Excerpt of Be Mine this Time by MaryAnn Clarke

Kate O’Day checked her watch, eager to begin, but they were still missing two important players. Today marked the beginning of a brand new mediation. At the top of the page of her case notes, she scribbled the date in bold strokes. 

She sat back and observed the woman across from her, the immaculately well-groomed and chic D’arcy Duchamp, her client. D’arcy stared sightlessly out the window at the grey haze that blanketed downtown Vancouver’s urban skyline, patently ignoring her mother’s chosen counsel, Sharon Beckett. Not surprisingly, top dollar.

The sound of the door opening caught their attention and the young receptionist stepped in. “Excuse me, Ms. Beckett? Lynda from Goode & Broadbent just called to say, Mr. Broadbent was suddenly called to judge’s chambers and won’t be able to attend. But they are sending a replacement.”

Their host, Sharon Beckett, sat beside Kate, her tightly coifed flaxen head bent over her smart phone, jabbing it forcefully with her fingertip. “I didn’t get any message about this, Carrie.”

Carrie cleared her throat daintily. “Um. No, apparently it was quite unexpected. They sent their apologies.”

“Well they’d better not keep us waiting. Who’s coming instead?”

“Someone named, um…” she referred to a paper in her hand, “Simon… Sharpe?”

Kate gasped, her body stiffening like she’d been hit with a Taser right there in her chair.

“Oh, really? All right, then,” Sharon crooned. “Thank you, Carrie. Let us know when he arrives.”

Kate’s hand jerked up to cover her mouth, her pulse kicking into high gear at the sound of his name.

“Oh well, these things happen. I’d forgotten he’d recently changed firms. I haven’t been in touch with him much lately.” Sharon lifted her head, a small frown creasing her brow. “I assume, Kate, that you informed Eli of today’s meeting. He won’t know about this change.”

Kate had worked with Sharon before and was familiar with her reputation. She was a darn good lawyer, but she was rigid, repressed, and confrontational. She made Kate uncomfortable. Right now, Kate couldn’t think of a response. Her thoughts were suddenly scrambled. Had she heard correctly? She swallowed. “Who did you say?”

Sharon reserved a special tone of voice for her colleagues. Tolerance, iced with a hint of disapproval, as though she couldn’t be sure you were worthy. With her crisp taupe suit and primly buttoned sage green blouse, she reminded Kate of a tiny, tightly wound army sergeant ready to pounce on wayward recruits. She was always correct, strictly business, though one came away feeling abused, somehow. “Eli?”

“No, I mean–” Kate couldn’t bring herself to say his name aloud. Simon. Simon Sharpe. Her breath became as shallow as a gentle breeze ruffling the surface of a calm lake, upsetting the glass-smooth surface, tossing a leaf or two into the air like the harbinger of an as-yet unseen storm. A storm that would soon heave the water of the lake upside down, churning its muddy, murky bottom into a roiling stew pot of reluctant rememberings. If she stopped breathing, maybe she could prevent the storm from coming. 

“I left him a message, Sharon,” D’arcy cut in, a knowing smirk on her glossy ruby lips, like the self-possessed cherubs that Kate had seen in the Baroque paintings of Rubens.

“Good.” Sharon offered D’arcy a patronizing smile that stopped short of her icy blue eyes. “Well, well. So we’ll be working with the charming Simon Sharpe.”

She had heard correctly. But there must be some mistake. Or maybe it was someone else with the same name. That was possible, wasn’t it? The thought of him walking into the room any moment caused Kate’s stomach to clench into a hard, heavy knot of dread.

“You know him?” D’arcy asked, examining the perfect claret tips of her soft white hands. 

Do I ever! He’d touched her body and soul.

“I was in law school with his wife. We’re good friends,” Sharon replied.

His wife. Of course, he would have a wife. Why wouldn’t he? Kate hadn’t seen him in –her mind spun back in time, calculating, counting the years– fourteen? Fifteen? Since her third year at university.

D’arcy shrugged and reached for her small Louis Vuitton handbag, retrieved a nail file, made a minor correction to her manicure and put it back. She tossed the bag onto an empty chair.

As if from a distance, Kate observed the way D’arcy’s hands fluttered about like doves in a cote, in direct contrast with her serene countenance. She was a strange mix of cool confidence and nervous energy. And now so was Kate, aware that she felt breathless, her pulse racing. Adrenaline flushed her body, her head and chest suddenly hot, sweat breaking out on her face.

Kate frowned, taking in the cool, glossy black lacquer table, the spare modern leather and chrome chairs and stark white walls. A too-loud hum emanated from a grill vent in the ceiling and the view from the eighteenth floor window was flat and faded by cloud covering the sky. She had a sudden image of herself fleeing, flying out the window like a bird and disappearing into that soft, concealing grey. The ostentatious board room of Flannigan, Searle, Meacham & Beckett, Barristers & Solicitors, was as cold as a surgical theatre and too impersonal for Kate's liking. As soon as she'd won her clients’ trust, she'd suggest a move to her own, more homey, studio. 

