"I saw what was in your bureau drawer when I was cleaning," she said, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.
Cole glanced up from his plate. He looked worried.
"You got something you want to confess?" she asked.
Nothing. Not a word.
"The bumble bee pendant," she reminded him. "Why do you keep taking it?"
Now he was looking at his lap, about as guilty as a fox fleeing a chicken coop. She hated to see him like this. All he needed to do was tell her.
"It was Grandma's," Lynn said quietly. "What if it broke? You know how sad I'd be." It was one of the few precious things she had of her mother's. Even her memories were beginning to fade.
"You'd cry," Cole replied, "'cause you miss Grandma so much."
Lynn nodded. "That's right."
"Sometimes people think they lose things, and they really didn't lose them. It just gets moved."
Lynn gave him a puzzled look. "Did you move the bumble bee pendant?"
Cole shook his head silently.
Lynn tried to keep her cool. She couldn't understand him. When he got like this, he was on another planet.
"Don't get mad," Cole said.
"So who moved it this time?" Lynn demanded. "Maybe someone came into our house, took the bumble bee pendant out of my closet, and then laid it nicely in your drawer?"
"Maybe."
She was starting to see black. She wanted to pick him up, turn him upside down and shake this strange behavior out of his soul. But when she looked in his eyes, she saw the pain behind them-felt it, deeply - and she understood that anger was the last thing he needed.
He was a kid. He didn't know why he said and did things. He didn't know why other kids did things to him. He was confused. Lynn understood that.
But she was confused, too. And she fought the questions that scorched the back of her brain: who understood her? Who looked into her eyes and knew the right things to say and do? She didn't need a therapist, she didn't need medication, she couldn't afford them anyway - but it wouldn't hurt to have a little rest, and just a clue about what was going on in her son's beautiful little head.
"I'm so tired, Cole," she pleaded. "I'm tired in my body. I'm tired in my mind. I'm tired in my heart. I need some help. I don't know if you noticed, but our little family isn't doing so good. I'm praying for us, but I must not be praying right. It looks like we're just going to have to answer each other's prayers. If we can't talk to each other, we're not going to make it."
She leaned in and searched Cole's dark eyes. "Now, baby, tell me. I won't be mad, honey. Did you take the bumble bee pendant?"
Cole tightened up. "No."
Lynn sat straight back and threw her napkin on her plate. That was it. She'd reached the end of her patience. "You've had enough roast beef. You need to leave the table."
He was hurt. His eyes were searching her, looking for - what? What did he want?
"Go!" she blurted out.
Pushing his seat back from the table, Cole stood on his little feet and walked to his room.
Cole hated when Mama got so mad. She was in the kitchen now, sniffling. Why did she care so much about the pendant? Why did she have to ask those questions?
He walked slowly down the hallway to his bedroom, wondering what he could have done differently, so she wouldn't get mad. He'd tried to keep silent about the pendant. It wasn't a sin to keep silent. But she'd forced him to speak up, so what else could he do?
He couldn't lie - that was a sin. So he'd told the truth. Just not all of it. That was the problem. He couldn't tell Mama who really moved the pendant. He couldn't tell her about the dead people. She definitely wouldn't be able to handle it. Just look at how she acted at the dinner table when he gave her a hint.
The only person he could tell was Dr. Crowe. Dr. Crowe was different, of course. He was used to hearing strange things from kids. That was his profession. And he wouldn't tell anyone Cole's secret.
But even Dr. Crowe didn't believe it.
As Cole walked down the hall to his bedroom, he heard Sebastian growl. An instant later the puppy scurried out of the room and raced past him into the kitchen.
Cole stopped.
Slowly, his door began to swing open.
A dark figure slipped out of the spare room and into the hallway. It glided swiftly into Cole's bedroom before he could see it clearly.
"Come on!" a voice called.
Cole's knees locked. A boy was leaning out of his doorway now, maybe thirteen or fourteen. "I'll show you where my dad keeps his gun," the boy said. "Come on!"
