Hush (22 page)

even try. They're usually too caught up with the actual process of drawing to

even bother. It's not like words, the way people get caught lying all the time,

don't you think, Mr. Boyce?"
"Probably so." But Chet said this with the clear and deeply unpleasant sense

that he'd been the one caught in a lie, that something in that folder had

betrayed him, something that Davy had drawn and that she now knew.
*
At one-thirty Ethan poked his head in her office and hummed the theme from "The

Twilight Zone."
Celia looked up and smiled. "Who's that in honor of?"
"Who do you think?"
She waved him in. "Shut the door."
He closed it, tiptoed over to her desk and stage whispered, "What's going on?"
"Oh, stop that," she replied in a normal voice. "I just didn't want to talk with

the door open. Did you see him?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Boyce. Isn't that why you were humming?"
"No, that was in honor of our boss. Why, was Boyce here?"
"He left just a few minutes ago. He wanted to talk about Davy."
"What did you tell him?"
"As little as possible. He's really weird. I told him I'd have Davy's evaluation

done by Monday and we could talk about it then. Then I got him out the door as

fast as I could. Why, what's up with you?"
"I got a new one for you."
"A new what?"
Ethan used both hands to peel down his lower lip. "What do you think?"
She laughed hard. It felt great to laugh, especially at Tony's expense. "You

really are a terrible influence, but God, is that an annoying habit or what?"
"You mean you don't like it when he flashes his gums at you twenty times a day?

Come on, he's Tony da Lip. Personally, I find it very attractive right after he

eats when he's got these little chunks—"
Celia put up her hands. "Stop it, please, that's so gross."
"So what kind of plans do you have for the weekend?" He moved aside some

pictures and propped his hip on the front of her desk.
"Oh, the same-old, same-old," she trilled. "Tonight the President and the First

Lady are dropping by for a look at life in rural America, and then tomorrow the

Duchess of York said she needs to see me. Personal problems of some kind. Seems

the queen is becoming a bit of a bore." Celia affected a British accent for this

last, which Ethan picked up on.
"That's what I so love about Bentman, the social scene is simply exquisite."
"It does set one's head to spinning. Actually"— Celia slumped her

shoulders—"Jack has to go up to Trout River for two days, so it's just going to

be me, Pluto, and the birds and the bees."
"A regular 'Wild Kingdom' up there, isn't it?"
"A little less wild all the time. They've been cutting the last of the old

growth, and now we've got some sicko shepherd with about a hundred of his

closest friends tearing the hell out of the biggest meadow."
"Sounds like the President will feel right at home."
"I wish he really could see it," Celia said with feeling.
"It wouldn't make any difference, Miss G."
"No, I know. I'm going to try to ignore it and get some work done tomorrow, go

through Davy's drawings."
"What are they like?"
"The headline?"
"A headline will do."
"Strange, very strange. Look, this is pretty transparent, wouldn't you say?" She

reached across her desk and handed Ethan one of Davy's pictures. "It's his KFD."
Ethan studied the Kinetic Family Drawing just a few seconds before agreeing.

"That's definitely some serious strangeness."
Davy had drawn a demonic-looking man with a mouthful of huge pointed teeth

splitting a log with a hand shaped like an ax. A stick-figure boy held what

appeared, at least at first glance, to be a wedge right above the log. Ethan

adjusted his glasses and looked up.
"This is not your basic happy home."
"No, you're right. This looks like your basic domestic nightmare."
"And this is how he draws Batman." She held up the picture she'd taken out of

Davy's sketchbook. "See the dark area and the hole?"
Ethan leaned closer. "Right, sure, there it is." He pointed to it.
"He's drawn a whole bunch of them the same way. He's clearly obsessed with the

pubic area. By shading it so heavily he's trying to hide something, but by

tearing the page over and over he's also expressing some powerful anger." She

placed the drawing on her desk and looked out the window. "Not unlike what he

does when he bites."
"Meaning?"
She turned back to Ethan. "We've got a kid who refuses to talk, right? But he

uses his mouth to express his anger by biting. Now the same boy draws Batman

obsessively"— she glanced at the picture—"and each time shades the crotch until

it tears, and then he does it over and over again. There's a pattern here."
"So you're going to try to figure it out this weekend."
Celia nodded reluctantly, as if going over Davy's pictures at home wasn't such a

good idea anymore. But she didn't have much choice. Mary, the hyperactive girl,

was coming in for a session, and if she had any time left she hoped to see

Allison for a few minutes before the young aide had to run off and do van duty.

