Chapter 42

"I guess, I mean, you probably got a date, huh?" The dirty blond boy shifted restlessly from foot to foot.

But Mimi was too flabbergasted to notice. Instead, her mouth opened and closed like a guppy. This couldn't be, she thought dizzily. Someone needed to pinch her. This had to be a dream, a hallucination, a serious overdose of expresso. Was someone really… "I-"

Someone howled. "Gigantua! Gigantua! Gigantua!"

Frowning, Mimi turned and watched as a meek girl - her face downcast and her shoulders slumped in defense - made her way through a crowd of heckling schoolmates. Susan something-or-other, Mimi recalled, when she finally matched the face to the name. With a sick taste in her mouth, Mimi looked on. As always, those who didn't adhere to convention were ridiculed. In this case, the girl's heavy frame made her an easy target for the small-minded and cruel-hearted. So, the girl clutched her books to her chest like a shield and fought the tears of hurt. Mimi shook her head. I'm sorry, Chloe, she thought. After everything that we've been through… Will we ever learn?

"Gigantor's heading for the watering hole! Make way!" One of the jocks sadistically jeered. When the boy got smacked upside the head, he exclaimed, "Hey!" and rubbed his abused skull.

Jason rolled his eyes at his teammate. "So lame, dude."

The crowd of teens, who were constantly sensitive to the dictations of the elite clique, witnessed this little exchange, involving one of Salem High's alpha males. At the sound of the first bell, the students grudgingly dispersed, avoiding any chance of unfortunate shift in favor themselves. Peer influence had a diverse effect.

Shaking his head, Jason mumbled something to his other teammates, before he secured his bookbag on his shoulder and walked off toward class.

With Mimi watching after him.

"Well, I think this was a good start."

Chloe gave a noncommittal shrug, still somewhat wary and unwilling to allow this stranger more than a superficial graze of her soul. After all, she thought with dull humor, wasn't that what this woman was after? Psyche in Greek was defined as the soul. Thus, psychologist was one who studied the soul. Chloe kept her spine ramrod straight. Although she'd never expected this particular reason, she'd always known sooner or later that the adult world would send the troubled but gifted orphan girl to a shrink. This was her first visit with the crisis counselor.

She took another not-so-subtle look around the room. She had to admit, this wasn't quite what she had expected. There was no imposing oak desk with the authoritarian male doctor with white beard and round wire-rimmed spectacles, who smelled of peppermint, seated behind it. There was, however, a comfy couch, where she sat not reclined, and it was flanked with pretty cushioned chairs and encompassed a quietly tasteful coffee table. And the psychologist was a personable woman in her early thirties, dressed in an easy cotton tee and casual slacks. Her brunette locks were styled in a trendy but elegant cut.

And the lights weren't stereotypically dim. Instead, the sunlight streamed freely through the expansive windows, overlooking the hospital's rear gardens. Other than the occasional patient in his drafty gown and IVs and doctors in their white lab coats strolling about outside in the gardens, in addition to the framed diplomas and certificates hung non-imposingly alongside the mahogany bookcases, Chloe would've never known that she was at University Hospital. She could've easily been in someone's living room or den. With the oil-painted flowers and watercolor landscapes on the walls and plush neutral carpet on the floors. Obviously, this set-up was meant to put the client at ease.

And that was another reason why Chloe kept up her guards throughout the session. She was used to things being not as people would hope to make them out to be. Though, no red flags yet, she conceded. Not yet.

"Chloe, I can tell already," spoke Dr. Waverly, who preferred to be called Ellie, in her characteristic soothing tone, "That you're a capable, intelligent young lady. And that you're well on your way to recovery, not only because of the support from your family and friends, but also because of your own resilience. Our sessions together are just going to smooth the way, make that transition easier, as best we can. Alright?" She smiled pleasantly, when Chloe gave a hesitant nod. Ellie had deliberately seated herself in the chair this session, so that her new client could have space to adjust. This was one tough cookie. So accustomed to taking care of herself. And doing it reasonably well. For one so young under such adverse circumstances, that ability was impressive and earned Ellie's respect. "Then, I'll see you next week, then?"

"Sure," Chloe replied, rising from the well-patronized couch.

"Now, do you have any problems to and from our sessions, as far as transportation goes?" asked the doctor, standing from her chair.

"No," the teen answered, "My stepfather works upstairs. He can give me a ride."

"Ah, yes. Dr. Wesley. I've met your stepfather in passing. Well, I look forward to seeing you next week then, Chloe." Dr. Waverly extended a hand. Somewhat formal, but it was the first visit and some sense of closure felt needed.

