An August Harvest Read online

  “Shut up! That’s none of your damn business,” he barked. “What’s so important you had to wake me up at this ungodly hour?”

  “It’s sure nice to hear your voice too, my brother. Get your ass out of bed and fix some coffee. I need to talk to you.”

  After he got some coffee down him, he came to a little and started acting sort of civil. “You bought a beach house? Are you serious? Where?”

  “Saint Augustine, Florida. And I want you guys to come see it.”

  He put the phone on speaker. “Is it actually on the beach,” Brenda asked, “or a few blocks away?”

  “I’m sitting on my back deck now. Hang on, I’ll hold up the phone, so you can hear the waves crashing on the beach.”

  “You don’t have to rub it in, asshole. We believe you,” Marshall said. “Congratulations on your poor choice of how to spend your money. We’re very happy for you. Of course, a sane person would have waited and called us tomorrow to tell us about it, but no, not you, you whack job. Can we go back to bed now?”

  “Nope! Not yet, there’s more, much more. You might want to get another cup of coffee before I tell you about this. It’s pretty weird.”

  I didn’t know much about Brenda. I had only met her and talked to her briefly once before, but that night I found out that she was not only Marshall’s girlfriend, she was also a psychologist.

  When I finished telling them my story, there was no response. “Hello...are you still there?”

  “Yeah, we’re here. Hang on a second,” Marshall said.

  He took the phone off of the speaker and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. I could hear muffled talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  After a few minutes, he put it back on speaker. “Grant, I’m going to let Brenda take this. She thinks I’m too close to you to give you any constructive advice. I’m not sure I agree with her, but I guess it is more of her area, since she’s a head shrinker.”

  I laughed. “A what?”

  “Just ignore him,” she said. “He’s just an ordinary organist. I am a board certified psychologist.”

  “An organist?” he yelled.

  “Shut up, Marshall. You know what I mean.”

  I started laughing. “Are you sure you guys aren’t married? You kind of sound like an old married couple.”

  Ignoring my comment, she asked, “Can you describe the feelings in more detail? Was it just an emotion or were there physical symptoms as well?”

  “The first time it was just a cold chill that ran through me, but the second time, I actually broke into a cold sweat and my heart started pounding and racing.”

  The sun was coming up and I could see the wooden walkway where we were sitting. “It was beating faster than it does when I’m jogging. What could cause that?”

  “Is she pretty?” Marshall asked.

  “Yeah, I guess. She has a pretty face, but I couldn’t really tell much else. She was wearing this long dress and a big hat, but she’s got great teeth.”

  I heard them laughing. “What I meant was...when she smiled, I saw her teeth. They were perfect...super white and...well, perfectly aligned.”

  “Grant,” Marshal said laughing, “you’ve been out of the game a while. Normal people call that a great smile.”

  “So, you actually weren’t attracted to her physically,” Brenda said. “You have no real idea what she looks like under the dress and hat, other than her pretty face and smile.”

  “Yes, and that’s the part I don’t understand. If she was this super hot babe and I went nuts when she touched me, I’d get it. Male hormones would explain that, but this was not like that. It wasn’t sexual. It was...almost spiritual.”

  Marshal snickered.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “Grant, I love you, but come on...spiritual? You’re making way too much of this. The touch of another woman has got you all fired up. That’s all there is to it! I’ve known you since you were three years old. When, in your entire life, have you ever been physically touched that way by another woman, except Rita?”

  I thought for a moment. “What about Betty Dockins?”

  “What about her?”

  “She did more than touch me.”

  “Grant, you were nine years old. That doesn’t count.”

  “Of course it counts, she kissed me!”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  Yes, she did!”

  “Where?”

  “In the park.”

  “No, dumbass, on the cheek or on the lips?”

  “Lips. Twice!”

  “Well, that little slut! But it still doesn’t count.”

  “Yes it does!”

  “No, it doesn’t!”

  “Yes, it does!”

  “No, it doesn’t!”

