“The f-word is permissible, Sam. No worries.”
“I can’t believe that I can’t give you a single example.”
“Tell me something else about him,” I say.
He thinks for a moment, then holds up his right hand. “He had really big hands, long fingers. Much bigger than other kids his age.” He drops his hand to his lap. “Rachel wanted him to take piano lessons. I thought sports, like football. I mean, I supported him taking piano lessons, but I really thought he’d be a great football player. Rachel hated the idea. She’d always remind me about football injuries and head trauma and that kind of thing.” He lowers his head again. “Now he’s never going to do either.”
“What else, Sam?”
Sam takes a deep breath, clears his throat, manages another smile. “He was curious about the world around him. He loved bugs. He didn’t have any fear of bugs, no matter what kind they were. He used to find them outside, or sometimes inside, and he’d go to his insect encyclopedia and look them up, and then he’d tell us all about them. He wouldn’t let Rachel kill a spider. He’d get a cup and trap it, then take it outside and release it. It used to drive her nuts.”
He is quiet for a moment, remembering. I let the silence stretch out until he gives me a questioning look.
“You said something earlier about wanting to move forward. What does that look like to you?”
“I don’t know. Forward. I want to move forward. I want to wake up in the morning and not have this be the first thing I think about. I want to get to the point where this whole terrible, horrible thing that happened isn’t the thing that defines me, to myself and to everyone around me.”
“That’s very well said, Sam.”
“But then I feel fucking guilty for even thinking that. Because it was my son, and I should think about it every waking minute of every day and it should define me because it’s my fau—” He stops himself, stands up suddenly, and crosses to the window.
I consider his words, and what he stopped himself from saying. That Jonah’s death was his fault. It’s common for parents to shoulder the burden of their child’s death, but I suspect there’s more to it. I want to dig deeper, but his posture tells me to tread carefully. I make a note to circle back another time.
“Were you home on the day of the accident, Sam?” He nods without turning around. “So you were there and saw Jonah, you watched as they took him in the ambulance. You were there at the hospital when they pronounced him.”
“Yes,” he says, almost angrily. “We were all there that day. Even Ruth. Why are you asking me this?”
“I know the memories of that day stand out for you right now. It’s important for you to allow yourself to think about Jonah as he was before, when he was alive and full of life. You need to keep those memories close; you need to celebrate the child who saved spiders and made keen observations and had a great sense of humor.”
“It hurts to remember him that way, knowing he’s gone.”
“But those things you cherish about him are the things that will pull you through your grief. Eventually. Have you and Rachel been able to talk about him, about the way he was before?”
He turns to face me. “Rachel and I haven’t been able to talk about anything.” Spots of color appear on his cheeks. “She’s been . . . she’s been in bad shape.”
“Do you feel that Rachel’s situation is keeping your family from moving forward?”
He lets out a sigh. “Yes.”
“Are you angry with her?” He doesn’t answer. “Remember, Sam. Safe place. You can say anything. There’s no judgment.”
“Bullshit. I’m sorry, Doctor, but there’s always judgment. You can pretend to be unbiased, but if I say that I’m angry with my wife for having a nervous breakdown after her son got killed, then you’re going to think I’m a bastard.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Sam—it only matters what you think. And by the way, I don’t think you’re a bastard. I think you have every right to be angry.”
He looks at me with an almost hopeful expression, then shakes his head ruefully. “I guess I just never expected this from her. I never expected her to fall apart. Rachel was the coolest girl I’d ever met. So enthusiastic about life. That’s where Jonah got it from. She was amazing. And now she won’t even get out of bed. And Eden, my God, poor Eden. It’s like Rachel’s forgotten she has another child. And then she goes and does what she did. I just . . . It’s just . . . I know things like this break up marriages. And she and I have things we need to work out. But we can’t do that unless she decides she wants to start living again.” He rubs his forehead with his hand. “Please help her. Please help all of us.”
He looks down at his feet and chuckles with little humor. “Listen to me. You’d think I really believed in this shit.”
“Maybe someday soon, you will,” I tell him.
“Maybe,” he says without enthusiasm. “Maybe I will.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
RUTH GLASS
“I’ve already been in therapy,” she says right off the bat. She sits on the couch, perched on the edge, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. “I know how this works.”
I smile. “That’s good.”
She offers the answer before I ask the question. “I had a difficult time after my husband left me.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“He left me for another woman,” she says. “Actually, he left me because I couldn’t give him children. He has three now. Children.”
“That must have been very difficult for you.”
She shrugs. “Not much I could do about it. Therapy helped. Helped me to realize it wasn’t my fault. That I’m not defective.”
“Of course you’re not,” I assure her, although I think she still bears the blame. She tells herself it’s not her fault, repeats what her therapist tells her—that she’s not defective—but she doesn’t really believe it.
“I haven’t seen Dr. Moore since Jonah, well, you know . . . I’ll probably go back to him at some point. But I felt it was important to be a part of this.” She gestures to me, to the room around her. “I’m the one who got them to come.” I smile noncommittally. She continues. “Anyway, I’m not here to talk about myself. I’m extremely worried about my sister.” She glances at the door. “Do you think they’re okay in there?”
“I asked my assistant to do some paperwork in the family room. She’ll keep an eye out.”
Ruth nods. “Thank you. I’m sure she’s fine. Eden was watching Cupcake Wars. She loves that show. We watch it together sometimes. Or Dancing with the Stars. That’s my favorite. During the commercials, Eden will get up and start dancing around the room.” She sniffs. “Well, she used to, anyway.”
“You love your niece very much,” I say, and Ruth smiles.
“I love them both. Eden and Jonah. I’m like their second mother. I mean, not that I’m even comparable to how Rachel is as a mom. Or how she was, before.”