A lump formed in Ben’s throat, and he tried to swallow it down.
“I don’t think anyone was more important to Logan than you were, according to Sophie. She said Logan’s biggest regret was not being part of your life.”
“Well whoop-de-do, he regrets it. Let’s give him a medal.”
“You’re angry at your father.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Damn straight. I’d be furious with him.”
Ben felt his upper lip tremble as familiar words echoed in his head. Dad doesn’t care about me. I hate him. Once he heard those words, he felt sick. Who talks that way about their dead dad?
“I believe anger’s a sign you’re working through your grief,” Dr. Hunter told him. “It’s perfectly normal to be angry. It’s also normal to blame yourself for your father not being there for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you think your dad failed to pick you up some weekends?”
“I already told you.” He looked over at the aquarium. A clownfish swished his tail. “He had to do stuff for Uncle Angelo. He didn’t have a choice.”
“Really?” Dr. Hunter waited until he looked at him. “Are you sure you don’t worry you’re too bad, too unlovable, for your father to care about you?”
He gasped. How did Dr. Hunter know what went on inside his head?
“You’re quite lovable, Ben. Your mother, Grant, Sophie, Uncle Joe—they all love you. And I believe your father loved you too. Sadly, he didn’t tell you that.”
Ben would’ve given anything to hear that from his dad.
Dr. Hunter studied him. “Did your dad ever hit you?”
“Nope.” He let out a breath. “I probably deserved it a couple of times.”
Silence floated between them. “I think that’s the way he showed his love to you, Ben.”
He scrunched his eyebrows together.
“Sounds like your dad didn’t know much about being a good parent, but he made sure he didn’t repeat his father’s abuse. That must’ve taken much restraint on his part.”
“Seems like he wanted to hit me sometimes,” Ben admitted.
“I bet violence was his initial instinct. It’s all he knew for how dads are supposed to act. But he tried to protect Grant, and I think he tried to protect you too.”
Ben wanted to cry. He balled his hands into fists. “Sometimes he let me sit on his lap.”
“He did? Tell me about that,” Dr. Hunter said.
He couldn’t believe the man wanted to hear the whole damn story, but he took a deep breath and launched into it—how one of his dad’s girlfriends had yelled at him, and his father came to his defense. He made it through the whole thing with no pussy tears.
“That felt really good, for your father to hold you in his arms?” Dr. Hunter asked as he finished.
“Yeah,” he choked out. So much for avoiding the tears. He cleared his throat.
“Do you ever get that feeling now? That feeling of being soothed and comforted?”
Holding a little white fluff-ball popped into his mind. Just that morning the tiny dog had lifted her head as her butt wiggled into his chest, her black eyes gleaming. She’d pressed her cool nose onto the tip of his then swiped his mouth with a sloppy kiss.
“You’re smiling,” Dr. Hunter said.
Despite himself, Ben chuckled. “We got a dog.”
“Really? I thought your mom said your apartment was too small.”
“Not for this dog—she’s tiny. We already lost her underneath the sofa once. But my mom didn’t get her for me. Hans did.”
Dr. Hunter tilted his head. “Creepy Hans?”
“An obvious ploy to win my approval,” Ben grumbled.
“Seems like it worked.”
“Not really—I still think Hans is creepy. And why’d he have to get such a girly dog? I wanted a guy’s dog, like a big German shepherd or something. Now we have this itty-bitty Maltese.”
“It can be manly to care for small dogs too. So what’s her name?”
Ben’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “Dot.”
“Dot…because she’s so small?”
“No. Mom said she got to name her since she never wanted the dog in the first place. She named her after her Great Aunt Dorothy.”
“It’s a really cute name.” Dr. Hunter smiled.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Awesome. I have a cute dog.”
After a beat, Dr. Hunter said, “I wonder how you’ll feel about Hans once you get to know him better.”
“I’ll never like him.”
“Could be true.” Dr. Hunter shrugged. “If your gut’s getting a bad vibe, maybe he’s not right for your mother. But you might want to give him a chance. Sounds like he went out of his way to buy you a dog, to get on your good side.”