  “Boys, boys!” Brenda yelled. “Am I going to have to go get my belt?”

  That got us all laughing pretty hard.

  “Grant, I’m going to have to go with Marshall on this. He’s told me about your lifelong devotion to Rita. And honestly, your lack of intimacy with other women is something that you should take under consideration. I will tell you that the intensity of these feelings you’ve described, along with the physical symptoms, is quite unique to me as a therapist. I’m not sure what to make of them.

  I have a few weeks of vacation time coming and if I can force Marshall to take some time off, I’d love to come see you and your new beach house. We can talk more about this when we get there, but in the mean time, I have two suggestions for you.”

  “That would be great!” I said. “You’ll love this place. It’s probably a bit too laid back for Marshall, but I think you’ll love it. So, what are your suggestions?”

  “Grant, I think it’s important for you to get to know Melissa better. Find out as much as you can about her and see if the feelings continue when she touches you. I also think it would be a good idea for you to start seeing a psychologist on a regular basis. I know you may not want to do this, but you’ve been through a tremendous tragedy...more than most people go through in a lifetime. I wanted to talk to you about this before, but I didn’t know you that well and Marshall talked me out of it. But remember, you called us and woke us up this morning. You knew you needed help and I’m so glad you did. Sometimes opening up to a stranger, especially a trained psychologist, can help you solve problems you didn’t even know you had. Will you do this for me?”

  She was right and I knew it. I couldn’t do this alone anymore. “Sure, I’ll do it, but where do I find a psychologist here?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “You could call the local hospital or even try to google psychologist.”

  After I hung up with Marshall and Brenda I felt better, so I crawled back in bed next to Charley and slept until he woke up a few hours later. While he was taking care of his business around the back yard, I called the local hospital and they gave me three numbers of psychologists to call. Two of them were located in Jacksonville, about an hour drive away, but one was local, so I gave him a call and scheduled an appointment for the following week.

  7

  Doctors Orders

  Sitting in the dark on her back deck, Melissa watched Grant walk out of his house and lean against his rail. She thought about turning on her overhead deck light so he could see her there, but changed her mind and just sat there watching him for hours, hidden in the dark shadows.

  Apparently, he couldn’t sleep, either. She wondered if the reason was that he felt it too, that jolt or spark or...whatever it was.

  She let her mind drift, remembering the moment their fingers first touched. It was like electricity and had actually shocked her. And then when he looked at her, it happened again–just from looking into his eyes.

  “What are you, twelve?” she whispered to herself. “You’re a grown woman, Melissa, this is not high school.”

  For the past two years, one of the unexpected benefits of her surgery had been sound un-interrupted sleep. She had fought w
ith insomnia most of her adult life. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her move to the beach house and the sounds of the crashing waves, or if it was the benefits of finally having good health, but whatever it was, ever since the surgery, she’d been able to sleep like a log...until tonight.

  However, in the two years she’d lived in the beach house, it was the first time she had wanted the sounds of the crashing waves to be a little quieter. Eavesdropping was something that she would normally never do, but tonight she just couldn’t help herself. Especially when she heard her name echo across the way from Grant’s deck.

  She had no idea who he was talking to on the phone, but it had to have been a very close friend, because it was 4:30 in the morning and he was actually laughing and talking, while he paced back-and-forth on the deck.

  Finally after straining to hear his conversation, he stopped pacing and leaned against the rail at a close point to her deck where she was sitting.

  “The first time it was just a cold chill that ran through me,” she heard him say, “but the second time, I actually broke into a cold sweat and my heart started racing and pounding. It was beating faster than it does when I’m jogging. What could cause it to do that?”

  That’s when she knew for sure. He had felt it, too. But now the question was...what should she do about it?

  Although Brenda recommended that I only see a board-certified psychologist, it would’ve been an hour round-trip drive to Jacksonville, and I really didn’t want to spend that much time driving on I-95 every week, so I decided on Dr. Jeremiah Ashford Hollingsworth.

