Guilt (10 page)

“Not much for academics.”

“Never reads, never shows any interest in—but she’s a good kid … never had a boyfriend, either. Never dated. Ever. I guess we should be grateful she’s never gotten into any sort of trouble with boys … but now that she’s in college … also, she doesn’t share much.”

“About?”

“What’s going on with her, her feelings. Her life. She used to share, everything’s lip service, now. Love you Daddy, love you Mommy, then she’s off by herself.”

“But her mood’s okay.”

“She seems happy to me,” said Goldfeder.

“So she likes her privacy.”

“I guess, but I can’t stop wondering if she’s holding back. She’s an only child, we put a lot into her—this all probably sounds neurotic, maybe it is, I don’t know.”

I said, “Sounds like parental concern.”

“I guess I should stop being a pain—you’ll meet her, you be the judge. Okay, back to your question: She didn’t say much about what happened yesterday, just that she was running and saw it. She could tell right away it was dead from the color and the blood, some flies were already there. She said that freaked her out the most, the flies, the noise they made. She felt light-headed but she didn’t faint, she kept her wits about her, called 911 and stuck around. Overall, I’d have to say I’m proud of how she handled it.”

“You should be.”

“Basically, she’s a
great
kid … I’ll go get her.”

The girl who preceded him down the stairs seconds later had lopped off most of her hair since posting her Facebook shot, massive mane giving way to a crew cut. Her features were delicate and symmetrical. Huge, deep blue eyes connoted wonder.

She smiled and waved as she bounced down on stick-legs, seemed to take flight only to alight with grace. I thought:
Tinker Bell
.

Her father worked to keep up with her.

When she reached the bottom, she kissed his cheek. “Go back to work, Daddy, I’m fine.”

“I’ve got paperwork to do in the study.”

“Oh, Daddy.
Really
. He looks like a nice man. I don’t need a chaperone.”

“I’m not trying to be one, baby, there are bills to be paid.”

“So organized.” She giggled. “Okay, go to your study but close the door.”

“I intended to.”

“Sure you did.”

Howard Goldfeder’s reply was inaudible as he headed up the hall. Looking back for a second, he shut his door.

Heather said, “He’s protective ’cause he loves me,” and sat down perpendicular to me. She had on an oversized, sleeveless white blouse, khaki shorts, flat sandals. Skinny limbs but none of the ropy dehydration of severe anorexia. Lovely teeth, as her father had claimed. No evidence of breast development but the shirt would hide a less-than-generous bust.

“Well,” she said, “my therapy begins.”

I laughed.

“What’s funny?” she said.

“You’re pretty organized yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not, trust me, I’m a total slob.”

“Your dad tells me you’re quite a runner.”

“What he means is I’m a freak. My mother thinks so, too, ’cause I like to get down at least three hundred miles a month, more if I have time.”

“Impressive.”

“They think it’s nuts. Like an OCD thing, even though they bugged me to do sports in high school. Even though she’s at the gym six times a week and he’s there like three, four times, lifting weights and hurting
himself all the time. I run ’cause I’m good at it. First time I tried I could go five miles without even breathing hard. I thought it would take time but it was easy. Felt amazing. Still does. When I run, it’s like I’m flying, nothing else makes me feel that way. That’s why I switched from Spanish to P.E. I want to be a coach or a personal trainer.”

“Makes sense.”

“So,” she said. “What should we talk about?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

“Would you like me to talk about yesterday?”

“If you want.”

“What do
you
want?” she said. “Being with the police.”

“I’m not here as a police representative.”

“Then what?”

“To make sure you’re okay after what happened.”

“Okay? Sure I’m okay. It was a great experience, seeing a dead person, let’s do it again tomorrow.”

She looked at the carpet. “Will talking to you help with my dreams?”

“You’re having nightmares?”

“Just last night. First I saw her face, then it kind of blended into a skeleton. Then I saw babies, tons of babies, with teensy little faces, all looking at me. Like they needed help. Then
they
turned into skeletons, it was like a mountain of skeletons.”

