Guilt (36 page)

“Okay,” she said, “the thing with therapy is to be utterly honest, right?”

“As honest as you feel you can be.”

“There are degrees of honesty?”

“There are degrees of revelation,” I said. “It’s a matter of what you’re comfortable with.”

“Ah,” she said. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. In the end, we’re all strangers except to ourselves, that’s why your job is so interesting, you try to … span the gap.” Head shake. “That probably didn’t make sense.”

“It made perfect sense.”

Her eyes drifted back to the paper on my wall. Blanche snuggled closer. “Never had a pet. Don’t know exactly why.”

“Four kids,” I said, “I’d imagine you’re pretty busy.”

“I mean even as a child. I could’ve had a pet if I asked. I could’ve had anything. But I never asked.”

She blinked. “Okay, time for that honesty: The reason the appointment was canceled wasn’t because I was urged to see someone else. It was because of you specifically. The other work you do. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Police cases.”

“Exactly. Someone thought it would be a bad idea for someone like me to get involved with a doctor who did that. No one close to me, just a suit—a person paid to be careful.”

A beat. “But here I am, after all. Which leads me to a second bit of honesty, Dr. Delaware. I suspected you were following us the moment you turned off Coldwater onto Beverly.”

I took a second to digest that. “You suspected but you didn’t sound an alarm.”

“If it was me alone, I’d probably have turned around and gotten the heck out of there. But with the tribe, a trip that had been planned for a long time? I suspected but I didn’t know for sure, so no sense scaring
them, ruining their day. So I waited to see what you did once you entered the park and you just walked your dog and ignored us and I figured I was wrong, you were just a guy with a dog. Then we met up by the pond and you cleverly ignored me but made sure I’d see that magazine. Even then, I didn’t think much of it. Then I read your card and I remembered your name. Remembered that other work you do and started to wonder.”

She twisted a thicker clump of hair. Several more strands fell to her lap. She made no attempt to clear them.

“And yet,” she said, “I’m here.”

I said, “I’d like to help you.”

She said, “With what?”

Thinking of Holly Ruche, I said, “Owning your life. Finally.”

“Really?” she said, as if finding that humorous.

Then she cried.

I supplied a box of tissues and a bottle of water. She dabbed, drank. I waited for her questions.

The first one she asked surprised me. “What do you think of my tribe?”

“They seem like a great bunch.”

“Four gems, Dr. Delaware. Four flawless diamonds. I’m not taking credit but at least I didn’t screw them up.”

“Prema, a friend of mine says happiness comes from taking all the credit and none of the blame.”

She clapped her hands. “I love that … but sometimes it’s hard to separate blame from credit, isn’t it? To know what’s real and what isn’t. Back when I was a public person, people who’d never met me had opinions about everything I did. One day I was a goddess, the next I was evil incarnate.”

“Celebrity’s all about love-hate,” I said, thinking, as I had a hundred times over the last few days, of the venomous contempt expressed by Brent Dorf, Kevin Dubinsky. Len Coates, who should have known
better, because he’d been trained to analyze facts not rumors, had never laid eyes on her.

None of them had.

She said, “I’m not complaining, it’s part of the game. But I used to wonder where all that crap was coming from. People so
sure
. Alleged
experts
accusing me of swooping into orphanages at random, bribing officials so I could walk away with the cutest babies. As if building a family was as simple as choosing strays at the pound. Or, worse, I raided Third World villages with a private army and stole infants from poor people.”

Speaking in the singular.

She hugged herself. “
True
reality is I went through channels, got screened. Had the kids screened, too, because I’m not that selfless, forget all that sainthood crap they’ve also tried to lay on me—stupid diplomats at the U.N. making like I’m Mother Teresa. I’m a mother, small ‘m.’ Didn’t
want
an incurably sick baby or a mentally challenged baby. Didn’t want to be surprised by bad news. Does that offend you?”

“Not at all.”

“I mean I was willing to deal with whatever came up naturally, but why make life harder than it needs to be?”

“Makes sense.”

“I mean there’s no reason not to make your life as good as it can be, right? To feel
worthy
of happiness.”