  His office was located in one of the old historic buildings in Saint Augustine, only a few miles from my house. When I opened the door, there wasn’t a receptionist there to greet me as I’d expected. It was a small waiting room with comfortable chairs and magazines racks a few tables. In the corner, there was a small TV mounted near the ceiling. Staring up at it was a little girl, maybe six or seven years old, wearing shiny black patent leather shoes, white knee socks and a red lace covered frilly dress.

  “Hello,” she said, smiling, “I’m Molly.”

  “Hi, Molly. I’m Grant.”

  She slid off her chair, walked over to me and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Grant.”

  I shook her tiny hand and smiled. “It’s really nice to meet you too, Molly. Are you waiting to see the doctor?”

  She frowned. “No, he’s my daddy. I have to wait here until he gets off work.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much fun. Where’s your mother?”

  She started nervously rocking her legs under her chair and stared up at the TV. “She’s at her house, but I have to stay with Daddy for this month.”

  Before I could ask her more, the door opened. “Are you Grant Nash?”

  “Yes,” I said, following him into his office.

  After I had made the appointment with Dr. Hollingsworth, I tried to Google him, but there wasn’t much about him on the net. That bothered me a little, but I figured that maybe he was just old school and hadn’t discovered the Internet yet.

  I did google the other psychologist that had been recommended to me. I read a few comments from their patients trying to find out what I’ve gotten myself into. Almost all of the other doctor’s patients’ comments were positive, all of them talking about the instant bond and feelings of trust they had developed with their therapist.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t happen between me and Dr. Hollingsworth. Instead of developing an instant bond, I developed an instant dislike of the pompous ass. But I had promised Brenda that I would open up and tell him everything. So, over the next few weeks, I spilled my guts.

  As the sessions went on over the next three weeks, I tried to accept what he was saying, but it got harder and harder, because his advice didn’t seem right. I didn’t argue with him. I assumed it was because what he was telling me wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but deep down I felt it was wrong.

  My sessions were on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 2:30. And every time I opened the door, Molly was there, staring up at the television. I always secretly brought her something: a candy bar, a cookie, a cupcake. As a result, we had become great friends in the last three weeks. Of course, she had to hide it from Daddy dearest–he didn’t allow her to eat sweets. When she told me that, I didn’t say it but I thought it, “What an asshole!”

  Following Brenda’s other advice, I had made a point of trying to get to know Melissa a little better, but she had not made that easy. Three times I had invited her over for dinner, but she always politely rejected my offers, claiming to have other plans. We had talked a few times when we’d run into each other on the beach or when I would see her and Donna out on their deck. And she actually came over one afternoon to eat a hamburger with me, but she seemed in a hurry to leave. But in all of our encounters, we had never touched–not one time, so I had no idea if the feelings were still there. All I did know was when she was on my deck that day eating her hamburger...she looked me in the eyes, my heart fluttered in my chest and it took a few beats to return to normal, so I assumed those feelings were still there.

  It was a Tuesday, my seventh session with Dr. Hollingsworth. I had finished my story at the last session, explaining my unusual attraction to Melissa. It had been a very emotional session for me. I had gone into detail of the gnawing guilt I was feeling deep inside me, because of the feelings I was developing for Melissa.

  He had been unusually quiet during our last session. He seemed to actually be listening carefully to what I was saying. His head was up out of his yellow pad and he was staring at me as I talked. For the past five sessions when he wasn’t talking, he was looking down, constantly writing. But during the sixth session, I had his full attention.

  And when our time was up, he only said, “See you Tuesday.”

  When I walked in Tuesday, of course Molly was there, but Dr. Hollingsworth was standing in the lobby waiting for me, so I couldn’t give her the cookies.

