Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“He wants to meet George too,” Hannah said brightly, “because we all talked about him.”
“Good,” Sam replied, suddenly cheerful. “I’ll go after George does.”
“You can’t,” Hannah told him. “Because George already said it would be a cold day in hell before he stepped foot into a shrink’s office.”
“What? No,” Sam placated her. “I’m sure George will go.”
“I don’t think—he was very adamant that it was a hard no.”
Sam grinned at me evilly. “I’ll clear my schedule right after George goes.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” I grumbled, chopping the green peppers for the kabobs.
“Dad, are you listening to me?” Hannah asked him. “George might not ever go. Unlike you, I have no way to compel him.”
“That’s interesting,” Sam said, walking up behind me and leaning in to kiss my cheek and nuzzle my ear.
I didn’t care that much about the conversation after that, pleased that the kids were going to talk to someone, and very happy when my husband put his arms around me and gave me a squeeze, thanking me for finding a therapist for our minions.
“Thank you for not giving up,” he husked, kissing the side of my neck before he went to the refrigerator to get out the chicken he’d put in his world-famous marinade before he left for work that morning.
“Can I get another kiss before you start putting the chicken on skewers?”
“Why yessir, you can,” he teased me, and Kola gagged before he headed outside to fire up the grill now that he was done with candle making.
“Don’t gag like that,” Hannah scolded him, trailing after her brother. “You make people think they should be giving you the Heimlich.”
“I can’t help it when they get like that,” he griped at her.
“It’s cute,” she countered. “They’re old now. I think it’s adorable.”
“What’d she say?” Sam asked me.
That’s it, all. Have a lovely rest of your September, and I’ll see you in October.
OCTOBER 2021
Hello, all, welcome to He Said, he said October 2021. Now I will freely admit, it was probably not the best idea I ever had, but I was thinking that it was better to have other people around than for Sam to cancel meeting Dr. Kurt Butler for the fourth time. The issue was, mostly, Sam’s schedule and his belief that Kurt, who was the therapist for my kids—all of them—really didn’t need to see him or talk to him to effectively treat the children. Kurt had met me, had talked to me on several occasions, had met with and chatted with Harper’s folks, and had chatted with both of Jake’s on Zoom. Why was it necessary for Sam to meet him?
“He gets a better picture if he speaks to you directly,” I explained for possibly the billionth time.
“Then why doesn’t George hafta go?” he replied, almost petulantly.
I squinted up at him. “You didn’t just say to me, why doesn’t George have to go?”
He crossed his arms, shifted his feet so his legs were braced, getting into the classic Sam Kage battle position.
“Really?”
His scowl could not have been any darker.
I was going to scold him, lecture him on being a better person, a more open person, but there was a knock at the front door and I couldn’t help smiling.
“Would you please get the door,” I prodded the ogre in front of me.
His face crumpled before his head fell back on his shoulders. “I don’t want to be psychoanalyzed in my own house.”
“He doesn’t care about you,” I soothed him as Hannah darted through the kitchen to get to the front door. “He only cares about the kids, so that’s why he wants to meet you.”
He groaned loudly, and I rolled my eyes at him before turning to look toward the front door, where the kids’ new therapist, Dr. Kurt Butler, was standing.
In his jeans, sneakers, T-shirt with a Foo Fighters logo on it, leather jacket and what Sam called “the slouchy hipster beanie” covering up his blond hair, I thought he looked good, but I could feel the judgment rolling off my husband.
“Be nice,” I warned the chief deputy before I smiled big for our guest. “Good evening, Kurt, thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for having me,” he answered, crossing the floor behind Hannah and offering me the bottle of red wine he was carrying. “I didn’t know what you were serving, but this is one of my favorites, so I figured you could have it anytime.”
“Well, this is actually great,” I told him. “We’re having spaghetti and very thick, chunky vegetarian sauce and grilled steaks, so a chianti is perfect.”
“Excellent,” he said, glancing at Sam nervously. I noted how apprehensive he looked, and when I turned to introduce my husband, I saw the problem. Sam was glaring.
I cleared my throat.
Sam turned his head to me. I shot him a death stare, and when he refocused on Kurt, the glower had been downgraded to a squint. “Are you vaccinated?”