe that would be a good thing to talk to the lawyer about,” he suggested. “Because while you’re painting and leaving him alone with his temporary win, he could be plotting his next move.”

“Like I said, I’m not ruling it out. And believe me,” she said, stooping to pick up her paint roller, “the first thing I’ll tell her is I can’t afford her because my boss is a hopeless tightwad.” She winked at him. Then her grin faded and she said, “Jesus, you look miserable. You have bags under your eyes. You might want to drop the macho-man deal and pop a couple of aspirin.”

“You’re not the only one with worries, you know,” he said defensively.

“Baby, everyone has worries. The rich have as many as the poor. The healthy as many as the sick. It’s a worrisome deal, this life business. You have to learn to mellow, not stay up all night feeding it.”

“Well, you sure shook off your funk pretty well. Maybe I’m just not as good at it as you are.”

“Hanging on to it a little, are you?”

“Not because I like being worried,” he said. And it was damn tempting to point out to her that she and her problems started the whole thing.

“Ah,” she said. She rolled more paint onto the wall. Then without looking at him, she said, “Must be a payoff in there for you, bud.”

“Knock it off, Ellie.”

“There’s a trick to letting it go, in case you’re interested.”

He took a deep breath, an impatient breath. “Lay it on me.”

“You can’t try. Trying is a struggle and doing is an act. You can’t witness the act of trying, but you can see the results of doing. Trying brings on stress because not only do you have the problem, but now you have all this frustration with it not going away just because you want it to. It’s kind of like being told not to think of pink elephants—impossible. What you have to do is stop. You say to yourself, this is over for now. I’m done for now. Take your mind to another place and concentrate on that peaceful place. Deep breaths. Go limp. Put your mind in another state. It takes practice, but it gets easier, over time.”

“Thanks, Scarlett,” he said with a laugh, not believing a word. He tried to imagine counseling a completely stressed-out person by telling them that all they had to do was not try to let it go, and it would go. Although he did admit to himself that he had used that technique, or something similar, in the past with some o his clients.