Allison had told her that she'd been thinking about going back to school to get

her master's, and wanted to talk to Celia about art therapy. Then, if she could

squeeze in fifteen or twenty minutes, Celia planned to review one of Harold's

new drawings. The schizophrenic boy needed all the attention she could give him.

Oh, and Tony, he also wanted to see her before the end of the day. Her afternoon

was booked, and then some.
"And Jack's going away?"
Another nod from Celia, this one clearly weary.
"Pleasant dreams, Miss G."
"Thank you, Mr. T. Nice of you to plant such pleasant thoughts."
"Do you want some company?" Ethan was smiling but she could tell he wasn't

joking around, not this time; and when he reached for her hand and kissed her

wrist, Celia's suspicions turned to certainty.
"I don't think we should be doing this."
But even as she spoke she grew complicitous, for she didn't retreat, and she

used the word "we," as if to confirm that the conspiracy of desire had been

hatched in her heart as well as his. That simple word also revealed to Celia how

much she needed to be touched by someone eager to touch her.
He must have known this too because he never answered with words. Instead, his

lips moved from one finger to the next, softly, without hurry, until all five of

them had turned moist, chilling slightly, pleasantly, in the air.
He guided her around the desk and she followed his lead, never feeling the

floor, only the effervescence that enveloped her. When they kissed her mouth

fell open from the weight of pure want, and when his hands settled on the small

of her back she pressed closer to his hips. She felt the length of him in spite

of his pants, and as her hand filled with his warmth, Tony's voice filled the

room.
Their embrace broke with the raw surprise of a tree limb snapping in an ice

storm. They both stared at the door. Mercifully, it remained shut. Tony once

more called impatiently to Barbara in the reception area. Celia breathed, and

her stomach started to settle; but still she cursed her weakness and stupidity.

At work, she scolded herself.
"I locked the door," Ethan whispered.
"It doesn't matter. I shouldn't be doing this." She backed up a foot, then

another. "And what about Holly?"
Ethan gazed at the space that now lay between them.
"She's up in Portland with her mom."
"I guess you guys are having problems again." Celia retreated to her chair, the

better to put distance between them.
"That suggests we occasionally don't have problems." He placed his hands on her

desk and leaned forward imploringly.
Celia shook her head. "I can't, Ethan, I just can't."
His tone lightened, "I really could keep you company up there in the woods."
"No, Ethan, I mean it." She stared at a pile of folders, so she could only guess

at the effect of her words. When he turned to leave she did chance a look up,

and then watched him walk to the door. She wished her sight had remained

steadfast, for her eyes now studied his slacks, the creases and folds, rises and

shadows; and her body stirred again with delight.
Maybe I'm not so sure. As he exited she started to call him, but stopped before

her voice could unveil her desire. No, Cel, no. You're married. For better, for

worse.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
32
Celia spotted Tony walking down to his office and picked up her pace. She was

already a few minutes late. Allison had peppered her with two pages of questions

about art-therapy curriculum— the girl certainly came prepared— and then started

in about which schools she should consider. Before either of them knew it, the

"children's day" had ended. Allison had rushed out to do van duty, and Celia had

hurriedly thrown together her notes and files for the meeting with Tony. She'd

had to dig Davy's folder out of the drawer where she'd stashed it after her talk

with Mr. Boyce. She'd worried that he might walk right back into her office.