  When we sat down, he immediately started talking to me, but I couldn’t get the image of poor little Molly out of my head. She looked a little upset and I was wondering what had happened. I kept thinking, what kind of jackass would make his six or seven-year-old daughter sit in a waiting room all day, dressed up like she’s going to church, all alone, watching TV, while he was seeing patients? It was a beautiful day. She should be outside playing with her friends. What was she doing in that waiting room?

  “Mr. Nash? I can’t help you if you’re not going to listen to me.”

  I looked up. He was glaring at me. “Sorry, Doc. I must have drifted away there.”

  “Its ‘DOCTOR’ HOLLINGSWORTH!” he shouted. NEVER CALL ME ‘DOC’ AGAIN!”

  I gritted my teeth. It was all I could do not to come out of my chair and kick his pompous ass, but I knew Molly was in the lobby and even though he deserved to get his ass whipped, she was too young to understand that her daddy was a certified prick. I certainly didn’t need a lawsuit, so I bit my lip and took a deep breath instead. “Sorry, DOCTOR,” I said, “I didn’t mean to offend you. My best friend is a doctor and I call him Doc all the time. It’s meant as a term of endearment, not disrespect.”

  His exaggerated erect posture was one more thing I hated about the guy. And then there were his clothes.

  One of the things I loved about Florida were the casual, friendly people who lived there. Flip flops, tee shirts and shorts seemed to be the state approved dress code. When the locals did dress up to go out, they wore shirts with collars and switched the flip flops for deck shoes, but the shorts remained. If you saw some one wearing long pants, they were either going to a funeral, a wedding, or it was their turn for jury duty. I’m exaggerating a little, but the dress code was very casual in Florida and I loved it.

  However, Doctor Jeremiah Ashford Hollingsworth came to work every day, wearing $3,000 Armani suits, $1,800 Louis Vuitton shoes, $500 Ermenegildo Zegna ties and flashed his $70,000 diamond studded gold Rolex or his $150,000 Audemars
Piguet watch. Oh yeah, he also drove a new Jaguar.

  How did I know this? The pompous ass always worked in who he was wearing that day during our session. Saint Augustine was a small town, and I assumed he’d heard that I’d paid cash for the house and was trying to impress me. It didn’t.

  After adjusting the crease on his pants and making sure his tie was perfectly aligned between the V of his suit jacket, he opened his notebook and looked over the table. “Mr. Nash, after our last session, I have gone back and reviewed all of my notes. I have spent the majority of my time in the last few days reviewing those notes, deliberating your situation, and have come to a conclusion.”

  I wrinkled my forehead and looked at him. “A conclusion in only six sessions? Of course, you’re the expert, but from what I’ve read, I didn’t think there ever were actual conclusions in psychology, just possible suggestions that took place over years of therapy.”

  His face flushed and his nostrils flared. “WHAT YOU’VE READ?” he shouted. “What did you do, Google psychology and now you think you’re some kind of an expert?”

  Gritting my teeth again, forcing myself to stay calm, I said, “As a matter of fact, yes, I have Googled psychology several times. Is that against one of your rules?”

  He leaned back in his chair, took a breath and forced a smile, “Of course not, Mr. Nash, and you are correct. In most cases, there are no actual psychological conclusions that can be made in only a few sessions. However, your case is different and because of that, I feel I have to make one here. Please keep in mind that what I’m about to tell you is not based on a few Google searches. It’s based on my doctorate degree in psychology and many years of practice. With that said, its my professional opinion that you are in a very dangerous and fragile emotional state. I know that you may not see it, but I’m afraid it may be getting close once again to being suicidal.

  You are still in the early stages of the deep throes of grief from the loss of your wife and daughter. This will more than likely take you years to get over. These feelings you are having for this other woman are not real; they are simply warning signs of just how damaged you still are. The obvious signs to me are how hard you are trying to ignore those feelings of guilt. You want to ignore them, because part of you naturally wants to move on with your life. You are physically attracted to this woman, I understand that, Mr. Nash, but you are simply not ready yet. Those feelings of guilt are the correct feelings your brain is trying to guide you toward. Listen to them, embrace them.”