“The one that weirded me out was pretty large, the kind you would use to carve roast beef.” Dani rubs her hands together.
“How is your anxiety level now?” Dr. Mandel removes her glasses to wipe them.
“Climbing. Maybe an eight?”
Dr. Mandel reaches into her desk and takes out a carving knife.
“Was the largest knife something like this?” she says, holding it with the point up.
“Very much like that,” Dani says. Oh my God, she thinks.
“How is your anxiety now?”
“Definitely a ten. You surprised me.” In the last few sessions, Dani had to vividly describe the ways she might kill Nathan, Gordy, and her mother. But she did not expect to see a knife in Dr. Mandel’s office, and she doesn’t know where the doctor got it from. For a second she believes that this is the actual knife from Alex’s house, that it has been brought here as evidence to prove something about her. She’s afraid of what she might do.
“Remember,” the doctor says, “I don’t want you to fight the thoughts. I want you acknowledge them and grow accustomed to the anxiety.”
“Is that knife from Alex’s house?”
“It may be.”
“How did you get it? Why is it here?”
“Remember not to rub your hands. How is your anxiety?”
“Through the roof,” Dani says. “Beyond ten.”
“Come stand by my desk.” Dr. Mandel sounds like a teacher on the first day of school.
Dr. Mandel unties her checked silk scarf.
“Hold the knife up to my throat,” she says. “But don’t touch me.”
“I don’t want to,” she says.
“I want you to,” Dr. Mandel says firmly.
Dani folds her hands behind her back.
“Unclasp your hands. Take the knife. It’s the only way you’ll get better.”
“But how can you be sure I won’t kill you?” Dani asks, holding the heavy knife. She feels sick. For months she’s thought how a knife like this would feel. That doesn’t mean she wants to feel it.
“I can’t be sure,” Dr. Mandel says, unbuttoning the top button of her white blouse. “Do you know where the arteries are?”
“There’s one on either side.”
“Maybe that would be a good spot.”
“How do you know I won’t kill you?” Dani asks again.
Dr. Mandel sets her eyeglasses on the desk. She leans back like she’s about to take a nap. As her head falls back, Dani sees and smells her neck: plump, white, unwrinkled, with a trace of fragrant body powder. “Maybe you will and maybe you won’t,” Dr. Mandel says.
Dani stands over the therapist. “You must trust me then,” Dani says to Mathilde. “You must trust me a lot. That’s what you’re trying to tell me, right?”
“I can’t reassure you. If it happens, it happens,” Dr. Mandel says.
Dani examines the knife. She has never looked at a knife so carefully before. This one is nearly a foot long, with a wedge-shaped blade imprinted with L. L. HOENICHER ENDURO STAINLESS. The other side says JAPAN in tiny letters. Dani tilts the blade so it catches glints of light.
“Go ahead now,” Dr. Mandel says.
Dani turns the edge of the knife toward Dr. Mandel’s neck. The edge looks extremely sharp. This must be a good knife, she thinks. Good enough to kill with.
Dani could press the blade against Dr. Mandel’s throat until she saw the skin shift. The line where the skin and the knife intersected would turn red, and that would be the last line to be crossed.
“Now say, ‘I’m going to stab you, I’m going to kill you.’ ”
“I’m going to stab you. I’m going to kill you. Eleven! Eleven!” Dani says.
“Keep going,” says Dr. Mandel.
Dani looks out at the other office buildings and the strip of park on Commonwealth Avenue, where people walk in a light summer rain with slickers, umbrellas, and dogs.
“I am going to stab you,” Dani says. “I’m going to kill you.
“How long do I have to keep this up?” she asks. Her arm isn’t getting tired exactly, but her hand is shaking a little and she’s afraid something will go wrong.
“Just keep going,” the doctor says. “You’re doing great!”
