Tara Taylor Quinn - For Joy's Sake

“I also know you’ve made a point, with Chantel’s and Colin’s support, of rejoining your social group. I heard that you used to love dressing up for parties, too.”

“And I can now attend these things without panic attacks,” she told Lila. “It’s like I said. I know I can, so I no longer have to.”

“We’re talking about a function in your own home, Julie. Yet here you are.”

She didn’t like how Lila’s statement made her feel. As though she, Julie, wasn’t quite done with moving on. As though she was still broken.

The truth was, she’d never be done with it. Not really. There was no way to erase what had happened, and no way not to be affected by it.

But she was able to live more normally now.

For some reason, she needed Lila—a highly respected professional working with female victims—to see that.

“I wanted Chantel and Colin to be able to welcome guests into their home as a couple. More specifically, I wanted Chantel to feel like the hostess, the woman of the house. Since she came into our lives on a lie, she still sometimes feels like an imposter, like she’s not really one of us, especially when there’s a gathering that includes people who don’t know the details. It can be hard for her. As if making the transition from street cop to detective wasn’t difficult enough, she’s living in a society that’s completely unfamiliar to her. If I was there, people would naturally turn to me as the hostess and...”

It was the reason she’d given her brother and his wife for skipping out on the high-dollar evening they’d been planning for several months. They hadn’t been happy with her proposed absence, hadn’t thought it necessary, but they’d accepted her choice. Because her reasoning was valid.

“But why are you here?” Lila asked.

Julie frowned. It wasn’t unusual for her to be at The Lemonade Stand. In a volunteer capacity with the children, but also hanging out with the women. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s Friday night. You’re twenty-eight years old. Independently wealthy and lovely. You could be doing any number of things for fun and relaxation. Okay, so you wanted to be away from your home for the night. You could’ve booked yourself into a resort spa. Gone to the theater. You could have been on a date.”

Julie didn’t respond to Lila. She couldn’t.

Inside her, everything was tense. Poised for escape.

“We need you here, Julie. You know that. And we all want you here. You bring a nurturing and understanding and compassion that’s special and very, very precious to these women. And to the staff.”

Julie raised her eyes to Lila’s. And was scared by the concerned crease in the other woman’s brow.

“But we aren’t being a friend back to you,” Lila went on, “we aren’t good for you if you’re using us as a hideout.”

Ironic, considering that the Stand existed so women had a place to hide and be safe while they healed.

“If you need to be here, you are welcome. Always. I don’t ever want you to need to come to us and then change your mind. Or your course of action. But if you need to be here, then we need to be doing something to help you.”

The band around Julie’s chest relaxed a little.

“It helps me just to be here,” she assured the other woman.

Lila waited until their eyes met again. “Those women you were with tonight... Do you think any one of them would choose to be here? If they had a place to go, where they’d be safe and could live a healthy life?”

Thinking of the five women she’d had dinner with in the cafeteria and then wandered to the lounge with—women who all had rooms in cabins on the premises—Julie shook her head.

All of them mourned for the lives they’d lost. For the dreams they’d lost. For the sense of security that had been taken from them. They yearned for real homes. Yearned to be in control of their lives again. And they lived in fear, too.

Julie wasn’t afraid of being attacked again. She had a lovely home that she cherished, a bed of her own that she’d be returning to that night.

“As a staff member, volunteer or not, you are one of us, Julie. And you will be for as long as you choose to share yourself with us. And also as a friend. You’re both things to us.”

Okay, good. No problems. She wanted to breathe easier.

But didn’t.

“I’ve come to suspect that you’re here for a third purpose, too.”

No. No, she wasn’t.

“You’re aware that most state facilities have time limits on the number of weeks a woman can remain in a shelter like ours, right?”

She knew. The Lemonade Stand, as a private facility, didn’t have to adhere to those mandates. They had their own mandates, loosely based on state laws, but they didn’t send away women who were doing everything required of them, who were participating fully in their own recovery, who were making progress but just weren’t ready to leave yet.

“Do you know why the state sets those time limits?”

“Because of the money.” Obviously. “And we mostly adhere to them because we don’t want our residents to start feeling powerless, to lose their sense of self-reliance by relying on us too much.”

“And because if they depend on the Stand to fill an emotional void, a void left by abuse, then they lose their ability to fill that void themselves.”

“You’re telling me not to get too attached to the residents. Not to become personal friends with them because they’re going to move on.” She was well aware of that. And didn’t let herself get too close—even while they were intimately in each other’s personal space as they opened up and shared their most vulnerable secrets.

“I’m telling you that I’m worried you’re using us to fill a void in your life.”

The words had come, in spite of Julie’s attempts to forestall them.

This was what she’d been afraid to hear.

CHAPTER TWO

JULIE STOOD UP in Lila’s parlor, wishing she could escape into any of the antique paintings on the walls depicting faraway places. The way she escaped into her own paintings in her home studio. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here tonight...” As she heard her own words, she heard Lila’s earlier ones, too, about not ever wanting Julie to feel that she shouldn’t come to The Lemonade Stand.

Lila wasn’t telling her to leave. But Julie would rather leave than hear what Lila was telling her.

“You can go if you’d like, of course,” Lila said, her voice as calm as always. Her teacup sat untouched on the table between them as she watched Julie. “But I hope you’ll stay, continue our conversation.”

In other words, Lila thought she needed help.

That was what this meeting was about.

Julie was already in regular counseling, with Bloom Larson in town. Chantel had introduced them the previous year when she’d spent time keeping the psychiatrist safe from a threat to her life.

Julie was doing what Bloom called her “personal work”—challenging herself to face the situations that frightened her, dare to live life fully, not to let the bastard who’d stolen her youth have the rest of her life, too. So she had more work to do, and Lila knew full well that these things took time. Maybe even a lifetime.

She met Lila’s gaze again. Then focused briefly on the rose-colored silk fabric of her chair. Confusion had her sinking back into the seat she’d so abruptly vacated.

“Have you told Dr. Larson about all the time you spend here when you aren’t working or socializing with staff?”

Julie shook her head.

“Needing to be in the company of others who are going through some of the same struggles you face, who’ve been indelibly hurt by those they trusted, is normal,” Lila said.