“Babies,” I said.

“Babies turning into skeletons. They told me about the skeleton across the park and it probably got stuck in my brain. Don’t you think?”

“Who’s they?”

“The two cops that showed up. They said there’d been another case across the park, a baby skeleton, maybe it was connected to the woman. Till then I was holding out pretty good. But a baby? Just thinking about it freaked me out.”

She smiled broadly. Burst into tears.

I fetched tissues from a spotless powder room left of the front door, waited until she’d composed herself.

“Wow,” she said. “I really thought I was okay. Guess I wasn’t.”

“Crying doesn’t mean you’re not okay, Heather. Neither does dreaming. Yesterday was a lot to deal with.”

“It’s weird,” she said. “Seeing her again. It’s not like I knew her but now I feel I kind of do. Like finding her made us … connected us. Like her face will be with me forever. Who was she?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“She looked like a nice person.” Laughing. “That’s a stupid thing to say.”

“Not at all, Heather. You’re searching for answers. Everyone is.”

She sat there for a while, shredding the tissue, letting flecks fall to the immaculate rug. “I saw the hole in her head. She was shot, right? I asked the cops but they wouldn’t tell me.”

“She was,” I said. “How’d the topic of the baby come up?”

“Soon after they finished asking me questions one of them got a call on his doo-what, his radio, then he hung up and the two of them started discussing something. They looked nervous so I asked them what’s up. They didn’t want to tell me but I cried and bugged them. Because that always works with my parents. Finally they told me. Was it
her
baby?”

“We don’t know.”

“Don’t you think it was? Why would both of them get killed the same time in the park? Nothing ever happens in the park. I’ve been running for months and the worst thing I ever saw was a coyote, that was way back when I first started. Just standing there, all bony and hungry-looking. I screamed and it ran away.”

“Spotting the body was a lot tougher.”

“The flies,” she said. “That was the grossest. At first I thought it was one of those dummies in the department store—a manikin.” Giggle. “They should call it a womanikin, right? She had one bare foot and that’s what got my attention, real pale, almost like plastic. Then I saw the rest of her, then I heard the flies.” She sighed. “I guess someone had to find her.”

“Keeping your wits about you and calling 911 took presence of mind.”

“Actually my first thought was to book as fast as I could, but then I
thought what if someone’s still around and they try to shoot
me
? So I took a second to look around, check out the area, figure out the best escape route. The park was so quiet and that kind of made it even freakier. A nice morning, the sky was blue, and she’s just
lying
there. When do the cops think they’ll know who she is?”

“There’s no way to tell, Heather.”

“That sucks. So … my dreams don’t mean I’m a head-case?”

“Your brain’s using sleep to take in what happened and give your mind time to integrate. And yes, talking about it can help. Because one way or the other people need to express themselves.”

She finished destroying the tissue. Deliberately sprinkled the fragments onto the floor. “Is this talk totally secret?”

“Absolutely.”

“No one finds out? Not the cops? Not my parents?”

“You have total confidentiality.”

“What if I want you to say something to someone?”

“Your choice.”

“I’m in control.”

“Yes.”

“That’s … interesting.”

She got up, spent a long time gathering the shredded tissue, found every single speck, threw the collection out in the powder room. When she returned, she remained on her feet. Her mouth was tight. “So … can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay … I guess that’s it. Thanks for talking to me.”

I said, “Your question about confidentiality.”

“What about it?”

“So far you haven’t told me anything your parents and the cops don’t already know.”

She turned her back on me. Gave a half turn, reversed it. Rotated a bit more and revealed a tight-jawed profile.

“No, I haven’t,” she said.

I sat there.

She said, “I like girls, okay? Like that Katy Perry song, I kissed one and it was more than cherry ChapStick that made me do it? Now I’m in love with someone and that gives me
good
dreams.”

She faced me. “Do you think I’m weird?”

“Not in the least.”

“
They
will. The cops will.”

“Can’t speak for your parents but the cops won’t know or care.”