“I guess.”
“It would also be nice to have some adult male attention, especially since Grant hasn’t been around.”
“Yeah. But Sophie said Uncle Grant’s doing okay. Did I tell you he got me another pizza?”
“Wow, that must’ve scored major points with you.”
“Lucky I was home when the delivery guy came.” His smile faded. “I’m still grounded.”
“Oh.” Dr. Hunter’s eyes turned down at the corners. “How much longer is your prison sentence?”
“Six whole days.”
“So, our time’s about up. Is Hans taking you home?”
“No way. I told him I had no idea when the session would end.”
Dr. Hunter laughed. “Poor Hans. It’ll take more than a dog to win you over.”
“He better learn not to mess with me.”
“If he’s smart. So, what goal do you want to work on this week?”
“Um…” He thought for a second. “Maybe to study for my physics test instead of play with Dot too much?”
“Sounds good. See you next week.”
As he walked toward the el stop a few minutes later, he replayed the session in his mind. He remembered feeling small against his father’s big chest, cradled by strong arms. What if his dad had hit him? It would’ve hurt…a lot. He shuddered as he stepped onto the train. It was hard to imagine his dad being that small. He and Uncle Grant must’ve been so scared when Grandpa Barberi beat them.
Lost in thought, he almost fell when the train lurched forward, and he grabbed a metal pole to steady himself.
Darkness had fallen by the time he reached the apartment door. He’d barely made it inside when the fur-ball attacked him, her tail wagging double-time and her paws on his shins as she stood on two legs, gazing up at him. Her happy barks punctuated the air.
“Dot!” He laughed, scooping her up as he locked the door behind him. “Did you have a good day, punkin?”
Her frantic wiggle in his arms must have been her answer. After he set her down, she weaved between his legs as he took off his backpack and jacket.
He stopped short before entering the kitchen. Waiting for him on the linoleum was a puddle of pee. “Dot,” he chastised. She lowered her head and peeked up at him with beady black eyes. He waggled his index finger at her. “Bad dog!” She whimpered and scampered away.
“Great,” he mumbled, unrolling about a hundred paper towels and tossing them on the puddle. He stretched for his cell phone and texted his mom about the mishap. A few minutes later she replied:
Wonderful. Take her for a walk.
He scowled.
But it’s dark out and I’m starved!
His text tone blared.
YOU’RE the one who wanted a dog! Walk her.
Ben exhaled. Damn four-legged marshmallow. “Dottie?” She’d made herself scarce. He checked out his mom’s room, her bathroom, and under the sofa—no flash of white in sight. “Dot? Wanna go for a walk?” Grabbing the leash off the kitchen table, he wandered into his bedroom. No luck either, but wait…he kneeled down to peek under his bed and, sure enough, two little black eyes gleamed back at him.
“C’mon, gir
l, we’re going for a walk!” He shook the leash, but she didn’t budge. Five minutes of cajoling had no effect, and he finally figured he needed to lure her out with a treat. But of course there weren’t any dog treats in the kitchen—his mom had already bitched enough about the cost of Dot’s food and leash.
What the hell would the fluff-ball like to eat? The refrigerator revealed nothing of interest, but the third cabinet had some peanut butter. With a shrug, he shoveled a dollop into his mouth, then dug out some more to entice the little mop-on-legs.
Hoping he wouldn’t lose a finger, Ben stuck his arm under his bed. A second later he giggled as she slurped some peanut butter with her rough tongue. He drew his hand out inch by inch until he had her cradled in his arms. “Sorry I yelled at you, Polka Dot.” He kissed her fur.
Fifteen minutes later, Ben thought it’d be okay to go back inside: Dot had done her business in the grass near their building. He’d totally forgotten to grab a plastic poop bag and hoped no one had seen his civil disobedience in the dark. She now sniffed around a fire hydrant—what a cliché—and he yanked her leash. “C’mon, Dot!”
“Ben?” A pretty female voice that sounded just like…no, it couldn’t be…
He spun around and grinned. Score! “Hey, Lindsay!” Then he cleared his throat and adopted a more manly affect.