Her muscles tightened again. But she couldn’t have him there, in her space. 

D’arcy cleared her throat and spoke in that peculiar accent that was uniquely Montreal-bilingual, neither the lilting cadence of a Quebecois Francophone nor CBC-Radio English, but something in between. “I’m dying for a cigarette.”

“Are you nervous, D’arcy?” Kate asked, distracted. “Today will be just an informal introduction. Nothing too serious, yet.” Not for D’arcy, anyway.

D’arcy rolled her khol-rimmed round eyes toward the ceiling. “No. I’m just in nicotine withdrawal. I’m quitting.” She was glamorous in a silent-movie-siren sort of way, but dark circles under her eyes betrayed an otherwise cool, well-contained façade. “I have quit.”

“That’s an excellent decision, D’arcy, dear. Your mother will be pleased to hear it,” Sharon said, glancing up from her phone.

D’arcy’s lip twitched, barely suppressing a sneer. “I suppose you’ll be discussing that with her, too? Would you like to know what I ate for lunch?”

Sharon clucked her tongue and went back to her phone, her teeth clicking. “What’s taking them so long? We can’t wait all day.”

Kate pulled herself together and bent over her notebook to jot down a few impressions while they were fresh. She wasn’t known for following the norm — such as meeting clients individually prior to the first group session — and she had chosen not to this time as well. Her unconventional style involved feeling her way through based on the people and their raw reactions, affording her a glimpse into their inner nature. She glanced up, her gaze drawn to the sweeping arc of a red umbrella in an impressionistic Mediterranean landscape on the wall opposite her. The gash of red against blue sky provided the only spots of color in the sterile room.

Today’s introductory session was just that, an opportunity for her to get to know her clients, D’arcy and Eli. And, unfortunately, their lawyers. Kate had to stay calm and keep her wits about her. Focus on the clients. Right. Just ignore the lawyers. Both of them. As if she could ever ignore Simon Sharpe. 

Sharon pulled a notebook and pen out of her briefcase and silently made notes. Kate tried to smile at D’arcy, who offered a weak smile of her own.

“When did you last speak with Eli?” Kate asked her.

Her face sullen, D’arcy searched around with an exaggerated air. “A couple of weeks ago, maybe.”

Sharon flipped a few pages in her notebook. “It was September seventeenth. The night of the…” her lip lifted in a sneer, “… party.”

D’arcy’s eyes turned glassy, and Kate fervently wished she could do her work without the interference of lawyers.

Clients came to her because they hoped for a resolution to their conflict that was as congenial as possible, usually in the context of a complete communication breakdown. She looked up, pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Success for her was nothing short of reconciliation, healing broken relationships. The better she understood their strengths, failings, and fears, the more effectively she could help them.

Her cell phone jangled in her bag. Damn, she forgot to turn it off. “Excuse me.” She picked up the phone and squinted at the screen, her irritation rising at the interruption as she silenced the ringing. 

Jay. The last person she wanted to hear from right now.

Guilt swamped her, her finger hovering over the “busy” button, recalling her last conversation with him. Her phone buzzed in her hand. A text. 

Hey, Angel. How about dinner tonight? 

She thumbed a quick response. In client mtg.

Another text buzzed.

She clenched her jaw and put her phone away without looking at it. She was going to need to call Alexa tonight, if she made it through this afternoon, not Jay.

She knew what he wanted and she didn’t want to deal with it. Jay had been the perfect companion. Their two year relationship was a record for her. He was gorgeous, talented, fun, sexy, easy-going and lacked the capacity for self-examination. In other words, he was a long, long way from thinking about commitment. Or so she’d thought. Lately he’d begun hinting about the future, spoiling everything. 

Kate studied the shell-shocked D’arcy, trying to imagine what a couple as young as she and Eli were thinking, getting married in their early twenties. No wonder they were having trouble. On the other hand, she thought with sympathy, they must have been wildly in love. Perhaps they still were. She remembered what that felt like.

Now all Kate’s relationship skills went toward helping her clients sort out their problems and providing them with happy-ever-afters. That was enough for her, since she wasn’t ever going to get her own.

Most people needed a prod to their self-awareness, and help clarifying their goals. Unlike Kate, who, through counseling, already knew herself far too well. If Jay knew everything there was to know about her, he wouldn’t want to push for more. 
There were too many ghosts in her past that made intimacy hard, if not impossible. And yet, nothing less than true intimacy could induce her to spend the rest of her life with one man. There had been only one man that had made her feel that way. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling numb. Apparently he was about to enter the room.

The truth was she didn’t need the complication of a man in her life at all. Jay distracted her from her work and somehow made her feel guilty for devoting herself to what she loved most. Except… at thirty-five, she did, in theory, want to settle down and have a family, too. 

The three women sat in silence, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact, the minutes dragging, until the annoying whine of the HVAC system began to grate on their nerves. D’arcy rolled her eyes to the ceiling with a huff. 