She crumpled a tissue. “I was clueless. About creating a family. It’s a challenge under the best of circumstances. If you do it right, it’s daunting, you have to put in time, personal investment, doubting yourself. Educating yourself. You can’t just read books or dial it in, you can’t just delegate it to other people. So I decided to do it right and changed my life.”

She swiveled toward me. “Big insight to a psychologist, huh? But what did I know? Not that I’m some Suzy Housewife baking cookies. Keep me away from kitchens, keep me
far
away if you value your intestinal tract. And I know I’m lucky, I can pay people to do things I don’t
want to do. But actually raising my children? The real stuff? That’s
my
job.”

She smiled. “Listen, I’m not some martyr, claiming I gave it all up for them. I lost nothing, gained everything. They bring me meaning every day, the other stuff never did. Now the thought of blabbing someone else’s lines makes me want to throw up.”

I kept silent.

“You think I’m a burned-out weirdo?”

“I think you’ve moved on.”

“Well,” she said, “whether you mean it or not, you say the right things—sorry, I tend to be a little cynical.” More hair fluffing, more ciliary rain. “So they seemed well adjusted to you?”

“They did.”

“Did you expect spoiled monsters?”

“I didn’t know what to expect, Prema.”

“Aw c’mon, ’fess up, Dr. Delaware, you had to have a little bit of expectation, no? Crazy Hollywood mom, crazy kids? But trust me, no way that was going to happen. No way they were going to have a childhood like mine. I don’t believe—I
refuse
to believe that we’re condemned to repeat our own crap.”

My personal mantra. When things got low I congratulated myself for not ending up like Harry Delaware.

I said, “If I didn’t agree, I wouldn’t do this job.”

Prema Moon’s eyes watered up again. The tissue had wadded so tightly it disappeared in her fist. “I don’t know why I’m getting into this. Why I feel the need to justify myself to you.”

I said, “It’s normal to feel judged in a situation like this.”

“You followed us. That was based on a judgment. What’s going on?”

“I’ve been trying to learn about you and your family. Haven’t been very successful because you’ve dropped off the grid. When families isolate themselves, it’s often because of serious problems and that’s what I suspected. I know now that you’ve been trying to take control of your
life, are focused on protecting the kids. For good reason. You know that better than anyone.”

She bit her lip. “Great monologue, Doctor. You could’ve made a living in my old business. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“You need help, Prema. You know that. That’s why you’re here.”

She opened her palm, watched the tissue expand like a time-lapse flower. Crushed it again. “Maybe you’re being sincere, I hope you are. But with the good ones—the
performers
—you can never be sure. Meryl, Jack, Judi. Larry Olivier—I knew Larry when I was a kid, he was always sweet to me. But when he chose to be someone else? Good luck. Maybe that’s you, Dr. Alexander Delaware.”

“You’re the performer, Prema.”

“Me? I’m a hack. I made a ridiculous fortune doing crap.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short.”

“Not in the least, Dr. Delaware. I know what I am and I’m okay with it.” Her knuckles were white and shiny as ivory. “How long have you been
learning
about us?”

“I did a bit of digging right after that first appointment was made. Because the circumstances were odd: The person who called was evasive, wouldn’t even tell me who the patient was. I assumed I’d be seeing one of the kids, looked for anything I could find about them. Which wasn’t much but I did come across a photo. You and the kids, a theater lobby in New York. They seemed unhappy. Ill at ease. You stood behind them. You came across detached. Not exactly a happy family portrait.”

Her eyes flashed. “Detestable picture, you have no idea how much time and money it took to get it offline.”

“I’m glad I saw it before you succeeded. Now I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I’d missed the emotional content. You were scared—all of you.”

She flinched. “Why would I be scared?”

I said, “Not why. Of who.”

She shook her head. Closed her eyes. Sat lower and got even smaller.

I said, “My guess is you—all of you—were scared of the person who set up the shot. Someone who doesn’t care about kids, but didn’t mind using them.”

The eyes opened. New shade of indigo, deep, hot. “You’re frightening.”

“Am I wrong?”

Silence was my answer.

