“Does she look depressed to you?”
“She’s not the kind of kid to bleed all over, but I’d say yes. She has gained some weight. Nothing like Joanne, maybe ten pounds. But she’s not a tall girl. I know how my girls watch themselves, at that age they all do. That and she seems quieter, preoccupied.”
“Are she and Becky friends?”
“They used to be really close,” she said. “But Becky doesn’t know anything, you know kids. We’re all very fond of Stacy, Alex. Please help her.”
The morning after that conversation, a secretary from RTD Properties called and asked me to hold for Mr. Doss. Pop music played for several minutes and then Richard came on sounding alert, almost cheerful, not at all like a man whose wife had killed herself three months before. Then again, as Judy had said, he’d had time to prepare.
No hint of the resistance Judy had described. He sounded eager, as if readying himself for a new challenge. Then he began laying out the rules.
No more of that “Mr. Doss,” Doctor. Call me Richard. Services to be billed monthly through my corporate office, here’s the number. Stacy can’t afford to miss school, so late-afternoon appointments are essential. I expect some definition of the process you foresee, specifically what kind of treatment is called for and how long it will take. Once you’ve completed your preliminary findings, please submit them to me in writing and we’ll take it from there.
“How old is Stacy?” I said.
“She turned seventeen last month.”
“There’s something you should know, then. Legally, she has no rights to confidentiality. But I can’t work with a teen unless the parent agrees to respect confidentiality.”
“Meaning I’m shut out of the process.”
“Not necessarily…”
“Fine. When can I bring her in?”
“One more thing,” I said. “I’ll need to see you first.”
“Why?”
“Before I see a patient, I take a complete history from the parent.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m extraordinarily busy, right in the middle of some complex deals. What would be the point, Doctor? We’re focusing on a rather discrete topic: Stacy’s grief. Not her infancy. I could see her development being relevant if it was a learning disability or some kind of immaturity, but any school problems she’s experiencing have got to be a reaction to her mother’s death. Don’t get me wrong, I understand all about family therapy, but that’s not what’s called for here.
“I consulted a family therapist when my wife’s illness intensified. Some quack referred by a doctor I no longer employ, because he felt someone should inquire about Stacy and Eric. I was reluctant, but I complied. The quack kept pressuring me to get the entire family involved, including Joanne. One of those New Agey types, miniature fountain in the waiting room, patronizing voice. I thought it was absolute nonsense. Judy Manitow claims you’re quite good.”
His tone implied Judy was well-meaning but far from infallible.
I said, “Whatever form treatment takes, Mr. Doss—”
“Richard.”
“I’ll need to see you first.”
“Can’t we do history-taking over the phone? Isn’t that what we’re doing right now? Look, if payment’s the issue, just bill me for telephonic services. God knows my lawyers do.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “I need to meet you face-to-face.”
“Why?”
“It’s the way I work, Richard.”
“Well,” he said. “That sounds rather dogmatic. The quack insisted on family therapy and you insist upon face-to-face.”
“I’ve found it to be the best way.”
“And if I don’t agree?”
“Then I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to see your daughter.”
His chuckle was flat, percussive. I thought of a mechanical noisemaker. “You must be busy to afford to be that cavalier, Doctor. Congratulations.”
Neither of us talked for several seconds and I wondered if I’d erred. The man had been through hell, why not be flexible? But something in his manner had gotten to me—the truth was, he’d pushed, so I’d pushed back. Amateur hour, Delaware. I should’ve known better.
I was about to back off when he said, “All right, I admire a man with spine. I’ll see you once. But not this week, I’m out of town…. Let me check my calendar … hold on.”