City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(86)

Then my mind shifted to the future and it got worse.

The terrible truths this little girl would confront one day.

Perhaps the lack of resemblance to the monster who’d wreaked havoc would turn out to be a smidge of good luck.

Or it would make no difference at all.

As we neared the office doorway, Philomena put a bit of skip into her stride.

Happy child.

How far would resilience take her?

Therapy needs to be honest, but like any relationship, a bit of play-acting can help smooth out the bumps. So I tried to clear my head and put on a smile and by the time we were inside the office, I was pretty sure it looked authentic.

Then again, Robin had read me like a primer so maybe I was slipping.

I said, “Here we are, Philomena. This playhouse is for you.”

Toni McManus said, “Wow, that’s a cool one—so I can come in, too?”

“Of course.”

You have no idea how much she’ll be needing you.

Philomena played steadily for twenty-five minutes, when her attention began flagging.

I said, “Great job, we’re finished for today.”

Tiny smile. Allowing herself a bit of self-satisfaction.

Toni McManus had begun the session as an observer but had switched soon to working her phone. She said, “That’s it?”

“It is for today.”

“Will we be coming back?”

Oh yeah.

I said, “Eventually. I’ll call to schedule.”

“So nothing urgent.”

Is my child normal?

I said, “None. Philomena, you’re a very smart girl.”

“Thank you. Sir.”

She saluted.

Toni said, “Gramps again. I’m going to have to speak to him.”

At the doorway, Toni distracted Philomena with a kiddie game on her cellphone and leaned in close to me.

“Doctor, is there anything I need to look out for? I mean, if it gets stressful. I hope it doesn’t, but if.”

I said, “Changes in sleep patterns, appetite, mood. Call me with any concerns.”

“I will. Thank you.”

From several feet below: “Thank you.”

Toni McManus said, “Oh, Gramps—that’s not a problem, is it, Doctor? Being too polite? I promise you she’s not overly restricted.”

I said, “Courtesy’s a good thing.”

That didn’t seem to help so I said, “Philomena’s a wonderful girl.”

That did.



* * *



—

After they drove away, I returned to the office, closed up the playhouse, sat at my monitor and charted.

Bright 3 y.o., exc. attention span, approp. play and separation, some evid. of awareness of situation.

Philomena had begun by uniting the parent dolls but didn’t take long to separate them. Placid Caucasian dolls not unlike the people she’d grown up with. I keep them in a variety of shapes and hues.

She began by allotting Mom and Dad equal time, shifted gradually to spending more time with Mom, finally moved Dad out of the picture by placing him in a corner of an attic room where he remained in the company of random, plastic furniture.

At some level, grasping the basics.

So much more was yet to come.



* * *



—

Just as I finished my notes, I got a call from Sean Binchy.

Assigned to paperwork. Had something new emerged in Conrad Deeb’s background?

I said, “Hey, Sean, what’s up?”

“Doc,” he said, “would it be okay if we could talk? Just for a few minutes.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Um, I was thinking in person?”

“No prob. What works for you?”

“Well,” he said, “I’m actually on my way home and Waze says the Glen’s the best way to get to the Valley, so I thought…”

“I’ll be here, Sean.”

“You’re sure, Doc? Don’t want to impose.”

“Couldn’t be surer.”

“Thanks, Doc. See you soon.”

Driving here first, then calling to see if I was free.

Something bugging Sean.

He’d been happy with Larry Daschoff, I couldn’t see that going bad.

I stayed curious during the four minutes it took for my doorbell to ring.

When I opened the door he tugged at his tie and shuffled his Docs and said, “I really do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Happy to see you, Sean. C’mon in.”



* * *



—

I offered him something to drink.

“No, I’m fine, Doc, thanks a ton.”

My battered leather couch hosted a new body without complaint. The one time I’d seen Sean since his return from vacation, I hadn’t noticed that he’d lost weight. Always lean, he was now verging on bony. Slight hollowing of the cheeks, more jutting of the Adam’s apple, new contouring of the boyish, freckled face. As if he’d submitted to a sculptor’s blade.

He said, “Again, thanks…I don’t want to cause any problems for you and I appreciate that you got me Dr. Daschoff and he’s been super, really helpful. But are you also…wow, I don’t know how to say this.”