Before She Was Found(34)

“Tell me about Cora’s friends,” I said instead. “The ones who spent the night at your house.”

“Well, Cora has known Jordyn since kindergarten but they never really played together when they were little. Jordyn’s grandparents run one of the local bars in town. I think my husband went to high school with one of their sons.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe I’m wrong about that. Anyway, Cora and Jordyn didn’t hang out until this year. They never had much in common. Cora is reserved, more shy. Jordyn is loud—” Mara frowned “—has to be the center of attention.”

“And the other girl?” I asked. “Violet?”

Mara’s hand moved to her ear and she yanked on it nervously. “Violet’s new. Her mom works at the gas station, but Cora and Violet have become very good friends. Violet comes over just about every day after school now. Her mom seems kind of rough but Violet’s no trouble at all. She’s a sweet girl.”

“So, you’d say that Cora has had a good school year in relation to peers?” I asked.

“I’d say so,” Mara agreed. “I mean, she is almost a teenager and God knows they are a mystery. But Cora hasn’t mentioned any troubles and I’m sure I would have noticed.”

“Would you like for me to meet Cora now?” I asked. “Does she know I’ve come to see her?”

“I told her that another doctor was going to stop in.” Mara stood and folded her arms across her chest as if chilly. “I thought that maybe you could explain what it is you do.”

“Of course,” I said and followed Mara from the family room, past the nurses’ desk and across the hall to Cora’s room. Mara pushed open the door to reveal a darkened room, lights off, shades closed. The only light came from a muted television set that hung from the wall. A teenage girl sat in the corner.

In the bed was a diminutive, still shape. “Cora, honey,” Mara said, leaning over her. “Are you awake?”

If Cora gave a response, I didn’t hear it.

“The doctor I told you about is here. I’m going to let some light in here so the two of you can talk, okay?” Mara went to the window and adjusted the shades so that the morning sun filtered through the slats, giving the room a hazy glow.

The left side of Cora’s head was shaved and dozens of stitches punctuated her skull. A heavy bandage covered her left eye and cheek and the skin that was exposed was eggplant purple. Stitches crisscrossed her swollen lips and her left arm was encased in a purple fiberglass cast. It was impossible to know what Cora looked like before the attack. Her features were so distorted that I wondered how the police were able to identify who she was. Perhaps it was the other girl at the scene who gave the emergency workers Cora’s name.

“Hello there, Cora.” I approached her bedside slowly so as not to startle her. The last thing Cora needed was another stranger converging on her. I came to her right side and positioned myself so that she could see me. “I’m Dr. Gideon.” Cora’s eye, sky blue but dulled by painkillers, blinked languidly up at me.

“I know you’ve met a lot of doctors since you’ve been here but I’m a different kind of doctor. I’m not here to look at your arm or your other injuries. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of people poking at you, am I right?” Cora gave me a shy nod. “I’m the kind of doctor who listens.”

“A shrink,” the girl sitting in the corner said.

“That’s right.” I smiled.

“Kendall, that’s not polite,” Mara scolded. “This is Cora’s sister, she’s fifteen,” she said as if that explained it all.

I wondered where Mr. Landry was. Had he stepped out for a bit? It was a Tuesday; perhaps he wasn’t able to get away from work. I made a mental note to look through the paperwork to find out what Jim Landry did for a living.

“Hello, Kendall, it’s nice to meet you,” I said before turning back to Cora. “Sometimes,” I began, “after people get hurt they have a lot of different kinds of feelings. Scared, mad, confused. Are you feeling any of those things right now?” Cora remained still. “I imagine you may not feel a lot like talking, but I want you to know that when you are ready, I will be here to listen.

“In the meantime, I brought you a little present.” I reached into my oversize bag and pulled out an array of notebooks and a set of gel pens. “Sometimes the kids I work with find it easier to write or draw about how they are feeling. Do you see a notebook here that you like?”

Using her uninjured eye, Cora scanned the notebooks that I fanned out on the edge of her bed. I always offered a variety of notebooks for patients to choose from: one that looked like the cover was painted with pale pastel watercolors, a zebra-print, one with a picture of a polar bear and her cub on the front, and one with a plain blue cover. Kendall stood and joined me at the bedside.

“Oh, look, Cora,” she said as if talking to a much younger child. “There’s one with polar bears. You’d like that one, I bet.”

“What do you think, Cora?” I asked. “Is that the one you’d like?” Still no response. This wasn’t unusual. Children who experienced violent events were often unwilling, even unable, to express themselves at least initially. “How about this? I’ll leave all of them right here along with the pens and when you’re ready you can choose the one you’d like. You can write down whatever you’d like in the notebook and if you want, we can talk about it when I see you next. What do you think?” Cora nodded.