Jonathan Kellerman: Obsession

“Sorry to hear about that.”

She squinted. “I cried some but-and this is going to sound cold-the way Liddie lived it was a miracle it didn’t happen sooner. Anyway, the gist of all this is to explain how I came to have Tanya. She’s Liddie’s biologically but one day when she was three, Liddie decided she didn’t want her anymore and dumped her on my doorstep. Literally, middle of the night, I hear the doorbell, go out, find Tanya clutching a stuffed toy, some killer whale souvenir she got in Alaska. Liddie’s parked in a hotwheels at the curb and when I go to talk to her, the car peels out. That was four years ago and I never heard from her again, didn’t even get the death notice until a year after the accident because Liddie was carrying fake I.D., it took the highway cops awhile to figure out who she was.”

“How did Tanya react?”

“She cried for a few days, then she stopped. She’d ask about Liddie from time to time but nothing chronic. My answer was always Mommy loved her, had left her with me ’cause I could take better care of her. I bought a book on explaining death to kids, used the parts that made sense and discarded the parts that didn’t. Overall, Tanya seemed to accept it pretty well. Asked the right questions. Then she went about her business. I kept telling her Mommy loved her, would always love her. After maybe the gazillionth time I said it, Tanya looks up at me and says, ‘You’re my mommy. You love me.’ Next day I started the adoption process.” Blinking and looking away. “This at all helpful, so far?”

“Perfect,” I said.

“Maybe you’ll find out something I missed but she really seemed to deal with it okay. She’s a smart kid, her teacher has her at a half year ahead of the class. Got a grown-up way about her, which makes sense, given the years she spent traipsing around with Liddie. My influence, too, maybe. I’m no kid person, don’t have a clue about ’em. So I treat her like she understands everything.”

“Sounds like that’s working.”

“So how come I’m here, huh?” She looked down at her shoes, placed them together. Moved them a foot apart. “You probably noticed I’m a little strange in the neatness department. Need to have everything just so, nothing out of place, no surprises. Maybe because of the things my father did to me, but who cares why, the point is that’s how I am and I like it. Keeps life organized and when you’re busy, believe me, that’s a big help.”

“Making things predictable.”

“Exactly. Like the way I hang my clothes. Everything’s grouped by color, style, sleeve length. Blouses in one section, then jeans, then uniforms, et cetera. Why waste time looking in the morning? A couple of times, when I was working a shift that had me getting up when it was still dark, there were power outages. I’m talking a pitch-black house. I could get dressed, no problem, because I knew exactly where everything was hanging.”

“It works for you.”

“Sure does,” she said. “But now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve kept some of that to myself, not revealed it to Tanya.”

“She’s doing the same things?”

“She’s always been neat for a kid, which is fine by me. We clean house together, have fun doing it. But lately, it’s more than that. She’s got these little routines, won’t go to sleep until she checks under her bed, first it was five times, then ten, now it’s twenty-five, maybe even more. Top of that, she’s got to straighten her drapes and kiss them, goes to the bathroom five times in a row, washes her hands until the soap’s gone. I went in there once and she was polishing the spigots.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“It started right around when she turned five.”

“Two years ago.”

“Give or take. But it wasn’t a big deal until recently.”

“Any recent changes?”

“We moved to a new place-got a sublease in a house in Hancock Park. No problems, there. Tanya’s fine except for the routines.”

“Do the routines always begin before bedtime?”

“That’s the peak period,” she said, “but it’s moved into other times and it’s starting to affect her schoolwork. Not in terms of neglecting her obligations-just the opposite. She’ll tear up her work and redo it, over and over, unless I make her stop. Lately, she started getting real picky about her school lunch. If the sandwich isn’t cut exactly on the right bias, she wants to make another one.”

Reaching down, she touched the briefcase. “Want to see any of her records?”

“Has she had any unusual illnesses or injuries?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’ll read the records later. Do you have information about her birth?”

“Nothing. I had to run titers on her to make sure she’d been vaccinated. She had, I’ll grant Liddie that.” She leaned forward. “You need to understand, Doctor, the only time I met Tanya before Liddie dropped her off was once, when she was two. She and Liddie stayed with me a couple of weeks before heading up to Juneau, Alaska. Like I said, I’m no kid person. But I ended up liking her. Sweet, quiet, didn’t get underfoot. She’s still that way, I couldn’t ask for a better daughter. It’s just these new habits are making me wonder about my approach. I did some reading on OCD in kids and they say it could be genetic, in the brain, serotonin uptake, they’re trying various meds as treatment.”

“Nowadays, most everything is attributed to neurotransmitters.”

“You don’t recommend meds on scientific grounds? Or you don’t like them because Ph.D.’s can’t use them?”

“Meds have their place and if you’re interested in that route, I’d be happy to refer you to a good child psychiatrist. I’ve found childhood OCD to respond well to nondrug treatments.”

“Such as?”

“Cognitive behavior therapy, other anxiety-reduction techniques. Sometimes just finding out what’s making the child tense and remedying it is enough.”

“Tanya doesn’t seem nervous, Doc. Just intensely focused.”

“OCD’s rooted in anxiety. Her habits are doing their job so the tension’s masked, but you’re describing a steadily expanding pattern.”

She thought about that. “Guess so…listen, no offense meant by that remark about Ph.D.’s.”

“None taken,” I said. “You’re an informed consumer who wants the best for her child.”

“I’m a mother who feels bad because her kid seems to be losing control. And I blame myself because I need for everything to be predictable and everyone to be happy. And that’s about as realistic as world peace.”

“I’m a people-pleaser, too, Ms. Bigelow. If I wasn’t, I could’ve been a lawyer and billed more per hour.”

She laughed. “Now that I fixed your pictures, you do seem like a pretty organized guy. So you think you can help Tanya just by talking?”

“My approach would be to develop whatchamacallit rapport, see if there’s anything on her mind that you’re unaware of, find out if she’s interested in changing, and help her change.”

“What if she doesn’t want to change?”

“My experience has been that kids aren’t happy being bound by all those routines. They just don’t see a way out. Have you talked to her about any of this?”

“I started to,” she said. “Last week or so, when she got into the curtain-kissing. I guess I lost my patience and told her to stop being silly. She gave me a look that cut me right here.” Touching her left breast. “Like I’d wounded her. I immediately felt like a truckful of manure and had to leave the room to do some breathing. When I gathered the gumption to go back in there and apologize, the lights were off and she was in bed. But when I leaned down to kiss her, her body was all tight and she was gripping the covers-with the fingernails, you know? I told myself whoa, Patty, you’re screwing the kid up, time for professional advice. I talked to Richard-Dr. Silverman-and first thing out of his mouth is your name. He said you’re the best. After meeting you, I’m feeling good. You don’t judge, you listen. And those degrees ain’t too shabby, either. So when can you see Tanya?”