“Okay, now,” she addressed his mom and brothers, “these severe headaches Fox gets so regularly…”
“I’m right here,” Fox mentioned.
“Uh-huh. They’re not exactly migraines or cluster headaches—they couldn’t be or I wouldn’t be able to dent them with the basic massage techniques I’ve been using. So we’re talking the cause being stress, which one of Fox’s doctors already suggested.”
“Yeah,” Bear and Moose both nodded from across the table.
“I kind of have an unusual view of stress because of my work with babies. In a sense, the babies are suffering from massive stress. They’ve either been deprived of touch or associate touch with pain—so much so that they’ve withdrawn from wanting contact. What I do with the babies is a kind of touch therapy to force them—gently—to accept touch. To try to get them to see human contact as something wonderful and helpful.”
“I love what you do,” Georgia enthused, looking as if she wanted to launch into another round of conversations about babies. Phoebe persevered.
“From everything I’ve seen…Fox is actually suffering from the same kind of stress. He was hurt. So to protect himself, he’s withdrawn. In a way, his headaches function to protect him. So does the rest of his behavior. If he stays in the house, holes up, allows the headaches, he’s essentially put himself in a position where he can’t be exposed to more pain. You get the concept?”
“Sure,” Bear said.
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Moose hesitated. “Well, I sure don’t. You mean he feels safer if he’s hurting? Like those headaches of his are a choice?”
“No. God, no. No one would volunteer for those awful headaches—and all his other injuries are real, besides. But when an animal is hurt, he holes up in his den, right? He rests. He stays away from risk until he’s able to handle it again.”
“Yeah, I totally get that,” Moose said.
“So. Now we have to get Fox out of his den. We have to motivate him to want to get out—which means that we want to supervise his exposure to pleasant and nonrisky experiences.”
“Okay, okay, this was cute for a couple of minutes,” Fox said irritably. “But enough’s enough. I’m not one of your babies. I don’t need someone to give me ‘pleasant’ experiences. I’m not an animal holing up in a den. Phoebe, if you’ve got some program you want me to do, talk to me, not to them.”
Phoebe deliberately tried to make herself sound like a teasing sister. “Now, I can’t do that, darlin’, because you’d just argue with me. Bear, Moose, I need you on my side if we’re going to make this work. You, too, Mrs. Lockwood—”
“Oh, I’m all for whatever you suggest,” Georgia said brightly. “This is exactly what Fox needs. To get out of the house, pick up his life again. He’s been so depressed.”
“I havenot been depressed,” Fox snarled.
The baby stirred again. Phoebe knew the infant would need feeding soon, so she pushed on. “Okay.
This is the program. Two times a week I’ll do bodywork on Fergus. Some of that’ll be massage, concentrating on building strength and stamina. But I also want to teach him de-stress and relaxation techniques—before those headaches get the better of him.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Moose said.
“Then Moose, Bear…I’m counting on one of you to find the time to take him fishing once a week.”
“Fishing?” Bear perked up.
“Fishing? How’d that get into this conversation?” Fergus said disbelievingly, and was ignored.
“I want him out of the house, outside somewhere. I know it’s still pretty cold to go out on a boat, but I still like the idea because he couldn’t just walk off, go home, you know? He’d have to sit there. And the sun and water could have a real shot at relaxing him.”
“You got it. I’m your man,” Bear said, and added, “in all the ways you want.”
She chuckled at his innuendo. “Thanks, you sweetie. Then, Moose, if you could take him for one evening a week—”
“Takeme. Like I need a babysitter?” Fox snapped.
She honestly didn’t want to keep ignoring Fergus, but she still had information to cover, and the baby Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
wasn’t going to stay good forever. “Moose, I want Fox doing something stress free, but still something that requires him to get out of the bachelor house. So it’d be a good idea if he went to your place—or any other safe place that would force him out of his rut—”
“I’m sure as hell not in a rut,” Fox informed the entire room.
“I was thinking…poker,” Phoebe mused. “Something you could do with some guy friends? But if you brothers aren’t into cards, I don’t care what you choose to do. The point is just getting him out of his den.”
“I’m on it,” Moose agreed enthusiastically. “Phoebe, I think you’re absolutely brilliant.”
“I am,” she agreed with a chuckle.
“You’re not giving me anything to do!” Mrs. Lockwood wailed.
“That’s because she’s fired,” Fox told his mother.
“Now, Fox. You can’t fire me because I was never hired. This is just a program plan. Georgia, ideally I’d like you to spend two times a week with Fergus, making him cook.”
“Makinghim cook? Instead of me cooking?” The idea was obviously new to Georgia.
“Yes. I want you to have the ingredients and the recipes for his favorite foods around. You do the food shopping so he isn’t forced into public quite this fast. But make him do the cooking and preparing, whatever his favorites are. Just supervise. Do it with him.”
“What a marvelous idea. Phoebe, it’s easy to see why my boys are so in love with you.”
Fox raised his hand. “One of your boys is not in love with her. In fact, one of your boys would like to take Phoebe in the backyard for a little personal discussion. No one needs to call the cops or worry if they hear screams. It’ll just be me, killing her.”
Phoebe refused to laugh, no matter how funny he was being. To his family she
