Bound by Suggestion by L.L. Bartlett Read Free Book Online Page B

home. I stood in the doorway. I arrived early; Grace was late.
    Krista gave me the tour of the premises while we waited. High ceilings, hardwood floors, gumwood trim. Soothing pastels and comfortable furniture. Signed lithographs decorated the walls. From the look of her manicured nails, I couldn’t imagine Krista investing a moment of her time in sweat equity. But then doctors always made good money. Better than insurance investigators, anyway. Much better than bartenders.
    “Nice place,” I commented.
    Krista took in the newly restored woodwork. “It’ll do. For a couple of years.”
    “And then?”
    She smiled. “I’ll step up to something a little . . . nicer.”
    A car door slammed.
    “That must be the Medivan with Grace. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” Krista closed the pocket doors of her consulting room, shutting me inside.
    I looked out through the lace sheers as a heavyset, bearded man in a uniform maneuvered a wheelchair onto the van’s ramp. Krista met him on the sidewalk.
    Turning from the window, my gaze came to rest on Krista’s diplomas and certificates. University of Virginia School of Medicine, American Board of Hypnosis, just to name two. I had an associates degree from the Borough of Manhattan Community College. Big deal.
    At loose ends, I wondered if I should sit or be on my feet when Grace arrived. Better to stand, I figured, and made a nervous circuit around the room. Another pair of oak pocket doors took up most of the north end of the room. On impulse, I tried them: locked. They probably hid part of Krista’s personal living quarters.
    I paced the room, coming to stop before the doors to the foyer. What the hell was I doing here meeting a young woman who’d be terrified of me? And why not? I was just another scum-sucking man. Did Grace look at all men as users because of the pigs who’d abused her?
    As the doors rolled opened, I wiped damp palms on the back of my jeans.
    Krista pushed the wheelchair forward. “Grace, this is Jeff.”
    Emerald eyes found mine, searched them, looked away.
    Grace’s like-new sneakers rested on the chair’s chrome and rubber foot rests. A faded sweatshirt and dark sweatpants covered her thin limbs. The unzipped, purple backpack slung on the back of the chair was jammed to bursting with a water bottle, tissues, hand cream, a self-help book on relationships, and God knows what else. Some kind of stuffed toy hung from the zipper’s pull.
    I stared at her for a moment, then remembered my manners and shoved my right hand forward. “Hello, Grace.”
    She looked up at me, suspicion coloring her expression, and took it tentatively. My fingers curled round her palm. Like a sponge soaking up water, waves of her fear swept through me. I ground my teeth, struggling to keep a grimace from my face. Drawing in a ragged breath, I pulled back my hand.
    “Sit,” Krista encouraged me.
    Rattled, I nearly fell onto the brown leather recliner. Krista pushed Grace’s wheelchair forward.
    “Do I have to sit so close to him ?” Grace asked.
    “We’re here to work together,” Krista reminded Grace, then turned her attention to me. “What did you feel when you touched Grace?”
    Ugly, naked fear.
    “She’s afraid of me.”
    “How does that make you feel?”
    Like a monster.
    “Lousy. Like this might not be a good idea.”
    Grace’s chin jutted out. She glared at me.
    “Nonsense,” Krista said. “You just need to get to know each other. Jeff, you go first.”
    I told Grace about the mugging and how I’d lost my job. How I was now considered handicapped, except that my particular disability didn’t rate a good parking space.
    She wasn’t amused.
    I cleared my throat. “What about you?”
    “My Dad and I were going to the mall. It was only seven o’clock, but some drunk hit us head-on. Killed Dad instantly. My mom died when I was ten.” Her chilly monotone unnerved me.
    “No brothers or sisters?”
    Grace shook her head. “You?”
    “An older brother.