Free Smooth Talking Stranger by Lisa Kleypas Page A

Ella.”
    “How’s the baby?”
    “He’s fine. Have you made any progress on finding Tara? Because if not—”
    “I found her,” Liza said triumphantly.
    My eyes widened. “What? Where is she? Did you talk to her?”
    “Not directly. But there’s this guy she goes to sometimes when she’s having a tough time . . .”
    “Goes to?” I repeated warily. “You mean, like dating?”
    “Not dating, exactly. He’s married. Anyway, I thought Tara might have gone to him. So I found his number and left a message for him, and he finally called me back. He says she’s okay, and she’s been with him the past couple of days.”
    “Who is this guy?”
    “I can’t tell you. He wants his name kept out of this.”
    “I’ll bet he does. Liza, I want to know exactly what is happening to my sister, and where she is, and—”
    “She’s at a clinic in New Mexico.”
    My heartbeat accelerated to a pace that made me light-headed. “What kind of clinic? Rehab? Is she doing drugs?”
    “No, no, it’s not drugs. I think she had a breakdown or something.”
    The word “breakdown” scared me, making my voice ragged as I asked, “What’s the name of the place?”
    “MountainValley Wellness.”
    “Did this guy you mentioned check her in? Did she check herself in? What kind of shape is she in? ”
    “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
    My eyes screwed shut as I forced myself to ask, “Liza . . . she . . . didn’t try to hurt herself, did she?”
    “Oh, nothing like that. From what I can tell, having the baby was too much for her to handle. Maybe she needs a vacation.”
    That drew a mirthless smile from me as I reflected that Tara needed a lot more than a vacation.
    “Anyway,” my cousin said, “here’s the number of the place. And I think you can reach her by cell now.”
    I took down the information, ended the call, and headed straight for my laptop.
    A Google search of the clinic revealed that it was a short-term residential treatment center located in a small town near Santa Fe. The pictures on the Web site made it look more like a spa or a vacation resort than a mental health clinic. In fact, a few holistic therapies and nutritional classes were mentioned. But the place also appeared to have a certified and licensed professional staff and intensive psychiatric services. The “treatments” page described an emphasis on mind and body wellness, with the goal of using minimal or no medication.
    Mountain Valley Wellness looked kind of light-weight for a person who might have had a breakdown. Did they have the resources to help her? Did they dispense psychological advice along with facials and pedicures?
    Although I badly wanted to call the admissions office, I knew there was no way they would violate the confidentiality of one of their patients.
    Sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, I clasped my head in my hands. I wondered how messed up my sister was. Fear, pity, anguish, anger, all tangled inside me as I reflected that it would be nearly impossible for most people to function well, having been brought up the way we had.
    I thought of my mother’s histrionic fits, the bizarre twists of logic, the wild impulses that had confused and frightened us. All those men coming and going, all part of Mom’s desperate search to make herself happy. But no one and nothing ever had. Our lives had not been normal, and our efforts to pretend otherwise had imposed a bitter isolation on Tara and me. We had grown up knowing we were different from everyone else.
    Neither of us seemed able to be close to anyone. Not even each other. Closeness meant the one you loved the most would cause you the most damage. How did you unlearn that? It was woven deep between every fiber and vessel. You couldn’t cut it out.
    Slowly I picked up the phone and dialed Tara’s cell number. This time, unlike all my previous efforts, she picked up. “Hello?”
    “Tara, it’s me.”
    “Ella.”
    “Are you okay?”
    “Yeah,