At twenty-one Lauren looked younger than she had at fifteen.
A bleached-denim shirt and easy-fit jeans covered her from neck to ankle. The shirt was buttoned to the top and cinched with a turquoise clasp. The jeans managed to hug her frame, advertise the tight waist, soft hips. On her feet were white canvas flats with straw soles. A big calfskin bag hung over one shoulder—rich, burnished roan, gold-clasped, conspicuously expensive.
“Hello, Lauren.”
Gazing past me she offered her hand. Her palm was cold and dry. I didn’t feel like smiling, but when her eyes finally met mine, I managed.
She didn’t. “You work at home now. Cute place.”
“Thanks. Come on in.”
I stayed just ahead of her during the walk to my office. She moved fast—as eager to enter as she’d once been to leave.
“Very nice,” she said when we got there. “Still seeing kids and teens?”
“I don’t do much therapy anymore.”
She froze in the doorway. “Your answering service didn’t say that.”
“I’m still in practice, but most of my work is consultation,” I said. “Court cases, some police work. I’m always available to former patients.”
“Police work,” she said. “Yes. I saw your name in the paper. That school-yard shooting. So now you’re a public hero.”
Still looking past me. Through me. “Come on in,” I said.
“That’s the same,” she said, eyeing my old leather couch.
“Kind of an antique,” I said.
“You’re not — you really haven’t changed that much.”
I moved behind the desk.
“‘I’ve changed,” she said.
“You’ve grown up,” I said.
“Have I?” She sat stiffly, made a move for the calfskin bag, stopped herself, started to smile, quashed that too. “Still no smoking?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Filthy habit,” she said. “Inherited it from Mom. She had a scare a few years back — spot on her X ray, but it turned out to be a shadow — stupid doctor. So she finally stopped. You’d think it would teach me. People are weak. You know that. You make a living off that.”
“People are fallible,” I said.
One of her legs began to bounce. “Back when I came to you, I gave you a real hard time, didn’t I?”
I smiled. “Nothing I hadn’t seen before.”
“It probably didn’t seem like it, but I was actually getting into the idea of therapy. I’d psyched myself up for it. Then they killed it.”
“Your parents?”
The surprise in my voice made her flush. “They didn’t tell you.” Her smile was cold. “They claimed they did, but I always wondered.”
“All I got was a cancellation call,” I said. “No explanation. I phoned your house several times, but no one answered.”
“Bastard,” she said with sudden savagery. “Asshole.”
“Your father?”
“Lying asshole. He promised he’d explain everything to you. It was his decision — He never stopped complaining about the money. The day I was supposed to see you, he picked me up from school. I thought he was, making sure I showed up on time — I thought you’d lied to me and finked to him about my coming late. I was furious at you. But instead of heading to your office, he drove the other way — into the Valley. Over to this miniature golf course — this Family Fun Center. Arcades, batting cages, all that junk. He parks, turns off the engine, says to me: ‘You need quality time with your dad, not hundred-buck-an-hour baby-sitting with some quack.'”
She bit her lip. “Doesn’t that sound a little . . . like he was jealous of you?”
As I mulled my answer she said, “Seductive, don’t you think?”
I continued to deliberate. Took the leap. “Lauren, was there ever any—”
“No,” she said. “Never, nothing like that, he never laid a finger on me. Not for anything creepy or for normal affection. The fact is, I can’t remember him ever touching me. He’s a cold fish. And guess what: He and Mom finally got divorced. He got himself a bimbo, some slut he met on the job— So they never told you they canceled, that it wasn’t my idea. Figures. They brought me up with lies.”
“What kind of lies?”
The blue eyes met mine. Got hard. “Doesn’t matter.”