Another five minutes. Dani’s opportunity to kill Dr. Mandel is two-thirds over, yet a lot can happen in that last third. The side of the doctor’s neck has a soft, jowly plumpness, and Dani could choose to slice it: for no reason, not even because she was crazy, but just to change things. She could pin the doctor’s shoulder down so she can’t move, then press the blade through the white plumpness. It would be as simple as making that first slice in the turkey on Thanksgiving. In the same way there are always second chances in life, there is always another chance to mess things up.
“Your anxiety level?” A puff of fragrance emanates from the doctor’s throat.
“I’m having a lot of thoughts,” Dani says. “Still eleven.”
“Okay, you can put the knife down for today. You’re doing very well, Dani. We’ll try this again tomorrow.”
117
Shelley goes to the tennis banquet without Meghan. Shelley’s parents come to the banquet, as they do every year. Together they eat the food from the buffet. Shelley walks up during the awards to receive her trophy. She is named as next year’s captain and gives a brief speech of thanks. There is no co-captain. Everyone tries to act like the Dani situation doesn’t exist, because they want the banquet to be a nice event. Dani’s name is on one of the trophies, but Mrs. Solomon is not there. After dessert it’s as if a spell is broken and the nice part is officially over. The coach and Shelley’s parents talk in low voices. The coach asks whether they saw any sign of Dani’s problems, and whether Dani had been allowed to be around Shelley’s little brother, Ralphie. Shelley thinks for a minute that she wishes she had mentioned Dani in her speech, because even if Dani is a horrible person, even if she is a child murderer, she’s a good tennis player and she won those matches legitimately. She fought for every point.
While her parents are talking, Shelley texts Meghan:
“I was looking forward to this, but it isn’t fun.”
And Meghan writes back:
“Wish I could be there with you.”
118
Dani goes to the Beacon-Times website. She looks at pictures of the end-of-year concert. Gordy had already told her Meghan got that solo, partly because Shelley lobbied for it. Pictures of the tennis banquet have begun to appear, of Shelley and the other top players holding their trophies for the camera. One trophy sits unclaimed behind them on the white-covered table.
119
Protect Our Kids
Chat Room
SHEEPDOGG: I didn’t get any results from the last member alert. Who is your best operative in Aspen?
ROWDIE: Our members are losing interest in the case. It would have been different if she had actually killed someone. If there is no escalation, the story runs out of steam. I may close the dossier on this one. You done good, kid.
SHEEPDOGG: Let me know if you need me. Anywhere, anytime.
ROWDIE: You done good. You’re a good kid.
120
In the morning Dani dresses in running clothes. She follows another runner to the Charles River, where she finds exercisers of all races, sizes, and ages but mostly college students and yuppies. She knows she blends in with them, that with her short, dyed hair even the most rabid tabloid photographer would have trouble recognizing her here. And in another year or two, if all goes well, she will be here for real, blending in. For now, she follows the flow of bikers and in-line skaters across lagoons and over footbridges, past the amphitheater and the tennis courts and the sailing pavilion. She follows two young women across the river to the Cambridge side, past the dome of MIT. She would worry about getting lost in the constantly shifting vistas except that everything is visible from the river, the skyscrapers and bridges and landmarks, and if you can’t get back one way you ca
n always get back another.
121
Malcolm has been spending too many hours on the news sites and the chat rooms. On his way home from school he thinks about—he savors—all the things he can do outdoors. He looks forward to doing some chores, working with his dad, and making his mom happy. His father likes the phrase “manicured lawn.” Maybe today, Malcolm will create just that. He’ll go around the edges of the yard with a nail scissor and trim every unruly blade of grass. How much would his mom brag then?
He stops at the convenience store and buys two fountain sodas.
“Where’s Dad?” he says as he walks into the kitchen.
His mother is at the sink. “Out back,” she snaps.
He drops his books on the table. “What’s eating you?” he asks.
“I said he’s out back.”
“I got you a Mountain Dew with extra ice,” he says when he finds his father on the patio.
“I’m all set,” Michael says. On his knee is a bottle of Samuel Adams.
