Summer of Love by Marie Ferrarella (easy to read books for adults list .TXT) 📕

and they all knew it. Still pale and frighteningly thin, Chelsea did not have the appearance of a soldier who’d been through the worst that boot camp had to offer … who had survived a stint as a POW. She looked like a fragile piece of china that might shatter at the slightest tap.

While they talked, Clint grabbed two chairs from an empty room that adjoined Chelsea’s and added them to the two that were already against the pale gray walls—Clint had learned how important equalizing the setting was, which was why his office had three identical chairs. One for him and two for those who met him there. His rank was above that of many of his patients, but that didn’t mean he had to act the part.

“Dr. Marks?” Jessi’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Although it rankled at some level, he knew it was better for them to address each other in a formal manner in public, although he’d told Chelsea—in vague terms—that he and Jessi had known each other in the past. It was easier to be as truthful as possible, while holding back information that could be deemed harmful to her treatment.

“Sorry,” he murmured. He turned to Chelsea. “Do you feel up to sitting with us?”

“Yes.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, waving off her mom, who’d immediately moved to help her. “It’s okay. I can do it.”

She was in a set of flannel pajamas that Jessi had evidently brought in during one of her other visits. Ideally, he would have liked her to be dressed in normal clothes for their meetings. And in recent days she’d made more of an effort.

So why was today different?

Was she trying to appear fragile, warning away any talk that crept toward painful subjects?

It was too late now to ask her to change, and he didn’t want to do anything that would upset Jessi’s mom in the process. Besides, he had another client in an hour and a half and he wanted to make sure that Chelsea wouldn’t be cut off in the middle of anything important.

They sat in a circle. Chelsea and Abigail glanced at him expectantly, while Jessi’s gaze was centered on the folded hands she held in her lap.

“Chelsea, it’s been a while since your grandmother has seen you, am I correct?”

The young woman’s hand snaked out and grabbed Abigail’s. “I’m glad she’s here.”

“So am I.”

He wasn’t going to push hard this session, he just wanted to reintroduce the family and make sure everyone knew that their old ways of interacting might not work in this new and different world. Chelsea had gone to war as one person and had come back another. They all had yet to see where exactly that left her mom and grandmother, although the reunion had gone much more smoothly than he would have expected.

Even as he thought it, Abigail pressed her fingertips to her eyes and wiped away moisture that had gathered beneath them. “Oh, no, Nana. Don’t cry.” Chelsea wrapped her arms around the older woman. “Mom, there’s a box of tissues in my top drawer. Would you mind getting me one?”

Jessi jumped up and headed toward the small end table beside the bed. She drew out the top drawer, found the box and withdrew it. Then she stopped. Chelsea was facing away from her mother and couldn’t see her, but Clint could. A strange look crossed her face as she peered at something inside that drawer. She started to reach for it then withdrew her hand.

Chelsea, as if realizing something was wrong, swiveled around in her chair. “Can’t you find …? Oh, no, Mom. Please don’t.”

But it was already too late, because Jessi had reached back into the drawer and withdrawn what looked like a wad of tissues. Glancing at Chelsea and seeing the horror in her eyes, he realized that’s not what that was. Not at all.

Even as he looked, Jess smoothed down the bottom edge of the thin paper and came forward a couple of steps, only to stop halfway. It was a doll of some sort.

No. Not a doll. A baby. Painstakingly crafted from the tissues in the box in her drawer.

“Chelsea, honey.” Jessi’s voice dropped away for a second before coming back again. “What is this?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

JESSI SLUMPED IN a chair in Clint’s office. “I don’t understand. What could it mean?”

Her daughter had refused to talk about the strange item, withdrawing back into her shell until Clint called a halt to the session and let Chelsea crawl back into her bed. She’d silently held out her hand for the doll and laid it carefully back inside the drawer.

The act made Jessi shiver.

She’d sent her mom home with a promise to stop by later, and Clint had ordered the nurse to call him immediately if there was any change.

“I don’t know what it means. Maybe she miscarried while she was overseas. Maybe it’s something she made as a coping mechanism. There could be any number of explanations, but until she tells us we won’t know for sure.”

“Will you ask her again tomorrow?”

“I’ll see how she is. We may have to work our way toward it slowly.” He dragged his fingers through his hair and leaned back in his chair. “It could just be a dead end.”

“Who makes a doll out of a box of tissues? It just doesn’t seem … normal.”

When he stared at her, she closed her eyes. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right. It’s just that everything seemed to explode out of nowhere two months ago.”

“I know. It just takes time.”

“What if she never gets better? What if she’s like this for the rest of her life?”

He reached across and covered her hand with his. “Thoughts like that aren’t going to help anyone.”

“Did you struggle with those kinds of thoughts during high school? About your dad? Did he ever get better?”

When he went to withdraw his hand with a frown, she grabbed at his fingers, holding him in place.

“Oh,