Page 10 of Nothing Less than Magic
Knox shouts for me to turn off the motor. But instead of rotating the dial to stop, I accidentally turn it to the top speed. There’s a horrible creaking noise, and when I turn around, I see a section of the dock coming loose.
“You’re still moored,” Knox is yelling, grabbing onto the rope that’s tied to the cleat. It’s a risky endeavor. The engine may not have much torque, but there’s still the risk that if I keep going, he’ll be pulled overboard.
I quickly fumble with the dial, and after what seems like an eternity, manage to turn it to the off position. I take a deep breath as the boat bobs up and down on the water only a few yards from where I started. Knox pulls me in.
“Your first time driving?” he says in that laconic drawl of his that I’m starting to recognize as sarcasm.
“Is the dock busted?”
“You pulled one of the anchor poles out. It should’ve been in the ground deeper anyway. I can fix it. Next time, untie the boat before you take off.”
I nod, feeling incredibly stupid. “It’s the accident,” I tell him. “I’m still not myself.”
“Let me guess. You were the one behind the wheel.” He glances at the boat, then offers me an arm to get out. Yes, it seems sensible to leave boating for another day.
“I got run over by a cable car.” Why not tell him? Better the truth than letting him believe I’m a bad driver.
His brows wing up. “How did that happen?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, then do an about-face and decide to tell him the whole story. Why not? It’s not like I know the guy well enough to humiliate myself any more than I already have. “My ex-husband had just announced that he was engaged. I was despondent over the news and wasn’t paying attention when I walked in front of a moving cable car.”
Knox doesn’t say anything, but his silence speaks volumes.
“I guess that must confirm for you what a lousy marriage counselor I am.”
“I didn’t say that.” He crouches down to re-knot the boat rope around the cleat, then points to the pole. “I’ll bring a post driver tomorrow. Why were you despondent over an ex-husband?”
“I was hoping to patch things up. I actually thought we were on the road to reconciliation when he dropped the whole engagement thing on me. Some woman named Mary. His one true soulmate,” I say, not even trying to disguise my disdain.
“Why’d you want to patch things up?”
The answer seems obvious, but I realize that Knox is asking the same exact question I would’ve asked one of my patients when I still had my practice.Why are you drawn to a person with whom you are divorced?I look at him to see if he’s doing it intentionally. If he’s mocking me. But his expression is absent of ridicule, neutral even. If anything, it’s mild curiosity I’m seeing.
“He left me,” I say, even though I could be setting myself up for professional embarrassment, because if word gets out—the real word, not what my publicist and I cooked up for the world in a written statement when Austin and I parted ways—it could blow up my career. “I want . . . wanted to work things out. I thought we were on the same page, but I was wrong.”
“Oh,” Knox says blandly. “I’m sorry. But if he left you, why would you want him back?”
“I don’t know how to answer that; it’s a long story. More important, though, are you a psychotherapist disguised as a handyman?”
“Definitely not. You want to go back to the house? It’s getting cold.”
I note that he doesn’t have a jacket on.
“Thank you for averting disaster,” I say, and start for the cabin.
“I was too late for that.”
I give him a sideways glance. “Way to make me feel better. Look, I admit that I’m not that boat savvy, but my old self never would’ve pulled away from the dock while I was still tied to it.” The truth is, I’m having trouble distinguishing what my old self even was.
“Does your old self know how to make a sandwich? I forgot my lunch today.” As if on cue, his stomach growls.
Chapter 4
I’m fast asleep when the phone rings. At first, I decide it’s a dream and roll over to drown out the sound of my cell vibrating on the nightstand. But the noise doesn’t stop, and I bolt upright, realizing it’s real and not a dream at all.
I glance at my alarm clock. It’s two in the morning. No one calls that early unless it’s an emergency. I reach for my phone, but it stops ringing. Before I can check who the missed call was from, the ringing begins all over again.
Lolly.
