Free Think Of a Number (2010) by John Verdon

dainty violet of a woman, small-boned and delicate of feature, with an old-fashioned look about her. If she were an actress, thought Gurney, she’d be a natural to play Emily Dickinson in
The Belle of Amherst
.
    “I wonder if you could tell me where I might find Mark—” But the violet interrupted him with her own question.
    “Who the fuck said you could park there?”

Chapter 11
A unique ministry
    F rom the parking area, Gurney followed a cobblestone pathway around the Georgian mansion, which he guessed would be used as the institute’s business office and lecture center, to a smaller Georgian house about five hundred feet behind it. A small gold-lettered sign by the path read PRIVATE RESIDENCE .
    Mark Mellery opened the door before Gurney knocked. He wore the same sort of costly-casual attire he’d worn on his visit to Walnut Crossing. Against the background of the institute’s architecture and landscape, the apparel lent him a squire-like aura.
    “Good to see you, Davey!”
    Gurney stepped into a spacious chestnut-floored entry hall furnished with antiques, and Mellery led the way to a comfortable study toward the rear of the house. A blaze crackling softly in the fireplace perfumed the room with a hint of cherry smoke.
    Two wing chairs stood opposite each other to the right and left of the fireplace and, with the sofa that faced the hearth, formed a U-shaped sitting area. When they were settled in the chairs, Mellery asked whether he’d had any trouble finding his way around the property. Gurney recounted the three peculiar conversations he’d had, and Mellery explained that the three individuals were guests of the institute and their behavior constituted part of their self-discovery therapy.
    “In the course of his or her stay,” Mellery explained, “each guest plays ten different roles. One day he might be the Mistake Maker—that sounds like the role Worth Partridge, the British chap, was playing when you came upon him. Another day he might be the Helper—that’s the role Sarah, who wanted to park your car, was playing. Another role is the Confronter. The last lady you encountered sounds like she was playing that part with extra relish.”
    “What’s the point?”
    Mellery smiled. “People act out certain roles in their lives. The content of the roles—the scripts, if you will—is consistent and predictable, although generally unconscious and rarely seen as a matter of choice.” He was warming to his subject, despite the fact he must have spoken these explanatory sentences hundreds of times. “What we do here is simple, although many of our guests consider it profound. We make them aware of the roles they unconsciously play, what the benefits and costs of those roles are, and how they affect others. Once our guests see their patterns of behavior in the light of day, we help them see that each pattern is a choice. They can retain or discard it. Then—this is the most important part—we provide them a program of action to replace damaging patterns with healthier ones.”
    The man’s anxiety, Gurney noted, receded as he spoke. The subject had put an evangelical brightness in his eyes.
    “By the way, all this might sound familiar to you.
Pattern, choice
, and
change
are the three most overused words in the whole shabby world of self-help. But our guests tell us that what we do here is different—the heart of it is different. Just the other day, one of them said to me, ‘This is the most perfect place on earth.’”
    Gurney tried to keep skepticism out of his voice. “The therapeutic experience you provide must be very powerful.”
    “Some find it so.”
    “I’ve heard that some powerful therapies are quite confrontational.”
    “Not here,” said Mellery. “Our approach is soft and welcoming.Our favorite pronoun is
we
, not
you
. We speak about
our
failings and fears and limitations. We never point at anyone and accuse
them
of anything. We believe that accusations are more likely to