I know you have detected my soft spot for Charlotte. I recognized it myself the moment she walked into my office and sat elegantly on my sofa. Please do not misinterpret things. I am not, nor have I ever been, “attracted” to her in an inappropriate manner. It’s simply that I knew, from everything about her, the way she held her back so straight, the way she spoke with a slight affectation, her neat clothing, the tucked-in blouse and pressed trousers, hair pulled so tightly in a bun, even the words she chose, that the story of Charlotte Kramer was going to be rich. I knew that it would be difficult but that I would uncover it, that she would reveal it to me, and that the extent of her emotional scars and the skill it would take to reach them would present a deeply satisfying professional challenge. I have no qualms admitting this to you or anyone else. It is no different from a lawyer relishing a complicated criminal defense. Or a builder reconstructing a home after a fire or flood. Is there empathy for the client? Of course. But legal, psychological, structural—whatever the problem the client has, the professional employed to solve it is not at fault for enjoying the task. That is why we joined the profession, is it not?
At our very first meeting, we spoke for an hour. During that time, she began to trust me to treat her daughter, and I would later use that to open her own vault of secrets. I could sense it. It is essential, and every competent practitioner has acquired the skill to do it. It requires strict adherence to boundaries, compassion, and an appropriate degree of distance. I did not flinch when she told me about the rape, the treatment, the strained year, and the attempted suicide, even though my thoughts were spinning with all the implications, which I have already described. Jenny Kramer had been a puzzle I could not solve, and now I had been given the pieces.
I met them all at the hospital the next day—Charlotte, Tom, and Jenny. I met with Lucas at my office sometime after that. He has gotten little of my attention as I recount the story. But I did speak with him and I did consult with both Charlotte and Tom frequently about how they should parent him during this crisis. It would take far too long to explore the deleterious effects events like these can have on siblings. Neglect, withdrawn love, and emotional denial are every bit as toxic as outright abuse. I made sure Lucas was spared that fate.
Jenny had been moved to the psych ward, where she was under a mandatory forty-eight-hour watch period before she could be released. There was recognition in her eyes when she saw me, and she even smiled slightly to acknowledge this. I’ve seen you in town.
She said this, and I realized that it was the first time I had heard her voice. She did not sound anything like what I’d expected. That may be a strange thing to say, but we all do this, we all impute certain missing variables to people we meet based on our preconceptions or past experiences. I was expecting Jenny’s voice to be high pitched, maybe even childlike. But it was not. It was deep, slightly raspy, as you might expect from a middle-aged blues singer. It is not uncommon. Think about it—you will surely have before you one or two people from your life who have this type of voice.
She wore a hospital gown, tied in the back, and a robe her parents had brought from home. There was no sash, for obvious reasons, so it hung loosely around her in the wheelchair. I could see the white bandages poking out from beneath the sleeves.
Tom was eager to meet me. He stood and shook my hand vigorously, as though he could shake the cure for his daughter from my limbs. We are so happy we found you.
Tom was sincere. We all sat down and they looked at me, waiting for something brilliant to emerge from my mouth.
“I’m happy to help, if I can.” I said, “But, Jenny. I have to ask you one very important question.”
She nodded. Tom looked at Charlotte, who seemed to reassure him with the look she returned. They both nodded at me, and then I continued.
“Jenny. Do you want to remember what happened to you that night in the woods?”
I will never forget her face in that moment. It was as though I had solved the mystery of the universe, discovered the truth about God. She knew when I spoke these words what she hadn’t known before but what was suddenly crystal clear. And her expression carried relief and gratitude so profound—I will never have a more satisfying moment in my professional career.
She nodded her head, choking back tears, but then they just exploded out of her. Yes! she said.
Then she said it over and over as her father hugged her, her mother wrapping her arms around herself.
Yes, yes, yes …
Chapter Ten
I suppose I should get to the blue Honda Civic and how it was found again in Fairview. If you recall, the Civic was spotted by a neighbor’s kid on the night of the rape. He said it was parked on the street along the side that bordered the woods. He thought it had New York plates. But that was all. He could not narrow down the model year or anything else that might have helped to locate the car.