“It’s no one’s business anyway, Doctor. Just mine and Ame— I don’t want my parents to know. Ever.”

“I can understand that.”

“But that’s not realistic, is it?” she said. “I’m their kid.”

“You’re an adult, Heather. What you tell them is your decision.”

“Ha,” she said. “I mean the part about being an adult. Like I’m even close.”

“Legally you are.”

“So if my birthday was next month instead of last month, I’d still be a kid and you could tell them?”

“It can get complicated,” I said. “But I’d never tell them, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“It’s your personal business.”

“But now I am an adult. Cool.” Giggle. “I guess that sucks if it means I have to pay for stuff.”

She turned serious. Touched her cropped hair. “I cut it all off last month. I feel like wearing boy clothes but I don’t have the guts. Think I can get away with boy clothes like in a cute way? So they’ll think it’s just a fashion thing?”

“Keep it subtle enough? Sure.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t show up in a business suit and a tie. And I’d forget the pencil mustache.”

She laughed. “You seem okay but no offense, I don’t think I need
you. I already started therapy with someone at student counseling. She’s a total dyke—compared with her, I’m Super-Femme.”

“I’m glad you’ve found someone you trust.”

“I don’t know if I trust her yet. But maybe, we’ll see. So anyway, thanks for trying to help me.”

“Thanks for being open to it.”

“Honestly,” she said, “the only reason I agreed to talk to you was Dad and Mom were bugging me to do it, saying they were finally getting something from their tax dollars. I try to do what they ask if it’s only a small hassle. No offense.”

“Picking your battles.”

“That way I can do what I want when it’s important.”

“Sounds like a good strategy.” Same one I’d used throughout my childhood. Up to the day I turned sixteen and bought an old car and began my escape from Missouri.

She said, “You think it’s okay to play them like that?”

“You’re not playing them, you’re being selective.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I should just be honest—this is who I am, deal.”

“One day you may be able to do that.”

“That’s kind of scary,” she said.

“One day it may not be.”

A creak came from up the hall. The door to Howard Goldfeder’s study opened and he stuck his head out.

Heather said, “I’m fine, Daddy.”

“Just checking.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He didn’t budge.

“Daddy.”

He went back inside but the door remained ajar. Heather trotted over, pushed it shut, returned. “Do me a favor, Dr. Delaware. Before you leave tell him I look normal. So he doesn’t think I need some Beverly Hills shrink.”

“Will do,” I said.

“You don’t think I need that, right?”

“You’re the best judge of that.”

“Are you saying I’m screwed up but you don’t want to piss me off?”

“Everything you’ve told me says you’re reacting normally. The fact that you’re already in therapy says you know how to take care of yourself.”

“What about my running?”

“Sounds like you like to run. So do I.”

“That’s it?”

“Do you eat normally?”

“Yes.”

“Do you binge and gag yourself in secret?”

“No.”

“In general, do you think life’s going okay?”

“Yes.”

I shrugged.

She said, “Are you like … super-supportive to everyone?”

“I don’t read minds, Heather, so all I can go on is what you tell me and what I observe about you. If there’s some secret problem you’re not telling me about, I could be missing something. But so far you’re not setting off any alarms.”

“Okay … do you like talk directly to the police?”

“Not about what patients tell me—”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “I’m talking about crimes. Like if someone tells you something and
wants
you to tell the cops, what do you do, just get on the phone?”

“You bet.”

“And then the police come to see that person?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “But the police can’t force anyone to talk to them. Even a suspect.”

“Like on TV. You have the right to remain silent.”

“Exactly.”

She sat back down. “Okay. I have something. It’s probably not important, I was going to call them, then I said why bother, it’s probably nothing. Then I wasn’t sure if I was doing a wrong thing. But since you’re here, anyway …”

She exhaled. “It’s
not
some big clue or anything but the night before, I was near the park. Pretty close to where I found her but outside the park, on the other side of the fence.”

“On the street.”

“I wouldn’t think anything about it, but with what happened … I mean it was so close. If you could walk through the fence, you’d be right there in seconds.”