Kera squeezed my knee.
Mel smothered a chuckle.
Jennifer had yet to move. In fact, I barely heard her breathing.
"While you're in this safe, happy place, I want you to consider my next words. Picture them, even. Relationships are like maps. When you first meet someone new, you set a course for yourself."
Yada, yada, yada.
He continued. "Sometimes, the wind will blow you off course. But that doesn't mean your map is useless. That just means you need to readjust your route. Do you girls understand what I'm trying to tell you?"
"I do," my mom said, her voice hard.
"Not you, Gloria."
I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from snapping the man's head off.
"Girls, do you understand?"
I nodded stiffly and nudged Kera and Mel. They, too, nodded.
"Good. Now it's time to picture the man-not the woman- you plan to marry."
How subtle.
"Remember, no choice is wrong." He cleared his throat. "Who do you see, Kera?"
She glanced to me, her expression saying, Do I really have to answer?
Again I nodded.
"I see someone I love dearly," she said. "But I can't make out a face clearly."
"That's okay. At least you know your map is going to lead you to love. And you, Melody? Who do you see?"
"Actually, I see four men."
"Four?" he gasped out.
"One for every divorce."
"Perhaps we need to readjust your map." He uttered a nervous chuckle. "I'll work with you privately on that." Now he turned his attention to me. "And who do you see, Naomi?"
At that point, I decided I'd had enough. I wasn't in the mood to convince my stepfather that I liked men.
"Well, Naomi?" he persisted.
"I see Jennifer," I told him. "I've been hot for her since I walked into this room." With that, I leaned over and planted the woman a big one.
Surprisingly, she responded.
"How was I supposed to know Jennifer's gay?" I whispered fiercely.
Kera, Mel and I were in the kitchen, supposedly preparing everyone a drink. The therapy session was over and it was now social hour.
"Did you see the look on Dr. Johnnie's face?" Mel asked, laughing. "That was priceless."
"Yeah, come here and kiss me, lover girl." Kera puckered up.
I covered my face with my hands. Guilt hovered over my shoulder for the way I'd glared and snarled at Jennifer, thinking she was Jonathan's secret lover. "What else was I supposed to do?"
"I don't know, but I'm ready to sign up for the next therapy session he wants to give us," Mel said. "I've never laughed so hard. Maybe next time he'll tell me a man's penis is like a flute. Blow it hard enough and you'll make music."
A choked laugh bubbled past my throat. "Just take him a drink and keep everyone busy. I've got some snooping to do."
First, I searched my mom and Jonathan's bedroom. Needless to say, the whole thing creeped me out. I didn't need to know that they slept on red silk sheets and had mirrors on their ceiling. I didn't need to know about the sex toys in the drawer next to their bed. Most of all, I did not need to see the Strokia Sex book-whatever the hell that was-under Jonathan's pillow.
Cringing, I rifled through the dirty clothes hamper and the scent of sweet perfume wafted to my nostrils. Floral and musky, yes, but not lilies. Mom was right; that was not a scent she'd ever wear. I checked Jonathan's shirts for lipstick stains and stray hairs. Nothing. Not a smudge, not a strand. The man was immaculate.
Of course, a cheater needed to be immaculate to properly hide his clandestine activities.
With Richard the Bastard, Yd had to count condoms. He hadn't thought to buy a new box but had used the one from our home. The supply would get low-and they hadn't been used with me. My mom was postmenopausal, so that would be no help.
Where should I look next? Mom had said Jonathan sneaked away to make secret phone calls. I needed to get a hold of his phone bill. Every number dialed and received would be recorded there.
My heartbeat drumming in my ears, I padded quietly to the office. It was small, but crammed with books. Mostly psychiatric mumbo jumbo. His desk drawers were locked, I noticed, eyes narrowing. He probably kept kinky pictures of the other woman in there.
I leaned back in the plush, black leather seat and considered my options. I could jimmy the locks open with a letter opener, but then he'd know I'd been here. I could search for the key, perhaps not find it and waste precious time.
There was no choice, really. I had to risk wasting time by searching for the key.
My gaze circled the room. If I were Jonathan, where would I hide my keys? A place my poor, unsuspecting wife wouldn't think to look for them, that's where. Richard had kept his on his person or in his briefcase 24-7. I doubted Jonathan would be that paranoid. He was a mind doctor, therefore he would assume he could outsmart anyone who entered his domain.
The picture of him fishing on Lavon Lake…no. A hollowed-out book… no. Too clichй. My gaze continued to search, considering and discarding items as I came to them. Then I noticed a small, seemingly innocent blue-and-yellow parakeet. I lifted the item in question and turned it in every direction, wondering why my I'm-so-sophisticated stepdad owned an ugly, plastic figurine.
The answer hit me, and I smiled slowly.
"Of course you'd hide the key in plain sight," I whispered, pressing the bird's beak. A key instantly snapped out. My hands shaking with excitement and nervousness, I quickly unlocked and searched the desk drawers.
My teeth bared when I spotted photos of a plain, conservatively dressed woman in multiple stages of movement. In some, she was holding a cute, dark-headed toddler. My jawbone almost snapped with the force I used to bite down. Did Jonathan have a love child? Of course he did. Why else would he hide the picture? That sugar daddy dickwad!
I found his cell-phone bill, too. There were too many numbers to write down, so I folded the papers and stuffed them in my pocket. Hopefully, he'd just think he lost them.
Smoldering with anger, yet giddy with my triumph, I locked the desk and replaced the key, then strolled into the den. I breathed a sigh of relief when no one took notice of my arrival. Mel and Jonathan were facing off, arguing over the prevalence of divorce. Kera, Jennifer and my mom were seated demurely on the couch, discussing the merits of good skin cleanser.
Watching them proved to be a surreal experience. I'd gone from snooping to finding incriminating photos to happy domesticity in less than seven minutes. I almost wished I was dreaming.
"Time to go," I said, my voice tense.
Everyone's attention snapped to me.
"Are you feeling better, sweetie?" My mom pushed to her feet, her expression concerned. At her sides, her hands twisted the material of her slacks. "Mel said you were sick."
"No, uh, I'm not feeling better. I'm very sick." I coughed for good measure.
"I thought it was your stomach," Jonathan said.
"Throwing up probably scratched her throat," Mel said helpfully.
"Yes, that's right." I rubbed my stomach and gave another cough. "I hate to leave so early, but I need to get home."
A look of relief washed over Mel and Kera's faces, and they raced to my side, wrapping their arms around me and pretending to hold me up. "Let's get you home and put you to bed," Mel said. "You look awful. Just awful."
Gee, thanks. I allowed them to lead me toward the front door.
"Did you find anything?" Kera whispered.
"Phone records."
"I'll ring you tomorrow and see how you're feeling," my mom called after us, a wealth of meaning in her words.