What was taking them so long? It was like waiting on death row. Kate just wanted to get it over with now.

She cleared her throat. “I understand you went to McGill, D’arcy. Did you like it?” 

“What’s not to like? It was my hometown, you know. All the local kids went there who didn’t have a plan.” D’arcy lifted one round shoulder. “I did figure out what I wanted, eventually.”

“Political science, wasn’t it?” pressed Kate gently.

“Yes. And history. Daddy thought I should study journalism. Maybe work at one of his magazines until I met Mr. Right.” She pulled her mouth tight. “But it wasn’t my thing. I organize people better than words.”

“Sharon mentioned you worked as a campaign manager for a while,” Kate said, nodding. “What happened? Did you enjoy it?”

“I loved it!” D’arcy paused, considering her hands again, while a wistful expression stole over her features. “Eli happened, I guess. When he came along, it was obvious he needed me more than Minister Bradley ever could.” A breathy laugh escaped her lips. She paused, gazing past Kate. “Anyway, I fell hard.” One side of her full lips quirked up.

She knew what that felt like. Interesting, Kate thought. So, D’arcy was one for causes, including the struggling artist Eli. 

“Looks like you should have stayed in Montreal.” Sharon said with a drawl. “Where are Eli and Simon, I wonder? It’s nearly two.”

As if on cue, the door opened again, and Carrie entered. Kate’s pulse kicked up again, her gaze locked on the door, feeling an irrational but powerful urge to leap out of her chair and run like hell.

“Mr. Benjamin is here,” she said with a flicker of a smile, then slipped back out the door. Kate let out her breath. Not him. Not yet.

A young man entered and scanned the room through narrowed eyes. He made a point of not looking at D’arcy. Flopping himself into the chair to Kate’s right, he draped his agile frame over it like a blanket. Ignoring both his wife and her lawyer, he settled back and assessed Kate from under hooded lids, while she studied him in return. She could feel the tension vibrate between husband and wife like a plucked cable, though they didn’t acknowledge each other.

“Hello,” Kate said, realizing the others weren’t acknowledging him.

“Hey. Nice to meet you, Kathryn O’Day,” he said, tossing her a careless smile, his dark espresso eyes smouldering. Ebony waves grazed the shoulders of a weathered brown leather jacket. He emanated sexual heat. 

A bad boy? She held her face as neutral as she could to conceal her reaction, piercing him with her x-ray stare. “You can call me Kate. Good morning, Mr. Benjamin.”

He sat up a little straighter in his chair, a veil of boredom descending, the ‘come hither’ expression vanishing. He yawned.

“Call me Eli. Please.”

“Eli.” She nodded. She quickly explained the change of counsel to him. “He should arrive shortly. We’re overdue to begin.” She glanced at her watch. “I hope you’re okay with the change.”

“He won’t care,” D’arcy said. “Eli’s not one for legal matters.”

“Au contraire, ma chere. I fired my last lawyer, Kate,” he said pointedly, turning to her. “We didn’t see eye to eye,” Eli’s elegant dark brows furrowed. “And I really was looking forward to working with David Broadbent. He’s a great guy.”

“Don’t worry, Eli. You’ll like Simon just as well,” Sharon said. “I’ve known him for years, and he’s a fine lawyer.”

Kate’s skin tingled, and she suppressed a shiver of mixed anticipation and dread. Just then, she heard footsteps in the hall outside, and they turned as one to face the door like spectators at a tennis match. She straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders and took the deep, calming Pranayama breaths she’d learned in yoga class. Shanti-mukti-shanti-mukti.

Eli frowned as the door opened, scrutinizing the man who entered.

Kate’s gaze locked on him, her breath frozen in her throat. There was no mistake. Simon Sharpe had hardly changed at all.

Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged.The tall blond man slid into the room. He shook the raindrops from himself and shrugged out of his wet, wrinkled raincoat, revealing a light grey suit that was hardly better. With a world-weary air, he grinned and looked around, taking everyone in. His startling bright eyes settled first on Sharon, nodding his acknowledgment while her eyes glinted like an eagle sighting prey.

He assessed D’arcy for a moment. Then his gaze rested on Eli, his brows lifted, and finally on Kate herself, where it froze, a look of bewilderment appearing, as if he found himself suddenly in the ladies room and wondered how he’d got there.

Simon Sharpe! Kate’s breath stuck and her heart pounded in her tight chest. An explosion of disparate thoughts and feelings crashed around in her head, a chorus of dissonant voices. She darted an anxious glance at the others in the room, but no. They didn’t know, they couldn’t know who he was. To her. Pull yourself together, Kate. 

“…em…”

Simon Sharpe! Simon! No. Her stomach lurched. Perspiration blossomed on her brow, upper lip, palms — everywhere. She tensed against the hard leather seat of her chair, wishing she could run and hide.

Kate heard Sharon speaking, circumventing Eli, who was already half out of his chair. She grinned at Simon like a Cheshire cat. “–pleasant surprise,” she cooed.

