Page 25 of Touch of Class

Izzy wrinkled her nose as if she found the idea distasteful. “Pretty sure therapists aren’t supposed to cuddle their clients.”

“Maybe not, but I bet some of their clients might need to cuddle someone after a particularly vulnerable session.” Daphne picked up steam as she mercifully found a parking space near the front of the building.

Izzy pursed her lips as if mulling over the idea, then shrugged. Daphne felt a spark of pride. Maybe the idea was a good one if even a sullen preteen couldn’t blow holes in it. Still, she didn’t have time to bask in her triumph as Izzy jumped out.

Daphne rushed to catch up, automatically taking Izzy’s arm and guiding her across the busy street.

“Mom. I’m old enough to look both ways on my own.”

She released her and reached for the front door. “It’s a habit, kiddo. Give me some grace every now and then, Izz.”

As they entered the main hallway, she pointed to her own closed door. “That’s me. You can knock any time if you feel nervous or uncomfortable or—”

“Mom,” Izzy drew out the name so it had four syllables.

“Okay, okay.” Daphne held up her hands in surrender before pointing across the hall. “There’s the waiting room.”

Izzy headed for a small table against one wall. Dropping her backpack on it, she quickly began to pull out books, then glanced up at her. “I’m going to do math. I promise I won’t talk to strangers or leave the building or buy drugs or dye my hair or get tattoos.”

“If you want to dye your hair, I’m open to—”

“Go!” Izzy ordered.

Daphne laughed. “All right. I trust you. If anyone asks what you’re doing there or has questions, I’m right across the hall.”

“I’m pretty sure most people in a therapist’s office won’t harass a kid doing homework, but sure.”

Daphne nodded. The only people likely to speak to Izzy at all were the actual therapists, and she felt confident none of them would cause any problems. Even Gillian could appreciate someone studying quietly.

She turned to go with a little smile at the thought. Gillian would probably think better of Izzy for working diligently, seeing as how she’d spent so many years and every opportunity doing the same.

No, if anything, Gillian’s judgment would undoubtedly be reserved for the mom who hadn’t planned well enough to sufficiently separate her duty to her clients from her responsibility to be present as a parent.

The thought made her frown. Would Gillian think less of her for leaving her child unattended at her place of work? Did she even care what Gillian thought about her parenting skills? Daphne had long ago resolved to stop accepting criticism from people she wouldn’t turn to for advice, but the tightening sensation in her chest told her she hadn’t quite perfected the skill. It did bother her to realize Gillian might think of her as a bad mother, and if she had more time to dwell in that emotion, she may’ve examined why Gillian’s opinion mattered enough to shake her confidence twice in less than two weeks, but as Izzy had adamantly pointed out, she didn’t have time to worry about anyone else’s impossible standard for motherhood, as she was too busy actually trying to parent.

Gillian saw her client to the door and silently congratulated herself on a full day of solid sessions. Not a single train wreck on the now-complete docket, and while she normally strove for a higher standard than “not completely off the rails,” after the last few weeks, or rather years, she’d come to appreciate that sometimes no newsworthy incidents made for a good day.

All she needed to do was tidy up a few client notes, pay a couple of bills, and she’d be home free in her comfy clothes with an audiobook and a glass of red wine before the increasingly early night shrouded the city. With that happy thought, she glanced around the corner almost as an afterthought, only to stop short as her eyes landed on a small frame hunched over a notebook.

It took a few extra seconds to register she wasn’t looking at a small woman, but rather a child with dark curls and sloping shoulders under an oversized hoodie. Even in profile her face was the picture of pure focus, and Gillian appreciated her concentration immediately.

As if sensing her gaze, the girl glanced up, her eyes so big and dark Gillian now felt herself shifting under the same kind of inspection she’d just given.

“Hi,” the girl finally said.

“Hello,” Gillian said casually enough. “Do you need anything?”

The girl’s forehead wrinkled as if she found the question odd. “No. Do you?”

Gillian shook her head. “Are your parents in an appointment?”

“My mom is. My papa’s out of town.” The girl nodded to her notebook. “That’s why I have to do my homework here. Before my fencing lessons.”

“Fencing? Gillian asked, genuinely interested. “Exciting.”

The girl lifted one shoulder, but the corner of her mouth curled up as if Gillian’s interest pleased her. “I’m new, but I like it.”

“What’s not to like about women wielding swords?”