Page 52 of Lost With You
“You’re paying me to listen and nudge you toward figuring things out for yourself. And what I’m hearing sounds like my other patients’ fantasies.”
“Jillian—”
“You just spent three weeks playing nature girl in the northern woods with some hunky mountain man.” Jillian stubbed out the second cigarette of the conversation, if Casey had counted right. “I should be askingyoufor dating advice—”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Exactly. Do you know how hard it is for a woman over thirty to find a single man—hell,anyman—in New York City?”
Casey pulled the phone away from her ear to stare at the little holes in the receiver. Jillian had never been conventional, but she was acting particularly feisty tonight.
“Honey,” Jillian continued, “let me ask some questions, okay? Where did you find this man?”
“I told you. I interviewed him on assignment.”
“I’m in the wrong business.”
“Jill?”
“Listen, you’ve interviewed a lot of hot guys on assignment. You’ve never talked about any of them like you’re talking about this one.”
“None of them led to a serious relationship. Emotionally serious.” Casey jerked off the bed and paced in a tight circle, tethered to the nightstand by the phone cord. “But Dylan just gave me reason to believe he’s thinking long-term. “
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Well—”
“Is it that you don’t wanthim, or you don’t want anything long-term?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had to face this kind of situation for a long time.”
“Are you sure you didn’t get knocked on the head when that boat capsized? Because you’re sounding pretty confused now, and not in a way that I can help.”
“How am I supposed to be okay with…being with someone? Really being with him—not just in his bed.”
“Do you like the man?”
She worried her lower lip. She more than justlikedhim. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to step back into her minivan and drive away from him anytime soon, and that scared her to death.
Jillian said, “Hear this, Casey?”
Casey listened to the silence. She heard faint jazz music through the speaker. The tap of a pack of cigarettes on a hard surface. The sound of ice cubes floating in vodka. Jillian loved vodka tonics. “I don’t hear anything, Jillian.”
“Right answer.” Jillian made a grunting sound. “I don’t hear anything from you, either. Not a single emphatic ‘no,’ or an ‘I’m not sure,’ or even ‘I don’t know what I want.’ What Ididhear in that silence was that you’re head over heels for this guy, but too terrified to admit it.”
Casey closed her eyes. “You know, you could tone down that city sarcasm for a minute or so. It might make you more sympathetic.”
“Honey, any idiot can nod and make I’m-listening-to-you noises. I’m here to make you see reality, which will do you a hell of a lot more good. And from where I’m sitting in my big empty bed, it’s really hard to muscle up sympathy for your plight, if you know what I mean.”
Casey sighed. “I shouldn’t have called.”
“Then you’re choosing to run away again.”
Casey winced. Jillian did this all the time. It hurt, this truth. It pinched deep and hard. But Casey knew she had to listen. Had to stop fooling herself.
Had to stop running away.
She sank down on the hotel bed and thrust her fingers through her hair. It had grown long and ragged in three weeks. She needed a new cut. Something softer, less severe, less controlled.
