Somewhere on Maui (an Accidental Matchmaker Novel) Page 2

  “So tell me more about your work and how you got into journalism.” Dr. Suzuki was helping her move away from emotionality, for which Zoe was grateful. She filled the psychologist in on how she’d majored in communications, imagining herself as a TV journalist initially but had fallen in love with writing nonfiction.

  “I get interested in something. My mom says I was just born with an extra dose of curiosity. I investigate what I’m interested in, and I write about it in a way that entertains and educates,” she said. “I got hired after graduation as an intern at Time magazine, then went on to write for them for several years but found I was more interested in softer topics, relationship and psychology stuff. I ended up writing and editing at a women’s magazine for the last ten years—but then the divorce happened, and I decided my career was one of the things that had been getting stale. I decided to go independent when I moved to Maui.”

  “So tell me about what brings you here. To Maui.” They’d touched on this before, but Zoe could tell Dr. Suzuki hadn’t been satisfied with her “I’m having trouble adjusting to the life of my dreams” answer from her first session.

  Zoe sighed. “I’ve been to therapy before, so I know it can help. I’m having trouble sleeping, then I oversleep and stay in bed all day. Sometimes I feel anxious leaving the house. It’s so sad because this is what I wanted, what I always wanted—but with Rex, my husband. We dreamed we’d be self-employed and live somewhere gorgeous and enjoy nature every day.”

  “And you’re doing your dream without Rex.”

  “Yeah. I keep thinking about how and why we got divorced, and it hasn’t stopped hurting.”

  A long pause and then Dr. Suzuki prompted, “And that is?”

  “We couldn’t have a baby. I did the whole hormone injection thing. We tried a round of in vitro fertilization, and I lost the babies. And then Rex told me he’d had an affair on one of his business trips and got this woman pregnant. Says he has to do right by her. He loves me and he’s sorry, but she’s the one having a baby.” Zoe hunched over, her hands crossed over the empty womb that had killed two babies placed in it by science—to the tune of twenty thousand dollars, which she was still paying off.

  “Oh no.” Dr. Suzuki covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “Zoe. That’s gut-wrenching. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” A long moment passed. Zoe wished she could cry again, but the tears of this particular wound were flash frozen, walled up somewhere so they couldn’t overwhelm her.

  “Thank you for telling me. You don’t have to go into it again if you don’t want to.”

  “No, it helps to tell someone, I feel a little better for it.” She was surprised to find that she did feel a little better. “So what do you suggest about this online thing?”

  “Just go slow.” Dr. Suzuki glanced at the clock. “Let’s meet twice a week until you begin to get some traction on the changes you’ve made.”

  “All right.” They set up appointments, and Zoe shook the psychologist’s hand as she left. “I’ll report in on my adventures in online dating. I’m sure I’ll have stories by next time.”

  “I still think it might be too soon, but it’s your choice, always.”

  “Well, I’ve signed up for something called Crazy Blind Date, where the computer matches me with someone. I’ve got my first date tomorrow night.”

  “I’m sure that’ll be interesting. I’ll look forward to hearing all about it.”

  Zoe felt a little lighter as she walked to her car, turning to wave at the psychologist, a slender form in the doorway. Dr. Suzuki waved back.

  Adam sat on the low couch, his bare feet crossed at the ankle in front of him. He glanced around at the cool gray walls, the two love seats in beige suede, the peacock fan chair in one corner, the psychologist in a rolling office chair. On the low coffee table before him was a ceramic tray of sand with a little rake, and on the wall opposite, a framed photo of a rainbow over a whale’s tail on a stormy sea. Two bright red pillows brought a pop of color to the ends of the love seats.

  Dr. Suzuki saw his gaze and smiled. “What do you think of the space?”

  “Nice.” He laced his fingers over his stomach, smiled back. “Sends a message of refined elegance and relaxation, with some nice red wealth feng shui thrown in.”