“Is that a beer, Dad?” Malcolm asks.
“No, it’s a portrait of an important historical figure, and I just happen to like holding it in my hand.”
All at once the yard seems too quiet. A butterfly lands on the butterfly bush Malcolm planted. Malcolm’s dad hasn’t had a drink since last summer. They were making this a little paradise.
“How long has this been going on?” Malcolm asks.
“A few days.”
Malcolm looks back at the house. “Is that what’s got Mom upset?”
His dad doesn’t answer.
“I don’t get it, Dad. Why?”
Michael Pinto holds up a newspaper he saved, with Dani’s picture and the word Monster. “I guess I’m having trouble turning the page.”
122
Shelley takes Meghan to the old handball court behind the school, where she will teach her to play tennis. She’s surprised when Meghan doesn’t seem to be athletic. Shelley assumed that all people with nicely toned bodies have good coordination.
“Tell me about your town in Pennsylvania,” Shelley begins. It’s a great time to talk because they’re hitting side by side against the wall, not looking at each other.
“Hartswell. It’s about a hundred fifty miles from Philadelphia. A lot of people were in dairy farming and just trying to make a living. My grandparents, for instance. Only a small core of people are interested in the arts or have any kind of ambition. Every day I dreamed of getting out of there. You wouldn’t believe how excited I was when we moved here and I was going to be close to a big city, with concerts and Broadway-type shows and everything. But anyway, when I met Sam I thought I had met a kindred spirit because he was a musician.”
Meghan swings at the air, then runs into the grass after the ball.
“I think you’re turning your arm,” Shelley says when Meghan gets back to her spot. “That’s why you keep missing.” She stops her own ball between her racket and her foot, then goes to Meghan’s side. “Can I show you?”
“I think I’m getting it,” Meghan says. “I just need to keep practicing.”
Meghan’s wearing a sports bra, weensy shorts, and a pair of unserious sneakers. Shelley stands behind her and grasps her arm. “Keep your elbow straight and hold this line right here. That way your racket can’t turn parallel to the ground. Shift your weight to your front foot. Hey, your skin smells like grapefruit.”
“That’s my citrus body wash,” Meghan says.
Shelley makes a decision. I’m not going to ask her the exact name of the body wash. I’m not going to ask whether it’s expensive and where she buys it. I’m not going to pretend that I want to imitate Meghan. I’m just going to leave my compliment out there.
“It’s nice,” she says.
Meghan shrugs and moves away with a laugh. She starts hitting again, and the first few times she doesn’t turn her arm.
“I was in Philadelphia once,” Shelley says. “I was there on a family vacation to see the Liberty Bell and all that stuff. We sort of wandered into the wrong neighborhood, and there was a parade going on with a lot of same-sex couples. We saw two women holding hands. My parents pulled me away from there as soon as they could.”
“That’s gross,” Meghan says, tossing the hair out of her eyes and getting ready to serve again.
Shelley stops playing. “I don’t think it’s gross. I think it’s brave.”
“You’re entitled to your own opinion.” Meghan keeps swatting at the ball.
Shelley’s ball has stopped, but Shelley just stands there. “I can’t believe you would say that. If you think two women holding hands is gross, why are you in the Gay-Straight Alliance?”
“Because I’m straight!” Meghan doesn’t seem to know what Shelley is upset about. She taps the ball against the floor of the court. “It’s a social group for gay people and straight people.”
“But it’s technically a support group for gay people, not a support group for straight people.”
“It’s open to everybody,” Meghan says. “No group in the school is allowed to exclude anyone.”
Shelley resumes hitting. She focuses everything she has on the bright green ball and hits without stopping, twenty times without a bounce and thirty-one times with a bounce before she breaks her rhythm. She wants to hide from Meghan right now, and if she keeps hitting like this she can pretend Meghan doesn’t exist.
