By Appointment Only by Janice Maynard Page A

counseling was to work, she had to follow the rules.
    It was difficult to look the receptionist in the eye. Hannah felt her face flush and knew she must look comically guilty. Which was stupid, because the woman clearly dealt with this kind of stuff on a daily basis.
    The lady flipped open her appointment calendar and asked Hannah to suggest some dates and times. Fortunately, there were no glitches. Hannah was able to schedule Tuesday and Thursday at four thirty both this week and the next. The second group appointment was already on the books.
    The middle-aged woman smiled. “When you come tomorrow afternoon, I’ll simply give you the appropriate key and you’ll take it from there.” Her eyes were kind. “Do you have any further questions?”
    Hannah managed not to stutter. “No. I’m fine. We’re fine. We’ll be here. Thanks.”
    She escaped into the hallway and leaned against the wall, her heart pounding in her chest and her legs trembling. Something about that office scared the crap out of her. She had weird worries about things like two-way mirrors, electroshock therapy, and masked strangers.
    She’d always had an imagination that worked overtime, and in this situation, it was a definite curse.
    By the time Mrs. Beckley’s appointment was finally over and Hannah was able to deliver her safely back to the assisted-living facility where she belonged, it was going on one o’clock. Hannah’s stomach was growling, so she popped into the mall and gobbled down an order of Szechuan chicken and fried rice. She should have gone for something healthier, but her stress level was through the roof, and she needed comfort food.
    Afterward, she wandered down to Victoria’s Secret and looked in the window. Did tomorrow afternoon’s appointment merit new undies? The mannequin in the window was wearing a lovely set of champagne satin bra and panties trimmed in ecru and chocolate lace. The perfect colors for a dark-headed brunette.
    Fifteen minutes later, Hannah was fifty dollars poorer and no closer to solving her itchy sensation of impending doom. She had hoped to stay superbusy today, but a couple of her regular Monday clients who had standing appointments at the beauty shop had canceled on her, and now the afternoon and evening stretched like an endless boring landscape in front of her.
    She wouldn’t be seeing Morgan tonight. One of the big bosses was coming in from out of town, and Morgan would be tied up all evening taking the man around the job site and then wining and dining him.
    It seemed ominous that the next time she would see her fiancé would be at the offices of the Drs. Hurst and Hurst. What would be in their private room when they opened the door? Silly stuff like edible underwear and porn videos? Or something even worse?
    She couldn’t get a clear mental picture of what even worse might be, but she was sure it would be scary. Or uncomfortable. Or difficult to endure. Why in the name of all that’s holy had she ever teased Morgan about the sexual counseling? And when he had turned the tables on her and pretended to be interested in doing it, why hadn’t she laughed him off and changed the subject?
    By the time she got back to her apartment, she had worked herself into a complete mental tizzy. The message light on her phone was blinking and she jabbed it eagerly, wanting to hear Morgan’s voice.
    Unfortunately, it was her mother. Asking for money. Hannah deleted the rambling message rapidly and put a hand to her mouth, feeling queasy. Would she end up having to tell Morgan about her flaky mother? God, she hoped not.
    She went for a run to try and burn off her restless energy, but it seemed to hype her up more. Since she had eaten a big lunch, she decided to have microwave popcorn for dinner. While it was popping, she poured herself a glass of wine and downed half of it recklessly.
    She rarely drank because it made her sleepy. But tonight, oblivion sounded like a good thing. Then she wouldn’t have to