“Were you raised in Atlanta, or did you relocate like everyone else in this fine city?”
Struggling to keep a straight face, Sharleen raised her right hand, as if she were pledging allegiance to the flag, and said, “I’m a native. Scout’s honor.”
“Great. The next time I need a tour guide I know just who to call.”
A witty retort tickled her tongue, but Sharleen slammed her mouth shut. She was supposed to be evaluating Emilio, not flirting with him.
The second floor was filled with flat-screen TVs, pool tables and leather couches, but only a handful of people were relaxing in the lounge. Sharleen preferred the intimate setting, liked that they were far away from the crowd. She didn’t want to share Emilio with anyone, especially not the British bombshell in the eye-catching pink number downstairs. I wish I could wear dresses, too, but I can’t. Not with my—
“How long have you been a life coach?” Emilio asked.
Sharleen dismissed her thoughts and put her utensils down on her empty plate. “Five years. I got hired at Pathways Center right out of college, and I’ve been there ever since.”
“Have you always dreamed of being a life coach?”
“No, actually. When I was a kid I wanted to be a mechanic—”
“A mechanic?” he repeated, a bewildered look on his face. “Why?”
“My dad owned a repair shop, and by the time I was ten I was answering phones, making coffee for the staff and tinkering on old cars.” Sadness overwhelmed her, but she pushed past her feelings and spoke in a clear, strong voice. “My aunties were up in arms when I started trade school, but my parents told me to ignore them. They encouraged me to follow my heart, and that’s exactly what I did.”
Emilio frowned. “If your dream was to follow in your father’s footsteps, then why are you a life coach and not a mechanic?”
Sharleen opened her mouth, but her throat ached, and it hurt to swallow. She’d told her story hundreds of times over the years, everywhere from churches to schools and youth centers, but when she remembered that cold winter night, her vision blurred with unshed tears, and the room spun. She sipped water to help steady her nerves and focus her thoughts. “My parents died in a house fire when I was seventeen,” she said. “I gave up on life and quit school.”
“I am sorry for your loss.” Emilio placed a hand on hers and held it tight. His touch was welcome, and his eyes were full of sympathy. “Unfortunately, I know how you feel. After my nephew died, I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed, let alone go out in public.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, alone with their thoughts. The waitress arrived, cleared their empty dinner plates without saying a word and sped off.
“I never would have guessed you experienced such a devastating loss,” Emilio said quietly. “You’re so bright and bubbly and passionate about life.”
It wasn’t always that way. I wanted to die when I woke up in the hospital.
“How did you survive losing your parents? How did you overcome your grief?”
“In the most unlikely way.” Dropping her hands in her lap, she fiddled with her silver gemstone bracelet. It had belonged to her mother, and although it was nicked and scratched, Sharleen wore it every day. It was her good-luck charm, the only piece of jewelry she owned, and her most valuable possession. “I moved in with my aunt Phyllis, and after months of me moping around the house, complaining about how unfair life was, she let me have it—”
“That’s terrible.” Emilio’s face darkened, and there was a bitter edge to his voice. “How could she turn on you in your time of need? You were grieving the loss of your parents—”
“And squandering my life away,” Sharleen explained, feeling compelled to defend her favorite aunt. “I stormed out of the apartment in a huff, but deep down I knew my aunt Phyllis was right. My parents wouldn’t want me wasting away to nothing. They’d want me to make something of myself, and that’s what I’m striving to do.”
His gaze bored into her, zeroing in with acute precision. Sharleen never imagined their lighthearted conversation would turn into a serious, soul-baring discussion. She took a moment to catch her breath. Antwan’s words came back to her. Treat Emilio like a friend, not a patient. Be his confidante. Someone he can trust. This was her moment to get through to him, to use her personal story to reach him, and she wasn’t going to squander the opportunity. “The way I see it, you have two choices. You can either heal or allow grief to consume you. It’s as simple as that.”