He lifted one side of his mouth and his left eyebrow, an unruly wing, the only elements of asymmetry in an otherwise even and striking face and addressed the room. “Simon Sharpe. How do you do?” 

“Did David—?” blurted Eli.

Simon faced Eli, rested a hand on his shoulder and took Eli’s hand, almost more a caress than a handshake. “I’m sorry to catch you off guard, Mr. Benjamin. My colleague, David Broadbent,” he explained to the room at large, “was suddenly called away, and asked me to step in this morning. We tried to reach you without success. I’ve been fully briefed.”

“Hey, dude.” Eli shook his hand, shrugged and flopped back into his chair. 

“Simon, delightful,” Sharon said. “You’ve met Eli. And this is D’arcy Duchamp, my client, and Kathryn O’Day, our mediator.”

Simon Sharpe visibly flinched. His gaze darted around to acknowledge Sharon’s introductions, then sprang back. His gaze locked on Kate’s face, curious, squinting. “You’re the mediator?”

She was staring. Kate took a deep ragged breath and discretely wiped her damp palms on the legs of her trousers, forced herself to rise from her chair with an outer appearance of calm and control that she didn't feel. Like an automaton, she turned and took two stiff steps toward him as he approached. Her mind whirled. I have to take the offensive. He's late. He's unexpected. He's making me uncomfortable. What do I say to him? She raised her gaze to his chin, attempting to swallow the cotton stuffed into her dry throat.

“Yes. Mr. Sharpe... at last." She took another reluctant step as though she were trudging to the electric chair. Should she pretend they’d never met or acknowledge that they knew each other? Play it down, then own up later? "How… nice to… meet you… again. Please take a seat. We’d like to begin." Gathering her courage, she forced herself to meet his penetrating blue eyes with her own, revealing nothing, she hoped, of her inner turmoil. She almost succeeded. Her heart thumped violently in her chest as she gaped at his familiar face. That beloved face.

"Kate?" he said, his voice a strangled whisper. He didn’t move toward a chair.

"You know each other?" Sharon asked.

Did they ever. “Yes. We knew each other… as students… years ago," Kate said with a flip of her hand, as though it were nothing.

He peered at her, his face devoid of expression, his gaze searching her features.

"Isn't that right? Or am I mistaken?" Kate said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

"Yes, that's true. Excuse my rudeness. I’m surprised to see you after all these years.” He dropped his gaze, scanning down to her feet and up again. "Kate."

She’d seen his expression metamorphose from bewilderment to a cool blank stare, but not before she saw a flicker of annoyance there. That was no surprise. She was likely the last person on earth he wanted to see, let alone work with. However passionate their youthful affair had been, he clearly remembered, as she did, its sordid ending. 

Her ribs tightened like a clamp around her lungs, squeezing. Warning. Stop it!

He couldn't possibly know how he'd broken her fragile heart when he dumped her, or that her unrequited love for him had grown into a malignant obsession that was nearly her undoing. That was her dirty little secret. 

What the hell am I going to do? She reached out her trembling hand, petrified at the effect his touch would have on her. “Likewise,” she murmured.

He inclined his head and gave her hand a gentle but masculine shake. Did his grip linger overlong, or had time slowed down? All her nerve endings zinged with the electrical knowledge of him, his skin touching her skin, and she could not pull her gaze from their joined hands or form another coherent thought. A great weight on her chest seemed to be crushing the air out of her. She lifted her shoulders up and swallowed through a throat that seemed to be closing up, stiffening, as though she'd swallowed a bag of rocks. She recognized all the familiar signs of a panic attack, but it had been years. She’d been fine. This can’t be happening to me.

He squinted at her, a subtle smile curving the taut bow of his lips and she jerked her hand away as though she'd been burnt. He's laughing at me! She was ridiculous, getting all worked up now. This shouldn't matter. But it did. It did.

It was happening again. The anxiety. She couldn’t trust her own reaction to him. Looking at him made her instantly realize he had the same effect, unwittingly triggering painful memories of her trauma, tangling up her reactions to him. Attraction, obsession and repulsion. She’d thought those days were long past, all of her skeletons buried.

Simon sat next to Eli.

Kate sat down and picked up her fountain pen, noticed her hand trembling, and set it down again. She clenched her fists to stop her fingertips from tingling. How could she take notes now? She tried slow Pranayama breathing, shanti-mukti-shanti-mukti, smoothing her brow with nervous fingers while she stared blindly at her notes. She had to find a way to carry on as though the earth hadn't fallen out from under her.

"Shall we g-get started?" she smiled around the table, trying to meet everyone's gaze. The smile on her face was so tight she was sure it would crack. When she reached Simon, her gaze flitted past. Trickles of moisture tickled her breastbone as they slid down. How could she feel anxious and phony? It’s not right. This was her arena. It was impossible to muster her usual sincerity or enthusiasm when starting a new case. Focus! Be strong! 

