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pleased about that, particularly when her three-o’clock appointment turned out to be the pits. She’d been counseling Paul and Sheila Valente for five months. In their mid-thirties and married eight years, they’d developed communication problems that were putting a definite crimp in their relationship. They both worked full-time at high-pressure jobs, yet they managed to spare an hour a week to see her. She’d always seen that as a positive sign.
    Suddenly Paul decided that they were wasting their time. “I don’t see any progress,” he announced the instant they were seated. Caroline was amazed he’d been able to wait even that long; she’d seen the thunder in his eyes when she first greeted him back in the waiting room and knew that the clouds had been gathering for some time. “Sheila goes to work. She comes home and thinks about work. Once in a while she remembers I’m there, but for the most part I could be a picture on the wall. If she’s not willing to make an effort, no amount of counseling will help.”
    â€œI make an effort,” Sheila argued, as eager to fight as he, “but each time I suggest we do something, either you have your own work to do or you want to work out or watch the baseball game.”
    â€œThose are things that I enjoy,” he said, thumping his chest self-righteously. “There are plenty of other times when I’m doing absolutely nothing. That’s when you choose to open your briefcase.”
    Sheila glared at the wall. “I see no reason why it always has to be me accommodating you, rather than the other way around.” She turned her glare on Caroline. “I have to time my getting up in the morning so that the steam from my shower will have gone by the time he reaches the bathroom.”
    â€œThat’s not true. You need the extra time to fiddle with your makeup and try on three outfits before you finally decide what to wear.”
    â€œI have to look good at work. Clothes and makeup are important.”
    Sheila headed her own beauty-consulting service. Caroline had to admit that she always looked stunning. Not that Paul was a slouch. He was blond and good-looking, not overly tall but well built. He managed a large hotel not far from the Capitol, an enviable position for one so young.
    â€œSee?” Paul asked. “It’s always work. When we finally manage to be free on the same evening, she doesn’t want to go anywhere. She says that she dresses up every day and needs a break.” He turned to his wife. “Well, I need a break, too. I need a wife who tries to please me for a change.”
    â€œYou want to be doted on. Paul, that’s passé. I’m not your mother. And do you dote on me?”
    He snorted. “If I started, there’d be no end to it. Give you an inch and you’d take a mile. Look what happened with paying the bills. We agreed that we’d each take care of our own. Then one month you were too busy, so I gave you a hand. The month after that it was—” he affected a whiny soprano “—‘You’re so much better at it than I am, Paul,’ so I did it again. Since then you’ve just assumed I’d do it.”
    â€œI work, damn it. I face bills day in, day out.”
    â€œWell, damn it,” he yelled, throwing his hands in the air, “so do I!” He turned to Caroline. “She’s obsessed with her role as the working woman. I didn’t ask her to work. We don’t need the income.”
    â€œWe do if we want that house in Silver Spring.”
    â€œ You’re the one who wants it. I’d be just as happy to stay in the condo we have here and look for a house when we really need one. Like when we have kids. But that’s a whole other can of worms. When we were first married, we said we’d wait two or three years before having children. Then you felt that the opportunity to consult at