Jonathan Kellerman - Private Eyes

“Not therapy?”

“Yes. This was for her. I really thought I was okay, didn’t need therapy. I wanted to show you I was okay.”

“You really are okay, Melissa. This is an incredibly stressful time for you. All the changes in your mother’s life. Losing Jacob.”

“Yes,” she said absently. “He was a dear.”

I waited several moments before continuing. “And now the Harvard thing. That’s a major decision. It would be foolish not to take it seriously.”

She sighed.

I said, “Let me ask you this: If everything else was calm, would you want to go?”

“Well… I know it’s a great opportunity- my golden apple. But I have to- I need to feel right about it.”

“What could help you feel right about it?”

She shook her head and threw up her hands. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

She looked at me. I smiled and pointed at the couch. She returned to her seat.

I said, “What could really convince you your mother will be okay?”

“Her being okay! Normal! Like anyone else. That sounds terrible- as if I’m ashamed of her. I’m not. I’m just worried.”

“You want to be sure she can take care of herself.”

“That’s the thing, she can. Up in her room. It’s her domain. It’s just the outside world… Now that she’s going out- trying to change- it’s scary.”

“Of course it is.”

Silence.

I said, “I suppose I’d be wasting my breath to remind you that you can’t go on taking responsibility for your mother forever. Being a parent to your parent. That it will get in the way of your own life and do her no good.”

“Yes, I know. That’s what N- of course that’s true.”

“Has someone else been telling you the same thing?”

She bit her lip. “Just Noel. Noel Drucker. He’s a friend- not a boyfriend, just a boy who’s a friend. I mean, he likes me as more than a friend, but I’m not sure how I feel about him. But I do respect him. He’s an exceptionally good person.”

“How old is Noel?”

“A year older than me. He got accepted to Harvard last year, took time off to work and save up money. His family doesn’t have any money- it’s just him and his mother. He’s been working his whole life and is very mature for his age. But when he talks about Mother, I just want to tell him to… stop.”

“Ever let him know how you feel?”

“No. He’s very sensitive. I don’t want to hurt him. And I know he means well- he’s thinking of me.”

“Boy,” I said, blowing out breath. “You’re taking care of lots of people.”

“Guess so.” Smile.

“Who’s taking care of Melissa?”

“I can take care of myself.” Stating it with a defiance that pulled me back nine years.

“I know you can, Melissa. But even caretakers need to be cared for, once in a while.”

“Noel tries to take care of me. But I won’t let him. That’s terrible, isn’t it? Frustrating him like that. But I’ve got to do things my way. And he just doesn’t understand the way it is with Mother. No one does.”

“Do Noel and your mother get along?”

“The little they have to do with each other, they do. She thinks he’s a nice boy. Which he is. Everyone thinks that- if you knew him you’d understand why. And he likes her well enough. But he says I’m doing her more harm than good by protecting her. That she’ll get better when she really has to- as if it’s her choice.”

Melissa got up and walked around the room again. Letting her hands settle on things, touching, examining. Feigning sudden fascination with the pictures on the walls.

I said, “How can I best help you, Melissa?”

She pivoted on one foot and faced me. “I thought maybe if you could talk to Mother. Tell me what you think.”

“You want me to evaluate her? Give you a professional opinion as to whether she really can cope with your going to Harvard?”

She bit her lip a couple of times, touched one of her earrings, flipped her hair. “I trust your judgment, Dr. Delaware. What you did for me, how you helped me change- it was like… magic. If you tell me it’s okay to leave her, then I will. I’ll just do it.”

Years ago I’d seen her as the magician. But letting her know that, now, would be terrifying.

I said, “We were a good team, Melissa. You showed strength and courage back then, just like you’re showing now.”

“Thank you. So would you…?”

“I’d be happy to talk with your mother. If she consents. And if it’s okay with the Gabneys.”

She frowned. “Why them?”

“I need to make sure I don’t disrupt their treatment plan.”

“Okay,” she said. “I just hope she doesn’t give you problems.”

“Dr. Ursula?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Any reason you think she might?”

“No. She’s just… She likes to be in charge of everything. I can’t help thinking she wants Mother to keep secrets. That have nothing to do with therapy.”

“What kind of secrets?”

“I don’t know, ” she said. “That’s the thing: I’ve got nothing to back me up- just a feeling. I know it sounds weird. Noel says I’m being paranoid.”

“It’s not paranoia,” I said. “You care deeply about your mother. You’ve been taking care of her for years. It wouldn’t be natural for you to just-”

Her tension dissipated. She smiled.

I said, “There I go again, huh?”

She started to giggle, stopped, embarrassed.

I said, “I’ll call Dr. Ursula today, and we’ll take it from there. Okay?”

“Okay.” She took a couple of steps closer, wrote down the number at the clinic for me.

I said, “Hang in there, Melissa. We’ll get through this.”

“I sure hope so. You can call me on my private line- that’s the number you reached me at yesterday.”

She walked back to the coffee table, hastily picked up her purse, and held it in front of her, waist-high.

The accessory defense.

I said, “Is there anything else?”

“No,” she said, glancing at the door. “Guess we’ve covered plenty, haven’t we?”

“We had plenty to catch up on.”

We walked to the door.

She turned the knob and said, “Well, thanks again, Dr. Delaware.”

Tight voice. Tight shoulders. More tense than when she’d come in.

I said, “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to talk about, Melissa? There’s no rush. I’ve got plenty of time.”

She stared at me. Then her eyes slammed shut like security shutters and her shoulders dropped.

“It’s him, ” she said, in a very small voice. “McCloskey. He’s back- in L.A. Totally free and I don’t know what he’ll do!”

I brought her back inside and sat her down.

She said, “I was going to mention it at the start but…”

“It gives a whole different dimension to your fear of leaving.”

“Yes, but to be honest, I’d be worried even without him. He just adds to it.”

“When did you find out he was back?”

“Last month. There was this show on TV, some documentary about the Victim’s Bill of Rights- how in some states the family can write away to the prison and they’ll tell you when the criminal is coming up for a parole hearing. So you can protest. I knew he’d gotten out- years ago- and had moved away. But I wrote anyway, trying to see if there was anything more I could learn- I guess it was part of the same thing. Trying to help her. The prison took a long time to write back, then told me to get in touch with the Parole Department. That was a real hassle- talking to the wrong people, being put on hold. In the end I had to submit a written request for information. Finally I got through and found out the name of his last parole officer. Here in L.A.! Only he wasn’t seeing him anymore- McCloskey had just gone off parole.”