All Is Not Forgotten(55)

He made me feel whole. Like we talked about. He knows about my past and he still loves me. He still wants me.

“So what’s changed? Why isn’t that working its magic anymore?”

Charlotte shrugged. She didn’t know. I looked at her and sighed myself. She asked if I was upset with her, and I assured her I was not. I said I was just very tired. I never share my personal feelings with my clients, but I was growing impatient—remember, I had not yet taken the lorazepam. I had been hobbling myself together for the better part of our session.

I left Charlotte to consider why things with Bob had changed. Of course, I knew the answer. Bob had not muttered those four little words that night by the Dumpsters at the Home Depot. He did not say, “It’s not your fault.” The supply of acceptance and forgiveness had been interrupted, and she now had an inkling of the truth—that all this time, as Bob held her and told her that he loved her, even though she had slept with her mother’s husband, even though she had been sent away to live with her aunt, he was lying. Bob was a liar who wanted to f*ck her. He was masterful. Cunning. I have to admit that a small part of me was impressed by him. He knew somehow what would appeal to her, that bad Charlotte would feed on his acceptance like the starving child she was and that she would open her legs and not care about her own satisfaction as long as he brought the food. But now his words were empty. The food he was serving her was rancid, and she was having trouble swallowing it down.

I wondered what he was feeding Lila at the Jag showroom. What did she need so desperately that she would bend over a silver XK and let him shove her face into its hood while he rode her like an animal? Money, perhaps, as Tom said. Or maybe she needed her daddy’s love. It could have been a million things. And Bob, that sly dog, had figured it out. Yes. I was impressed.

By the time Tom left my office later that day, my thoughts were in a frenzy. I kept thinking over and over—This is too good to be true. It was. It was too perfect.

You probably cannot picture this, but I actually got up and paced the room, back and forth like some primal beast. I had seen Charlotte. Then I had seen two other patients. Then I’d seen Tom and learned about Bob and that little slut at the Jag showroom. I hope you’re following along. This day, this Friday, was absolutely pivotal. I had become monomaniacal in my mission to save my son from accusation. My wife was right. The accusation alone would change his life forever. Social media would leave its nasty indelible footprint. I also have to admit—to you and not my wife, because it would continue to upset her—that the consequence of not being able to treat Jenny also weighed heavily upon me. No parents in their right mind would allow that to continue under such a cloud of suspicion. And I needed to finish my work with her. I am a selfish bastard, aren’t I? God, how I was coming undone that day!

But I was not too undone to continue with my fledgling plan.

Jenny arrived just after four in the afternoon. Three Kramers in one day. I was immersed in their stories, and it was helping me immensely to piece together the details. I heard them arrive in the waiting room. Charlotte always brought Jenny. Lucas was with them as well. It didn’t matter. They would leave as soon as I opened the door, and I would be alone with Jenny for an hour. More, if I needed it.

I finished the work I had been doing on my computer. Then I opened the door.

I’m starting to feel like I live here, Charlotte joked. She seemed sad. I imagine she had started to figure out why Bob had lost his magic.

I smiled but said nothing. Jenny walked past me and sat down on the sofa.

“I’ll be right back, Jenny. I just want to talk to your mom for a moment.”

Jenny said, Fine. She pulled out her phone like every teenager. It’s not possible for them to sit in the silence. Of course, the room was not silent today.

I closed the door, leaving Jenny inside. Alone. I spoke to Charlotte about the schedule and pretended to need an update on Jenny since that morning. She didn’t think twice about it. She pulled out her phone and checked some dates and times. I reminded her that I go to Somers on Tuesdays.

“Hello, Lucas,” I said. I shook his hand and met his eyes. I had not been seeing him as a patient, and he still looked at me the way children look at doctors. They are right to be apprehensive. Doctors mean something is wrong with you, or might be wrong with you. Doctors do things to you that sometimes hurt or make you uncomfortable. I did not take offense.

All of this took not more than three minutes. But that was all I needed. I said good-bye and then entered my office.

My computer was on, playing a looped commercial from Bob Sullivan’s dealerships. It was all Bob, his voice, over and over. Jenny wasn’t bothered by it one way or another. She smiled at me when I passed by and walked to my desk.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’d left this on.”

It’s fine, she said.

I turned off the commercial, then walked to the chair across from the sofa and took my seat. “I like to watch the news sometimes. But I hate those commercials. I know your dad works there. I think I just hate commercials, period.”

She smiled and I settled into my chair. I was pleased with myself for completing this part of the plan, the mission. But then I saw her face. Her eyes. I lost my breath.

I have described my impressions of Jenny before, how I had been confused by the girl I saw the months between the rape and suicide attempt. How she did not present as a trauma victim. Certainly not a rape victim. And then, when the truth came out about her receiving the treatment, it all made sense to me. I think I even said that I felt relieved to know I wasn’t losing my professional mind. After I began my work with her, and if I’m being honest, after she met Sean Logan, she changed again. As her father said, the life was back in her eyes. The last time I’d seen her, that Wednesday, we had the breakthrough, a light piercing the blackout. The memory. I had seen the panic rip through her as she relived that one moment. I had seen a glimmer of pain and shock and horror. But then it all collapsed into exhaustion. When she left, it was hard to detect anything. Two days had passed. Two days of living with the memory.