didn’t fade. I had to develop methods of controlling it.”
“Art therapy?”
Again she looked surprised.
“You’re a sculptor.”
He’d put time and thought into it. “When I form images in clay, it processes them to a part of the brain that can let go.”
“Until then it just sticks?”
She shrugged.
“And you were born with it.”
“At one, they showed me books, then replaced them with blank-page versions. They’d ask, ‘Where is the bunny?’ and I’d touch it on the blank white page.”
“Cool.”
“At two, I colored complicated images I was shown onto a blank easel. The easel was only blank to them. By three, the overload of images demanded management, but because I wasn’t able to distinguish essential and nonessential, the ones with the highest emotional impact stayed front and center.”
A flicked glance revealed him fully engaged.
“I suffered night terrors and withdrew—severely. My parents removed me from preschool and ceased all testing and experiments. I was reading at a third-grade level, but refused to open a book, watch a movie, or interact with anyone. They put the TV in the closet and spent most of the next two years outdoors where the vista broadened to a degree I processed less traumatically.”
“Wow.”
Thinking back always made her realize her family’s sacrifice. “The high points of my life were Aaron’s Little League games, partly because the focus was away from me and my weird abilities. And I adored Aaron.”
She wandered over to another series of photographs. “I guess you like to ski.”
“I can’t compete anymore.”
Compete. She noticed the sports magazine covers on the next higher shelf and pointed to one. “Is that an Olympic banner?”
“The year I tore up my ligaments and shattered my kneecap.”
“Ouch.” He’d been a professional, a consummate athlete, and she knew from Aaron what effort that took.
“Speaking of which, do you care if I use the Jacuzzi?” He raised his foot to the back of the couch and rubbed his knee. “That last set of stairs …”
“I knew you shouldn’t—”
“Hey.” He lowered his foot. “It does this. I’ll just give it heat and jets, unless. You want to get in?”
“Your Jacuzzi?”
“Sara keeps suits here.”
He hot-tubbed with Whit’s wife?
“They’re over here all the time. The spa seats four.”
“Oh.”
“It’s therapy for me, but you don’t have to hurt to get in.”
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and risked a quick glance up. “I’ll just sit, if that’s okay.”
“You might change your mind.” He led the way to a sparkling, clear spa built into a spacious balcony with a dressing room and towel closet. “If you do, suits are in there.”
He went into an adjoining room and closed the door. She settled onto a cushion on the deck beside the spa, resisting the water’s allure. With today’s hauling, some residual strain from climbing, and all the stress, she imagined how great it would feel—and how disconcerting.
Trevor must have exited the room a different way, because he came back with the wine bottles and set them on the low table.
She sent her glance around the enclosed balcony. “This is really nice.”
Wearing dark green swim trunks, he eased into the water. “This is nicer.” He positioned the damaged knee in a jet.
She dipped her fingers into the frothy water. “You keep it hot.”
“Effectively.” He used a remote to open horizontal panes on the windows, letting in the mountain air. “Tell me if you get chilly. Or you really could get in. I’m not coming on to you.”
“I didn’t imagine you were.” Not with women like Kirstin at his call.
“You’re actually the only person besides Whit and Sara I’ve invited.”
“Why me?” She pulled her feet in under her.
“I was just wondering that.” He set down his glass and adjusted his leg. His knee must really hurt, the way he braced it.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
“I
“Art therapy?”
Again she looked surprised.
“You’re a sculptor.”
He’d put time and thought into it. “When I form images in clay, it processes them to a part of the brain that can let go.”
“Until then it just sticks?”
She shrugged.
“And you were born with it.”
“At one, they showed me books, then replaced them with blank-page versions. They’d ask, ‘Where is the bunny?’ and I’d touch it on the blank white page.”
“Cool.”
“At two, I colored complicated images I was shown onto a blank easel. The easel was only blank to them. By three, the overload of images demanded management, but because I wasn’t able to distinguish essential and nonessential, the ones with the highest emotional impact stayed front and center.”
A flicked glance revealed him fully engaged.
“I suffered night terrors and withdrew—severely. My parents removed me from preschool and ceased all testing and experiments. I was reading at a third-grade level, but refused to open a book, watch a movie, or interact with anyone. They put the TV in the closet and spent most of the next two years outdoors where the vista broadened to a degree I processed less traumatically.”
“Wow.”
Thinking back always made her realize her family’s sacrifice. “The high points of my life were Aaron’s Little League games, partly because the focus was away from me and my weird abilities. And I adored Aaron.”
She wandered over to another series of photographs. “I guess you like to ski.”
“I can’t compete anymore.”
Compete. She noticed the sports magazine covers on the next higher shelf and pointed to one. “Is that an Olympic banner?”
“The year I tore up my ligaments and shattered my kneecap.”
“Ouch.” He’d been a professional, a consummate athlete, and she knew from Aaron what effort that took.
“Speaking of which, do you care if I use the Jacuzzi?” He raised his foot to the back of the couch and rubbed his knee. “That last set of stairs …”
“I knew you shouldn’t—”
“Hey.” He lowered his foot. “It does this. I’ll just give it heat and jets, unless. You want to get in?”
“Your Jacuzzi?”
“Sara keeps suits here.”
He hot-tubbed with Whit’s wife?
“They’re over here all the time. The spa seats four.”
“Oh.”
“It’s therapy for me, but you don’t have to hurt to get in.”
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and risked a quick glance up. “I’ll just sit, if that’s okay.”
“You might change your mind.” He led the way to a sparkling, clear spa built into a spacious balcony with a dressing room and towel closet. “If you do, suits are in there.”
He went into an adjoining room and closed the door. She settled onto a cushion on the deck beside the spa, resisting the water’s allure. With today’s hauling, some residual strain from climbing, and all the stress, she imagined how great it would feel—and how disconcerting.
Trevor must have exited the room a different way, because he came back with the wine bottles and set them on the low table.
She sent her glance around the enclosed balcony. “This is really nice.”
Wearing dark green swim trunks, he eased into the water. “This is nicer.” He positioned the damaged knee in a jet.
She dipped her fingers into the frothy water. “You keep it hot.”
“Effectively.” He used a remote to open horizontal panes on the windows, letting in the mountain air. “Tell me if you get chilly. Or you really could get in. I’m not coming on to you.”
“I didn’t imagine you were.” Not with women like Kirstin at his call.
“You’re actually the only person besides Whit and Sara I’ve invited.”
“Why me?” She pulled her feet in under her.
“I was just wondering that.” He set down his glass and adjusted his leg. His knee must really hurt, the way he braced it.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
“I
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