Page 51 of Tequila Tuesdays

“I’m offended,” I said in mock anger.

He smiled, then put his arm around me. “That’s one of the things I admire about you. You remind me of Don Quixote, fighting against windmills. Except you’re a hot, blond female. But you’re both tall.”

“Don Quixote, huh? Wasn’t he delusional and crazy? Thanks.”

He winked and kept playing with my hair.

I sighed and rested my head against his shoulder. “After my dad died, I felt so overwhelmed and alone.” I turned to look at him. “Maybe I want other people who feel isolated and alone to know someone understands and cares, and they aren’t alone. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” He softly kissed the top of my head.

We talked for another half hour, then we sat in silence until I drifted off, the warmth of Damien’s body along my side lulling me to sleep. When I woke up a little while later, my head lay in his lap, and he absently stroked my shoulder. It felt so good, I couldn’t find it in me to be embarrassed.

He looked down at me when he felt me stir. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” I sat up and stretched, then sat back and examined his backyard. There were several long thin palm trees around the perimeter and a fence with tall Mexican fence post cactus running along the sides. A trimmed Ficus hedge along the backyard gave the yard privacy, and created a quiet, soothing space.

“This is wonderful. And your mountain views are stunning.”

Damien smiled. “Thanks. That was one of the reasons I bought it.”

I glanced at him. “You’d make a great therapist if you ever want to quit your day job. Thank you.”

He squeezed my hand. “I’ll take that under advisement. And you’re welcome. You ready for lunch? I enjoyed our grilled dinners at your house so much I stocked up on a few groceries.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I have chicken breasts, asparagus, and a loaf of sourdough bread, if that sounds good to you.” He stood up.

“That sounds wonderful. I didn’t know crying could make me so hungry.”

Damien walked over and started his grill, then we prepared a late lunch together in his sleek modern kitchen. We ate out on his back patio in comfortable silence.

Before Damien took me home, I called the adult drug court treatment supervisor and let her know what had happened. Stacey was upset but also stoic.

She sighed. “The reality in this line of work is you’re going to lose clients sometimes.”

“This hasn’t been my first death, but this one hit hard,” I admitted.

She exhaled slowly. “I know. Frankie was one of those special ones. I think all of us who work in drug court usually suffer from some kind of ancillary trauma or second-hand PTSD.”

I sat on a barstool in Damien’s kitchen. “The attorney I replaced mentioned it was starting to get to him.”

“It’s a real thing. I hope you have people around who can help you. Take care of yourself.”

Damien stood at his counter, looking through his emails while he waited for me. “Thanks. I do.” At least for today, anyway.

“I don’t know if this makes it better or worse, but Frankie considered you one of her greatest mentors and friends. She talked about you and your volleyball program in a group treatment session one time.”

A lump formed in my throat, and it took me a minute to respond. “That means a lot.”

I felt a little more human again by the time Damien took me home. He seemed to sense I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts, so we walked Gary to the dog park together, then made plans to watch a movie and order pizza.

At the dog park, Damien got a call. He looked down at the number and winced.

“It’ll just be a minute.” He put the phone to his ear. “Hello, Sadie.” He turned to walk further away.

Before he turned, I smiled at him. My smile felt completely fake. I watched Gary sniff around and pee, and I glanced over periodically at Damien, who was on the phone for over twenty minutes.

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