Free As Good as It Got by Isabel Sharpe Page A

and relatively unlined. No ravages from his brutal past.
    “I . . . don’t think—” Exactly. She wasn’t capable of thought at all. “—so, but thanks.”
    “Do you good. Fresh air and a chance to talk to someone who gets it.”
    “Gets it?” Her scorn battled an unexpected twinge of As Good As It Got
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    longing to escape this box of estrogen for the simple, sensible, calming company of a man.
    “Get what you’re feeling. I do, you know. I’ve been there.
    Once I—”
    “Patrick?” Betsy’s voice, calling from across the room.
    “Yeah.” He kept his eyes on Ann’s a beat longer, then turned to grin at Betsy’s approach. “What’s doing, boss?”
    “You’re needed in Cabin Three, are you able to go? Good morning, everyone.” Betsy stood solidly planted, arms loosely at her side, beaming at her flock, blue eyes serene, blond curls a flawlessly symmetrical halo. “I hope you all slept well.”
    Assorted murmurings of assent, all lies. Whenever Ann had been awake, she’d heard at least one body thrashing and sighing in the dark.
    “I’m good to go. See ya later.” Patrick got up with easy grace, laid his hand on Ann’s shoulder and bent his head down close. “You’ll be okay?”
    “Yes-s-s.” She spoke impatiently, but his concern gave her an unexpected lift.
    “Good.” He squeezed her shoulder, bowed to the other women, and left with Betsy.
    “Ann!” Cindy’s eyes were completely round. “Did he just ask you out ?”
    Ann scoffed, her shoulder still feeling the pressure of his hand. “I’m sure he has instructions to scope out the worst basket cases and offer his manly chest to cry on.”
    “Ha!” Dinah had resumed dabbing at the jelly staining her yolk-and-white outfit. “He’s not manly. Remember? He’s that other way.”
    “Right.” Ann scooted disgustedly away from her. Zero 68 Isabel
    Sharpe
    tolerance for homophobia aside, she didn’t care to share her theory that Patrick was as immune to women as James Bond.
    “You going?” Dinah looked up from her monster bosom.
    “See you in therapy.”
    “I don’t know if I want to go.” Cindy laughed anxiously. Her hands fluttered up and pressed tightly against her cheeks, as if she were afraid of losing them. “I’ve never been to therapy with strangers. I think I’ll hate it.”
    Join the club .
    “Aw, it’s nothing, sweetie.” Dinah waved away Cindy’s concern. “I’ve been in tons of therapy with my husbands, you know, to work on the marriages. All you have to do is talk. Just open your mouth and blab about whatever enters your head.”
    “Which comes naturally to you.”
    “Oh yes.” Dinah nodded happily, Ann’s sarcasm having whizzed harmlessly over her head. “The last time I went, with Stanley, my third husband, we were having this sexual issue, where he—”
    “See you there.” Ann stood abruptly. Words could not express how little she wanted to hear about Stanley’s sexual issue.
    She threw away the nibbled toast and put her tray on the conveyor belt that moved dirty goods into the kitchen. Kinsonu in a nutshell: soiled women on a conveyor belt, into the camp to be washed and made presentable for reuse. Too bad the deep scratches and cracks of the past couldn’t be repaired as perfectly.
    Outside, she stepped onto the fresh, fragrant grass, mown from its normal meadow length, and walked back As Good As It Got
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    to Cabin Four, sunlight already warming the morning, dappling the ground through the birches, sending out the gift of Christmas-tree whiffs among the firs.
    Okay. She’d stay. She’d even work on her attitude. At least through group therapy this morning. If that didn’t push her over the edge, nothing would.
    Fifteen minutes later, teeth brushed, stomach still painful from too much coffee and not enough food, in spite of a dose of extra-strength antacids, she was sitting in yet another cabin on a comfortable upholstered chair arranged in a circle with other comfortable upholstered