Read InSight for Free Online Page B

bathroom door, hand skimming the wall. Seven to the stall, where she locked the door, sat down on the commode, and burst into tears.
    What just happened? She’d been ambushed. Betrayed. She needed time to make sense of it. All her training left her unprepared because this was personal. She felt like someone had rammed a fist into her gut and pushed the air right out of her. Her tears exhausted, she hung over the sink for a minute, took a few deep breaths to fight off the nausea, then splashed cold water on her face. She blotted it with a paper towel—grateful the mirror’s reflection didn’t stare back.
    Cleo ushered Abby into the office and embraced her as soon as the door closed behind them. “There, there, let me wipe away your drippy mascara. Jonah Wall is out there, and we wouldn’t want him to see his therapist upset, would we?” Cleo took some lotion and patted it under Abby’s swollen eyes. “He can’t be worth it if he made you cry, honey.”
    “Oh, dear. Jonah. I forgot. Of all people. No, I wouldn’t want him to see me upset. I can never get away with anything. There’s always a telltale clue. That damn mascara is supposed to be waterproof.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue. “I feel like an idiot.”
    Cleo put the finishing touches on Abby’s face. “There isn’t a woman alive who hasn’t felt the same way.”
    “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better. How do I look?”
    “This might be a good time for your dark glasses, honey. You’re a bit—”
    “Puffy?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Great. Jonah Wall’s puffy-eyed therapist needs a therapist.”
    For the next hour Abby tried to concentrate on her patient, but Luke’s sharp words twisted her stomach in knots while she struggled to hold back the tears. How would she ever get through the day?
    * * * * *
    L uke couldn’t hear the sound of his own words, but remembering the expression on Abby’s face, he knew how much he’d hurt her. Words once spoken can never be retracted. God knows, he tried. He didn’t blame her. She tried to help and he stabbed her in the back. But that had been his habit, his signature as far back as he could remember. Letting down the people he cared about.
    Mack Tollison concluded the only way he could, and Abby would have agreed. They were both right. That’s exactly what she said he wasn’t willing to face.
    No, he wasn’t. He wanted his life back the way it was before the accident. He wanted his old job on the streets, to hear the sound of Abby’s voice. Then the thought struck. Abby hadn’t been part of his old life, and he’d done everything to insure his new life would be without her too. Time to get his head straight, put things in order, or he’d continue on a straight path to nowhere.
    He had some time coming. He’d ask the captain for a few days now while they discussed his future without him around. He needed this job, and he’d leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that he’d do whatever necessary to keep it. Then he needed to come to terms with the new Luke McCallister.

Chapter Six
    The Internal Compass Goes Awry

    T hat evening, Abby listened to the computer’s robotic voice of Luke McCallister begging forgiveness. For once, she was glad she couldn’t hear the inflections of someone’s words.
    “I know I have issues,” he wrote, “and that Mack Tollison’s evaluation was spot on, if I were being objective, which right now I’m finding difficult.”
    Another apologetic email followed. Then another. She didn’t answer any of them.
    Abby knew Luke was going through hell. Bad enough to lose your hearing to the job, but to lose the job because you couldn’t hear was a cruel irony.
    During her training dealing with disability—she gave in to the word—her instructor had posed this question: Which handicap is worse, being deaf or blind? She remembered the words of Helen Keller because at the time she didn’t agree.

    I am just as deaf as I am blind. The problems of