Chloe accepted the hand and shook it. It was a casual handshake, not at all stiff or especially cold. But more of a warm "see you later." Chloe had to smile a bit. Interesting approach.

The good doctor led her to a door, separate from the one through which the client had entered. Closing the door behind her, Chloe stepped out into a totally different corridor. Indeed. Very interesting approach. Unconsciously tucking her hair behind her ears, she wandered a bit, until she found the elevators. Craig would be going off-duty soon, in time to drive her home for dinner. If she was lucky, Nancy would've already gone home to start cooking. Chloe didn't need an inquisition about her hour with the shrink and definitely didn't need to see that wide-eyed, anxious/guilty look on her mother's face.

Maybe someday, Chloe would know what it's like to encounter her mother and not feel that insidious dread or resentment. And just trust. Like Belle and her mom. They seemed perfectly lovey-dovey, playing dress-up, binging on ice cream, sharing secrets. Chloe guessed, that kind of affectionate relationship between mother and daughter was normal, if not ideal. Well, nothing about the day and the life of Chloe Lane was normal, much less ideal.

Instantly, a disarming pair of dimples came to mind. Well, she thought with a besotted sigh. Almost nothing. He was the one thing that tipped the scales toward too-good-to-be-true. Toward the sublime. She smiled, her mood improving.

And she had her friends, whom she could depend on and who depended on her. And she had Craig, the closest thing she'd ever had to a father, as well. So, three out of four wasn't bad. A "C," if one thought about it. Better than passing. For now, she'd have to be content with that.

She stepped off the lift and walked toward Craig's office.

"Hello, Chloe," greeted a nurse, "Dr. Wesley said you'd be coming by. Go right on in, dear."

The girl smiled in thanks and gently rapped on the door. Beside the trim read the sign "Dr. Craig Wesley, Chief of Staff."

"Come in," came a muffled reply.

Chloe turned the metal handle and pushed open the heavy door.

"Hello, sweetheart," said Craig, looking up from his charts.

"Hi," she replied and plopped herself in one of the chairs in front of his desk. She'd been in this room a number of times, but now she looked at it in a new light. Set-up was definitely different from Dr. Waverly's. The arrangement emphasized the power and authority of the person residing over that desk. Chloe mentally shrugged. Made sense. Craig, after all, was second only to the very, very top.

Craig jotted down some final notes on the chart, before setting it neatly on the stack on the corner of his desk. "So, how was your first appointment with Dr. Waverly?"

"It was ok." Chloe crossed her ankles beneath her and absently brushed off her skirt.

Her stepfather narrowed his eyes, while his lips formed a smirk. He wondered, if she knew how typically teenage her curt response was. "How'd you like Dr. Waverly? Did she pass the quack test?"

Chloe gave a small smile. "She seemed nice enough." She shrugged, her first outward sign of opinion. "She'll do."

Which in Chloe-nese was a ringing endorsement for the therapist. His traced his jaw with his index finger, still itching for the feel of his forsaken goatee. He had looked into Dr. Ellie Waverly, after his wife had set her foot down on the matter of a qualified trauma therapist. Nancy had made it excruciatingly clear that the eminent Dr. Marlena Evans, for all her misguided popularity in the town of Salem, would be in no way, shape, or form considered for her daughter.

"She's a quack, Craig," screeched his wife, "And she's not coming near my baby. You've got to find someone else. Someone with some real credentials and some ethics."

Thus, Craig embarked on his own quest for the best adolescent psychologist in Salem with a specialty in post-traumatic stress. And he'd found in-house at University Hospital Dr. Ellie Waverly. Doctorate from Berkeley. Post-doc at Duke University. An impeccable reputation in her work with adolescents, if her methods were a bit unconventional. But Chloe was never one to fall under conventional categories, so it seemed like a good match. Nevertheless, Craig would keep a close eye on the doctor's progress. "Good. Now, are you ready for dinner?"

Chloe nodded, relieved that Craig hadn't inquired any further. That's what she liked about him. He didn't push, yell, or guilt-trip. He just tried to be her friend, not instant father.

Once he locked his office door behind him and gave a curt goodbye to his underlings, Craig and Chloe made their way to his car. "So," he said, digging in his pockets for his keys, "I hear the dance is coming up soon."

Chloe mumbled in the affirmative, giving away nothing.

