Family Man

could she continue to pen memos herself under Justine's name. Fraser Stanfield had helped her disguise the dire situation as long as possible, but the company had reached a crisis point.
    Katy walked into her office. Her secretary, Liz Bartlett, looked up at her over the round rims of a pair of reading glasses. She put down the book she had been reading so that Katy saw the title: Introduction to Short-term Cognitive Therapy .
    Two years ago, the day after Liz turned forty, her husband had walked out on her. At Katy's urging she had begun taking evening classes at the local community college as a way to meet new people and develop new interests.
    To everyone's surprise, including Katy's, Liz had become an enthusiastic professional student. She had sampled everything from Floral Design to Heating and Air Conditioning Systems Repair, and she loved to apply her newfound knowledge.
    Katy had not really minded the three months she had spent in an office filled with ever-changing flower arrangements. But disaster had struck when the mansion's ancient furnace had broken down and Liz had insisted on repairing it free of charge. The inhabitants of the big house had been forced to rely on the mansion's fireplaces until a licensed electrician arrived to correct the wiring problem Liz had created.
    Fortunately, after that debacle, Liz had concluded she was intellectually more suited to the liberal arts and had moved on to Creative Writing.
    Most recently, she had started a course in psychology and had acquired just enough knowledge to be dangerous.
    “There you are, Katy,” Liz said. “How is Her Highness today?”
    “Holding her own.”
    Liz shook her head sadly. “You know that woman is very close to being in a state of full-blown clinical depression, don't you?”
    “She's just a little tired lately, that's all. Any calls?”
    “Let's see.” Liz picked up a stack of message slips and flipped through them. “Miss Anorexia Nervosa phoned. She wants you to call her ASAP.”
    Katy groaned. “Eden is not anorexic. She's lost some weight lately because of the trauma of the divorce, that's all.”
    “She's on the brink of a major eating disorder. Mark my words.” Liz picked up another slip. “Maureen called about fifteen minutes ago. She wants a return call as soon as possible, too. A lot of repressed hostility in her tone, as usual.”
    “She's got a reason to feel hostile,” Katy said patiently. “Justine isn't turning Gilchrist over to either of her kids. Any normal mother would be upset.”
    “There is no such thing as a normal Gilchrist.”
    “You have a point,” Katy admitted. “Anything else?”
    “Yep. We heard from the Great Sublimator.”
    “Hayden is an artist, Liz. I wish you would stop referring to him as the Great Sublimator. He happens to be doing some of his best work these days.”
    “That's because he's sublimating the guilt and anger he feels toward his mother,” Liz explained cheerfully. “If he wasn't working it all out in those glass sculptures of his, he'd be one sick man.”
    “As it is, he's one successful artist.”
    Liz pursed her lips. “You know, I'd like to see the whole family in counseling, including Darren. He's cute as hell, but I sense some anxiety in him due to his inability to prove himself to his grandmother.”
    Katy grinned in spite of her mood. “Nonsense. Gilchrists don't get anxious, they get mean. And you can forget family counseling. They'd eat the poor counselor alive. What they probably need is a witch doctor.”
    “I suppose so. Mr. Stanfield has arrived to give you the weekly report, by the way. He's in your office. I think he's getting restless.”
    “He wants a full briefing on yesterday's disaster. I guess I'd better let him know I blew it.”
    “What do you want to do about returning these calls?” Liz waved the slips in the air.
    “I'll get around to it when I have a few minutes free.”
    “Gilchrists get hostile when their calls aren't returned in a timely fashion,” Liz warned.
    “I'll placate the coven when I get a chance.” Katy pushed open the door of her inner office and went inside.
    Fraser Stanfield was propped against the edge of her desk. He was reading the morning paper, a cup of coffee beside him on the polished wooden surface. He looked up when the door opened.
    He took one glance at Katy's flushed cheeks and compressed mouth and smiled wryly. “I take it the big trip south to confront the errant grandson was not a roaring