Bound by Suggestion by L.L. Bartlett Page A

much.”
    I set the laundry basket down on the table, got myself a mug from the cupboard and drained the pot.
    “Something wrong?” Richard asked.
    I got out the milk, tipped some in, stirred it, and then took a sip. Too cold.
    “Not wrong. I’ve just been having these . . . dreams.”
    As I could’ve predicted, a look of such apprehension came over him that it was almost comical.
    “Who died this time?”
    “No one.” I stifled a laugh and placed my cup in the microwave, avoiding his gaze. “They started out as really good sex dreams—every stupid, clichéd fantasy. But then they changed . . . .” How could I explain something I couldn’t understand. I set the timer, then hit the start button.
    He kept looking at me, an odd expression on his face. Not exactly discomfort; as a doctor he’d probably heard a lot worse than this.
    “I’m no—” He forced himself to use the hated term for my benefit. “—shrink, but my guess is it has something to do with your unresolved issues with Maggie.”
    “She’s not even in them.”
    “She doesn’t have to be. Have you talked to Krista about this?”
    “I’m not her patient. Besides, it’s bad enough talking about it to you.”
    The microwave beeped and I took out the coffee. Now it was too hot. I blew on it to cool it.
    “You said the dreams changed,” Richard reminded me. “How?”
    I hesitated. “Bondage . . . stuff I’m not into. But, it’s all sensory. No images. I never dreamed like that before.”
    He thought about it. “I’ll ask around. Don’t worry, I won’t divulge your identity.”
    “You make me sound like Batman, but . . . thanks.” I cleared my throat. “So, you guys settled on a name for this baby?”
    “Brenda’s convinced it’s a girl—”
    “She’s right.”
    “So we’ve got it narrowed to three or four.”
    “If you want to narrow it further, I can tell you what it’ll be.”
    “Thanks, but we’ll make this decision on our own.”
    “Have it your way.” I grabbed my laundry and headed for the door.
    “And bring back the cup,” Richard called after my retreating back.
     
    “Smile,” Richard whispered, guiding Brenda past the floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall festooned with white twinkle lights. Alexander’s glittered, and so did its clientele.
    Dutifully, Brenda manufactured a forced, plastic smile.
    “A real one,” Richard said.
    The rictus around her mouth faded. She took a breath, pursed her lips, and her next attempt was more genuine.
    Richard felt his own lips turn up. “Thank you. We won’t stay long. And we’ll do something you want next weekend. Maybe go to Toronto.”
    “No we won’t,” she said. “Saturday’s the Foundation gala, and it’s also Jeffy’s birthday. Which means we’d better do something for him on Sunday. We forgot last year, and I could still kick myself for it.”
    They stepped up to the bar and Richard signaled for the bartender. “Scotch on the rocks. You want anything?”
    Brenda shook her head.
    “Why don’t we just ask him to go with us. I bought an extra pair of tickets. I was going to offer them to him and Maggie anyway.”
    “Maggie’s out of the picture,” Brenda reminded him. “You can ask him, but we still need to do something special for him. I think he needs it.”
    The bartender placed a napkin and the drink before Richard. He gave her a bill. “Keep the change.” He picked up the glass and pointed toward Mona and a few of the board members. “This way. What do you mean he needs it?”
    “Well, when I talked to him earlier today, he was—”
    Before Brenda could finish, Wes Timberly strolled over and slapped Richard on the back, slopping his drink.
    “Dr. Dick,” he said, face alight with a dazzling smile. “And you are?” he asked, taking in Brenda.
    Richard mopped his sleeve with the napkin. “My wife, Brenda Stanley.”
    Timberly offered his hand and Brenda took it. His smile didn’t waver, but Richard saw Brenda’s face tighten before she