Remember why you're here. She adored her work as a mediator. She was able to share her insight and experience with people she could truly help. 

Each new case was an adventure that she relished, just like a crisp, new romance novel; she knew what to expect. She would crack the front cover and meet the principal characters—her clients—in a story that involved misunderstandings, hurt feelings, secrets, and revelations, perhaps even a villain or two to hinder progress. But then there would be love, hopefully enough to pull them through to the happily-ever-after ending that Kate believed everyone deserved. If they were willing to do the work.

Looking down, she loosened her tight fist, frowning at the red arcs her fingernails had inscribed on the palm of her hand, barely registering the pain. Breath.

She understood how damaged people were. How this led them to hurt themselves and the ones they loved. She had been that way herself, once.

This time, D'arcy had filed for divorce, while Eli refused to consider it. Attempts to negotiate had at first escalated and then broken down entirely. Neither the lawyers nor the family were getting anywhere, and emotions were incendiary. To Kate, this sounded like a classic case of people not saying what they really wanted to say, or asking for what they wanted. A perfect storm of hurt and betrayal.

This case, in particular, was special. Nearly ten years had passed since Kate had become a mediator and made a name for herself as a specialist in reconciliation. To commemorate her career accomplishments, the Mediation Roster Society was presenting her with a special award at the annual meeting and banquet early in the new year. The board had asked her to give a presentation when accepting the award, and since this would be her fiftieth case, she'd chosen to make a special study of it. Kate was flattered by the award, but even more proud to be able to share the details of her methods with colleagues. She planned to take careful notes, and in particular, record her own emotional responses and strategies. If she could focus. How could she do it now? She had to remember her goal.

His being here would not interfere with her job. She took a deep, determined breath and hardened her mind, shutting out all awareness of Simon Sharpe.

"First of all, thank you all for coming. D'arcy and Eli, I know how difficult this must be for you. I want to commend you both on your courage in embarking on a new and different approach to resolving your differences. From conversations I've had with D'arcy and Sharon, I understand that your hope is to sort out your current stalemate regarding a possible reconciliation, versus divorce.”

She met first D’arcy’s gaze and then Eli’s. D’arcy appeared wary, her pupil’s dilated, poised for fight or flight. Eli compulsively scratched lines on a notepad in front of him. His art a kind of personal armour.

"Before we go there, I'd like to get to know both of you and your history, and try to apply my expertise to your communication challenges. Our goal here is to get you both on the same page. I am absolutely confident you will be rewarded for your efforts and leave here feeling better about yourselves and each other, whatever you decide is right for you." She intercepted Simon sharing a small smirk and raised eyebrows with Sharon, and scowled. It was bad enough having Sharon to contend with. She'd have to confront them immediately before they poisoned the atmosphere. Damned lawyers.

Kate much preferred working without them. They tended to make her job as mediator harder. While some showed compassion and professional integrity, others, like Sharon Beckett, balked at the very idea of mediation. Kate shuddered. With luck it would only be for this first session. For so many reasons.

"Sharon, Mr. Sharpe–"

"Simon."

Her breath caught. "Simon. Thank you. I'm sure attending mediation sessions offers you a more passive role than you're used to, but I appreciate your willingness to participate today according to your clients' wishes." Kate lifted her hands, palms out, in a welcoming gesture to the couple in question, consciously keeping her elbows close to her hot, damp body. 

"I want to remind you that you've chosen mediation because of your conflicting objectives. D'arcy, at the moment, still wants a divorce, whereas Eli does not. You two have come here with a goal of seeing if it is possible to reconcile your relationship. Rather than wasting time and money, and making everyone miserable, we're here to get to the bottom of what you both want and why, so you can move forward with consensus." 

She felt like a rookie on her first day, mentally following the protocol in her textbook. "My goal as a mediator is to help you explore your issues and see if it is possible for us to come up with an agreement where we lay out new ways that the two of you will interact. You could think of it as a type of marriage counseling."

"Now,” Kate met Sharon's gaze first, hoping from previous experience that these words would disarm her. "We need to have a mutually agreed upon set of goals. I'm not talking about material ones, which might be the usual stuff of divorce settlements. This is couple's mediation. It's meant to be different. The way I do it, it's more structured than open-ended marriage counseling." 

Kate scanned the room to check her audience. Simon was leaning back in his chair, elbows on the arms, fingers steepled, watching her intently, an expression on his face that could only signify arrogant disdain. What on earth is he thinking? She tried to ignore a sudden pinch in her ribcage, reminding herself to breath. 

Not a man for rules and schedules, Eli squirmed in his chair. She reeled him back in, remembering that her first responsibility was to put her clients at ease. "How does that sound to you, Eli?"

Eli's gaze questioned her. "S'okay with me," he replied, shrugging. 

Sharon smirked, her gaze darting to D'arcy, but D'arcy avoided eye contact, remained reserved and placid, seemingly oblivious to all the undercurrents in the room. She instead regarded Kate, awaiting her next comment.