He'd done it once; who's to say he wouldn't do it again?
She had alerted Barbara to what had happened, and the receptionist had been

horrified that anything so "unseemly"— her word— had taken place on her watch.

Celia assured her it wasn't that big a deal, but Barbara had remonstrated to the

contrary and then stared at the front door as if to fix her internal radar on

the Center's perimeter forever.
Celia had a number of issues she wanted to bring up with Tony, including her

confrontation with Mr. Boyce over the snake. She'd intended to tell him

yesterday, but after Davy bit Mrs. Tucker the morning had swirled into a series

of distractions that had culminated in Ethan's sarcastic suggestion to Tony that

they requisition a rack. At that point Celia decided to avoid her supervisor for

the rest of the day. But she could not avoid this meeting. It had come at his

request, and he looked right up when she paused at the door.
"Come in. Go ahead and close it, please."
Close it? Something was up. She swung the heavy oak door shut, and Tony gestured

toward the lone chair that he kept parked at an angle in front of his desk.
"Have a seat."
Celia didn't care for its odd positioning. It left her looking at him over her

right shoulder, or twisting her entire body. Though hesitant to rearrange

anything in so fastidious an office, she leaned the chair onto its rear legs,

squared it with the desk, and sat down. Tony winced as if he'd been struck.
Celia opened Davy's file but before she could say a word he leaned forward.
"Let me tell you about a concern of mine."
He spoke slowly and sternly, and with such grave expression that she rushed to

interrupt him, sensing that if she let him continue he would leave her with

little to say.
"First, I really want to show you these."
She slid Davy's Batman picture across the desk. Tony did not move his hands from

their resting position, so the paper curled and bowed against his fingers before

he consented to look down.
"This is what's starting to bother me," Celia said. "Remember his first picture

was supposed to be of a person, but instead of drawing a boy like himself, which

most boys do, he drew a woman?"
When Tony didn't acknowledge her question she quickly went on.
"Well, anyway, that was strange. But the way he's drawing Batman makes me really

uncomfortable. Every one of these was torn at the crotch from all the heavy

shading he put in."
Tony picked up the drawing, looked at the hole, and lowered the paper back down

to his desk.
"Has it occurred to you," he asked dryly, "that maybe he's just modest?"
Celia's shoulders drooped, and she forced herself to take a deep breath.
"I doubt it. From what I've seen, children do this when they've been sexually

abused. They're trying to hide something they're really ashamed of. I don't

think we can rule that out as a possibility."
"What, with Mr. Boyce?" Tony rolled his eyes. He actually rolled them. Celia

could not believe this, but before she could respond, he added,
"It might well be a simple case of a boy feeling a little awkward about his

sexuality, and if you ask his stepfather about it without any more 'evidence' "—

he raised and wiggled the index and middle fingers of both hands—"than some

silly little pictures, you could be upsetting him and the boy for no reason at

all."
Silly little pictures. Celia swallowed hard.
"I already did," she said without a hint of apology.
"You already did what?"
"I already asked him about it."
"Please tell me you're kidding." Tony glared at her. She said nothing. "You're

not, are you?"
She shook her head.
"That was a big mistake."
"What if I'm right?"
"What if you are? It was something that happened. Unless you can prove it, and

this"— he flicked the Batman drawing as he might a fly—"is hardly proof, then

all you've done is put him on alert—"
"Or made him watch his step."
"Please stop interrupting me. And you've also put him on guard. A lot of kids

claim to be abused, a lot of adults say they were when they were kids, and now a

lot of parents are accusing their exes of it. It's a very trendy accusation."
"Look, I know there are bad cases out there. We all know that, but this isn't

some witch hunt. It's one kid, the way it usually happens. It's not like Davy's

saying a bunch of people in a church forced him to have an orgy on the altar."
"Actually, he's not saying anything."
"No, he's not talking, but I think he's saying plenty."
"You think, but you don't know. And if you don't have the proof, all you do is

stir up a lot of ill feeling toward us. Our job is to get this kid"— Tony