The boy turned to walk back in, and Cole saw the back of his head - or the lack of it. It had been blown off, leaving a dark, bloodied crater.
Cole shot back to the kitchen, his feet barely touching the floor.
Mama was on her knees, trying to convince Sebastian to come out from the broom closet. "Mama?" he said.
She turned, startled. Her eyes were red from crying, and she quickly wiped them. She didn't like to cry in front of Cole.
"If you're not very mad," Cole said, "can I sleep in your room tonight?"
"Look at my face, Cole," she said, a smile slowly softening her tear-stained face. "I'm not very mad."
Cole threw his arms around her and clenched her as tight as he could.
"Baby?" she said. "Why are you shaking?"
No. He couldn't tell. And he couldn't lie.
"Cole, what's wrong?" Mama pleaded, rocking him back and forth. "Please tell me. Please..."
She was crying again, but Cole just held her tight and felt her warmth, her comfort, until the fear started to go away.
Anna Crowe loved when young engaged couples came into the shop. They made her think of the early days with Malcolm, when they'd go from store to store and say, I want one of these, and one of these, and three of those . . . to go, please - a chant only Malcolm could dream up. They only said it to each other, of course. In those days they had no money, just dreams.
This couple seemed interested in everything. The young woman was stunning, with raven hair and deep brown skin. She was well off, possibly a daughter of foreign royalty. Anna always knew - the tasteful tailored clothing, the lilt of speech, the easy body language around objects of great value. The man had wavy, dark hair and deep sensitive eyes. He seemed a bit more intimidated - a medical school student, perhaps, or a graduate fellow in classics.
One thing was unmistakable. They were in love. It changed the whole atmosphere of the store. Their feeling for each other was like a diaphanous covering that followed and protected them.
Anna had known that feeling well.
She missed it deeply. She missed it every day. But she knew the feeling came only once. When it was gone, you never got it back. And it was gone, no matter how hard she tried to rescue it from videos and memories.
Dear, sweet Sean thought he could waken it in her. He didn't really know about Malcolm, didn't know that he was still a part of her life. As hard as she tried to break away - moving his office to the basement, leaving his mail on the foyer table - she simply couldn't. Not yet. Not all the way. Somehow she needed him still. No matter what happened to her, a part of him would always remain.
Meanwhile she'd enjoy the feeling of love vicariously, through the visitors to her shop.
The young woman had already discovered the antique diamond engagement ring at the back of the store. Sooner or later everyone did. It had the most exquisite fire, a nearly perfect stone.
"It's Edwardian," Anna explained. "Beautifully worked. Entirely platinum with a mine-cut diamond and an actual color Burmese sapphire. It's timeless."
The young man attempted a casual smile. "Do you have anything ... a little plainer?"
"Plainer?" His fiancee shot him a look. "You want a plain ring to go with your plain fiancee, is that how it is?"
"No, no! It's just - you're so beautiful-" The wheels were turning fast. "You're like a Burmese sapphire all by yourself. You don't need all
that."
The young woman raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Uh-huh."
Anna unlocked the glass jewelry cabinet and took out the ring. "Why don't you two hold it?"
She placed the ring in the cupped hands of the couple. The fiancee was nearly breathless. The young man grimaced.
"Do you feel longing?" Anna asked.
"Excuse me?" the young woman said.
"When I touch this piece," Anna explained, "I feel a longing. I imagine the woman who owned this loved a man deeply she couldn't be with."
The young woman cast a knowing glance at Anna. "Did he have wavy hair and chestnut eyes?"
Her future husband looked suddenly perplexed.
"I don't know... but maybe," Anna said playfully. "A lot of pieces in this store give me feelings. I think maybe when people own things and then they pass away, a part of themselves gets printed on those things - like fingerprints."
Now both of them were gazing at her silently, reverently, as if she had just led them to the source of the world's ancient love secrets.
