Sacrifices of Joy by Leslie J. Sherrod Page A

“Any changes in the schedule today?” Darci had access to my online calendar, but I had not checked it prior to entering the office.
    â€œNothing major. The usual,” she chirped. “Your one o’clock called to say she is running late. Your two o’clock, Mrs. Groves, called and said that she will be bringing her husband along for her appointment. Your three o’clock cancelled, and I am waiting to hear back from the administrator from juvenile justice to confirm your meeting with him at four-thirty.”
    â€œGreat, sounds like a regular Monday.” I knew Darci would have no idea how significant just saying that was to me.
    And, indeed, the afternoon plugged on at its usual pace. After checking in with a couple of the other therapists who were present, I began my forty-five-minute sessions with my clients. I helped a thirty-three-year-old new client explore the alcoholism that defined her family tree; I sat supportively and quietly as another client bravely confronted her husband about his philandering ways. I caught up on paperwork and work-related e-mails during the hour of my cancellation. I was waiting to get word about the late afternoon meeting when Darci knocked on my door.
    â€œI hope you don’t mind, but I just squeezed in an intake for you. I don’t think Mr. Jackson from DJJ is coming so you have a new client waiting in the waiting room. He’s a walk-in.” Darci knew that I was open to walk-ins as my schedule permitted. My practice had benefitted from being an open door to newcomers in crisis. Just the same, something in me immediately felt uncomfortable, and not just because Darci had come in person to tell me about this intake. She usually merely buzzed me from the front desk.
    â€œIs everything okay? You don’t normally come back to tell me there’s a newbie in the waiting room.”
    â€œI know,” Darci looked serious for a moment, and then she let out a mischievous giggle. “I’m trying to stay professional, and coming back here was the only way I could save face. Sienna, forgive me for saying so, and I’m not trying to be inappropriate, but this man is seriously hot. It’s a good thing I’m not a therapist because I’d be in danger of breaking all kinds of ethical rules and regulations. Okay, I’m going back to my desk before you fire me. My game face is back on.” She dropped the grin and managed to take on the expression of a severe schoolteacher.
    â€œI’ll be right out,” I called after her, the pit in my stomach inexplicably widening.
    No, there was an explanation.
    I bet it’s him. I shut my eyes, seeing those icy blue ones that had bored into mine Saturday morning. He was out there waiting for me, I was sure of it . My nerves were on high alert. Calm down, Sienna, I told myself, taking two deep breaths and tightening and relaxing my shoulder muscles. I had to remain grounded and logical. Too many times over the past couple of days I had jumped into a panic for no good reason and to no good result.
    I got up from my desk and walked toward the waiting room.
    â€œThere she is,” Darci said to someone out of my view as I approached the waiting room filled with plants, paintings, and soft music. “Ms. St. James is coming to get you right now,” she continued, poised and proper, but with an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes.
    â€œHello, welcome to The Whole Soul Center.” I smiled and forced myself not to scream or freeze as I rounded the corner.
    It was him.

Chapter 15
    Muscle tee. Torn skinny jeans. Unbuttoned light denim shirt. Navy blue canvas shoes.
    He looked like a poster boy for a fashion magazine. Today his blond waves were lightly tousled atop his head. He smiled up at me when I entered the room, a small smile, a pensive smile. A harmless smile. Uncertainty filled his eyes, none of the ice, none of the steeliness I must have imagined when we first met.
    If he has