'I love my dad,' she said. 'And Katherine.'
Dr Brown smiled, and this time there was more warmth in it.
'I know you do. And they love you. And you know they'll always love you. No matter what you do.'
'I guess,' Mersiha said. She knew that the psychiatrist was trying to get some show of emotion from her. She concentrated on the blinds on the window behind him and counted the slats. Once, soon after she'd started the Wednesday afternoon sessions, Dr Brown had almost made her cry until she'd seen something in his eyes, a look that made her realise that he had wanted her to break down. She'd only been thirteen at the time but she'd vowed that she'd never give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Her tears would be his trophies.
'Why do you think you don't have many friends?'
'I don't meet many people I want to be friends with.'
'Even at school?'
Mersiha snorted. 'Especially at school.'
'What do you mean?' Dr Brown asked.
'They're just kids,' she said.
He smiled. 'They're your age,' he said quietly.
Mersiha thought for a while before answering. 'They haven't been through what I've been through.'
The psychiatrist studied her for a few seconds. 'Would you like to tell me about it?'
Mersiha stared at the blinds, still counting. Twenty-six.
Twenty-seven. 'No,' she whispered. 'No, I don't think so.'
Mersiha sat in the front passenger seat of Katherine's Toyota Corolla. It was an automatic and still had its new-car smell, despite the half-filled ashtray. The car had been a birthday present from her father, but Katherine seemed to treat it with contempt. It hadn't been washed since the day it had arrived outside their house, wrapped in a huge red bow. There was a paint scrape on the rear left side and the back seat was covered with old magazines.
She sighed and leant back, pushing her hands against the roof of the car. The time she spent alone in the car while Dr Brown briefed Katherine was often worse than the counselling sessions themselves. It didn't seem fair. Mersiha wished that psychiatrists had the same sort of client confidentiality code that priests and private detectives had. Katherine insisted on the post-session chats with Dr Brown, despite Mersiha's protests and pleadings. In a way Mersiha was glad, because it gave her an added incentive to keep her secrets locked deep inside. There was no way she would open up to Dr Brown if he intended to tell all to Katherine.
Mersiha yawned and stretched. When she opened her eyes Katherine was walking towards the car, brushing her blonde hair behind her ears. 'Okay, kiddo, let's go,' Katherine said 'Do birds sing in the woods?'
Katherine looked across at Mersiha and raised an eyebrow. 'I hope that's the only version of that saying you use.'
Mersiha widened her eyes innocently. 'What do you mean?' she asked.
Katherine grinned. 'You know exactly what I mean.' She started the car and eased it forward. 'Chocolate chip?'
Katherine waited until later, as they sat either side of a chocolate sundae and attacked it with long-handled spoons, before raising the subject of Dr Brown with Mersiha. 'How do you think the session went today?' she asked.
Mersiha shrugged and spooned up a maraschino cherry.
'Okay,' she said.
'He said he thinks you're making terrific progress.'
'He does?' Mersiha said, surprised.
'Uh-huh. But he'd like you to open up to him more.'
They ate in silence for a while, each waiting for the other to speak. Eventually it was Katherine who broke the silence. 'He only wants to help you. If you were to open up to him, the nightmares might stop.'
'They have stopped,' Mersiha said. Katherine raised an eyebrow. 'Almost,' Mersiha added.
'He's right, you know. If you suppress things, they have a way of coming out in other ways.'
'I know, I know. There's no need to go on about it. I'm okay.
It's not like I'm crazy or anything.'
Katherine smiled. 'No, that's for sure. You're a very clever, very pretty, very lovely girl. And I love you with all my heart.'
Mersiha smiled. She offered her spoon to Katherine, giving her the maraschino cherry. Katherine put her lips to it, carefully, like a cat feeding.
'One day, maybe I'll be able to talk about it. But not just now.'
Mersiha was suddenly serious. 'It's as if I've locked all the bad stuff away and if I open the door it'll all come pouring out. I don't think I'll be able to handle it. Sometimes I realise how much bad stuff there is behind the door, and it scares me.'