I said, “You talk about your children in the singular. ‘I,’ not ‘we.’ You’re doing it alone. For good reason.”

She crossed her arms. Blanche licked her hand. Prema remained unmoved. Her lips set. Angry. I wondered if I’d lost her.

I said, “No matter what you do, he rejects them completely. It must be tough, living with that degree of callousness. Your kids are your world. Why can’t he see how wonderful they are? Understand the joy of being a parent. But he doesn’t. And now there’s a new level of fear and that’s why you’re here. Because of the other work I do.”

Shooting to her feet, she stormed out of the office, made it halfway up the hall where she stopped short, swung the big bag as if working up momentum to use it as a battering ram.

I had a clear view, stayed in my chair.

The bag grew still. Her shoulders heaved. She returned, stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb for support.

“My God,” she said. “The things that come out of your mouth.”

Then she returned to the couch.

A
nother head shake. More hair fell. A woman coming apart strand by strand. She hugged herself. Shuddered. Ten fingers began working like Rubinstein on Rachmaninoff.

I said, “If you’re feeling cooped up, we can talk outside.”

“How did you know I felt that?”

Because you look like a caged animal
.

I said, “Lucky guess.”

I told Blanche to stay in the office, paid her with a Milk-Bone. Prema Moon said, “She can come with us.”

“She needs to nap.” The real reason: Time to minimize distraction. And comfort.

I walked her through the house, out through the kitchen and down the rear steps to the garden, stopping by the pond’s rock rim. The waterfall burbled. The sky was clear.

“Very mellow,” she said. “To encourage confession?”

“I’m not a priest.”

“Isn’t this the new religion?”

“God doesn’t talk to me.”

“Only Freud does, huh?”

“Haven’t heard from him in a while, either.” I sat down on the teak bench that faces the water. The fish swarmed.

Prema Moon said, “What are they, Japanese koi? Pretty.”

She took in the garden. Robin’s studio, softened by trees and shrubs. A whine cut through the waterfall. The band saw.

“What’s that noise?”

“The woman I live with builds musical instruments.”

“She’s going to come out here and see me?”

“No.”

“You’ve trained her to stay inside when a patient’s here?”

“Once she’s in there, it’s for hours.”

“What if she does come out?”

“She’ll go right back in.”

“What’s her name?”

I shook my head.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just … I’m jumping out of my skin, this is … I don’t
know
what it is. Don’t know what to do.”

I uncapped the canister of fish food, scooped a handful of pellets, tossed.

She watched the koi eat. Said, “Well, yummy for them.”

Not a word out of her for a long time. When that didn’t look as if it was going to change, I said, “Tell me what frightens you.”

“Why should I?”

“You’re here.”

She reached for the koi food. “May I?” Tweezing again, she threw in one pellet at a time. “I like the silver one. Elegant.”

I said, “Okay, I’ll start. People who work for you seem to die unnaturally.”

Her arm shot out. She hurled the rest of the food. The fish feasted. “People? All I know is Adriana. And I only know about her because I heard it on TV and it freaked me out completely.”

“Did you contact the police?”

Long pause. “You know the answer. I didn’t. Because I couldn’t see what I could possibly offer. She worked for me only for a short time. I really didn’t know her.”

I said nothing.

She said, “What did you mean ‘people’? You’re freaking me out.”

“First Adriana, then Melvin Jaron Wedd.”

Her hand flew to her face.
“What! Mel? No! When?”

“A few days ago.”

“Oh, God, no—what are you
telling
me?”

“He was murdered a few days ago. Was he a good employee?”

“What?”

I repeated the question.

“Sure, fine, he was great. Murder? What happened—”

“Reliable? Skilled at organizing?”

“Yes, yes, all that, what does it matter?”

I said, “In addition to all that, he had a special talent. Vocal impressions.”

“What? Oh, that, sure, yes, he’d do cartoon characters for the kids. So?”

“He did a pretty good imitation of Donny. When he called me for that appointment on your behalf.”

“What!”

“I thought it was Donny. But it was Mel, wasn’t it?”

She said, “Mel called for me but—I never told him to do that.”