And yet, even as I rejected the material presented to me, I admit there was an infinitesimal part of me—perhaps the agnostic in me who just doesn’t know—that was persuaded to allow for the possibility that some things are beyond our understanding.
Rachel Davenport claims she has seen Jonah. She grows more coherent and less medicated with each session, yet she has never rescinded her statements. In fact, she says he’s come to her again. I have no doubt that she believes she sees him. And the mind is capable of creating powerful illusions.
Cleopatra hasn’t moved. She remains where she is and watches me closely. I pick up the photograph of Jonah, and she mewls softly. A shiver runs down my spine, and my arms are suddenly covered with gooseflesh.
I look at the photo and think about the vivid realness of Jonah’s presence in my dreams—Jonah, a boy I have never met. Cleopatra swishes her tail rapidly.
I set the photograph back down, and she mewls again. I stare at her unblinking green eyes. Is it possible?
Cleopatra yawns, then jumps up on the bed. I laugh out loud and shake my head with self-mocking. It must be the pot. I don’t believe in ghosts. My dreams are just dreams. And I can’t let all this worthless mental exercise cloud my prime objective—to help the Davenports move on.
FIFTY-SEVEN
THE FAMILY
On the first of our biweekly sessions, I meet with the family as a group before splitting off and speaking to them individually. Not much has been accomplished during this time—each family member seems reluctant to share anything of significance—but I feel it is necessary, since my ultimate goal is to restore them to a whole unit.
This morning, they are all in their usual places. Ruth and Rachel sit side by side on one couch, Sam by himself on the other. Eden occupies the easy chair next to mine and Shadow sits at attention in front of her. She has brought the dog to each of our sessions, and he has a calming, comforting effect on her. I can tell he is a good dog, gentle and loving, with warm brown eyes that take in everything. Sam and Rachel are indifferent to his presence, but Ruth’s disdain for the canine is evident.
Ruth holds a mug in her hand, as per usual. She makes green tea as soon as she walks in and leaves the tea bag in the water for the duration of the session. By the time her individual slot is finished, the remaining tea is the color of moss. Sam brings his own travel mug filled with coffee and sips it until it’s empty, then rinses the mug in the sink. Rachel sits with her hands in her lap, often worrying them or picking at her cuticles. Ruth always offers to make her tea or a pot of coffee or to bring her juice or water, and Rachel always declines. When Eden arrives, she scurries to the fridge and pulls out a juice box, drinks it down immediately, then tosses the empty in the trash and cements herself to Shadow.
Dark crescents bruise the skin below Sam’s eyes. The line between his brows is as deep as a trench. He appears to have lost weight since our initial meeting, and his stoop is more pronounced than it was. Ruth’s hair is pulled into a loose, disheveled knot with at least six inches of gray winding down from her scalp. She wears an oversize knit sweater, old and peppered with holes. Her lips are pinched with tension. Rachel stares at her hands. Her color is better; gone is the sickly pallor she had when we met, although her cheeks are far from rosy. The vacant look is gone from her eyes. But now, she looks completely present and unmistakably haunted. Eden seems tired, world-weary beyond her years. She pets Shadow slowly, rhythmically, staring past him with an ambivalent expression on her face.
“As I’m sure you all know, we are beginning our third week together,” I say. “I’m glad you’re here and that you have decided as a family to move ahead with our sessions.”
“Did we have a choice?” Rachel asks, and when I look at her, I’m surprised to see a sardonic grin touching the corners of her mouth. She doesn’t generally speak much, and never with humor. Perhaps a bit of the old Rachel has begun to sneak through. I take it as a good sign despite the fact that her grin instantly vanishes and is replaced by a frown.
“You always have a choice, even when you think you don’t.”
Rachel makes a noise of dissent, then looks away.
“I like to meet with all of you together, because you are a family unit and I believe it’s important to respect that unit, to preserve and protect it. I know that your unit has suffered a catastrophic blow, one that you have each felt individually, and that your family will never look or feel the same again. But my hope is that at some point, your family unit, although different now, will feel good and whole to you again.
Rachel turns toward Sam just as he looks at her. A meaningful look passes between them. Rachel’s eyes shimmer, and she is the first to look away. Sam gazes at his shoes.
“As a family, it’s also important that each member knows what’s going on with the others. Sam, you mentioned that before the accident, you had family dinners, that often Ruth was present, and that you all talked about your days and asked questions and shared information. I know you haven’t resumed this tradition, which is another reason I like to meet with all of you. So you can share with one another.”
I pause and look around the room. The adults studiously avoid eye contact with me. Eden looks right at me.
“How’s school, Eden?” I ask her, and her shoulders tense.
“Okay.”
“Is it?”
She glances furtively at her parents, then shrugs. Eden told me last week that she hates school, that it wasn’t getting easier, that the other kids were still treating her like an outcast. I won’t betray her confidence and share that information with her parents or aunt, but I want them to know what she’s going through.
“There’s nothing you’d like to talk about?”
Her lower lip trembles. “Not now. Maybe later. With you.”
“What is it, Eden?” Sam asks. “You can tell us.”
“I don’t want to talk to you about it, Daddy. You’re super upset all the time anyway, and I don’t want to make it worse.”
Sam’s cheeks flame, then he disguises his shame with anger. “I want you to tell me what’s going on in school, Eden. Now.”
“Sam,” Ruth says, her voice stern. “Leave her alone.”
“Stay out of it, Ruth,” Sam warns.
“Don’t talk to my sister that way,” Rachel says.
Eden sits up straight in her chair, the cords in her neck straining. “Don’t fight!” The grown-ups go silent. “School sucks, okay? It totally sucks and I hate it. The kids all think I’m a freak. None of my friends talk to me anymore—no one talks to me ’cept Corwin Kwe and Aimee Joyce—and the teachers hardly even look at me, and when they do, they have this really sad look on their faces, like, ‘Oh, poor little Eden, what a tragedy.’ It’s totally awful, and you guys don’t care because you don’t care about anything anymore.”