They both reached down and touched the ring, as if hoping those secrets would rub off.
In minutes, Anna was walking to the back of the shop to fill out the paperwork for the sale.
Sean had been out buying and was loading in a piece in through the side entrance. He had a lot of company loyalty for someone celebrating his twenty-seventh birthday, Anna thought. She was impressed he hadn't taken the day off, even though she'd offered it to him. The least she could do was get him a little something for the occasion. He loved F. Scott Fitzgerald, and the antiquarian bookseller on Broad Street happened to have a copy of The Great Gatsby, which he let Anna have in exchange for a set of bronze candlesticks.
She had left the book, wrapped, on his desk.
"You don't need someone with a Master's degree," Sean remarked, setting down a stout wooden bench. "You need a wrestler guy whose neck is larger than his head."
Anna laughed. "I need a wrestler with a Master's."
"What's this?"
Anna looked up from her papers. Sean had seen the gift and was examining it curiously.
"From you?" he asked.
Anna nodded.
"Is it wrestling tights?" He tore open the wrapper with a goofy, childlike grin and stared open-mouthed at the book.
"It's a first edition," Anna said.
"Wow, this is too much," Sean exclaimed. "It's perfect, Anna."
He pulled her up from her seat and embraced her. He was like a happy little puppy; if he'd had a tail, it would be sweeping the papers off her desk. She liked Sean. He was a good kid. Overeager sometimes, a little awkward, but in a way, those were his most endearing qualities.
She drew back a bit and returned his smile. But he didn't let go. He kept his arms around her waist, looking at her with his giant, blue-gray eyes.
Anna felt the eyes of the young couple on her. She knew she needed to complete the sale before they changed their minds - but she didn't move. She was surprised at the way this felt. Sean's arms cradled her just the right way. He was stronger than she would have expected, but he knew how to hold a woman with tenderness and grace, like a dancer. She loved the feeling. She hadn't felt anything as delicious in a long, long time.
So when he brought his fingers up to her face and lightly ran them down her cheek, she tried not to think of Malcolm at all. And when he brought his lips closer, she closed her eyes and hoped the young couple would understand.
SMMMMMMACKK!
The front door slammed, forcing Sean and Anna to leap back.
Shattered glass spilled over the welcome mat as the rolled-up blinds clattered and fell open.
Anna and Sean sprinted to the door and pulled it open. They looked to the right, up the street toward the river.
To the left, Malcolm strode away, weaving among the crowd.
The pumpkin was huge. Much bigger than last year's Halloween pumpkin. It was wedged in with the rest of the groceries in the shopping cart - as was Cole.
He still loved to be pushed through the parking lot. He was a little old for it, and way too heavy, but Lynn didn't mind at all. It was one of the few carefree, childlike things Cole allowed himself.
The breeze was especially crisp today, and the flame-colored tree canopies seemed to radiate their own light against the cloudy sky. Days like this made Lynn want to rise up and soar over the earth. She hoped Cole felt it, too - but when she leaned over to look at him, she could see his mind was far away.
Lynn began veering left and right. She circled around to an open part of the lot, picking up speed.
Cole's hair began to blow back in the wind. He looked up to the sun, throwing his arms outward like the wings of an airplane.
Lynn whooped with joy, pushing harder, running.
She pulled up to the rear bumper of her old Volvo station wagon with a perfect landing. Cole lowered his arms.
He was smiling now.
Sometimes, Lynn knew, the simple joys were the best.
Simple joys. Simple hopes.
It was ironic, Malcolm thought. Today Cole wanted to talk. Today, for the first time, he sat on the floor by the coffee table and faced Malcolm eye-to-eye.
Today Malcolm was the frightened and confused one.
The scene from the antique shop looped endlessly in his head. It was like a bad soap opera. And it happened in front of the watching customers - in front of Malcolm, for pete's sake! Clearly Anna hadn't known he was there. But people in this neighborhood knew Malcolm. Did she think he wouldn't find out? Did she care?