Katherine nodded. 'Okay, kiddo. That's okay. Just so long as you remember that we're here for you.'
Mersiha smiled. 'Do bears…'
Katherine raised her spoon. 'Watch it, young lady!'
Sal Sabatino surveyed the menu and beamed at the grey-haired waitress as she hovered expectantly. 'So what's good tonight, huh?' he asked.
The waitress scratched her ear with the end of her pencil. 'The calamari's going well, Mr Sabatino.'
'Yeah? What, fried?'
'Baked is better. In a white wine and lemon sauce.'
Sabatino nodded thoughtfully and scratched one of his several chins. 'Yeah, but I really feel like fettuccini carbonara, you know?
I love the big pieces of bacon. None of that chopped ham they use in some places.'
'Only the best for you, Mr Sabatino.' The waitress stood patiently by the side of his table. She knew better than to rush Sal Sabatino. One of the customers at another table tried to catch her eye but she pretended not to notice.
'And the sauce. Oh, that sauce. My cholesterol level is going up just thinking about it.' He patted his ample waistline which was only half hidden by the tablecloth. 'You know what my blood pressure was at my last medical? One hundred and fifty over a hundred.' The waitress frowned, not sure if that was good or bad. 'I got it. I got it. I'll have the calamari, like you said, and a half-portion of the fettuccini, as an appetiser.'
'Excellent choice, Mr Sabatino.'
Sabatino handed her the menu with a flourish. 'And bring me a bottle of my usual. Well chilled.'
'Of course, Mr Sabatino.' The customer who'd been trying to get the waitress's attention waved frantically as she headed towards the kitchen, but she didn't stop. She knew that Sabatino wouldn't take kindly to his order being delayed for even a few seconds. He wasn't a man who liked to be kept waiting.
Sabatino sat alone in his corner, close to the stairs which led down to an emergency exit and with his back to the wall. Two of his bodyguards, big men in dark suits, sat at a table by the entrance to the dining room, sharing a bottle of mineral water and trying to look as if they had nothing more sinister than deodorant under their arms. One of the men was chewing on a small unlit cigar. He saw Sabatino looking his way and raised an eyebrow, the only indication that he'd noticed. Sal Sabatino loved his food, but he preferred to eat alone. He toyed with his knife as the waitress returned and opened a bottle of white wine with a flourish. She poured a splash into his glass and he tasted it, rolling it around his mouth before swallowing. He nodded his approval. Sal Sabatino loved everything Italian. He loved the food, he loved the wine, he loved the music, he loved the dark-haired fiery women. He loved it all. Sal Sabatino's one regret in life was that he hadn't been born Italian.
He was refilling his glass for the second time when Maury Anderson appeared in the doorway, mopping his forehead with a large red handkerchief. The bigger of the two bodyguards reached inside his jacket and got to his feet, but Sabatino waved his hand, a large gold ring flashing under the overhead lights, and the man sat down again.
Anderson walked over to Sabatino's table, shoving the handkerchief back into his trouser pocket. He made no move to shake hands and he waited until Sabatino nodded at the vacant chair before sitting down. The waitress scurried over with a menu but Sabatino shooed her away. 'My guest won't be staying,' he said. Sabatino picked up his glass and scrutinised Anderson as he drank. The man was clearly nervous, though the sweat was probably the re
sult of the night's high humidity. 'So, Maury, how did the meeting go?'
Anderson's eyes darted from side to side as if he were frightened of being overheard. 'Not good,' he said.
'What do you mean?' Sabatino's voice dropped an octave and about twenty degrees.
Anderson shivered. 'The bank's putting its own representative on the board. A guy called Nelson.'
'So?'
'So he's going to be going through the books.'
Sabatino screwed up his face as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. 'Where's this guy based?' he asked.
Anderson slipped a business card across the table. 'This is his card.'
Sabatino picked up the pristine white card and studied it like an entomologist examining an unusual specimen. 'What's he like?' he asked.
'Late twenties. Aggressive. Ambitious. African American.'
