Shadow, sensing Eden’s distress, emits a guttural whine, then begins to lick the tears from her cheeks. Rachel’s mouth forms an O of surprise, and she blinks rapidly. Sam leans forward in his seat as though he is going to go to his daughter, but something holds him back.
“Of course we care,” he says, although his tone lacks conviction. Eden shakes her head but says nothing.
“I know she’s been having some trouble,” Ruth says. “But what can we do? It’s not like she can just drop out of fifth grade.”
“I’m not suggesting we come up with a solution right now, Ruth. I just want you all to know what’s going on with each other. How about you? How are you doing?”
Ruth takes a breath, blows it out. “I’m all right. I mean, terrible, but all right. Busy, what with helping out.” Sam chuffs derisively, and Ruth glares at him. “I’m happy to do it, as you well know, but sometimes I don’t feel appreciated by my brother-in-law. My joints ache all the time, but I’m still there, cleaning and doing laundry and cooking. But Sam treats me like I’m overstepping.”
“I don’t,” he counters.
“You do and you know it.”
“Okay, Ruth,” I interject before tempers escalate. “Thank you for sharing.” Ruth crosses her arms over her chest and harrumphs. I ignore her and look at Sam. “Sam, how’s work?”
“Fine. We’ve made some changes internally, brought in some new people, a few junior architects. I have a new assistant.” He glances at Rachel, and I follow his gaze. Rachel’s posture stiffens, but she doesn’t look at him. “We have a couple of projects about to kick into high gear.”
“Sounds like things are moving along for you in that area.”
“I have to pay the bills, don’t I?”
“It’s a good thing, Sam, to have your work.”
He nods but says nothing. I turn to Rachel. She is ready for me, doesn’t even let me ask the question.
“My turn?” Her voice is quiet but intent. “How am I?” She laughs without humor. “I’m here, Dr. Meyers. That’s all I can tell you.”
I nod, knowing she will say no more.
“Yes, you’re here. You all are here. And that’s a good thing. I would like to suggest an exercise for you to do as a family over the course of the next week. I would like you to have a meal together. It doesn’t have to be dinner. Lunch or breakfast would be good, too. I’d like you to sit down around the table and share with each other. Ask each other questions, interact. I understand that doing this at home might present difficulty, as Jonah’s seat will be empty. At some point, you will have to deal with that, but for now, a good solution would be to go to a restaurant.”
Samuel releases a staccato cough. I turn to him.
“Yes, Sam?”
“A restaurant? Rachel barely leaves her room and you want her to go out to a restaurant?”
Rachel’s eyes are closed, her face a mask of pain.
“Would you consider it, Rachel?”
She shakes her head from side to side. Ruth takes her hand, but Rachel yanks it away. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“What about a family dinner in your home?” I ask gently.
Her eyes fly open. “Without him? You want me to sit at the table and stare at his empty chair. You just said we weren’t ready for that, and now you’re asking me to do it?”
“What about the counter?” Sam asks, and all eyes turn to him, including Rachel’s. He looks at me. “We have a counter in the kitchen, on the island. Rachel and I have talked about putting stools around it and eating there sometimes. I could get some stools at Target.”
Rachel’s gaze returns to her lap. “Would you consider that, Rachel?” I ask her.
Her voice is flat. “I’ll consider it.”
“That’s a start. Okay. We’re going to split off into our individual sessions, but before we do that, I want to let you know that I’m going to ask each of you to discuss the day of the accident.” The tension is immediate and thick. I feel it rather than see it, and so does Shadow. He lets loose a loud bark.
“I don’t want to talk about that day,” Eden says, her eyes wide and glassy.
“I understand.”
“No. You don’t understand.” Rachel’s go-to phrase.
I train my gaze on her and keep it steady. “We have had seven sessions in total, Rachel. Three group sessions, including this one, and four private sessions with each of you. We have yet to discuss the day of the accident in any detail whatsoever.”
“You know what happened,” Ruth says, her voice hoarse and wavering. “Why do we have to talk about it?”
“That day is why you’re here, Ruth. Not the events before or the events since. But that day. I’m certain that until we talk about it, until you each tell me what happened the morning Jonah died, I will be unable to help you move through and past your grief, and you will be unable to help yourselves. You’re here because you want to move forward. This will be painful. But I believe it’s an imperative step toward your goal.”
Silence fills the room, save for Shadow’s panting. Everyone is lost in his or her thoughts, his or her recollections. After a moment, Sam pushes himself to his feet. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
SAMUEL DAVENPORT
He paces. His usual.
“How are you doing, Sam?”
“I already told you.” He jerks his thumb toward the family room. “Out there.”
I smile and nod. “You told me about work. Not about you personally. How are things between you and Rachel? Have you moved back into the master bedroom yet?”
He shakes his head. “No. And I don’t think I will be any time soon.”
“Is that your decision?”
“Hell, no.”
“Do you and Rachel talk? Communicate at all? Is there any interaction between you two?”
“Barely. I mean, she’s coherent now that she’s off her meds. She’s coherent, but still withdrawn. She watches TV in the bedroom, all day, all night. Cries still, but tries to hide it. She rarely talks to me except out of necessity. She’s a little better with Eden, but not much.”
“Do you think all of this is a result of Jonah’s death?”
Sam is quiet for a moment. I know the answer before he gives it. “No.”
“Was it something that happened before he died?”
Sam looks at me, sighs. “The night before. Well, it was something I did the night before, but it didn’t come to light until the morning Jonah . . .”
Pity is useless in terms of therapeutic value. But the expression on Samuel Davenport’s face is so utterly devastated, so full of remorse, that I can’t pretend it doesn’t touch my heart.
“I was with another woman. My former assistant. We didn’t have sex. She kissed me. I didn’t kiss back, not really. By then, I knew it was a mistake. I’d taken her out to a job site, knowing it was going to be empty, that we’d be alone. I could tell you that I had no intention of fucking her. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Sam. You know the rules.” He nods. “And did you? Have every intention of having sex with your assistant?”
“I certainly allowed for the possibility. And honestly? Yes, probably deep down, I did. I’m sure you think I’m an awful person, but that’s okay. I am. I’m an idiot.”
“But you stopped. You didn’t have sex with her.”
“Yes, but just being there with her in the first place . . .”