Not enough. That was the problem. A bigger problem than any he'd ever faced. One that needed his full-time attention.
"You don't want to ask me questions today?" Cole asked.
Malcolm shook his head.
"Can I ask you then?"
"Yes," Malcolm said absently.
"What do you want, more than anything?"
Malcolm knew this stage of the therapeutic process. Role reversal. A healthy development. The patient, in effect, becomes the therapist and in doing so begins to project his own conflicts on the real therapist, thereby objectifying them and allowing an internalization of -
Stop.
No more jargon.
"I don't know," he replied.
"I told you what I want," Cole said.
"I don't know, Cole."
Cole nodded sagely. "Why don't you think about it for awhile?"
The boy was smart. He was asking the questions Malcolm had been trained to ask. This was a basic one. You had to teach patients to think for themselves. Only then could they see their goals and chart a path through their fears.
Malcolm thought about it.
"I know what I want," he said finally. "My goal is to speak to my wife - the way she and I used to speak, like there was no one in the world but us."
"How are you going to do that?" Cole asked.
Malcolm fought back the rush of blood to his face, the moisture that suddenly clouded his vision. He had planned to work up to this, but the boy had forced his hand.
"I can't be your doctor anymore," Malcolm said. "I haven't given my family enough attention. Bad things happen when you do that. Do you understand?"
Cole didn't reply for a long time. "Do you want to go home?" he said quietly.
"I have to," Malcolm answered.
"When?"
"Soon. One week. I'm going to transfer you. I know two psychologists who are exceptional -"
"Don't fail me."
"What?"
The words were like knives.
You failed me. That was the last thing Vincent had said, before he ...
"Don't give up," Cole pleaded. "You're the only one who can help me. I know it."
He's a different kid than Vincent, Malcolm thought. There were coincidences, yes. But there were coincidences in all cases. Don't dwell on it. "Someone else can help you," he said. "Someone else can make you happy."
Cole was crying n
ow. His pinched little face was red and he looked as if his entire world were crumbling.
"Dr. Crowe?" he whispered.
"Yes?"
"You believe me, right?"
Honesty, Malcolm thought.
"Dr. Crowe, you believe my secret, right?" Cole pressed on.
Only honesty.
"I don't know how to answer that," Malcolm said, turning away to avoid the boy's eyes.
"How can you help me," Cole said, "if you don't believe me?"
The question hung over him, as sudden and dark as a solar eclipse.
It was a question he'd faced without an adequate answer for years. How did a grown man sit and listen to hours and weeks and years of fantasy and fear? How did a man coax an unformed mind into reality without destroying its capacity to dream? How indeed?
He had no idea.
Cole reached into his pocket. He took out a penny and slid it across the table.
Malcolm looked curiously into the boy's bloodshot eyes.
"Some magic," Cole whispered, "is real.''
Sitting in his basement office late that afternoon, Malcolm gazed blankly at his fancy framed certificate from the city of Philadelphia. It was coated with dust now, wedged between two packing boxes.
Anna was still at work. Malcolm had thought about returning to the shop, but he was afraid of what he might do. Sean would be there, and so would plenty of customers. The temptation to cause a scene would be too strong. Better to wait until Anna came home.
His eyes wandered across the accumulated detritus of fifteen years' hard work.
They stopped at a box marked Session
TAPES--- VINCENT GRAY.
Malcolm leaned forward and pulled the box from its pile. He chose one at random, marked 7/1.
He popped it into the tape machine and pressed play.
He heard background static. A door closing.
"Sorry about that. Hope I didn't leave you alone too long." His own voice, nine years younger. "Wow, it's cold in here."
The scrape of a chair on a wooden floor. The old wooden office chair.
"Vincent, why are you crying?"
Malcolm remembered this now. He'd left to take a phone call that day. He'd only been gone a minute, but when he returned, Vincent was in tears. Shaking.
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