He steeples his fingers, looks at me. "There's more, isn't there? Your entire appearance has changed."
I look into his eyes, this man who has tried to help me through these months. I realize that his skill in helping people like me is an amazing dance, a mix of chaos and precision. Knowing when to back away, when to feint, when to attack. Putting a mind back together. I'd rather hunt serial killers. "I'm not a victim anymore, Dr. Hillstead. I can't put it any more simply. It's not something that needs a lot of words around it. It's just true. The way it is." I lean back. "You had a lot to do with that, and I want to thank you. I might be dead otherwise."
Now he smiles. He shakes his head. "No, Smoky. I don't think you'd be dead. I'm glad that you feel I've helped you, but you're a born survivor. I don't think you would have killed yourself, if it came to that."
Maybe, maybe not, I think.
"So what now? Are you telling me you don't need to see me anymore?" It's a genuine question. I don't get the sense that he has already decided what the correct answer would be.
"No, I'm not saying that." I smile. "It's funny, if you had asked me a year ago about seeing a shrink, I would have made some snide comment and felt superior to the people who think they need one." I shake my head. "Not anymore. I still have things to work through. My friend dying . . ." I look at him. "You know I have her daughter with me?"
He nods, somber. "Callie filled me in on what happened to her. I'm glad you took her with you. She probably feels very alone right now."
"She doesn't talk. Just nods. Last night she screamed in her sleep."
He winces. No one sane enjoys the pain of a child. "I would guess that she's going to take a long time to heal, Smoky. She may not talk for years. The best thing to do for now is what you're already doing--
just be there for her. Don't try to approach what happened. She's not ready for that. I doubt she'll be ready for months."
"Really?" My voice sounds bleak. His eyes are kind.
"Yes. Look, what she needs right now is to know that she's safe and that you are there. That life is going to go on. Her trust in basic things for a child--her parents being there, the safety of a home--her trust in those fundamentals has been shattered. In a very personal, horrible way. It will take some time to rebuild that trust." He gives me a measured look. "You should know that."
I swallow once, nod.
"I would say, give it some time. Watch her, be there for her. I think you'll know when it might be right for her to start talking about it. When that time comes . . ." He seems to hesitate, but only for a moment. "When that time comes, let me know. I'd be happy to recommend a therapist for her."
"Thanks." Another thought occurs to me. "What about school?"
"You should wait. Her mental health is the primary issue." He grimaces. "It's hard to say what will happen on that front. You've heard the cliche--and it's true: Children are very resilient. She could bounce back and be ready for the complexity of social interaction that school provides, or"--he shrugs--"she might require homeschooling till she graduates. But I would say, at least for now, that that's the least of your worries. The simple truth is, get her better. If I can help, I will."
A certain relief comes over me. I have a path, and I didn't have to make the decision on my own. "Thanks. Really."
"What about you? How is taking her on affecting your state of mind?"
"Guilty. Happy. Guilty that I'm happy. Happy that I'm guilty."
"Why so much conflict?" His voice is quiet.
He's not saying that my being conflicted is wrong. He is saying, Tell me why.
I run a hand across my forehead. "I think 'why not' is probably a better question, Doc. I'm scared. I miss Alexa. I worry about fucking it up. Take your pick."
He leans forward, intent. He's got ahold of something, and he won't let it go. "Distill it down, Smoky. I understand there are many factors. Lots of reason for emotion. But break it down to something you can work with."
And just like that, it comes to me. "It's because she both is Alexa and isn't Alexa," I say.
And that is it, that simplicity. Bonnie is a second chance at Alexa, at having a daughter. But then, she isn't Alexa, because Alexa is dead. Not all truths are good, on the surface. Some truths bring pain. Some are just the starting point for an uphill climb, for a lot of tortured work. This truth makes me feel empty. A bell being rung in a windless field.
If I can work through this truth, I know things will change. But the work is huge and ugly and it's going to hurt me.
"Yeah," I manage to say. My voice sounds ragged. I sit up, push away the pain. "Okay. I don't have time for this right now." It comes out sounding harsh. Too bad. I need my anger these days. The hard parts of me.
Dr. Hillstead isn't offended. "I understand. Just make sure that you make time for it at some point."
I nod.
He smiles. "So, back to my original question: What are you going to do now?"
"Now," I say, and just like that, my voice has turned cold, my heart along with it, "I'm going back to work. And I'm going to find the man who killed Annie."
Dr. Hillstead looks at me for a long, long time. It's a gaze like a laser. He's gauging me, deciding if he agrees with my decision. What he decides is evident when he reaches over to his desk drawer and pulls out my Glock. It's still encased in the plastic evidence bag. "I thought you might be telling me something like that, so I had this ready for you." He cocks his head. "That's why you really came to see me, isn't it?"
"No," I say, smiling, "but it was a part of it." I grab the gun and put it into my purse. I stand up and shake Dr. Hillstead's hand. "I also wanted you to see me looking better."
He holds my hand a little longer than is needed. I feel the gentle spirit of this man; it comes out through his eyes. "I'll be here if you need to talk again. Anytime."
And, surprise--tears. I thought I was done with them. Maybe it's a good thing. I don't ever want to be unaffected by kindness, whether from strangers or from friends.
23
THIS IS THE building where I work, honey."
Bonnie has my hand, and she looks up at me, inquisitive.
"Yes, I'm going back to work. I have to tell my boss first."
She gives my hand a squeeze. She seems to approve. We ride first up to the NCAVC Coord offices. When we enter, only Callie and James are there.
"Hi." Callie's voice is tentative. James looks on without speaking.
"Callie, I need to go up and see AD Jones. Can you watch Bonnie for me? I won't be gone long."
Callie studies me for a moment. She looks down at Bonnie, smiling.
"How about it, honey-love? You okay to stay with me?"
Bonnie studies her, and Callie bears this with tender patience. Bonnie nods, letting go of my hand and going over to take Callie's.
"I'll be back in a little bit." I leave, knowing that I have left James and Callie wondering. That's okay. They'll know soon enough. I make my way up to AD Jones's office, which is on the top floor. Shirley, his receptionist, greets me with a professional smile. "Hi, Smoky."
"Hey, Shirley. Is he in?"
"Let me check." She picks up the phone and presses the intercom button. She knows he's in. What she meant was she would find out if he wanted to see me. I don't take it personally. I think Shirley would keep the President of the United States cooling his heels. "Sir? Agent Barrett is here. Uh-huh. Yes." She hangs up. "Go right in."
She snags my sleeve as I move toward the door. There's a slight smile on her face, and it's playful now. "Welcome back. Oh, don't look so surprised. Anyone with half a brain can tell that that's what's going on. You look good, Smoky. Real good."