The Lovely Chocolate Mob - By Richard J. Bennett Page 0,53

prove interesting, maybe even give me some insight into our other sessions.”

I hesitated, and she saw that. “If you don’t want to share, Mr. Owen, I quite understand.”

“Oh, no, I want to share,” I said, “but… it’s complicated. I’ve got reasons to keep this story to myself.”

“I hope you haven’t done anything illegal or underhanded,” she said with a laugh.

I laughed along, but she also saw something with my nervous laughter.

“You didn’t, did you?” she asked.

“I… well, I did something good, but maybe perhaps not in the best way possible.”

“Now I’m really curious,” she said. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but this is your money you’re burning, not mine.”

I sat for a moment, then replied, “Miss Planter, it’s… I think I may have saved a marriage.”

We received our plates from the waitress, and Miss Planter began eating, as though my talking wasn’t anything at all to her. This of course was an act; she wasn’t fooling me any more than I was fooling her.

“You’re talking about your old school love, of Mrs. Helen Burke?”

I was like a deer in the headlights. “Yes. Helen Ceraldi-Burke. I think I’ve saved her marriage. Or at least, delayed anything that will make it deteriorate any further.”

“And how is this a good thing?” she asked, as a follow-up.

“Well, as you know, she has children, and if there’s a marital break-up, who knows how this would affect the kids.”

Miss Planter stopped eating and looked up at me. “So this isn’t all about Mr. and Mrs. Burke? It’s about the kids?”

I stopped and stammered for a moment, then said, “No, it’s about Helen, too. I still have feelings for her, although they’ve changed, mutated over the years. Perhaps I’ve changed, I hope.”

“I would think the only feeling you would have for her would be anger, after her previous treatment of you,” she said, looking for my motivation.

“Yes,” I agreed, “there was great anger, for many years. There was also great hurt. But much of that has faded, now. It’s more than just me and Helen. It’s a bit difficult to explain.”

“You’re seeing your old girlfriend after many years. Did you ever hold out any hope that she might have a divorce and come running back into your arms, so you could be the comforting hero and fix everything that was wrong?”

Suddenly I felt anger, and I guess it showed, because Miss Planter sat up straighter, and said, “I really must have struck a nerve!”

I got up from the booth and said, “I’ll be right back,” and headed for the men’s room. I pushed the door open and went to the sink and washed my face, two or three times with soap and cold water. Grabbing for paper towels, I looked up into the mirror, eye to eye with myself. “Boy, she really got under your skin, didn’t she? What the heck’s wrong with you; she’s just doing her job! Get back in there before she thinks something’s wrong.”

I then looked under the stalls for feet, but they were all empty, thank goodness. People shouldn’t have to listen to me talking to myself.

I wandered back into the dining area, where Miss Planter was sitting, waiting for me. “Your dinner’s getting cold, Mr. Owen. Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Yes. I’m hungry, remember?” and grinned. She smiled back. We ate in silence for a few minutes, then I said, “Miss Planter, in our sessions, are you bound by any oaths, say, like an oath of silence?”

“Yes, there’s this patient/doctor confidentiality issue, but you must bear in mind, I’m not a doctor. I’m just a counselor.”

“Is there a patient/counselor confidentiality oath?”

“It’s not an oath, but there is a code for that, yes.”

“What does it consist of?” I asked.

“If you think it would help in our sessions for you to tell me matters of great importance, then I am bound by confidentiality not to disclose it to others,” she said, “Unless of course you plan to do something drastic, like kill somebody or do yourself harm.”

“I don’t plan on doing either of those things, Miss Planter.”

“I didn’t think so, Mr. Owen,” and she smiled.

We ate in silence again, until I said, “I don’t like keeping you in the dark, Miss Planter.”

“That’s good, because I don’t like being in the dark, Mr. Owen,” she replied with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll start with the question you asked earlier. Yes, for years I hoped that Helen would come back to me. I prayed to God to bring her back. Of course this