Jonathan Kellerman: Breakdown

He paused. “That’s the kind of man he was.”

I said, “I know.”

“A few days later, Uncle arranged for Ovid to be swabbed at his pediatrician — they made up some kind of story — and he picked up the sample and delivered it to the lab when Zelda and I were there. She was more beautiful than ever and extremely nice — but nervous. We both were but we managed to talk pleasantly. Uncle Lou also spoke to her and they seemed to like each other. He asked if she had a photo of Ovid and she had several on her phone. The moment I saw Ovid’s face, I knew the test was unnecessary.”

“The resemblance was strong.” My thought, the moment I’d met him.

“Unbelievable,” he said. “It was strange, seeing someone who looked exactly like I had when I was his age. Anyway, the results were to be expected and now Zelda and I and Uncle Lou had to figure out what to do.”

He put his glasses back on. “And now I did need to tell Anne.”

I said, “That had to be tough.”

“Actually, what turned out to be tough was worrying about it, she was great. She said just what you did: It happens. Still, I worried. Here she was, about to have her own child, would it not be as special? As it turned out, there was no issue. Because of Zelda’s illness. Anne and I ended up being Ovid’s parents and it brought more love out of Anne, she adored having two.”

“When did you find out about the nature of Zelda’s illness?”

“After the test results came in, Zelda did a total about-face and said she didn’t want me in the picture. I was confused and upset, had started thinking about being a dad to Ovid. Uncle Lou told me he’d handle it. I told him it was my problem, at some point I needed to step up and take care of my own affairs. That’s when he told me about Zelda’s illness. She’d reached out to him and he’d had several sessions with her and knew what was going on. Nothing physical, she knew she was breaking down mentally. Uncle agreed and told me I needed to face the possibility that she’d grow worse and that I would have to eventually take care of Ovid no matter what she said now. Meanwhile, she was fragile so challenging her was a real bad idea.”

“He wasn’t hopeful.”

“He said he’d do his best to treat her, she might get better, there was no way to know. The point was, at that stage, between her job and taking care of Ovid, she had enough to deal with, a custody battle would be cruel and inhuman. So I talked to Anne and we decided to concentrate on our own lives. It bothered me, first I have a son, then I’m being kept away from him. But then Dolly came and we had our hands full — she was colicky.”

He gripped the pipe with both hands. His knuckles whitened. The stem snapped in two.

“Oh, no, this was his favorite!”

His eyes were wet. I took the pieces of the pipe, placed them on the desk, scooted my chair closer. “What an ordeal to go through, Derek. Did Lou keep you posted on Zelda’s mental health?”

“I asked him but he refused, confidentiality issues. That made me upset but I knew he was right.”

He licked his lips. “I still thought of Ovid but I kept it that way. I thought. Then Uncle called me and said the time might be growing near.”

“When was that?”

“A couple of months before he died, so a little over two years ago. But then he got too sick to deal with it and I didn’t hear from Zelda or see her until the funeral. Which she wasn’t invited to, it was just a small family affair, a cremation. But somehow she found out. And she looked flat-out crazy, standing off to the side, dressed weird, muttering to herself. I tried to talk to her, she started ranting. Something about her mother, evil people had been conspiring against her since she was born. What I assumed was paranoia, it made me worry about Ovid’s safety so I told Anne I needed to deal with her and got Zelda to drive with me to the other side of the cemetery, a quiet spot, where we talked. I thought she’d freak out when I told her my concerns. Just the opposite, she thanked me and tried to hug and kiss me. She didn’t smell good. She didn’t look good. It was awkward but I knew I couldn’t reject her. So I let her kiss me. Not on the lips, just on the cheek, she really smelled sour. We arranged for her to bring Ovid with her, along with his things. To my office, the next day. I wanted to do it right then but she refused. Wouldn’t let me see where she lived, so I had no choice.”

He swiped at his eyes.

“I was messed up, Doctor. Certain she’d never follow through, should I hire a private detective, get into a struggle? Uncle was no longer there to guide me. I waited for her at my office and amazingly, she showed up. It was the first time I’d seen Ovid in the flesh. His worldly belongings were in two big black garbage bags. She looked homeless but she’d dressed him in clean clothes. His hair was untrimmed and he looked stunned and refused to talk and later we found out his teeth had been neglected, he needed vaccinations, he had ringworm. He asked to go to the bathroom and I showed him where it was. When I got back, Zelda was gone. Poor little guy, he just stood there, so small, so afraid. But he let me take him home. And he’s been there ever since.”

“My God,” I said.

“It was a challenge, Dr. Delaware. But Ovid, God bless him, made it easy. No tears, no tantrums and when he saw Dolly, he smiled and she ran right up to him — she’s a gregarious girl, more like her mom — and that’s the way it’s been. Anne was obviously shocked, but she rebounded, she always does. So now we’re a family and Ovid goes to the local public school and gets fantastic grades, he’s really smart. But I don’t delude myself he’s unscathed. The only time he smiles is when he’s with Dolly. Never when he’s with me or Anne. He’s obedient but probably too obedient. And he doesn’t have much in the way of friends, just likes to be by himself and build and draw. Then again, I was like that.”

“What have you told him about Zelda’s death?”

“Anne and I both sat down with him. We didn’t tell him she’d been murdered, only that she’d gotten sick and passed. He listened and said she’d been sick for a long time. As if he’d been expecting it. An eleven-year-old shouldn’t expect that, should they, Dr. Delaware? And one day, he will learn the truth about what happened to her. I’m not sure when that should be and neither is Anne. And with Uncle gone... we could use some help, Dr. Delaware. Uncle had confidence in you, I wish I would’ve talked to you sooner. I mentioned your name to Ovid. He remembers you. Said you didn’t bother him. From him, that’s high praise.”

I said, “Happy to help.”

“That’s incredibly gracious of you, Doctor. He’s our son — both of ours — and we love him.”

“Let’s set it up.”

“It’s kind of... potentially set up, Dr. Delaware. If you don’t mind.”

“Mind what?”

He stood. “Please follow me.”

Maureen Bolt sat in her dark living room, a cigarette in one hand, an amber-colored drink in the other.

“A little early,” she said, “but you know.” No more ebullience; her smile was tentative, anxious.

Derek Sherman said, “All’s well, Auntie.”

She put her cocktail down, walked to the drapes blocking the rear wall, and pulled a cord, exposing French doors. Sunlight bathed the room. My eyes ached.

The yard on the other side of the glass was a quarter acre flat; cement patio, safety-fenced pool, a patch of grass. A single tree, an apricot, looked ancient. The pines I’d seen towering above the house belonged to the neighboring property.

Open space, nothing to hide.

Ovid sat at a patio table, sketching in a pad.