“Is that your dog?” She leaned down to offer Dot her hand to sniff and squealed, “She’s soooo cute! Oh my God, what’s her name?”
Ben blushed. “Dot.”
She took in a breath as her hand fluttered to her chest. “That’s adorable! Can I hold her? Can I?”
“Sure.” Ben gave a nonchalant shrug, trying to hide his trembling. Lindsay was actually talking to him! “Uh, what’re you doing here?”
Lindsay let out the sweetest giggle as Dot licked her neck and jaw. “I met my dad for dinner.” She tossed her head over her shoulder. “He’s back there, on a call.”
Ben’s gaze followed to where she’d gestured, and he could see a tall man in a police uniform talking on his cell phone. Holy shit—her dad was a policeman. It was one thing to know her dad worked for CPD but another thing entirely to see him standing there in uniform. Ben’s typical discomfort at spotting a cop now multiplied times ten. And, oh no, the cop had just finished his call and now came toward them.
“Linds, we have to go,” he called.
She pouted. “Aw. Isn’t this the cutest dog, Dad?”
As the man gave him the onceover, Ben straightened his spine.
“Do you know this boy, Linds, or are you bothering strangers again?”
“Daaad.” She rolled her eyes. “This is Ben from swim team!”
When her dad held out his hand, Ben supposed he should shake it. He hoped there wasn’t any peanut butter residue on his index finger.
“Nice to meet you, Ben from swim team.”
“You too, sir.” He blushed. He sounded like a total tool.
But her dad gave a faint smile, like he approved of the suck-up attempt. “It’s not nice my daughter met your dog, though. She’s been haranguing her mother and me for another dog since ours died a few months ago.”
“It’s time to move on, Dad.” Lindsay had both of Dot’s paws in her hands, performing a little canine dance with her. “Doobie-doobie-doo,” she sang.
Her dad sighed. “Maybe. Well, Ben, I’ve got to get Lindsay home before my shift starts. Honey, let go of the dog.”
Lindsay continued holding Dot hostage to her furry cabaret show. “Sha-sha-sha…shake it, girl, shake it!”
“Let. The. Dog. Go. You can do it, Lindsay,” her dad ordered.
With an exaggerated pout, Lindsay sighed. “Fine.” She handed Dot back to Ben, and he held her close to his chest. “But we are getting a dog soon, Dad. Just like Dot.”
“No way, sweetheart,” he said as he strolled away. “We’re getting another Lab.”
“But, Dad…” Lindsay trailed after him, turning around from ten feet away to wave. “Bye, Ben! See ya at swim practice tomorrow!”
He waved back, unsure of what had just happened. Their father-daughter interaction was so breezy and playful, so different from anything he’d known with his parents. Dot yelped as she watched them leave.
“Do you like Lindsay, Dot?” he asked. He snuggled his nose into her fur. “I do too.”
Maybe a little girly dog wasn’t all bad.
17. Congress
ANITA’S DOOR STOOD partially open, and Sophie wondered if she should knock. As Anita’s colleague, it would be fine to pop her head in the office. But part of her still thought of herself as Anita’s former grad student, who would need to show respect.
When she finally knocked, there was no answer, and she was just about to walk away when she heard Anita say, “Wow.”
“Anita?” No response. She knocked again, still getting no answer, and finally pressed on the door until it opened wide. Anita sat facing her computer with her back to the door. When Sophie saw black wires running from the hard drive to Anita’s ears, it all made sense.
She spoke louder this time. “Anita!”
With a flinch, the redhead swiveled in her chair. “Hey!” She yanked the earbuds out. “Speak of the devil.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Of course not!” Anita laughed as she gestured to the chair across from her. “I was just listening to your interview of prisoner number six. You did a fantastic job.”
“Oh! Um, thank you.” Sophie closed the door and took a seat.
“Nora transcribed the interviews for us,” Anita said, holding up some papers.
“I’m glad she joined our project.”
Anita nodded. “You can never get too many pubs when you’ll be on the job market soon. Anyway, I was reading the transcript for prisoner number six, and I was impressed at the depth of her responses. You got some good stuff, here. I wanted to know your secrets, so I decided to listen to the interview myself.”