"Before we go any further, I want to address the purpose of mediation," Kate said, warming to her familiar script. "My role as a mediator is to help you to talk to each other. I am completely neutral and I can't impose a solution on you. I want to help you to find your own solutions. I am not a judge in a courtroom." Struggling to swallow with a parched throat, she offered a reassuring smile, glancing at Sharon and Simon. "My job is to work with you to improve a situation that has become un-workable.” 

Sharon cleared her throat, and Kate glanced at her. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” she replied, her face pinched. 

"Any negotiation must involve the discussion of substantive issues, of course. But r-relationship issues are at least as important, and until we settle those, we cannot hope to agree on the substantive ones. So we will begin there."

"Seems to me you're making a big assumption that reconciliation is both possible and advisable for our clients, Kate," interjected Simon quietly. 

Eli's head shot up. 

"There are divorce proceedings underway already,” Simon added.

She heard the challenge in his voice, saw the contemptuous smile lurking below the surface. She blinked at him. Another sharp pain shot through her ribcage and she sucked in a long slow deep breath while waiting for the aftershock to abate, willing the anxiety attack under control.

Kate stiffened her spine, raised her brows and continued, "D'arcy and Eli agreed to come to me, Simon. However, I was about to say, you should be aware that my background is crisis counseling and psychology, not the law. My bent, therefore, if you will, is to examine the underlying..." she swallowed, " ... causes of the problem. I am unabashedly a therapeutic or reconciliation mediator. And an optimist." She smiled. "That is my explicit bias." 

"That's fairly unusual, isn't it?" Simon asked.

She shrugged, again outstretching her hands. "If in the end both parties wish to divorce, that is their choice." She swallowed the thickness in her throat. "At least keep an open mind, for your client's sake." 

"As I trust you will, Kate.” 

She responded with a tight smile and a hard glare. What's up with him? How dare he challenge her?

"I have complete confidence in your objectivity,” Simon continued.

Was that sarcasm? "Excellent!" She turned away. "Eli," she said, looking directly into his dark eyes, mirroring his grave expression "You and I haven’t met before today. You weren’t involved in my selection. If you have any concerns, please tell me now. You must feel that your interests are protected." She saw his gaze waver toward Simon, as though tugged away by magnets. Two strangers.

Simon's eyes narrowed, advertising his suspicion. 

Then Eli's gaze returned to hers, and she felt her magic take effect. So many mediators forgot to be empathetic and warm. He relaxed, a weak smile flickering across his face. She could feel his hopefulness as he nodded almost imperceptibly. She turned her gaze on D'arcy, head inclined, until she nodded too. She was alarmed to see her words had the opposite effect on Simon, who tutted and tossed down his pen with a dismissive and cynical air. Why was he being so contentious? Did he have that much contempt for her still? Who did he think he was, coming in here and trying to undermine her credibility? Well, she'd show him. What did he know, anyway, about mediation? About relationships? About her?

Increasingly flustered, Kate was relieved to hand out consent forms and wait quietly while everyone reviewed and signed them. She hesitated, biting her lip. Conflict of interest was kind of an issue here. Strictly speaking, she had an ethical responsibility to acknowledge any current or previous relationship with the disputants or, she supposed, their lawyers.

She squinted in Simon's direction, pondering the problem. Fifteen years was a long time. His features, tranquil while he scanned the form, were even more handsome than they had been at nineteen. She felt her pulse race wildly as the memory of him then, how he had made her feel, all that he'd meant to her, invaded her mind, and body, like a creeping virus. 

He glanced up and studied her just as carefully over the bent heads of the others. Her gaze locked briefly with his, and one corner of his sensuous bow-shaped mouth crept upward in secret acknowledgment, as if daring her to tell her clients that they'd in fact been lovers. She panicked, glancing down at her notes, her heartbeat like thunder. Was he mocking her with that sardonic smile? Her breath wouldn't come, and she struggled to draw more air.

She couldn't do it. She just couldn't make herself do it. She could send them to another mediator, but... so much was riding on this for her. Another perfect case study like this wouldn’t come her way before the end of the year. Would it affect her performance? Her objectivity? She prayed not, but she was in such a flustered state. If neither of them said anything, who would know? Was that wrong? She'd think it over. There'd be time later. Maybe she could get rid of him some other way. Maybe David Broadbent would come back. She grasped at the threads of her thoughts. What was I saying? She stood up and paced the length of the table and back.

"I--I can assure you all that--that, though I may at times appear to be meandering in my questioning, I am quite purposeful in my methods. We are going on a journey of discovery together, and I do have a map." Kate paused, conscious she was reciting her script too quickly, hoping for a serene countenance to conceal her distress. She'd never felt so lost at sea in her life. Well. Almost never. But she wasn't going there again. She'd gotten over him long ago. There was nothing to worry about. 

She gathered the forms and tapped them briskly on the table, resuming her seat. "I can also assure you that, if you play by my rules, you will both leave here satisfied. Both of you." She looked from D'arcy to Eli and back again. D'arcy’s crisp brow creased with a tiny frown. She couldn't fail to notice Simon's lip curl in disbelief. Annoying man.

