All Is Not Forgotten(72)

Poor Detective Parsons.





Chapter Twenty-nine

The seeds of doubt grow like weeds when given enough sun. Enough water. Enough nurturing.

Charlotte sat in my office at her next visit with her doubt about Bob sprouting from her pores. She had not seen him again, but he had called her to tell her about the problem with the alibi and his new lawyer. He would not come off his story that he was at that dinner. And yet there were no more flirtatious text messages. No more pictures of his erect penis. He was being careful like a guilty person is careful.

“I’m sorry things with Bob are troubling you. Sorry because I can see you’re anxious about it.”

I am. It’s very troubling. I mean, what is he hiding? I even asked him, I said, “Just tell me where you were that night. If you were with another woman, then I’ll deal with it.” He just kept saying he was at the club and everyone was persecuting him because of his run for the seat and his money and blah blah blah. He was overselling it, you know?

“Yes. It sounds very strange, and I can see why you are concerned.” I let that sit for a moment. “How has Jenny been since the group session?”

The same. She was doing so well before she remembered the voice. And now she just seems to have given up. It’s like she doesn’t believe in the therapy anymore and is just resigned to being in constant pain. God, it’s so hard to watch. And worry—all over again.

“I see. I thought maybe the session would have changed that. There was a somewhat graphic disclosure by one of my other patients. Another rape victim. I was going to stop it because I am always very cognizant of Jenny’s age. But I let it go. It was not that disturbing in and of itself. But it was of the moment of first penetration, and that is the one memory Jenny has regained of that night.”

Charlotte’s eyes got wide and she sat up on the edge of the sofa. I didn’t realize she’d told you in that much detail.

“Well, of course. What did you think happened in that session?”

I don’t know. I guess I thought she just remembered it and told you she remembered it. I haven’t wanted to ask her the details. But I did not realize she told you.… It just seems … so personal. Not that it’s wrong. Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying!

“No—it’s fine. It is strange to think that your daughter described this act to me, a man, in such a sterile environment.”

Charlotte stared at the sticker on the plant. Her face was scrunched up like she was thinking. And pained by her thoughts.

“Would you like to know what she said? Would it help you to share this knowledge?”

Maybe. Yes. Actually, I would like to know. Everything that was said. Everything.

This was all too easy.

I told Charlotte about an act of penetration. The act I described was not the rape of Jenny, although it was not far off. Rather, it was Bob Sullivan f*cking his teenage secretary in the showroom. The rear entry. The hand braced on her shoulder. Her face pressed to the ground. The hand on the top of her head, fingers intertwined with her luscious hair. The powerful thrusting, back and forth like an animal.

Charlotte sat back and folded her arms. And on her face, I could see that I was right, that Bob Sullivan had f*cked her exactly the same way. And that now she was wondering where he really was that night.

Five days later, the sprouts would bloom.

But let’s not jump ahead.

We were all very concerned about Jenny and the abrupt cessation in the progress we were making. I took the chance that I had done enough to fuel my little fire—that there was now enough smoke for my son to slip quietly out of sight. I decided to return to my selfish desires to save my patient.

“How have you been?” I asked Jenny at her next session. “Still feeling like you can’t solve that stubborn math problem? That you want to give up?”

Jenny shrugged.

“You seem sad today.”

Tears came. I handed her some tissues.

“Is it the memory? The one we recovered?”

No. I feel better about that. It really is like you said. Even though I hate the images that come into my mind—I mean my skin actually crawls when I remember his hands and … everything else. But it’s like I have those moments when my skin crawls and when I want to scream and cry and curl up and die even, and then they go away. When I think about other things, or do other things, the feelings go with them.

“Yes!” I was beyond excited. “The feelings have found their home. They have attached to the memory and can stop haunting your mind in search of it. That’s exactly how trauma recovery is supposed to work. And over time, as you let those feelings come out, and let the images come out, they’ll start to recede and fade. They’ll come out and see that you are safe and that they do not need to provoke you.”

Jenny nodded. But then she sighed.

“So what is it, then?”

I don’t feel right talking about it.

Then I knew. “Sean?” I asked.

Her face gave her away.

“You can tell me. Sean knows we speak about your relationship. And he speaks about it to me as well.”

Really?

“Yes.”

Okay. I don’t know. I feel like I’m bad for him. Like I’m making him feel bad.

“In what way?”

He’s just so angry. He really thinks Mr. Sullivan raped me, and he …