Tuesday, the day Braxton both dreaded and couldn't wait for, finally arrived. This was the day he would next see the patient with the erotic transference. He dreaded it because he didn't relish the thought of a conversation about what had happened Friday night or confronting her with his suspicions that her husband had shot out his window and injured him. On the other hand, he couldn't wait because he hoped to find out if his suspicions were right. He spent the 10 minutes in between Eva Leonard's appointment and the one prior mentally preparing himself. At precisely 11 am, he opened the door to the waiting room and called her in.

Eva was in her mid 40's but she looked much younger. She had a trim build that she worked hard to maintain. She wore stylish clothes that were a bit too revealing for therapy appointments and push up bras to make her breasts look larger than they were. Her short hair was neatly styled and she was never seen without makeup – a bit too much, Braxton thought, though he preferred the natural look anyway. He had never been attracted to her, and her professions of attraction to him didn't affect him. She was his patient and would be off limits even if he felt the same way about her as she did about him. Not that he wasn't human – there had been a patient years ago who'd said she was in love with him. He found her attractive and had more than one fantasy of what would happen if he threw caution to the wind. But his career meant more to him than a fling with a patient would and he would never risk losing his licence - even if he wasn't ethically against it (getting involved with a patient).

Today, Eva was dressed in a tight beige skirt that barely covered her perfect behind and an equally tight white blouse that left almost nothing to the imagination. As always, she was in heels so high that Braxton wondered how she managed to walk without falling down. “Hello, Eva”, he greeted her. “Come on in.” He gestured to his office.

When they were seated, Braxton asked her how her week had been. “Boring”, she replied with an exaggerated sigh. She was disappointed that his gaze never wavered from her face.

“Why was it boring?”

“Eddie still won't pay enough attention to me”, she pouted.

“Have you tried talking to him again?”

“Of course. He says I want too much attention, that this happens in all marriages after a number of years. I try to be a good wife to him – I keep myself looking good, I keep our home spotlessly clean, I'm raising our children, I make his meals and wash and iron his clothes. It's no wonder my eyes have wandered to you.”

Braxton tried to refrain from squirming in his chair. Here was his opportunity. “Have you told Eddie about your attraction to me?” Eva was quiet. “Eva? Have you?”

“Yes”, she finally admitted.

“How did he react?”

“He was angry.”

“At you?”

“No, at you.”

“Why would he be angry at me? I don't have feelings for you, nor have I done anything inappropriate.”

Eva looked uncomfortable. “Where is this all coming from?”

Braxton decided to be upfront. “Someone shot out my living room window Friday evening.”

Eva looked shocked. “You think it was Eddie?”

“I don't know who it was. Was Eddie home Friday night?”

“He was out with some friends until around 11:00. What time did it happen?”

“Just after 9:00.”

“What makes you think it might be Eddie?”

“I don't know if it was him or not, but the person yelled at me to “Stay the fuck away from my wife!” I am not having an affair with anyone. Would Eddie think I was?”

A guilty look came over her face. “Oh my god”, she said with a pause between each word.

“What, Eva?”

“If he did do this, it's my fault.”

“For telling him about your erotic transference?”

“No. I-I told him you and I had sex.”

Braxton wanted to yell “What the fuck did you do that for?”, but he kept himself in check. “Why?” he simply asked.

“I thought it would make him jealous and he would start to pay more attention to me instead of his buddies.”

“You may have succeeded in making him jealous. Eva, you need to talk to him and find out if it was him.”

“I don't know...”

“If it was him, he needs to turn himself in.”

“That's up to him. I can't force him.”

“True, you can't. But things will go a lot better for him – if he is indeed the person who shot my window out – if he turns himself in rather than the police coming for him.”

“You can't tell them! Patient confidentiality.”

“Eddie isn't my patient, Eva.”

“I am your patient and I told you what I said to him.”

“You are right, I cannot tell the police what you said to me – unless someone's life is in danger.”

“You aren't in danger - you didn't get hurt.”

“Oh, but I did. A shard of glass hit me in the back and I needed stitches. The police have photos.”

“That's minor.”

“It could have been worse. Look, one thing I *can* do is make an anonymous call, giving them Eddie's name. They could then look for evidence and they would interview you.”

“Y-you wouldn't!”

“I very well might.”

“I'll get you in trouble by saying you said you were going to.”

“It would be your word against mine, Eva. Look, if it were just me involved, I might let it go as long as Eddie promised to never come near me again. But there was someone else at risk – a house guest. She could have been hurt.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“No, a friend. She is recovering from surgery and needs help with her medical care, so she is staying with me for a while.”

Hearing that someone else was there and could have been hurt sobered Eva up. If Eddie had indeed done this, Braxton was right – he had to turn himself in. “I-I'll talk to Eddie”, she said. “If he has taken his anger this far, I'll get him to turn himself in. I don't want anyone to get hurt.”

“Thank you, Eva. BTW, please keep the knowledge of my friend between us. I did not tell the police there was someone else with me at the time. No, she's not wanted, but she's terrified. I think something has happened to her in the past and I'm trying to get her to open up. It will go easier on whoever shot my window up if I was alone. They would get a harsher sentence if there were other people in the house not related to the situation.” He was bluffing on that part, but he needed to convince Eva to keep quiet about Marissa.