She leveled her gaze at both lawyers, trying to suppress her feelings of skepticism. From past experience, Kate knew she'd have some trouble with Sharon as things got going. Simon's game plan was a complete mystery. What kind of a lawyer had he become, anyway? Was he the cynical, embittered, arrogant man he seemed? They'd better not mess this up for her. It was too important. She would simply have to handle them, like she handled all difficult people. His regard followed her as she moved.

She felt so exposed -- so naked under his scrutiny. She folded an arm across her churning middle and fingered the silver eternal knot pendant that hung at her neck - a reminder of the interrelatedness of all phenomena - and drew a deep breath, using it to calm herself. Was there a reason Simon had walked back into her life today? What lesson was she supposed to take from this? 

His eyes were very expressive, very watchful, cerulean blue, though his face was impassive. What thoughts swirled in that gorgeous head? His hair was still blond with a slight wave, but cut much shorter than she remembered. It looked darker than she remembered, too, almost brown at the nape. But it still shone with golden highlights and looked windblown, inviting touch. His nose was long and ever-so-slightly kinked to the right, his jaw still lean and strong though his face was much fuller than it had been when he was nineteen: less scrawny-boy, more chiseled-man, with more than a hint of shadowed worry. She wet her lips as her gaze followed the slope of his jaw up to Pan-like ears that made him seem... What am I doing? She had a meeting to run. A job to do. She pushed on. 

"So. Um. If I have everyone's agreement... have I?" she glanced around again, and everyone nodded.

"You have my complete commitment, Kate,” Sharon said. For some reason, her tone only increased Kate's doubts and worries.

"Of course I respect your methods, Kate,” Simon's warm tenor carried a hint of private amusement. "If what you are looking for is cooperation, you have it. But I can't be expected to commit to agree to a settlement I haven't seen, or a process, for that matter, that is not in my client's best interests, can I?" He raised his sandy eyebrows expectantly. Eli, who had been industriously doodling with his fountain pen, sat up straighter and glanced at Simon with a hint of concern on his handsome face.

"You do understand me, Simon. I am looking for full participation, not an arbitrary substantive agreement," Kate clarified in a voice intended to reassure Eli. Play along. She forced a smile onto her face. 

Over the next half hour, Kate reviewed confidentiality policies, then went over the step-by-step procedures. She reviewed the rules about handling emotions. And finally she talked to them about the written agreement that would be the important end result of the process.

"Good. Now about our timetable, we should commit to continue until, say, mid-to-late November, though I am optimistic that we can come to a resolution before then. I prefer to meet once a week, if possible. After the first session, it won’t be necessary for Sharon and Simon to attend." Could she simply get rid of both of them? Dared she hope?

"I'm afraid it is," Sharon said. "I've been requested to attend every session by Madame Duchamp, who is paying your bill." 

Kate drew in a breath, held it and let it go. Nicely done, Sharon. "Of course. For some people it can be cost prohibitive."

D'arcy’s gaze rested on the ceiling, making Kate wonder who was calling the shots. Sharon pursed her lips and looked at Kate, chin raised in a challenge.

"If she's here, Simon is too.” Eli glared at Sharon while still avoiding eye contact with D'arcy. "You’ll stay, right Simon?"

Simon nodded. "If that's what you want, Eli."

Damn. She was stuck with him, as long as she kept this case. And she very much wanted this case for her presentation. "Okay. But remember you're not here to stir up trouble. Your schedules everyone?" Kate said, flipping open her calendar. Her head was buzzing, and dark spots danced at the periphery of her vision. She rested her head in her hand, trying to gain control. She wouldn’t faint, but bile was definitely fighting its way up her gullet. How am I going to do this?

Sharon scanned her agenda, while Simon reached into his briefcase in search of his. "I'm pretty flexible, Kate,” she said. "I'm at an advantage, since I have no travel time. I’ll defer to Simon, of course." She blinked rapidly at him. It was a peculiarly feminine gesture at odds with her rigid bearing that made Kate cringe and wondered how well she knew him, or wanted to. Against all logic, a twist of jealousy tightened her jaw.

She imagined the young idealistic Simon growing up, growing older. What had his life been like to make him so hard, when he had been such a gentle soul? Who was he now? And why should she care? She's gotten over him long ago. She'd been through therapy; she understood how her memory of trauma had transferred to Simon. She shouldn't be falling apart now. Nevertheless, a surge of nausea washed over her and her vision darkened.

Simon found what he was looking for, flipped through the pages, frowning. "I can meet Tuesday or Thursday mornings, with my current caseload, or possibly Friday afternoons but no later than 4:30." He looked up, his brows raised in question.

Kate peered at Simon as though down a long tunnel.

She felt a wave of dizziness, swaying in her chair.

"Are you okay, Kate?” D'arcy asked, reaching out a hand.

