Chương 6
The receptionist asked whether the insurance information had changed.
“No,” Julian said.
Clara looked at him.
He realized he was not certain.
Dr. Patel examined Clara privately for part of the appointment. Julian waited in a small consultation room and read the same poster about childhood sleep four times. Mara sat across from him with her purse on her lap.
“You sent the messages to Robert?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What do they say?”
“You should read them when Miss Clara is not nearby.”
“Tell me one.”
Mara looked toward the exam-room door.
“One says, ‘Do not give her anything after four. If she refuses dinner, she can wait until breakfast.’”
Julian stared at the tiled floor.
“Did you follow that?”
“Not always.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I kept crackers in the laundry cupboard.”
His head lifted.
“Clara knew?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since November.”
“You hid food in my house for my daughter.”
Mara’s expression hardened for the first time. “I gave food to a hungry child.”
The distinction struck cleanly.
Julian leaned back in the plastic chair.
“You’re right,” he said.
Mara looked away. Her anger did not disappear simply because he accepted it.
Dr. Patel returned after twenty minutes. Clara walked beside her, holding a paper cup decorated with cartoon fish.
“There are no signs of acute physical injury,” the doctor said. “That does not answer the larger question.”
Julian nodded.
Dr. Patel sat and addressed Clara. “Would you like Mara to wait outside while I talk to your dad?”
Clara shook her head.
“Would you like to wait outside with Mara?”
Another shake.
“All right.”
The doctor looked at Julian. “Clara reports that Vanessa did not hit her.”
His shoulders loosened before he could stop them.
Dr. Patel saw.
“Do not let relief make the rest smaller,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“You already did for half a second.”
Clara sipped water from the paper cup.
Dr. Patel continued. “She describes food being withheld as punishment on several occasions. She describes being required to sit alone during meals. She reports threats involving boarding school and being sent to live with relatives. She also says Vanessa told her that you approved these consequences.”
Julian felt Clara watching him.
“I did not.”
“I told her that,” Dr. Patel said. “She needs to hear it from you consistently, but she does not need to be questioned repeatedly today.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
He almost said yes. Instead, he looked at Clara.
“I’m trying to.”
Dr. Patel gave him a list of child therapists, then crossed out the first two names and wrote another at the bottom. “This one has an opening because I called before coming back into the room. The appointment is tomorrow.”
“I can get someone today.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because finding the most expensive person with the most impressive office by noon will make you feel effective. It may not make Clara feel safe.”
Clara turned the paper cup in her hands.
Dr. Patel spoke to her. “The therapist’s name is Dr. Reeves. She has an old golden retriever who sleeps in the hallway.”
“Does he have a bowl?” Clara asked.
The room went still.
“Yes,” Dr. Patel said after a moment. “A green one. It has his name on it.”
Clara’s fingers tightened around the cup.
“You don’t have to go near it,” the doctor added.
Clara nodded.
On the drive home, Julian asked whether she wanted breakfast.
“I had crackers.”
“When?”
“Before we left.”
Mara looked out the window.
Julian took a breath. “Would you like something else?”
Clara shrugged.
“That can mean yes or no.”
“I don’t know what’s allowed.”
The words reached the front seat.
The driver’s hands shifted on the steering wheel.
Julian turned toward Clara. “Everything normal is allowed.”
“What’s normal?”
He did not have an answer ready.
Mara did. “Toast, eggs, oatmeal, fruit, pancakes, yogurt, cereal.”
“Not all at once,” Clara said.
“No,” Mara replied. “The kitchen would complain.”
Clara glanced at her.
“Kitchens don’t talk.”
“This one has opinions.”
A shadow of amusement moved across Clara’s face.
They stopped at a diner two miles from the house because going directly back to the kitchen felt impossible. Julian had not eaten there since Amelia was alive. The booths were red vinyl, and the menus smelled faintly of bleach. A man at the counter stirred sugar into coffee while reading sports scores on his phone.
Clara ordered pancakes after asking the waitress twice whether they came with whipped cream. When the plate arrived, she looked at Julian before touching her fork.
“You don’t need permission,” he said.
She waited.
Julian reached for the syrup and poured too much over his own eggs.
Clara stared.
“That was intentional,” he said.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“No.”
Mara covered a smile with her coffee cup.
Clara took one bite of pancake. Then another. Halfway through, she wrapped the remaining portion in a napkin and slipped it into her cardigan pocket.
Julian saw.
So did Mara.
Neither mentioned it.
At home, Robert waited in the library with Julian’s sister on a video call. Nora Ashford’s face filled the screen from her kitchen in San Francisco. She had pulled her dark hair into an uneven knot and wore an old university sweatshirt. A cereal bowl sat beside her laptop.
“Let me see Clara,” she said immediately.
“No.”
Nora’s expression sharpened. “I want to know she’s all right.”
“She doesn’t need to perform being all right for anyone.”
Robert looked down at his notes.
Nora stared at Julian through the screen. “That sounded rehearsed.”
“Dr. Patel said something similar.”
“Good. Listen to her.”
Julian sat across from the laptop.
“What did you hear?”
“That you kicked a bowl across the kitchen and threw Vanessa’s ring in the trash.”
“Who told you?”
“Three people, which means thirty people know.”
“Did they tell you what was in the bowl?”
“One did.”
“Who?”
“I’m not turning this into a witness hunt.”
May you like
“I need to know who recorded it.”
Nora leaned closer to the camera. “Someone recorded it?”