“Thank you, Dr Jagger. I feel just awful about this.” She got up to leave. “I will let you know how my talk with Eddie goes.”

“Please do that. And I will see you next week.” If Eddie was the shooter, he knew he would have to refer her to another therapist. He didn't want to tell her that until she'd convinced her husband to turn himself in, though, for fear that it would anger her and result in her refusing to talk to Eddie.

When he got home that afternoon, Braxton found Marissa in bed. She had had a nap, but was now awake. “Can I come in?” he asked her. She nodded. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I just woke up so the brain fog is still present.”

“I hope I didn't wake you.”

“You didn't.” He sat down on the bed. Marissa sensed something was wrong. “Braxton, what is it?”

“I need a hug”, was his reply.

She sat up. “Come here.” Braxton fell into her open arms and she held him as tight as she could, considering her broken wrist. She didn't want him to get close to her, but she sensed that he really needed this. It was killing her knowing that some day, probably soon, she would disappear on him and she vowed to make sure she got word to him that she was okay, even if it jeopardized her own life.

“I'm sorry, Marissa”, Braxton said. “I'm so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I brought this on you. You were in harm's way because of me.”

“Braxton, what are you talking about?”

“It looks like it may be my patient's husband who shot out my window. I can't tell you what she said due to confidentiality, and I shouldn't be telling you this much.”

“It won't go any further.”

“I know. I trust you.”

“Braxton, look at me.” She framed his face with her bandaged hands. “This is not your fault. You can't control what your patients' spouses do.”

“The therapist in me says you are right, yet I still can't help but feel guilty. How is your wrist, by the way?”

“It's okay. I'm taking my pain meds.” The x-rays had showed no further damage. Gavin said it was just bruised from Marissa using it and putting weight on it. He had given her some more pain medication and admonished her to take it easy.

“Good. I'm really tired. Do you mind if I lie down before supper?”

“Do I mind? Of course I don't, but you don't have to ask my permission, Braxton.”

“I know, but I didn't know if you're hungry and might want supper now instead of later.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“I should have known – you never are.”

Ignoring the dig – which was out of character for him – she said “Come on, lie down. I could use a bit more sleep, too.” He allowed himself to be pulled down onto the bed. Marissa put her arm around him and buried her face in his neck. “It's not your fault”, she said again. “Get some rest.”

They both fell asleep. Marissa woke up some time later to find herself alone in the bed. She got up, went to the bathroom, then made her way to the kitchen. Braxton was getting supper ready. “Feel better?” she asked.

“I do, thanks. I'll tend to you in a minute. We'll eat after your infusions are done.”

As they ate supper, Braxton said to her “Thank you for what you did earlier in the bedroom.” She gave him a puzzled look. “The support you gave me, and lying with me. That was so comfortable.”

Marissa squirmed. “Braxton...” she began, but he cut her off.

“I know, I know – don't get used to it, right?”

“I'm sorry, Braxton. I have to be realistic.” She took a deep breath. “Braxton, I'm going to be transferred soon.”

“When? Where to?”

“I don't know, I haven't been told. And I might not have much notice when it happens. So please do not be surprised.”

“You need to stay here until your infection is healed.”

“I've been reassured they will try to accommodate that. But if they can't, I will get medical care in my new location.”

Braxton looked crestfallen. Marissa felt guilty for doing this to him, but she felt it better he know ahead of time than to come home some day and find her gone.

“And, Braxton – when it happens, please do not call the police and report me missing. I won't be missing, I will have just moved to another city.” He sighed. “It's very important that you not call them. If you do, you will put my family and yourself in danger. Maybe even myself. I cannot tell you any more than that.”

“All right, Marissa. Have it your way.”

A few nights later, Braxton arrived home from work in a good mood. He handed Marissa a bag and said “This is for you. I'm hoping you will agree to accompany me to a nice restaurant for a celebration.”

“A celebration for what?” she asked as she peeked in the bag. It looked like there was clothing in it.

“The shooter turned himself in. He's in police custody.”

“That's fantastic, Braxton!” Marissa exclaimed.

“Please come out with me to celebrate. We'll do your infusions when we get back.”

“I'd love to, but I don't have anything to wear – and I can't go somewhere nice like this!” She held both hands up – each wrapped in tensor bandages – the right hand, to protect the IV because of her thrashing around in bed when having a nightmare.

“I've taken care of that. Everything you need is in the bag. Do not worry about your hands, it can't be helped, it's not your fault. You went out with me last weekend, remember?”

“That was different. You said we're going to a nice restaurant. I take that to mean classy.”

“Listen to me, Marissa. It does not matter. I'll bet you aren't the first person to go there with a wrapped hand or arm. I'll even ask our waitress.”

“Don't you dare! How did you know my size?”

“I called Gail this morning and asked her to find out for me.”

“So, that's why she was asking about it – she said her daughter had some clothes that don't fit her anymore and she thought I would like them.”

