taking me for granted, I pushed right up against the mattress and
taught Cindy a drawing game-the two of us alternating turning squiggles
into objects. Child analyst’s technique for building rapport and
getting to the unconscious in a nonthreatening way.
Using Cindy as a go-between even as I studied her.
investigated her.
I drew an angular squiggle and handed the paper to her. She and Cassie
were snuggled together; they could have been a poster for National
Bonding Week. Cindy turned the squiggle into a house and handed the
paper back, saying, “Not very good, but.
Cassie’s lips turned up a bit. Then down. Her eyes closed and she
pressed her face against Cindy’s blouse. Grabbed a breast and
squeezed.
Cindy lowered the hand gently and placed it in her own lap. I saw the
puncture marks on Cassie’s flesh. Black dots, like snakebites.
Cindy made easy, cooing sounds. Cassie nuzzled, shifted position, and
gathered a handful of blouse.
Sleepy again. Cindy kissed the top of her head.
I’d been trained to heal, trained to believe in the open, honest
therapeutic relationship. Being in this room made me feel like a con
man.
Then I thought about raging fevers and bloody diarrhea and convulsions
so intense they rattled the crib, remembered a little baby boy who’d
died in his crib, and my self-doubts turned stale and crumbled.
By I 0:45, I’d been there for more than half an hour, mostly watching
Cassie lie in Cindy’s arms. But she seemed more comfortable with me,
even smiling once or twice. Time to pack up and declare success.
I stood. Cassie started to fuss.
Cindy sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and said, “Uh-oh.”
Gently, she rolled Cassie onto her back and changed the little girl’s
diaper.
Powdered, patted, and reclothed, Cassie remained restless.
Pointing at the floor, she said, Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”
“Out?”
Emphatic nod. A’he”‘ She got on her knees and tried to stand on the
bed, wobbling on the soft mattress. Cindy held her under the arms,
lifted her off, and placed her on the floor. “You want to walk
around?
Let’s get some slippers on you.” The two of them walked to the
closet.
Cassie’s pajama bottoms were too long for her and they dragged on the
floor.
Standing, she looked even tinier. But sturdy. Good steady walk, good
sense of balance.
I picked up my briefcase.
Kneeling, Cindy put fuzzy pink bunny slippers on Cassie’s feet.
These rodents had clear plastic eyes with movable black beads for
pupils and each time Cassie moved, her feet hissed. I, She tried to
jump, barely got off the ground.
Cindy said, “Good jump, Cass.”
The door opened and a man came In.
He looked to be in his late thirties. Six two or so, and very slim.
His hair was dark-brown, wavy, and thick, combed straight back and left
long enough to curl over his collar. He had a full face at odds with
the lanky physique, rounded further by a bushy, cropped brown beard
flecked with gray. His features were soft and pleasant. A gold stud
pierced his left earlobe. The clothes he had on were loose-fitting but
well cut: blue-and-white striped button-down shirt under a gray tweed
sport coat; baggy, pleated black cords; black running shoes that looked
brand-new.
A coffee cup was in one hand.
“It’s Daddy!” said Cindy.
Cassie held out her arms.
The tall man put the cup down and said, “Morning, ladies.”
Kissing Cindy’s cheek, he scooped Cassie up.
The little girl squealed as he held her aloft. He brought her close
with one swift, descending motion.
“How’s my baby?” he said, pressing her to his beard. His nose
disappeared under her hair and she giggled. “How’s the little grand’
-me of the diaper set?”
Cassie put both of her hands in his hair and pulled.
“Ouch!”
Giggle. Yank.
“Double ouch!”
Baby-guffaw.
“Ouch-a-roo!”
They played a bit longer; then he pulled away and said, “Whew.
You’re too rough for me, Spike!”
Cindy said, “This is Dr. Delaware, honey. The psychologist?
Doctor, Cassie’s dad.”
The man turned toward me, holding on to Cassie, and extended his free
hand. “Chip Jones. Good to meet you.”
His grip was strong. Cassie was still yanking on his hair, messing