Susan Phillips - The Great Escape

“He protected you,” Temple said adamantly. “So why are you so pissed with him?”

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m pissed with myself.”

“Sure. Blame the victim,” Bree interjected.

“It’s not that,” Lucy said. “All summer I pretended I was so tough. Joke’s on me, right?”

Temple brushed that away. “What about Panda? Why did you walk out on him?”

“Because our relationship was as phony as my tattoos.”

“It didn’t seem phony to me.” Temple looked over at Bree. “Anybody who sees them together can tell how hot they are for each other.”

Lucy didn’t like that. “I dumped my fiancé at the altar, and two weeks later, I jumped in bed with another man. Nice, right?”

“Normally, no,” Temple said. “But when the man is Panda …”

Lucy wasn’t letting anybody make excuses for her. “It’s time for me to deal with what’s real in my life and what isn’t. Panda’s not.”

“He seems real to me. And you’re in love with him.”

“Stop saying that!” she cried. “Believe me, love isn’t what I feel for Panda.” That word belonged to Ted. She’d worshipped him, and she definitely didn’t worship Panda. How could you worship someone when all you wanted to do was rip his clothes off? Or laugh with him, or snarl at him, or exchange those looks of perfect understanding? With Panda, she felt like bad Lucy, good Lucy, and Viper all rolled into one. Who needed that kind of confusion?

Bree loomed over the beach towel, rescuing her from further explanation. “Lucy is staying here,” she told Temple.

“No, she’s not.” Temple jumped to her feet. “I want her back.”

“Too bad. I need her.”

“You think I don’t?”

“Tough. You can visit her here whenever you like.”

Lucy’s eyes stung. “As much as I love watching the two of you fight over me, you really shouldn’t.”

Bree moved toward the side of the house. “I have to check on Toby. There’s iced tea in the refrigerator.” She spun back to Lucy. “You stay here. Don’t let her bully you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Temple’s mouth as Bree disappeared. “I like her.” Her smile quickly faded. “What do you hope to accomplish by running away? You keep telling me I need to face my problems, but what do you do when things get tough? Big talker runs away.”

“Be nice.”

“Fine,” Temple said in a huff. “If that’s your attitude, I won’t tell you about the phone call I made.”

“Tell me,” Lucy said, because she knew Temple wanted her to ask.

“You don’t deserve to know.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She did, and Lucy sprang up off the towel. “Are you sure about this?”

Temple glowered. “I thought you’d be happy. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Not exactly. But Lucy kept that thought to herself.

PANDA SLAPPED DOWN THE SCREWDRIVER as the doorbell rang. The only person he wanted to see right now was Lucy, and she wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell. He’d just finished wrestling with the kitchen table, and removing the bulky legs wasn’t going well.

On his way to the front door, he frowned at a cheap seascape hanging on the wall. He’d grown used to paintings disappearing and furniture mysteriously transporting itself from one room to another. Why hadn’t Lucy gotten rid of this? Worst of all was his pig. It still wore the same clown nose she’d stuck on it last week.

He reached the door and glanced through the sidelight. A bombshell blonde stood on the other side.

There was something familiar about her, although he knew they’d never met. Maybe it was her figure. Hard to forget a body like this. Big breasts, tiny waist, narrow hips. And spectacular legs, what he could see of them.

He tried to place her as he opened the door, but something about her appearance was throwing him off. Her long blond hair shouldn’t be pinned up so neatly, and she wore too many clothes.

Then he recognized her. His stomach sank.

She held out her hand. “You must be Mr. Shade. I’m Kristina Chapman.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled, as though they were sharing a private joke. “Dr. Kristi.”

WOMEN EVERYWHERE, AND EACH ONE of them was a nightmare. Temple, with her dark moods; Dr. Kristi, who’d probably earned her counseling license over the Internet, although she insisted she was legit; Lucy, the biggest pain of all, living on the other side of the woods with Sabrina Remington, the daughter of the man he hated.

Nine days and not a word from her. Telling himself it had to end anyway didn’t help.

Temple came downstairs. She was red-eyed and passed him in the hallway without speaking. He didn’t like seeing her like this. “Let’s go for a run,” he said brusquely.

“Later.” She sagged into the living room chair and reached for the television remote.

Not long after, while he contemplated where he was going to find a table to fill the newly empty spot in the kitchen, he saw Dr. Kristi in the backyard with a book. She’d been swimming earlier, but instead of wearing her infamous red bikini, which would have provided him with at least some small compensation for putting up with her intrusion, she was wearing an unimpressive green-and-white one-piece.

Temple appeared in the kitchen on her way outside. He jerked his head toward the backyard. “You could have told me you were inviting her here. To my house.”

“I knew you wouldn’t mind.” Before he could disabuse her of that notion, she swept past him. “I’m going to the cottage.”

“Make yourself useful this time.”

“Bring her back yourself,” she retorted, just before she slammed the door.

He’d like nothing better than to do that, but then what? Lucy needed a happily-ever-after, something he wasn’t capable of delivering. Still, he had to see her before he left the island, although he had no idea what he’d say.

Through the window, he saw Temple approach Dr. Kristi, who closed her book and rose. He couldn’t hear what Temple said to her. He didn’t really care. He didn’t care about much these days.

LUCY WAS BRINGING A COUPLE of glasses of iced tea out to the farm stand when Temple appeared, followed by a tall, busty blonde who could only be Dr. Kristi. The psychologist wore a sleeveless green cover-up over a matching bathing suit. Her blond hair was slicked back from her face, setting off perfect cheekbones and plump, pouty lips.

