Lifelines: Kate's Story by Vanessa Grant

left
turned on. The hum of the refrigerator. She thought of last night, of black
ice, her foot pushing too hard, the car skating out of control.
    It
would have been so easy, the tree ... the telephone pole ... the car.
    Easier
than finding out how to live.
    If
she didn’t change something, she would lose herself in a country of Prozac and
intensive counseling, where she pretended to feel better while black ice
beckoned seductively.
    Socrates
waited inside the fence, although the gate stood open.
    “Come
out!”
    He
set his chin on the ground and stared at her.
    “Sit
up for the biscuit then.” Her voice sounded false and the dog knew she was
faking it.
    Socrates
shoved himself into a sitting position.
    She
offered him the biscuit, but he paused before he opened his mouth, as if to
tell her he saw through her game.
    “I’m
sorry I left you alone last night. I’m sorry I didn’t come home.” She couldn’t
help that the words were a lie, and of course the damned dog knew. He crunched
the biscuit and she felt guilty because she wanted free of Socrates and
Jennifer and her mother. She wanted David back, and last night the yearning
could have killed her.
    He
finished the biscuit and stared at her until she said, “I won’t drive anywhere
today. I don’t know about tonight, I can’t promise.”
    Socrates
seemed to shudder.
    Having
a conversation with the dog. Was that progress, or madness?
    “We
can’t live this way, Socrates. I’m going to the garage.” Because she
couldn’t face the house?
    The
garage was home to everything from their first set of dishes to David’s unused
golf clubs. Her kiln and wheel, bought at auction on impulse. She’d planned to
take lessons to revive her fifteen-year-old passion for clay. An unfulfilled
impulse, drowned in the details of her busy life with David.
    She
stared at the kiln and tried to bring to life the memory of slippery blue
Alaskan clay on her hands. A hilltop over the tiny town where her father contracted
to build a new veterinary clinic. Dad bending to pluck a scrap of earth between
his fingers.
    Clay.
We can dig it out, Katie.
    She
played with the blue substance, created magical small shapes while her mother
frowned at the mess. Dad fixed a place in the garage where she could make as
much clay mess as she wanted.
    Her
father had abandoned her, and now David had left her with a daughter who didn’t
want to talk to her, a financially irresponsible mother, and a disapproving
dog.
    Why
don’t you whine and snivel a bit more, Kate? Feel sorry for yourself. Turn into
your mother, telephone Jennifer with complaints she can’t possibly satisfy?
    Snap
out of it! Drag out the kiln, unearth the clay if it hasn’t hardened to
concrete. Shove your hands into it and create something.
    Alone.
    “I
have to stop this.”
    Socrates
stared past her shoulder, as if her words weren’t worth listening to.
    Shit
or get off the pot, Katie. Set a goal. Set three goals. One for each part of
your life: leisure, work, relationships.
    Now.
    She
straightened her back and blew out a breath.
    A
leisure goal.
    The
clay. Get the kiln and wheel set up. Use them. But first, clean out the garage,
make room for a pottery shop ... pottery center –whatever the hell one called it.
    So
much for leisure. What about work? A year ago, would she have referred Rachel
Hardesty after one session?
    Work
goal: stick with Rachel Hardesty. Book a session with Sarah to examine the
reason for her reaction to Rachel—she’d probably land up working on her damned
mother issues again.
    OK,
she had work and leisure goals set. Now for relationships.
    She
wasn’t ready to think about men, and she dreaded the social interactions
tonight’s night out with Sarah would bring. Two goals were surely enough.
    She
heard a sound, footstep on gravel, and behind her, a man’s voice asked, “Could
I use your phone?”
    She
turned and Socrates groaned to his feet.
    “Sorry
to interrupt, but my cell phone battery’s dead,”