Sabatino smiled to himself. Political correctness was so pervasive in modern-day America that it had even become part of a clandestine conversation. 'Yeah? I bet he's only ever seen Africa in an atlas,' he said. 'If he's black, why not just say he's black?'
Anderson sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
'Yeah. He's black. Sorry.'
'You wanna know what's wrong with this fucking country?'
Sabatino asked, though the question was clearly rhetorical.
'People are scared to say what they really think. They self-censor, that's what they do. You know those three guys that've been doing those robberies in Guilford? You know the ones? Picking on old folks, raping the women, beating the husbands and stealing everything that's not nailed down? You know they're black, I know they're black, but what does it say in the papers?
Three assailants, that's what they say. And why do they say that?
Because it's politically incorrect to say that they're black, that's why. What's the world coming to, Maury? Tell me, what's the world coming to?'
'I've no idea, Mr Sabatino.'
'It's a hell of a world, Maury. A hell of a world. So this Nelson, he's gonna be sniffing around, is he?'
Anderson nodded. The waitress appeared with Sabatino's fettuccini carbonara. Sabatino unfurled his napkin and placed it on his lap. 'Okay, Maury, I'll give you a call if I need anything else. You keep an eye on this Nelson for me, okay?'
Anderson hesitated. He scratched the end of his nose with the first finger and thumb of his right hand. 'There is one thing, Mr Sabatino.'
Sabatino tore his eyes off the pasta. 'Not here, Maury. Vincenti will take care of you outside.'
Anderson grinned. 'Thanks, Mr Sabatino. Thanks a lot.'
Anderson stood up and held out his hand, but Sabatino was already twirling his fettuccini around his fork. The financial director shrugged and walked away. The smaller of the two bodyguards, the one chewing the cigar, handed him a rolled-up copy of the Baltimore Sun on his way out. Inside was a polythene package containing an ounce of cocaine. Maury Anderson had a major habit, and it was a habit that, for the moment at least, Sabatino was prepared to feed. At some point in the future Anderson would outlive his usefulness, literally, and it would be time to take him on a picnic. Sabatino was looking forward to the prospect.
Mersiha tip-toed down the darkened stairs and into the study in her nightgown, closing the door behind her. She sat down in her father's chair and switched on the computer and its monitor. The screen flickered for a few seconds, then it asked for the password.
She typed in her own name. It had been the password for as long as she could remember; her father never changed it.
A menu flashed on to the screen. Towards the bottom of the menu was the program that kept track of the company's finances.
She called it up and brought up the most recent profit and loss account. She ran her finger down the screen, silently mouthing the figures. Total income was well down on the previous year, but expenses were several hundred thousand dollars higher.
The payroll and the company's Medicare payments made up the bulk of the outgoings. She closed the file and called up the report her father used for forecasting cash flows. She chewed the inside of her lip as she studied the figures. If the Middle Eastern order came through for the MIDAS system, the cash flow would keep the company going for at least three months.
But that was purely a forecast; the money, and indeed the order, had yet to be received.
Mersiha called up the balance sheet. Over the months she'd been following her father's financial problems, it had been the balance sheet which had caused her the most headaches. At first she hadn't been able to make sense of the lists of assets and liabilities, but she'd spent hours in the school library reading every economics and business book she could get her hands on.
It had been hard going, but gradually she'd worked out how to read the company's records and now she could tell almost at a glance how the company was doing. Its current account showed a substantial drop on the previous month, and accounts receivable had also dropped. Only capital equipment had stayed the same, and Mersiha knew that was pretty much a hypothetical figure anyway. Who would want to buy second-hand manufacturing equipment if CRW couldn't sell its own products?
While the assets were considerably down, the company's liabilities continued to rise, and it clearly wouldn't be long before they crossed over and the firm had a negative worth. Mersiha felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She checked the financial projections every week or so, and the picture was getting steadily worse. She wished that there was something she could do to help her father, but she knew she was powerless. She was just a kid.
She'd give anything to be rich, to be able to write her father a cheque big enough to solve all his problems. She hated to see her father unhappy, hated it with a vengeance.
