"Stevie," said Step. "Stephen, my son, you are the brightest star in the darkest night, do you think we'd ever ever let you go? You belong with us until you want to go, and I hope that doesn't happen until you're old enough to go on a mission and then get married. Years from now. We will never send you away, no matter what."
But you mustn't say that, thought DeAnne. What if he needed to be hospitalized? What then? That would make a liar out of you, Step. Unless you really mean it, and even if he needed treatment like that you wouldn't let him go. Some love that would be!
Then she thought, I wouldn't let him go, either.
"Stevie, if you tell us you won't go to this doctor," said Step, "then we won't make you go. It's up to you.
We don't think you're crazy or anything like that, but we think you're having a hard time and we think that maybe Dr. Weeks can help make things better for you, help you find a way to solve things for yourself. That's all. We'd really like you to try, but if you say no, we won't make you go.„
How can you say that! cried DeAnne silently. Leaving it up to him-that's like asking a little kid whether he wants his tetanus booster! What if Stevie says no, what then, Step, what about your promise to me that you'd take him?
"I don't want to," said Stevie.
And there it was. Thanks a lot, Step!
But Stevie hadn't reached his decision yet. "Can she really help people solve hard problems?" he asked.
"Sometimes," said Step.
"Then I'll go," said Stevie. He didn't seem angry anymore.
"Thanks, Door Man," said Step. "And if it doesn't work out, or if you don't like her, then we won't make you go to her anymore, OK? This isn't like school, there isn't a law that says you have to go. Got it?"
Stevie nodded. Then he got up and left the room. DeAnne wanted to ho ld him, comfort him. But if he had wanted her right then, he could have stayed. He wanted to be alone, and that was his right.
Step sat back down beside her on the couch and put his arm around her. "It went pretty well, I'd say" he said.
She said nothing.
"I know what you're thinking," said Step, "and it isn't true."
"What am I thinking, smart guy?" she asked.
"You're thinking that you're the worst wife and mother who ever lived on the face of the earth and I'm telling you, that's just the pregnancy talking."
"No it's not," she said.
"I know you hate it when I point out things like this, but you've always spent the last couple of months of every pregnancy in the slough of despond. The worst mother, the baby would be luckier if it was stillborn-"
"I've never said such an awful thing!"
"You said it about Stevie and you said it about Betsy."
"So I'm just a machine that hormones use to accomplish their evil purposes in the world," she said.
"I'm not saying that the feelings you have aren't real, Fish Lady," said Step. "I'm just saying that you can't believe the things they make you think. You're a wonderful wife, and I wouldn't have any other."
"Oh yeah? Well what have I done this morning that was so wonderful?" asked DeAnne.
"For one thing, you've kept my fourth child alive for another day, and that's a fulltime job all by itself. And you didn't tell me to stop when you thought I was letting Stevie decide not to go to the shrink."
"What, have you suddenly decided that you're a mind reader?"
"You sat on the edge of that couch like it was all you could do to keep from leaping at me and stapling my mouth shut," said Step. "I don't have to read minds. But you didn't do it. You trusted me, and it worked out. I'd say that gives you the hero-of-the-morning medal."
"No it doesn't," said DeAnne. "Not after the way I talked to you in the kitchen."
"Nothing that anybody says on the same day they find five hundred thousand June bugs staring at them through the kitchen windows is allowed to count against them," said Step. "Now give me a kiss before I go to work because my ride is outside."
She kissed him. Then: "You didn't get any breakfast," she said.
"Why do I need breakfast," he answered, "in a world with candy machines?"
Then he got up and left.
Taking Stevie to Dr. Weeks was almost an anticlimax. She piled the kids into the car. Stevie was silent on the way to the doctor's office, but then he was usually silent, and there was no waiting when they got there, the receptionist just greeted Stevie with a smile and told him that his mother and brother and sister would be waiting for him when he got through and why not come in right now and meet Dr. Weeks? Stevie didn't even give DeAnne a backward glance. He just let the receptionist usher him into the office like a soldier letting the sergeant herd him into battle.
This has to work, thought DeAnne as she told stories to Robbie and Betsy in the waiting room. Please, Lord, let Dr. Weeks find a way for us to help get Stevie back to his old self.
Then the hour was up and Stevie came out. DeAnne raised a questioning eyebrow to Dr. Weeks, but the psychiatrist was not going to confide anything in front of Stevie. She just smiled and shook DeAnne's hand and then graciously shook hands with Robbie, who asked if he could come in and talk to her sometime, too, because he was really good at talking to people and he liked to do it a lot more than Stevie did. Dr. Weeks laughed and said, "Maybe someday you will, Robbie, but not for now."
On the way home, DeAnne wanted to ask Stevie about what happened, but she resisted the impulse. He couldn't be free to speak openly to Dr. Weeks if he knew he would face an inquisition as soon as he got into the car. So she confined her questions to one: "How was it?"
"Fine," he said.
The next morning, alone in the kitchen at 8:30, she called Dr. Weeks at home, hoping to catch her before she went to work. A man answered; it must be Lee, DeAnn realized. "May I speak to Dr. Weeks?" she asked.
"Who may I say is calling?" asked Lee.
"This is DeAnne Fletcher."
A pause.
"What's this about?" asked Lee.
"Is she not at home?" asked DeAnne.
She wasn't about to confide in this young man, not after his display at the baptism.
"I need to tell her what it's about," said Lee.
"Then I'll call back later."
As she spoke, however, there was a click on the line. "Hello?" It was Dr. Weeks.
"Dr. Weeks, I'm so sorry to bother you at home, but I wanted to speak to you before you had other patients in the office and while the kids were still asleep."
"That's fine," said Dr. Weeks. "And who is this?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought Lee had told you. This is DeAnne Fletcher, Stevie's mother."
"Lee was on the phone with you?"
"Yes, he answered the-"
"Lee, hang up the extension right now."
A long silence.
"He must already have hung up," said DeAnne.
"Lee, hang it up now. This conversation will not continue until you hang up the phone."
Another silence. And then a click.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher. Sometimes it's like living with an oversized four- year-old."
"Yes, I understand," said DeAnne. But she did not actually understand.
"You wanted ...?"
"I just-I needed to know if you- if there's anything I can help you with. Information or whatever. After your first visit with Stevie yesterday."
"Not really," said Dr. Weeks. "You already gave me the basic information before. Oh, I would appreciate it if you would make a list of all the names of his imaginary friends and mail it to me at the office."
"I could tell you all the names right now," said DeAnne.
"At the office, please," said Dr. Weeks. "That is how I maintain things in the strictest confidence."
"All right," said DeAnne. "Thanks. And I won't bother you at home again, I promise."
"That would be best," said Dr. Weeks. "Good morning." Then she hung up.
In the moment before DeAnne hung up, she heard a second click.