“I don't want you to think I'm trying to control you with buying an outfit for you. I knew you had brought only casual clothes and this will save us time – we won't have to go to your place first. But if you don't like the outfit, I can take it back.”

“I'm sure it's lovely, Braxton. I'll go change.”

“Take your time. I'm going to have a shower before we go.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marissa looked at herself in the full length mirror. The dress Braxton had selected was red and came to just above her knees. It was sleeveless and low cut, but tastefully so. He had bought a pair of red shoes with a low heel, and had even thought to get panty hose.

At the bottom of the bag, there was a box. Inside was a pair of gold hoop earrings and a gold necklace with a long pendant that sat between the top of her breasts. Being underweight, she did not have big breasts. Even when she was heavier, they were still only medium size.

She wished she had some makeup and nail polish with her, but she would have to do without. Satisfied with what she saw in the mirror, she made her way down the hall to the living room to watch tv while she waited for Braxton.

He appeared ten minutes later. “Oh, wow!” he exclaimed when he saw her. Marissa blushed. “You look fantastic!”

“Thank you”, she said shyly. “And thank you for this outfit, but you really shouldn't have. It's too much.”

Braxton sat down beside her. “Hey, I don't want to hear that again. I will decide what is 'too much', okay?” He unfolded something in his hand. “It's chilly out, so wear this”, he said as he put a white shawl over her shoulders.

“It's beautiful, Braxton!”

“It's my mother's – she made it. She forgot it the last time they visited. She said you can have it. Don't worry, I had it cleaned before I put it away.”

“You told her about me?”

“A bit. I called her from work today to ask her if it was okay for you to wear it tonight.”

“How much did you tell her?”

“That you are a friend who is staying with me while you recover from some surgery and an infection and that I'm taking you out for dinner tonight.” In actuality, he'd told her a bit more than that about Marissa, but he thought it best to not let her know that. Heck, he reasoned, she is keeping secrets from me, so turnabout is fair play.

“The shawl is lovely, please tell your mom thank you for me.”

“We should get going, but before we do, will you me a favour?”

“If I can.”

“Will you let me take some pictures of you in that dress?”

“I don't know, Braxton...”

“Please. I'd like some pictures of you before you go away. To remember you by.”

“Will you keep them to yourself?”

“I promise I will.”

“Okay, then.” She hoped she would not regret this.

Braxton got his camera and took as many pictures as she'd allow – of her sitting, standing (with her crutch), with and without the shawl on and she even let him take some of the two of them together – using his tripod and time delay. They looked at the results on the camera's screen.

“I have to say I really like these”, she said when looking at the ones of them together. “Could you email these ones to me?” She thought it would be nice to have some pictures of him, and she knew just how to keep them from the Cartel should they ever look at her laptop or phone – she would upload them to a cloud drive to which only she knew her username and password.

“I'll send them all to you. Now, we really do need to get going. I have reservations.”

“You were pretty sure I'd come.”

“I was bringing you even if I had to rope you and drag you there.”

Marissa laughed. “A farm reference. You get bonus points.”

“I can use all the points I can get! Hang on, I'll get your wheelchair.”

“Oh, let's leave it behind. I want to feel as normal as I can tonight.”

“I understand, but it's a ways from the parking lot to inside the restaurant and I do not have a handicapped parking permit. Do you?”

“No.”

“Tell you what. We'll take the chair and you can walk as much as you are able and get in it when you need to.”

“All right.”

They were soon on their way. Marissa found herself getting excited about being out on a social outing. Not counting last weekend, it had been years since she'd been out with a man.

Forty five minutes later, they were seated at their table and talking and laughing over their meal. Braxton had ordered a non alcoholic bottle of champagne, since Marissa was on pain medication and he was driving.

When they had finished eating, they were allowed to take the bottle to the adjacent lounge, where customers waited if they arrived before their reservation time or went to listen to the pianist before they went home. There was even a small dance floor.

“Will you have a dance with me?” Braxton asked.

“I can't dance, Braxton!”

“Sure you can. It's a slow dance. I'll hold you up. Come on, take your shoes off, it will be easier.”

On the dance floor, he instructed her to let go of her crutch – it had a fabric loop attached so she could let go of it and it would dangle from her arm - and put her arms around his neck. “I'll hold you up.”

She did as he requested and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her up as he'd said he would do. They danced like this for a while. Marissa didn't want it to end, but she knew her feet were tiring. “Braxton, I need a break.”

“Would it help if you stood on my feet and let me do the work?”

“I don't know – maybe.”

“Try it.” She was able to finish the dance this way, then they returned to their table.

“Thank you, Marissa. I enjoyed that.”

“So did I.” She smiled at him.

They had one more dance before they left to go back to Braxton's. Marissa had not danced since the “incident”. She had thought she never would again and she probably would not after this night, but what Braxton had done meant the world to her. “I wish this evening didn't have to end”, she said wistfully, as she did up her seat belt.

“Would you like to go somewhere else?” he asked.

“I don't know what there is to do at this hour of the night.”

“I could take you to one of the local make out points...”

“Braxton!” He put the car in gear and headed out of the parking lot. “You aren't!”

“Oh, I am!”