She called up QUICKEN, the program her father used to follow his personal finances. He had three bank accounts, and she checked the balances in all of them, then she went through his credit card billings and household expenses. As usual the biggest purchases had been made by Katherine. Several pairs of shoes, a gold bracelet, lots of clothes. The company's financial problems hadn't persuaded her to cut back at all; she was still spending as if there were no tomorrow. Even so, there was plenty of money in the bank accounts, and the house was almost paid for. It was only the company that was in trouble. That, at least, was something.
Mersiha switched off the computer and the monitor and crept back upstairs to her bedroom. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, trying to work out what she could do to help.
Mersiha was in the kitchen when the telephone rang. 'I'll get it!' she yelled, and picked up the receiver. It was Dr Brown. 'Oh, hiya, Dr Brown. What's up?' she said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of orange juice with her free hand.
'Hello, Mersiha? No school today?'
'Study period,' she said. 'The school doesn't mind if we do it at home. It's an honour system.'
'Well, make sure you study hard. Is your mother there?'
'Sure,' Mersiha said. She pressed the 'hold' button and put the receiver back on the wall. She filled a glass with orange juice and put the carton back in the refrigerator before walking through to the hall. 'Katherine! It's Dr Brown,' she called upstairs. {Catherine was in the bedroom, reorganising one of her many dress-filled closets.
'Okay, honey, I'll take it up here.'
Mersiha took a sip of orange juice and went back into the kitchen. Buffy scratched at the back door and Mersiha opened it for her. The dog sat there, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth, a chewed frisbee at her feet.
Mersiha bent down to pick up the plastic disc, and as she did she heard Katherine's voice over the phone's intercom. 'Hello?'
Katherine said. Mersiha let the frisbee fall to the ground and went over to the phone to switch off the intercom.
'Katherine? It's me.'
'Hello, Art.'
'Can we talk?'
Mersiha froze, her finger just inches away from the button.
B
ehind her, Buffy whined. Mersiha felt her stomach grow cold. They were going to talk about her, she was sure of it. She closed her eyes, fearing the embarrassment to come.
'I think so. Tony's still at the office.'
'Good. Katherine, I have to see you.'
'Now?'
Mersiha tensed. Whatever Dr Brown was concerned about, it must be serious.
'Can you get away?'
'Tony'll be here in an hour.'
'Please.'
'Tomorrow. What about tomorrow?'
'It's important. I need to see you now.' Mersiha opened her eyes. She'd never heard the psychiatrist talk this way before. He sounded like a small boy, pleading for attention. Her stomach grew colder and she clasped her arms around her chest as if trying to warm herself.
'Okay. I'll try.'
Mersiha heard the line go dead. She stared at the telephone.
Buffy whined and pushed the frisbee with her nose. Mersiha wondered what Dr Brown was going to say to Katherine, and she had a sudden feeling of dread. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good news. Bad news, she knew, always travelled fast.
The telephone speaker began to make a buzzing sound. Mersiha switched it off. She heard {Catherine's high heels on the stairs and she rushed out of the back door.
Freeman turned his Chevrolet Lumina into the driveway and sounded his horn as he saw Mersiha at the far end of the garden.
She waved half-heartedly and carried on playing with the dog.
Freeman frowned. Usually Mersiha came running up to greet him and more often than not she'd carry his briefcase for him.
He parked the car in front of the house and walked over to where she was sitting under a large willow. 'Hi, pumpkin, what's up?'
Mersiha shrugged. 'Nothing much.'
Buffy wandered over to Freeman and put her head up, asking to be stroked. Freeman patted her on the head, his eyes on Mersiha. 'Trouble at school?' he asked.
Mersiha shook her head. 'No, school's fine.' She kept her eyes averted as if unwilling to look him in the face. Freeman squatted down so that his head was almost level with hers.
'Anything I can do?' he asked. She looked up and Freeman could see tears in her eyes. 'What is it?' he said. He was suddenly seized with a feeling of panic. Mersiha never cried. Never. 'Is Katherine okay?'
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