  Dr. Suzuki’s eyebrows rose. He’d surprised her, and he liked surprising people, knocking over stereotypes. “I see you know something about interiors as well as building.”

  “I actually went to college for architecture.” He folded one ankle onto the other knee, brushed a bit of sawdust off his jeans. He wished he’d been able to change, but he’d come on his lunch break from the build site. “I came home from college to Hawaii and had planned to open my own architecture firm, but my father died. This is the family business.”

  “Ah. So you hadn’t planned to be a contractor, then.”

  “No. But it’s fine.” He laced his fingers again. “I had responsibilities. My mom and two sisters, who were still in school, took the contractor test, and the rest is history.”

  Dr. Suzuki made a note on her tablet. She was tall for a Japanese woman, with the kind of skinny frame that made him nervous, as if he’d break something if he touched her.

  “So. I have six sessions with you for anger management. When do we get started?”

  Dr. Suzuki gazed at him. “I can tell you wouldn’t be here if the sessions weren’t assigned to you—but since you are, I suggest you just relax and let us move through the process. You might find it more helpful than you expect. The fifty minutes will go by either way for me.”

  Adam resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair, dust himself down. He didn’t have to impress this woman. As she said, the fifty minutes would go by easy or annoying.

  “Let’s start with a tool. When you feel yourself getting impatient, breathe in through your nose to the count of three, out through your mouth to the count of five. Let’s practice together.”

  She led him through three breaths, and he smiled. “That wasn’t so bad. I’m cured.”

  Dr. Suzuki blinked—then glanced down at her notes. “You have a nice smile. You should do it more often.” She gave a little head shake. “I wish it were that easy, Adam, and I’m glad you found that helpful. I may prompt you or remind you of the technique when I see you getting agitated. It’s the kind of thing that takes some time to become a habit but can really help you stay calm and what we call ‘regulated’ throughout the day. Now, why don’t you tell me about the situation that brought you here?”

  Adam shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “I’ve been feeling angry for a while. My ex-wife drinks. Grade-A, certifiable alcoholic. I confronted her one too many times, poured out her booze one too many times, and she took the kids and left six months ago. We divorced.” He scrubbed his hands down the roughness of his work jeans. “I miss those kids.”

  “So they were her children?”

  “Yes, but just toddlers when we got married. I’ve been the only dad they know. They’re six and seven now.”

  “So you were angry. And your wife had left you. Then what happened?”

  “Lost my temper with one of my workers. Stupid sonofabitch left one of the saws on and unplugged it. Almost took my hand off when I plugged it in. So I gave him something to remember.”

  He could see Dr. Suzuki reading down a referral paper. “Says here you agreed to six weeks of anger management and to pay Tim Tindale’s hospital bill in return for dropped charges.”

  Adam frowned, folded his arms. “Never should have got to that point. There were no hospital bills. I just gave him a shove in the shoulder and a few choice words and fired him. He took himself down to the hospital and filed a complaint against me with the contractor’s association. Eventually, the cops threw out the charges—we had a dozen witnesses—but I agreed to go to anger management just to shut the guy up. At least I didn’t have to hire him back.”

  Dr. Suzuki glanced up, sharp brown eyes narrowed, and he felt them pr
obing into his head. “So you don’t think you’re angry?”

  “I never said that.” He shook his head. “This whole thing was Tim trying to get back on the job, trying to save face. But I never said I wasn’t angry. In fact, I’m hoping you can help me deal with losing the kids.” He hunched forward, elbows on his knees, rubbed his eyes against a telltale prickling there. “They were everything to me.”

  He felt a flash of memory—one of them on either side of him, tucked under his arms, Diego snuggled against him and Serena sucking her thumb as he read them a story.

  “It feels so wrong that because I’m not their biological father, I have no rights to see them, while God knows what their mother is doing. At least from what I can tell, she’s living at her parents’ and the kids will have some care. Her parents are good people, even if they wouldn’t take my calls.”

  “Did you adopt them?”