"I'm assuming," he commented conversationally, after unlocking the door and holding the door open for her, "That you and the young Mr. Kiriakis have the night all planned out."

This time she smiled. "Not quite. But we're looking forward to it." And slipped into the car with Craig closing the door after her.

He rounded to the driver's side and settled in, before firing the ignition. Then, he let his brows rise in curiosity. "So, do you have your dress already picked out this time or are we in for another round of last minute, fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants shopping here?" He slowly backed out of his reserved space.

Chloe surprised herself and giggled. "I hope not. Actually, I kind of have a couple of candidates in mind." She beamed. "No red this time, though. I thought I'd try something new."

Chuckling, he shifted the transmission to forward. "Oh, really?"

She grinned, azure blue eyes sparkling. "Can't let myself become too predictable."

"You? Predictable?" he laughed, "Doubt that'll ever happen. So, does this mean the Wesley residence will transform once again into a cover girl marathon?"

"I think we'll get ready over at Belle's and the boys will pick us up from there."

"Oh, fiddle-sticks," joked her stepfather, making a lazy turn onto the street, "However will your mother survive without taking hundreds of pictures of you dressed for your last high school dance? Hmm… we'll have to work that in somehow."

Chloe nervously chewed her lip. "You guys aren't going to try and chaperone this year, are you?"

Craig laughed. "Now, that would definitely be an idea." He only laughed harder, when he saw a tinge of fear in her eyes. "Don't worry, sweetie. We grown-ups won't intrude on your perfect night. We want you to have fun."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Good." Everything would go fine then. Except for one more thing… "Um, afterwards we might go to the all-night diner or something to eat and then stay over at Belle or Mimi's…"

Craig slanted her a look of mock suspicion. "Partying until dawn, eh?"

Chloe did her best to give her most genuine smile. She hated this part. She hated lies on principle. In particular, she didn't like lying to people, who always strove to support her. To Craig especially, since his support of her often caused friction between him and Nancy, in an otherwise blissful marriage. But her parents still couldn't find it in their hearts to accept her relationship with Philip, much less the level of intimacy that it had reached. "Why don't you like Philip?" she blurted.

Craig's brows rose in surprise. "Sweetie-"

"I know he's made some mistakes in the past, but that was before," she said quickly, unaware of the plea in her voice, "If you'd only get to know him, I know you'd like him."

Her stepfather sighed. "Sweetie…" At a loss, he finally decided that, as usual, honesty was the best policy with Chloe. "We love you, Chloe. This boy's hurt you. Your mother and I can't forget that."

She frowned, tears perilously close to falling. "I thought… I thought, after Andy… after you saw how Philip was there for me…"

Craig stopped before a red light and turned to cup her cheek, running a gentle thumb over her cheekbone. "I know. We're grateful for that. We could tell how much he cares for you-"

"No, you don't understand," she said, her voice so small now, "I could hear him…"

"Sweetie-"

"I could hear him," she repeated, her vision blurring, "It was like I was in this black hole, all alone. I was so scared, because every time I tried to find my way back, I'd see Andy…" She sobbed, pulling away to hug herself. Maybe it was the session with Dr. Waverly or the memory of those days of pure terror and hopelessness or the discussion about how much Philip meant to her now more than ever. Maybe it was for all those reasons that she had to talk about it with Craig now. "I saw Andy on the floor bleeding, his eyes staring back at me, so empty and lifeless…"

Craig quickly pulled to the side of road and cut off the ignition. "Oh, Chloe," he reached for her, his heart quaking, imagining his little girl having to witness such a thing. "It's alright. It's alright."

"I was so scared," she cried, "So, I hid. Away from everyone. I wanted so bad to give up. But I could hear him." She buried her face in the clean starch of his shirt. "At first, it was so faint. Then, I could hear him talking to me, feel him holding me, taking care of me. And I knew I was safe. With him, I'm always safe." She hiccupped, comforted by the gentle stroke over her hair. Philip always did that, when he held her, as she cried, or after they made love. "So, I followed his voice and found my way back."

Craig closed his eyes, hurting for her and the things that she'd had to endure.

"I love him, Craig," she said finally. "I really do."

He tightened his hold. God, what was he going to do? The only thing he could do. "I know you do, sweetie. I know."

"Then," she sniffed, "Please give him a chance."

He clenched his jaw. God. He never knew that anything could match his love for his wife. Now, he knew. It was his love for his child. For that was what she was. For a tie of blood could not compare to a bond of heart. She was his child. He pulled back and wiped away the tears with his thumb. "I'll talk with your mom."