“Why do you think Amie is too happy, Connor?”
“Because. She never seems sad. She’s always playing and laughing all the time. It’s like she doesn’t even care.”
“Doesn’t care that your father is gone?”
Connor looked away again, eyes narrowing out the window.
“You see, the difference between you and Amie, Connor, is that she’s much younger than you. While she’s very sad that your father is gone, her mind works differently to yours. She doesn’t feel the absence of your father quite as much as you do. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t care, okay? It just means that she copes a little better with the sadness she feels inside. Does that make any sense?”
“I suppose so.”
“So when you see Amie laughing and playing next time, think about this. You’re her big brother and she looks up to you and loves you very much. She definitely feels a bit scared sometimes, so maybe it would be nice for you to sit and play with her. Let her know she can count on you to be there if she needs you. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Connor lifted his head, looking directly at Dr. Fielding on the screen for the first time since the session began forty minutes ago. He looked like he had finally heard something that made sense to him. “I guess,” he said, his tone changed altogether. “I mean, maybe. If she’s not being too annoying.”
“That’s very kind of you, Connor. That’s exactly what a good big brother would do.” Fielding was sometimes a little too softly softly in his approach for my liking, but then again he was the trained and lauded child psychologist, and I was the out-of-work schoolteacher. He probably had twenty years of experience on me, and the way he’d just handled the situation with Amie actually sounded like it might make a difference around the house. If Connor started interacting with his sister more, instead of snapping at her whenever she was giddy, he might end up lifting himself out of his grief, too. If there was hope of that, then there was hope in general.
“Connor, thank you for spending some time with me today. I’ve really enjoyed talking to you. I think we’ve made great progress,” Fielding said.
Connor seemed less sure of what might or might not have been accomplished during the session. He arranged his mouth into the tiniest suggestion of a smile, though there was no hint of it anywhere else on his face. He picked up his book and his rainbow striped beanie, and carried both out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. I hated this part. Now was the time when Fielding and I completed our reviews and discussed how best I might handle things with the children over the next week, though most of the time it felt like Fielding was taking the opportunity to poke and prod at the insides of my head, too.
“Well, Ophelia. I have to say, I really do see some progress,” he said, as I sat down in the chair Connor just vacated.
“Yes, I agree. He’s been a lot more talkative the last couple of days. And he’s asked to spend more time outside. Though that was related to an accident that happened during a storm.”
“A storm?” He was using his no-way! fake-shocked voice he used with Connor, whenever the little boy told him something arbitrary. This wasn’t arbitrary, though, so it was kind of frustrating that he was using that tone with me.
“Yes, a storm. A ship was capsized out on the water close to shore. Not close enough for the ship’s crew to swim to shore, though. At last count, thirteen men died.”
That seemed to get his attention. “I see. And Connor has been showing increased levels of interest in the accident that seem…out of the ordinary?”
“No. I don’t think so. I think he’s just curious. He knows people died out there. It was awful.”
“Mmm. Yes, I’m sure it was. A terrible thing, by the sounds of it.”
Ahh, the soft, coddling tone of a therapist. He managed to sound deeply wounded by the tragedy, and completely insincere at the same time. I wanted to slam the laptop closed and cut him off, but that would have made next week’s session really awkward. For Connor’s sake, I managed not to snap at him.
“What about you, Ophelia? How did the event affect you? Mentally?”
Oh, absolutely not. I wasn’t going to be psychoanalyzed by Fielding. No way, no how. It was one thing being here because it was the right thing to do for a child in my care, and another altogether to be stripped down and assessed, to have him making notes about me in his little book.
I gave him my most steely, cold smile. “I’m fine, Doctor. Thank you for your concern.”
“You didn’t know any of the deceased men that were brought in from the wreckage?”
“No. I didn’t. The only person I knew was Sully, and—”
Fielding sat back in his seat, like I’d reached through the computer screen and slapped him across the face. “I’m sorry? Did you just say Sully?”
“I did. Is there a problem?” There definitely looked like there was a problem.
“Sully Fletcher? Ronan’s brother?”