“And that’s when you moved?” I said.
“Maxine’s roommate moved in with her boyfriend, and so I went over there with Maxine. I felt bad leaving her. But she was so... sometimes she would have sex in the other bed... in the same room.”
“Ick,” I said.
“It’s not goodie-goodie to not like that,” Polly said.
“No,” I said. “It’s human.”
17
“So when she reached seventh grade... which would be, what, twelve, thirteen... Everything went to hell.” Dr. Silverman nodded.
“And I can’t find out if something happened.”
“You think something happened?”
“Everyone says she changed.”
“Perhaps puberty happened,” Dr. Silverman said.
“I thought of that,” I said. “But I went through puberty without becoming a drugged-out, promiscuous whack job. Didn’t you?”
“Maybe she had more compelling reasons to become a whack job,” Dr. Silverman said. “Or more thoroughly a whack job.”
“So she might have had problems which didn’t become evident until her chemistry changed.”
“Maybe,” Dr. Silverman said.
“So, if puberty is a process of sexual maturation,” I said, “are the problems associated with it sexual?”
“Often,” Dr. Silverman said.
“Boy,” I said. “It is hard to get a straight answer from you.”
“Getting answers from me is not our goal here,” Dr. Silverman said.
“Oh, shit,” I said.
Dr. Silverman raised her eyebrows and tilted her head a little.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I mean, I know that it’s about me, not about you. You’re just so goddamned shrinky.”
“I am, after all, a shrink.”
“I know, I know. There’s just this know-it-all, goddamned, I’m-the-grownup-you’re-the-child quality to it all.”
Dr. Silverman leaned back in her chair. She was wearing a dark pinstripe suit today. Her nails gleamed with clear polish. She wore makeup. Which was good. I was uneasy about women who didn’t wear makeup. But it was very understated makeup. Nothing flamboyant — don’t want to jar the patient. With her hands clasped in her lap, she rubbed the tips of her thumbs together gently. I had already learned that that meant she had encountered something interesting.
“What?” I said.
“Do you really think I treat you like a child?” she said.
“Oh, hell, I don’t know. I was just mad.”
“At what?”
I stared at her. She seemed almost eager as she leaned forward in her chair, though I was pretty certain she wasn’t. Without any real sign that I could pick up, she seemed to be cheering me on. She was like a herd dog: a lean here, an eyebrow there. Rub the thumbs. And all of a sudden, there it was. I was where I’m sure she wanted me to be.
“It’s so corny I’m embarrassed,” I said.
Eyebrow. Head tilt.
“I’m mad at my mother,” I said.
Dr. Silverman smiled. For her, that was like jumping in the air and clicking her heels.
“Let’s talk about that a little,” she said.
“Does this mean you’re not going to solve the Sarah Markham case for me?” I said.
She smiled. “I’m afraid it does,” she said.
18
I had coffee and a cinnamon bun with George Markham in a Starbucks on Main Street in Andover.
“Have you been able to persuade my daughter to stop this madness?” George said.
“I’ve not tried,” I said.
“Well, you should,” George said. “You’re too good-looking to waste your time chasing phantoms.”
How charming.
“Tell me about your radio career,” I said.
He smiled modestly and shrugged.
“It was nothing much,” he said. “I just got some lucky breaks along the way.”
“Tell me about it. I’m fascinated with radio,” I said.
“I was on Armed Forces Radio in ’Nam,” he said, “and managed, when I got out, to segue right into a job in New York. WNEW. I worked with William B. Williams there, if you know who he is.”
“A legend,” I said.
“In Chicago, I got to work with Milt Rosenberg at WGN.”
“Wow,” I said. “Mostly announcing?”
He nodded.
“And a lot of producing,” he said. “I did some on-air fill-in for the hosts when they were on vacation or out with a cold or something. Later I went on to do network. Not as glamorous maybe as it once was in, you know, the heyday. But it paid good, and there was much less local programming politics, you know?”
“Oh,” I said, “I can imagine. Do you miss radio?”
“No,” he said, “not really. It was fun. But I’m happy now, managing my affairs, spending time with my wife. That was then. This is now.”
“I was in Quad Cities last week,” I said.
George looked at me blankly.
“They remember you fondly out there,” I said.
“Quad Cities?”
“Yep. Talked with Millie at WMOL. Quad City Sound.”
“Millie?”
“Yep. Said you were very handy with the women.”
“I’ve never been to Quad Cities in my life.”
“You were there in the early eighties. Same time Lolly Drake was starting out.”
“Lolly Drake?” he said. “The syndicated talk-show broad?”
He was still sort of round-shouldered. But away from his wife, the furtive-nerd persona faded fast.
“Yes,” I said. “They still talk about her out there.”
“I don’t know anything about it or her or out there,” George said. “I simply do not know what you are talking about.”
I took his picture out of my purse and held it up.
“Is this you?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”
“That’s what Millie said.” I smiled at him. “She said you hadn’t gotten better looking in twenty years.”
“The hell with her,” George said, looking at the picture.
Then he looked at me.
“The hell with you too,” he said, and stood and walked out of Starbucks.
I thought when I had him cornered, that he was supposed to crack under my relentless pressure and confess. Instead he told me to go to hell, and stuck me with the check.
Maybe I should try rubbing my thumbs together.
19
In the fall, on clear days, the morning sun shined straight through my skylight until eleven. I usually painted then, to take advantage of it. While I did this, Rosie normally lay on the bed among the decorative pillows, on her back, with her head turned so that when she felt like it, she could open one black, beady eye and check on me. She was doing it this morning while I was layering gray shadows among the columns on the upper stories of my South Station front.
My doorbell rang. Rosie jumped from the bed and charged to the door and stood, barking. As often as I’d told her, she never got that the person ringing the doorbell was several flights down and outside the building. It was one of her few confusions. I walked over and pushed the intercom button.
“Hi,” I said.
“Sunny?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Sarah. I need to come in.”
“Fourth floor,” I said. “Elevator’s right in front of you. Wait for me to buzz.”
I went to my door and watched through the peephole until I saw her get off the elevator. She was alone. I opened my door and she came in. Rosie stopped barking and was thrilled to see her the minute the door was opened. She did a couple happy spins. Sarah pushed past Rosie without paying any attention to her. Rosie looked slightly put out and went and sat by the kitchen counter in case anyone wanted to give her a cracker. Sarah’s left eye was swollen nearly shut, and she had a darkening bruise on her left jawline.