  “I always meant to. Their dad is a total deadbeat; he seems to have disappeared out of the state. But we never got around to it.”

  “Have you filed anything with the court? An appeal for visitation rights?”

  “I tried. Met with a lawyer. Said it would be a long, expensive thing proving ‘best interests of the child.’ I got discouraged, didn’t want to drag them through that with their mother bad-mouthing me to them along the way.”

  “Does she have any ammunition to use against you? Any experiences of this anger we’ve been talking about?” Dr. Suzuki’s delicate inflection implied what he knew she wasn’t coming right out and asking.

  “Did I ever abuse her or the kids, you mean. No. Never.” He found himself breathing hard, his arms folded tight. She inclined her head in a graceful, accepting nod.

  “In through the nose, one-two-three. Out through the mouth, one-two-three-four-five.”

  He let her lead him through a couple more breaths and was surprised to feel his arms unfold and his blood pressure recede. “I’d come home from work, and she’d have Diego and Serena parked in front of the television, all the drapes pulled. She’d smoke and be passed out drunk on the couch.” He leaned forward, consciously loosening his hands to hang them between his knees. “I tried not to yell at her in front of the kids. I’d fix them a snack, send them outside, then throw the drapes open and move her into the back bedroom. Nothing I did seemed to slow down her drinking.”

  “Alcoholism is a disease. People suffering from it need help.”

  “That’s a cop-out.” Adam ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “Even if she was at the addiction phase—and I get that she was—she should have given a shit about what she was doing to the children. To us as a family.”

  Dr. Suzuki waited a long beat, and he did a relaxation breath.

  “You can’t control other people.”

  Adam sighed, sat back. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

  “I don’t mean to oversimplify or minimize your pain. But it’s just a fact—we can’t control others; we can’t make them do what we think they should. And then how do we handle that?”

  “Not well.” He gave a little laugh.

  “Well, I can tell there’s more to this story and to what’s frustrating you. Is there anything more going on at the job that’s triggering your anger?”

  Adam’s mind flashed to Alixia Lepler’s shiny red fingernail brushing his nipple in the work shirt. “Got some problems with my boss.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “She’s a spoiled bitch, pardon the language. Her husband is a rich guy working all the time; she’s in charge of the build project, and her favorite thing is to come down to the site and flirt with me. If I’m not in the mood, which is usually, she makes my life miserable with extra work, changes on the plans, complaining about the workers.”

  “Sounds like she’s sexually harassing you.”

  Adam paused, frowned. “I didn’t think of it that way, but I guess you’re right. You’d think I’d be all over it; everyone says she’s a beautiful woman. But I don’t like her, and I don’t sleep with my employers or employees.”

  “So how have you handled it?”

  “I pretend it’s not going on. I ignore her as much as she lets me. I try to walk away. But yesterday she changed out some wood that will slow things down by days and gave me her number, made it clear what she wanted. I’m tempted to just give it to her and hope she leaves me alone after that.”

  “What’s tempting about that option?”

  “Well, it might get me and the guys out of the jam we’re in since she went on the prowl. It’s also been a while since I—had any action, so I’m thinking I could probably do the job.” Adam felt his face heat up. It was so weird to be talking about sex this way, with a woman. But it was liberating too, to see she wasn’t shocked and there was no agenda there—he didn’t have to worry about her opinion. He dropped his shoulders consciously, relaxing them.

  “Sleeping with her might carry some risks too,” Dr. Suzuki said.

  “I know. She could be trying to trap me somehow. She could blackmail me or something, say I came onto her to her husband. Either way, I’m screwed.”

  Dr. Suzuki didn’t react to the crude word, and Adam reached forward, traced a design in the sand tray. “It would be so much easier if I had a girlfriend or was married—I could use that to fend her off.”

  “So do you feel ready to date again?”

  “Yeah, I do. Cherisse and I weren’t really together for months before she left. But with my work schedule, I don’t have a clue how to meet anyone. I don’t have time to go hang around bars, and I’m kind of picky.”

