Suspicion of Betrayal (19 page)

His inspection of her was just as thorough. He smiled. Thick glasses made his blue eyes seem small and far away. "Ms. Connor? I was told not to expect you."

Gail smiled as she stood up and extended her hand. "I had to rearrange a few things, but here I am."

"Come on in. Let's get acquainted." He held the door.

"Isn't this ... for Karen? I should probably wait for her."

"Oh, I like to talk to Mom first. Sort of set the stage, as it were. We won't be long." Fischman's voice was so soft she had to watch his lips not to miss anything. "Can we get you something to drink? Coffee?" Gail, still smiling, said that she had just had lunch. He led her to his office, carrying a thin folder, tapping it lightly against his palm.

Fischman motioned her to the end of a blue upholstered sofa; he sat at right angles in a matching chair, the folder on his lap. He opened it. "Let's just see ..."

An aquarium bubbled in the corner, bug-eyed goldfish swimming through a mass of green plastic seaweed. His desk was across the room, and diplomas and plaques decorated the wall behind it. The teak veneer was peeling off the bookcases. Shelves bowed downward from the weight of books. A box in the corner overflowed with stuffed animals, wooden puzzles, plastic blocks, and dolls. A man doll, a woman. A boy, a girl. Gail wondered if under their clothes they had the appropriate parts.

"So."

Gail looked around to see Fischman with his cheekbone propped on extended fingers. The lamp reflected on his gold-rimmed glasses. "How do you feel about being here?"

"How do I
feel
?
Fine. I have no problem with it." "You're a lawyer. A solo practitioner."

She waited for him to go on. When he didn't, she said, "Yes."

"You were at a large firm downtown. Why did you leave?"

"I wanted my own business. I wanted more time with Karen. That was the most important factor. My daughter."

"And how has it worked out for you?"

Gail felt the flutter in her chest again. "Any new business is difficult in the beginning, but it's working out very well."

He smiled. "I meant with Karen."

"Oh." She searched for the right answer. "The freedom is helpful. Being able to rearrange my schedule. This afternoon, for example."

The smile remained. In his quiet voice he said. "You can relax with me, Ms. Connor. I won't bite. Tell me about your daughter. Do you and she have any areas you feel you need to work on?"

"Not really. I mean . . . nothing that any mother and daughter wouldn't have."

"Such as . . ."

"Our relationship is fine, Dr. Fischman. We love each other very much."

His pale eyes were distorted to little blue dots by the glasses. "All right. We'll leave it there for now. Let me ask about Karen's physical development. She's almost eleven, correct? Not menstruating yet, I assume." Gail shook her head.

"Does Karen have an understanding of sexual intercourse and reproduction?"

"Yes."

"And she feels free in discussing this with you?"

"I suppose so."

"But you're not sure?"

Gail resisted an urge to look away from this man, although her eyes had been pinned on the shiny curves of his glasses for some time. "Karen knows that if there is anything she is curious about, she can come to me. We talk quite openly."

"Usually initiated by . . . you? Karen?"

"It depends. I don't know."

He looked at her, then went back to his notes. Gail heard a jet outside the window, then muffled voices from the reception area. She didn't recognize Dave's voice, but he must have arrived by now, she thought.

Fischman was saying, "Going into fifth grade in the fall. Private school. It appears that her grades have fallen since the divorce." He glanced at Gail as if for some explanation.

Gail said, "Are you saying there's a connection?"

"Is there?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I. I'm making an observation. All right?"

"Well, that's what you get paid for." She immediately regretted the sarcasm.

Fischman returned to the folder. "You are engaged to a lawyer. Anthony Quintana. Cuban descent. Forty-two. How long have you known him?"

"About a year and a half."

"Before your separation from Mr. Metzger."

"If that's a question, Anthony had nothing to do with our divorce."

"Mr. Metzger mentioned to me that you and Mr. Quintana were intimate before the divorce."

Gail took a slow breath. "Dave and I had already separated. He should have made that clear."

"And Karen was living with you at the time."

"At what time?"

"When you became intimate with Mr. Quintana."

After a few seconds' silence, Gail said, "Yes."

Fischman settled his chin back onto his fist. His beard covered deep acne scars. "What can you tell me about Karen's relationship with your fiancé?"

"They get along very well."

"Does he live with you?"

"No. He lives on Key Biscayne."

"Does he ever spend the night in your home when Karen is there?"

Gail's stomach tightened. "Occasionally, yes."

"Are you and he fairly open about sex in front of your daughter? Or not?"

"Meaning what?"

"Is there . . . fondling, that sort of thing, in Karen's presence?"

Gail laughed. "No. We are very discreet around Karen."

"You seem uncomfortable with this topic."

"Not at all—if it's relevant."

"It is most relevant." He laid the folder carefully on the corner table, pausing to shift aside a sculpture of a small frog clinging to a polished brass rock. "At Karen's age, her sexuality is beginning to assert itself. The presence of a man in the house—a man not her father, and with whom the mother is having an intimate relationship—often confuses the female child—"

"Karen is a normal, well-adjusted girl. She is not confused."

"If I may finish?"

Gail stared back at him. "Of course."

