“It took more than just time,” I said.
He dropped his smile. “Yes, of course.”
“Now, you tell me more about Dana,” I ordered. “And tell me how serious it’s become.”
He saluted. “Yes, boss,” he said, and began.
I listened, but my mind clung to thoughts about my mother. Was she really ready to accept the differences between Haylee and me? If only she had done so years ago, none of the terrible things might have happened. How easy it would be for me to hate her, but how warm and hopeful it made me feel to learn of the changes coming over her.
I did pick up enough from my father’s descriptions of Dana to realize he had been developing a wonderful relationship with her. She sounded unselfish and sensitive but, as he wanted to be sure to point out, fun to be with. Sometimes, I thought, if you were willing to share your vulnerabilities with someone, you could find someone you could be happy with. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. No matter how many friends you had or how popular you were, if you locked up that troubled part of yourself, you would always be alone. I knew that few girls my age would be this wise. The journey I was forced to make to come to this point was not one I’d wish on my worst enemy, but nevertheless, it was there: something good from something so horribly bad.
“Almost there,” my father said about an hour later.
I was prepared to see another impressive house. After all, Dr. Alexander was an important psychiatrist at the correctional facility. I had never asked my father much about her personally, but now, when we turned down a side road and passed one modest home after another, I wondered about her. Was she married? Did she have children? I asked my father.
“To be honest, I never inquired about her, Kaylee. None of that seemed important.”
I nodded, but I disagreed. I didn’t care how professional she was or how many degrees she could list after her name. If she was someone with a family, her view of what had happened to us had to be different from that of someone who lived alone, who maybe never had a serious romantic relationship, and who had only professional relationships with young people. Everything doesn’t come out of a book or a laboratory.
When the GPS announced we had arrived, I thought I had some answers. Her home was a single-level with a nice stone front, but it looked small to me and had only a single-car garage. We pulled into the driveway and sat for a moment. Outside, there were no signs of young children, no playthings. The lawn was well kept, with unpretentiously arranged bushes and flowers. She lived alone, I thought. I looked at my father and imagined he was coming to similar conclusions.
“It’s the sort of house someone might have inherited,” he decided. “Could be a starter home, very young family. She’s not that old.”
“I don’t remember her wearing a wedding ring.”
“Whatever. She’s the one who wields the sword,” he said, and opened his door. “I’ll just get you started and then go for Dana, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, and got out.
She had obviously been keeping an eye out for us. The front door opened before we reached it over the short but neatly tiled walkway. Unlike the way she dressed at the institution, she was wearing a forest-green waffle-knit sweater and dark green jeans with a pair of navy wool boat shoes similar to a pair Marcy had. Her hair was down around her shoulders. She looked relaxed but still had that smart, fashionable, and attractive look. My mind raced. Why wasn’t she married? Or had she been? What was it like for a psychiatrist who fails in a marriage? Was that like a fat physical trainer or something?
“Hi,” she said. “Right on time. Thank you for bringing her here,” she said to my father.
“The miracle of GPS.”
“I know.” She smiled at me. “You look well, Kaylee. Come in. Please.”
“I’m going to leave her with you,” my father said. “I have to pick someone up. What do you figure, an hour?”
“At least. I have some nice cookies and some great tea or whatever you like,” she told me.
I looked at my father and raised my eyes toward the sky. Cookies?
“I’m okay,” I told him. He nodded.
“See you then,” he said, and started away.
Dr. Alexander stepped back for me to enter.
The simplicity of the outside was reflected in the interior as well. Nothing in her small living room appeared particularly expensive. The pictures on the wall were all prints that looked chosen more for decor than for art. In fact, I thought they were quite bland depictions of country scenes, nature. The house was well kept but not nearly with the obsession Troy’s mother enforced. I saw she had a book turned over on a side table and a cup and saucer beside it. There were magazines on the coffee table, and a jacket had been thrown over the back of a large cushioned chair across from the sofa. She moved quickly to pick it up.
“Something to drink?” she asked. “Soda? Tea?”
“I’m fine.”
“Please,” she said, pointing to the chair. She hung the jacket on a hook in the small entryway and returned to sit on the sofa. “So, all is going well at your new school?”
“Yes, I like it very much.”