"Um. Yes. Yes, fine. Thanks." An upsurge of nausea overwhelmed her. Cold sweat chilled her crawling skin. "F-Friday afternoons are no good. Bad time–- bad time of the day and week. Everyone's energy is at its lowest. Let's say Tuesdays. Nine o'clock. D'arcy… Eli? Are you all right with that time?"

"Not before ten, ple-ease," Eli begged. D'arcy twitched, glowering at Eli.

"Is there a problem, Eli?" Kate asked through her teeth. Please! She was feeling so dizzy and sick, she couldn't tamp it down anymore. I have to get out of here.

"I need my shut-eye, that's all," he replied. "I'm not an early riser. I paint at night, and sometimes-- " 

"Hah!" barked D'arcy. "More like paint the night. Who are you fooling, Eli?" she snarled. It was the first time she had looked at him or addressed him directly. They glared at each other.

Please don't start now!

"Oh, so you are speaking to me after all," Eli snarked. "I don't schedule openings and receptions." He jabbed himself in the chest. “They expect me to show up." He curbed his tone at the end, glaring at her, his gaze sliding over to Kate, patches of colour rising on his cheeks.

"Well, then," Kate chirped, barely holding on, speaking in a quick staccato. "We'll start at ten a.m., on Tuesdays. Emotions can run high if people are hungry. We'll run the sessions for two hours, more or less. If we need to go overtime, we'll get some sandwiches or take a short break." She wanted to get on with the real work today, but she desperately needed air. With a trembling hand, she dabbed drops of perspiration from her brow and glanced at her watch. "Speaking of which, why don't we take a short break for coffee and return here in fifteen?" She stood up, pushing her chair back with her knees. "Excuse me," she muttered as she rushed out the door to the ladies room.

* * *

This can't be happening! It felt like a bad dream. How many times had she naively imagined– no fantasized about– Simon Sharpe suddenly reappearing in her life? It was the principal scene that had replayed over and over in her obsessive mind. She wanted him so badly. Oh, not anymore, but during the worst years of her depression. She was always, in her mind, overcome with joy and hope. 

Now look at me! Under fluorescent lighting, her image in the bathroom mirror wasn't flattering. Her face was green and mottled, her hair hung in lank, ratty strands pasted to her damp brow and cheeks. Her eyes... she could hardly stand the darkness she saw there. Seeing Simon again– she was coming apart, experiencing some kind of relapse– a freak anxiety attack. She still felt weak, sweaty and chilled. Actually physically sick, despite having already emptied the contents of her stomach. This was no dream. And instead of thrills what she felt was sheer terror.

Her cell phone vibrated in her bag on the vanity. Pulling it out, she confirmed that it was Jay again. Suddenly he seemed comforting. "Hello, Jay." Her voice was weak and watery.

"Hi, Beautiful. Have you been avoiding my calls?”

“You know I can’t talk when I’m working.”

"You haven't been answering my calls in the evenings either," he said.

"I've been... really busy."

"I need to see you. I miss you. How about dinner Saturday?"

That’s because she was avoiding him. She suffered a twinge of conscience.

“Um... I don’t know.“ She tutted. " I can’t decide right now." And wasn’t that an understatement. How could she think about Jay when her mind was full of Simon?

“Come on sweetheart. You can’t torture me like this. I’ve got a surprise for you." He laughed, warming and confusing her. He was awfully charming.

She rubbed the dampness at the back of her neck, fluffing her hair. "Maybe. I'll let you know later.”

He remained silent for a moment, the line quiet.

“How about now?” Kate heard the smile in his voice.

“Ja-ay.”

"Please."

Her laugh was feeble and she looked at herself in the mirror again, mopping her brow with a wadded tissue. "I don't know." Quit waffling.

“I didn't get your answer about that dinner."

“I don’t think so. I need a little me time right now.”

"Please, Katie."

She sighed. Was this what everyone went through when faced with a lifelong commitment? "We’ll get together soon, I promise.”

"Whatever’s going on with you I know I can fix it. I have ways.” His warm sexy, laughter filled her head. “I’ll make you laugh and you’ll feel better. We’ll have a good time like we always do.”

An image of Simon flashed in her agitated mind, and she pushed it away. 

“Maybe I’m not in the mood to laugh right now.”

“All the more reason for us to spend time together.” He laughed. "Saturday?"

It was comforting to hear his voice. But now he wanted forever, and she had to decide whether that was something she could do. Could she face the question? “No. I don't know. Maybe." Her voice shook. What she really needed was to talk to Alexa.

“Are you okay? You don't sound well."

“I’m feeling a bit nauseated. Might be coming down with something. Call me tonight?"

“Sure. Okay. Later.” He paused. “Love you, angel.”

Yes. Coming down with something. Something like a nervous freaking breakdown! But she could pass it off as a stomach virus. That's it. She'd wrap up today's session early. She needed time to think about her reaction to Simon, and come up with a strategy. She had to get control of herself. Her clients needed her. And she needed them. And she had to deal with Jay’s imminent proposal.