Dr. Louise Kelsey’s office is blessed with an extra-large window, and cursed with having that window located directly above the parking lot and an industrial-size dumpster, which is usually full to overflowing thanks to the Asian take-out place and the convenience store that are the other tenants of the small building. Kelsey makes the best of the situation by hanging vertical blinds across the bottom half of the window. The wheat-colored slats hide the ugly but let the sunshine in. You can see a bit of sky and the top branches of the large maple tree behind the building. It’s pretty, especially in the autumn.
I did the math a few months back, and I’ve spent nearly a thousand hours in this room. With the exception of a horrible seven months when the system put me with a different therapist, I’ve been in this room for two hours pretty much every week since I was five.
This office is the one place in my life that is a constant. I’m sure the shabby-chic look is due to the vow of semipoverty that therapists take when they agree to work with wards of the state, but I like knowing this room will always be the same. The furniture is worn, comfortable, and probably older than I am—she hasn’t changed the décor since my first visit, aside from a few new pillows on the couch. The same oversized mirror still covers most of the wall next to the door, making the office look larger than it really is. Aside from the occasional computer upgrade, the only major change has been her family photos—the frames are the same, but the photographs of her three grandchildren have morphed from gap-toothed grins through acne and braces and finally to caps and gowns. And she added a white-noise machine a few years back to help mask the noises of the city with the soothing sounds of a waterfall.
Kelsey is also a constant. There are a few more lines around her gray eyes, and there might be an extra pound or two around the middle of her petite frame, but her hair is still closely cropped, white with a few streaks of graphite. The same rimless eyeglasses rest atop her head, ready to be pulled down if she needs to read from a file. The same large yellow coffee mug emblazoned with a Peanuts cartoon reading The Doctor is IN holds pencils and pens beside her computer. The same red mug holds her coffee, and it’s always within easy reach of her hands.
She makes excellent coffee. I requested a cup, without cream or sugar, the first time I sat across from her desk. Kelsey didn’t tell me that a five-year-old shouldn’t be drinking coffee or insist on diluting it until it was mostly milk, like my previous foster mother had. She simply poured it into one of the disposable cups, noting only that I should be careful, since it was hot. The next Christmas, she gave me my very own mug, dark blue to match my eyes, with my name printed on the front in white script.
I open the cabinet just above the coffeemaker, pull my mug from its usual spot on the shelf, and fill it before sitting on the couch. Usually, I’d take the chair, but today it is already occupied.
Porter has his own coffee, in one of the disposable cups, and has already finished most of it. I’m late, and they both look at me reproachfully.
“Sorry,” I say. “Fridays are always busy, and the girl who was supposed to relieve me at the deli arrived late, so I missed the first bus.” It’s true, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I rushed getting here. It’s taken nearly a week for Molly to convince me that this appointment is something that even approaches a good idea. There are many places I would rather be than in the same room with a man who, despite his repeated denials, I still suspect of paying someone to aim that van at me and Deo.
Dr. Kelsey also had reservations about the meeting, and she doesn’t look any more pleased with the situation now that she’s been alone with him for ten minutes. I couldn’t care less about inconveniencing Porter, but I feel bad for keeping Kelsey waiting and give her an apologetic half smile.
Kelsey rolls her eyes slightly but smiles back, and I feel more at ease. “Okay,” she says. “I’m glad you’re finally here, Anna. As I’ve told Mr. Porter, I’m not comfortable talking about your case unless you are present.”
Porter nods at her and then looks at me, his eyes wary. “And, as I’ve told both of you, I’m not convinced that your doctor will be entirely honest and open with you sittin’ here.”
Kelsey and I discussed this, at length, at my previous appointment, and we’ve already come to an arrangement. I debate whether to toy with Porter for a few minutes, to show him that I don’t have to put up with his demands, but I hate to waste more of Kelsey’s time.