She felt a blush. “Aw, Anita, you should listen to your interviews if you want the good stuff.”
“Are you kidding? I can write a cogent story with the data, but you’re the one eliciting such rich data from the prisoners. I don’t know how you connect with them so well.”
A fire now raged in Sophie’s cheeks. “It might help that I also spent time at Downer’s Grove.”
Anita shook her head. “That’s not what I meant at all. You need to put that behind you and realize what a talent you have.” She grabbed the transcript. “Listen to this.” She read aloud:
“Prisoner: Then I found out I got a better chance of getting back my kids, once I get out, if I go to counseling. That’s why I keep going, even though it was stupid at first.
Sophie: What parts seemed stupid to you?
Prisoner: Uh…(sighs). Thinking about the past again. Telling Dr. Ashby about it, too. I didn’t want her to know what he did to me and my kids. What I let Tyrone do.
Sophie: Tyrone—is he the father of your children?
Prisoner: No—he long gone. Their dad’s a loser, but he’d never hurt him like Tyrone did. And I just sat back…didn’t do nothin’ when Tyrone punched them…backhanded my babies…
Sophie: How awful for you to have to witness that. You feel tremendous guilt about Tyrone beating your children, when you were unable to stop it?
Prisoner: Dr. Ashby keep telling me it’s not my fault, what Tyrone did to us…Tyrone told me he’d kill me if I fought him. I shoulda stopped him, though. I shoulda stopped him.”
Sophie took a slow breath as she remembered Dominique’s self-blame—exactly what Logan had experienced. She shook her head and tried to focus on Anita’s voice as she continued reading the transcript.
“Sophie: He threatened your life, but you feel ashamed you couldn’t stop the abuse. It still haunts you. The traumatic memories give you nightmares.
Prisoner: Well, I don’t get nightmares as much since I started with Dr. Ashby.
Sophie: I’m glad to hear that. I wonder, what mak
es it hard to believe Tyrone’s actions aren’t your fault?
Prisoner: They…they’re my babies. He beat them. He…he raped my little girl. (cries) I’m the one who brought Ty into their lives. I’m the one.
Sophie: (pauses as the prisoner cries) I’m so sad you and your children had to go through that. Simply horrifying. (pauses) Where is Tyrone now?
Prisoner: (sniffs) Six feet under.
Sophie: I see. That’s why you’re here at Downer’s Grove?
Prisoner: He can’t hurt my babies anymore.”
Anita lowered the paper and stared. “That’s an appalling story. She trusted you in such a short time to tell you what happened. How’d you manage to track her so closely without reacting in shock? How’d you keep going with the empathy? I mean, this woman killed the man who’d raped her daughter!”
“I…” Sophie swallowed. “I’ve heard a version of this story before, I guess.”
“And that’s why I never wanted to become a therapist.” Anita shuddered. “But why did number six go to prison? Wasn’t it self-defense?”
“I asked the CO the same question after the interview. He told me she’d stabbed her ex in his sleep…forty-three times.”
“Oh.” Anita cringed. “I guess that’s not self-defense.”
“No, I guess not.” Sophie looked down at her hands in her lap. “I can see why she did it, though. After hearing her story, I wanted to kill Tyrone.”
“Hmm. It sounds like counseling has really helped this prisoner.”
Sophie nodded. “It’s dangerous to show any vulnerability on the inside—those nightmares could’ve gotten her in trouble. The fact that her nightmares decreased is a big help in itself. Dr. Ashby did a good job.”
“You did a good job with this prisoner, Sophie. You helped her.”
“I…I was only with her for an hour.”
“And in only one hour, she wanted you to be her psychologist instead of Dr. Ashby!”
She squirmed. “Um, so I came here to see if you’d like to get lunch?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Anita sat back in her chair and sighed. “You know, I was sad when you didn’t follow my footsteps into academia, but I always understood why. You have a gift for therapy. And as much as I love having you here at DePaul, have you thought about going in front of the board to get your license back?”
On Best Behavior (C3) Page 21