  “Hmm. What are you looking for in a woman?”

  Adam felt his face heat up again. “This is a funny kind of anger management.”

  “I work with people holistically, so we explore all the areas of your life you might want to make changes in. Anger is a natural reaction to being hurt or threatened, and exploring and resolving sources of anger is a key to long-term success.”

  “Okay.” Adam sat back, gazed at the ceiling, feeling an unexpected flutter of something. He thought it might be hope—hope that his life could get better. Hope that he could find someone to love, who would love him back. Just entertaining the idea felt good. “I want someone intelligent. And hot. Who does her own thing and is proud of it. Doesn’t need me but wants me.” He focused on Dr. Suzuki. “I don’t know where I’d find someone like that on Maui. Seems like all the good ones are already married.”

  “Have you thought of online dating?”

  “Always thought that was the last resort for losers.”

  “A common misconception.” Two red spots appeared on Dr. Suzuki’s pale cheeks. “I met my husband online.”

  “Really? Sorry, I meant no disrespect.”

  She flipped a hand dismissively. “Well, another way to look at it is that we do so much of our lives online now, why wouldn’t we use the Internet as a tool to meet people? Our time is about up, but can I see you twice a week to start? We can knock your six sessions out quickly that way.”

  “Sure, the job site’s not far, and this is my lunch break.” They confirmed a biweekly meeting, and Adam stood, headed for the door. Dr. Suzuki followed. He retrieved the rubber slippers that he wore when not in construction gear from the rack outside the inner door. She followed him through the waiting room, a simple area outfitted with plants and rattan furniture.

  “This wasn’t that bad,” he said.

  “Glad to hear it. How helpful it is, is entirely up to you.” She followed him to the outer door and gave a little wave and smile, closing it behind him.

  Adam was surprised to find himself smiling too as he unlocked his truck. Online dating? What the hell. If someone like Dr. Suzuki found love online, it couldn’t be all losers out there.

  Chapter 3

  Zoe arrived at the Maui Coffee Roasters Café a few minutes early for her Crazy Blind Date. She’d dressed in a simple black tank dress with low-heeled strappy sandals and had pulled her hair into a loose
knot. The computer had matched her with somebody “within a sixty-five percent compatibility match” and given her a selection of three possible places and times to meet the person. She was supposed to carry a red rose to identify herself, a totally cheesy touch—and he was supposed to carry one too.

  There weren’t too many customers during the pre-dinner hour at the popular local coffee shop with its pop-art decor and hip young baristas. She quickly scanned the seated customers armed with laptops and lattes, spotted no roses, and parked herself in a far corner with a view of the front door. She placed the rose in her lap, feeling silly and vulnerable and way more scared than she should be. She checked her makeup in her mirror: Perhaps the “smoky eye, naked lip” style she’d tried was too big-city for Maui. Uncertain, she put her sunglasses back down over her eyes—which seemed startlingly large and bright green, set off with a line of kohl around them and plum eye shadow on the lids.

  In any case, this was a job, she reminded herself. She wasn’t dating; she was experiencing something and interviewing for a story. She’d debated whether it was better to be late or early and had chosen early in the end because, frankly, she was a little bit of a control freak. She took out her phone for something to do and lay the rose on the table at her elbow. She cued up Words With Friends and was just entering a good word, xu, to her friend Michelle when the bell tinkled over the door and a man came in.

  He was large and backlit, and the sun gleamed off a round bald head echoed by muscles like bowling balls distending a white tank shirt. He walked up to the counter and ordered. “Chocolate chip cookie and a soy latte.”

  Definitely not her date. She hated bodybuilding—classic male overcompensating. She glanced down at her Words game. Michelle sent her a swear word and punctuation forming a middle finger, and she smiled.

  “Is this seat taken?” The bodybuilder set a wilting red rose beside hers. He had an unexpectedly high voice and an accent.