123
Shelley and Meghan walk halfway home together. Meghan chatters about how well the end-of-year concert went even though she forgot the words to “Old Cape Cod.” Shelley wonders if Meghan truly believes nothing’s wrong or if she’s talking too much to cover up.
“Do you know about the singers’ camp at Tanglewood, in the Berkshires?” Meghan asks. “You have to apply early, but they have these one-day master classes that usually have a few openings or cancellations.”
Shelley shifts her tennis bag on her shoulder. She’s carrying both rackets—her own and the one she brought for Meghan.
She wonders what Dani would have said about today. Would Dani have thought Meghan was right for her at all? Sometimes, when God closes a door, He opens a window. Then you jump out of it.
124
Malcolm dresses in a blue short-sleeved shirt, navy pants, and black shoes. It looks pretty close to a uniform. He combs his hair back carefully, which makes him look older. He prints a batch of business cards with the POK website and his cell number, but no name.
He goes to 16 Dell Place.
Cynthia Draper opens the door in shorts and a cotton blouse. His father was right; she’s attractive for a woman with kids. “You’re not a reporter, are you?” she says. “I’m not talking to reporters.”
“No, ma’am. I don’t want any information from you. I’m here to give you some information.”
“What’s that?”
“The group I’m with is an ALEA. Do you know what an ALEA is?”
“No, I don’t,” she says.
“It’s an alternative law enforcement agency. As I said, I don’t want any information. I just want you to know that in the eventuality that you ever have trouble with Dani Solomon again, we would be the best people to call.”
Cynthia Draper is a cool customer. She looks at Malcolm and at the card without revealing either displeasure or relief. She takes the card and closes the door.
125
Dr. Mandel called Dani’s hotel room and told her not to come up to the office. Instead they’ll meet downstairs on the sidewalk.
Dani wonders what the doctor will do next. If Dr. Mandel’s theories are valid, Dani has made progress over two weeks of intensive sessions. Yesterday she held the knife and was hardly bothered by anxiety. She sees the elevator open. Dr. Mandel strides out in a spring coat, with her purse over her arm.
“Come with me,” says the doctor, turning Dani by the elbow onto Commonwealth Avenue. Mathilde is much shorter than Dani, but she motors along pretty well.
“Where are we going?”
“There are some experiences I can’t give you on my own,” says Dr. Mandel. “For that we need other people and another place.”
“Is it far?” Dani asks.
“No, it’s close.” The scent of roses and honeysuckle reaches them from the long park in the center of the avenue. The air carries the creak of a swing set and the voices of children singing a Lady Gaga song. You’ve got to be kidding me, Dani thinks.
“Here we are,” says Dr. Mandel. She opens the iron gate to a playground where a group of well-dressed three- and four-year-olds play while their mothers, fathers, and nannies sit on benches nearby. Some parents read the newspaper; others talk on their phones. None of them seem worried about their children. The parents and their kids feel at home here.
“Let’s sit for a minute,” the doctor suggests, bringing Dani to a bench. She nods to the woman and man beside them. The parents take stock of Dani and Mathilde and nod back.
“What a lovely spot,” the doctor says to the others. “How’s your anxiety?” she whispers to Dani.
“At least a nine,” Dani says. “I can’t quite get used to your surprises.”
Although Boston is not far from Hawthorne, it seems a world away, like a cosmopolitan European capital. Dani could get used to the comfort of people not knowing her. She can’t wait to come here for school and live on her own.
“Okay,” says Dr. Mandel. She nods toward the kids. “Interact.”
Dani walks to the swing set. Heads on the bench look up, take note of her, and resume what they were doing. Dani clasps her hands on her shoulder bag. She feels useless. It’s not like the old days with Alex, who held on to her every second, told her she was his favorite person, and cajoled her into long games with incomprehensible rules and story lines. Alex was a job. She has no connection to these children. At least she’ll make a good impression on the parents with her nice dress and sandals and best handbag. And she combed her hair with mousse so it looks smoother. People in the city are sharp and sophisticated. They notice those things.
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