Lucy had been expecting something like this for the past four days, ever since Temple had told her that she’d asked Dr. Kristi for help. Lucy had urged her to call someone reputable instead of the Fat Island shrink, advice Temple had obviously ignored.

Bree sat at the worktable she’d set up in the shade where she was furiously hand-painting the island lighthouse on one of her precious glass ornaments. She had less than two weeks to sell them. She straightened when she saw who’d arrived.

Temple was dressed in her customary yoga pants and tank. She plunged into introductions. “Kristi, this is my friend Lucy. And that’s Bree.”

Kristi nodded at Bree. “You’re the beekeeper. It’s a pleasure.” And then, to Lucy, “I’ve looked forward to meeting you, Ms. Jorik. Temple’s told me a lot about you.”

“None of it good.” Temple sprawled into the nursery-yellow Adirondack chair.

“Liar,” Lucy retorted, placing the iced tea glasses on Bree’s table.

“You’re right,” Temple muttered. “It’s sad to admit I’ve made an overweight runaway my role model.”

“She’s not overweight.” Bree tore her eyes away from Kristi’s porn star lips.

Overweight or not, Lucy couldn’t imagine being anybody’s role model, although she’d certainly learned some important life lessons this summer.

Temple assured her that Dr. Kristi wouldn’t blow her cover. After that, a silence fell over the group. Kristi examined Bree’s products. She seemed comfortable with the silence, but none of the rest of them were. Temple stared at her feet, Bree fiddled with her paintbrush, and Lucy tried to think of something to say before she remembered she didn’t have to be cruise director for this motley crew.

Temple hopped up from the chair and gazed at Bree, her expression belligerent. “I’m gay.”

Bree blinked.

Temple sat back down and stared at her feet again.

Lucy sucked in her breath. She understood what Bree couldn’t. This was Temple’s coming-out.

Another silence fell over the group. Temple lifted her head but didn’t meet any of their eyes. “I’m in love with a woman.”

“Uhm … Congratulations?” Bree turned the word into a question, then slanted an inquiring look at Kristi. “To both of you?”

It took Temple a moment to follow Bree’s train of thought, and then she shuddered. “For god’s sake, it’s not Kristi.”

“That was rather hostile,” Kristi said firmly.

“What do you care?” Temple retorted. “You’re straight.”

Kristi took a seat in the peach-colored chair. “Which doesn’t mean I enjoy being dismissed like that.”

Bree glanced at Lucy, clearly questioning what kind of loonies she associated with.

“Sorry,” Temple said.

Dr. Kristi gave a gracious nod. “Apology accepted.”

Lucy leaned toward Temple. “Have you talked to Max?”

Temple waved a dismissive hand, as if Lucy’s question were too stupid to waste time answering. Kristi cleared her throat. Temple glanced toward her, then mumbled, “Max hung up on me. She wants revenge.”

Lucy thought about it. “I guess that’s understandable. What are you going to do now?”

Temple fidgeted in the chair, and when she finally replied, she sounded as if she’d swallowed a bug. “I’m going to beg.”

Bree nearly tipped over her painting table as she came out of her chair. “Never beg! Never! It’ll rot your soul.”

Dr. Kristi regarded Bree with a seriousness very much at odds with her pornographic lips. “You sound as though you’re speaking from experience.”

Bree’s jaw set in its newly stubborn manner. “Ex-husband.”

“Do you want to tell us about it?” Kristi asked.

“Hey!” Temple said. “You’re my shrink.”

Kristi waved off her protest. “I work best in groups.”

And that’s what she did. For the next hour, Lucy found herself in the middle of a group therapy session that Dr. Kristi led with surprising skill. They touched on the lessons Bree had learned from her humiliating relationship with Scott as well as Temple’s need for perfection. Lucy restricted sharing the guilt she felt for hating her lobbying work so much. Dr. Kristi offered the comforting observation that more people should take a break from their ordinary lives to assess their future path. Gradually Lucy realized that Dr. Kristi was very good at what she did, one more shock in a summer filled with them.

Eventually the psychologist declared their time was up, as if this had been a regular appointment. Lucy tried to be tactful. “We don’t see this side of you on television.”

One of Kristi’s pale, beautifully shaped eyebrows arched. “Yes, the tiki hut and red bikini do tend to call my professionalism into question.”

“Why do you do it?” Bree asked.

“I suffered from bulimia when I was a teenager,” Kristi said matter-of-factly. “That’s how I ended up specializing in eating disorders. I took the job on Fat Island so I could pay off my student loans, planning to quit after the first season. But I fell in love with the money.” She crossed a long, slender leg. “I try to justify staying even though I know the producers care a lot more about giving my body camera time than showing much of the actual counseling component of the show. But our contestants have serious emotional issues, and I know if I leave, the producers won’t bother examining the credentials of the person they choose to replace me. As long as she’s blond and looks great in a bikini, they’ll hire her. So I stay.”

“Kristi thinks none of our long-term success stories would have happened without her,” Temple said tartly.

Kristi leveled her with a look. “The few long-term successes we’ve had … When Fat Island became so popular, I used the power I’d built to insist the show pay for real behavioral counseling. The contestants are a wreck after Temple’s done with them—destined for long-term failure, which I think she’s beginning to understand. Realistically, people with jobs and family can’t keep up with a two- or three-hour workout every day. And most of them can’t make a long-term commitment to healthy eating without ongoing support.”

The Evil Queen toppled. “I’m rethinking my approach, okay?”

“It’s about time.” Dr. Kristi turned to Bree. “Does knowing Temple is gay affect your opinion of Fat Island?”

“She’s too polite to tell you the truth,” Temple said.

“That’s what you think.” Bree’s red hair caught the sunlight as her chin came up. “I hated the show before, and I still hate it.”