"Girls are sexually attracted to their fathers, but they know intuitively that it's wrong. It's the old incest taboo. When a man who is
not
the father moves into the home—or is sleeping with Mother—the child is still attracted. The girl will experience the same guilt, the same desire, but now she is confused because there is no natural barrier to that desire."

Gail's mouth opened. A small laugh came out. "You're implying that Karen is sexually attracted to my fiancé?"

Fischman scratched his cheek, then grasped some of his beard and tugged on it. His small lips were rosy and moist. "No. You asked me if the topic is relevant, and I am attempting to explain in a way that is easy to understand. The mother's sexual relationship with a man not the father can raise fears in the child's mind. Mommy threw away Daddy for someone else, will she throw me away too? Or, conversely, Mommy is my rival, but I feel guilty about hating her. Prepubescent girls are especially vulnerable. They are acquiring their sexual identity, taking clues from their parents, particularly the custodial parent. Many women entering second marriages, who have children, fail to consider these issues!"

Gail dug her fingernails into her palms. "I was under the impression that you were asked by the court to find out if Karen preferred to live with her father or with me. And that was all."

"It isn't a simple matter," he replied "A child doesn't often express her feelings well. And sometimes ... what she thinks she wants isn't in her best interest."

Gail said, "Well, since you—and not Karen—are going to decide what she wants, then why bother to talk to her?"

"You seem upset."

"I seem upset? No, Dr. Fischman, I
am
upset. I am very upset." She grabbed her purse. "And that's about all we have to say to each other."

"Ms. Connor, I assure you, I was not making a personal attack on you or your choices." She stood over his chair. He smiled up at her. "This defensiveness is quite telling, you know."

Gail wanted to push his chair backward with him in it. "My daughter is not coming anywhere near you, I don't care what the judge ordered. Put that in your report."

She swung her purse over her shoulder and walked out. When she opened the door to the waiting room, and then swung it back, the doorknob accidentally slipped out of her grasp. The reverberation shook the frosted glass at the receptionist's window.

Dave and Karen sat on the sofa. Dave stood up. "Gail?"

"Find some other psychologist. I'm taking her out of here. Come on, sweetie." Gail held out her hand.

Karen's mouth hung open. She got up from the sofa.

"Karen, sit down." Dave grabbed Gail's arm. "What's the matter with you?"

"No. What's the matter with
you
?
This is insane." Gail took his hand off her arm. "Come here, baby, we have to go."

"Karen, let me talk to your mom outside—"

She yelled at him, "Leave her alone! Go file another of your fucking motions. Call your lawyer."

Dave backed away. Fischman had opened the door and stood framed in the opening. "I'm sorry about this," Dave said.

Gail grabbed Karen's hand and pulled her out of Fischman's waiting room.

In the corridor someone was just getting into the elevator, and Gail ran toward it, dragging Karen along. She stuck her foot across the tracks. The door bucked, then came back open, and they went inside just as Gail heard Dave calling her name.

In the elevator she put on her sunglasses. The people already inside were trying not to stare.

Karen leaned against her and whispered, "Mom?"

"It's okay." Gail put her arm around Karen. "We'll go home, all right?"

Gail didn't let go of her hand as they hurried across the street and into the tree-shaded lot where she had parked the rental car. They had almost reached it when she saw a man in khaki pants and a denim shirt running from the building. Dave.

He looked up and down the street, then spotted them. "Gail! Wait!"

"Get in, Karen." Gail unlocked the passenger side.

Dave sprinted toward them. "What happened in there with Fischman? What's going on?" He followed Gail around the car and straight-armed the driver's-side door to keep her from opening it. "Talk to me, dammit."

She stared at him through the dark glasses, then went back around to speak to Karen. "Sweetie? Your daddy wants to talk to me for a minute. Can you wait here? It's shady, so you won't get hot. I'll be right over there, under that tree."

She walked a few yards away, gravel crunching under her shoes, then turned so that Karen couldn't see her face. Her voice was low. "David, I have let this go too far. I didn't want Karen to be hurt. I didn't want to warp her feelings about you. But this is too much, taking her to that man. Fischman implied that she hates me and desires you, and that if Anthony moves in, she'll want him too. Fischman hasn't even spoken to her, and he assumes this. What is he going to say to her? What is she going to think when he gets through with her?"

Dave only stared. He bunked, then looked up at the building they had just left.

Gail fumbled in her shoulder bag for a tissue. "That perverted little bastard. It's
his
decision. Not yours or mine, not Karen's. What are we doing? All right, fine. Just tell me what you want. You want her two afternoons a week? Three? Is that why you had your lawyer threaten to take me back to court because my car got trashed? As if I had something to do with it!"

"Gail, you're not making sense. Calm down, will you?"

"I don't want her going through this anymore," Gail said. "If she wants to live with you, I don't care. I do care, but if that's what she wants—I'd rather have her with you than miserable. To be torn apart."

Dave's hand was around her elbow. He was looking past Gail, his eyes fixed on her car and the girl sitting inside it. He said, "Karen didn't want to be here, but she came because I said to, and because she's a good kid. I don't want her to be miserable. I want—I want to be a good father. That's all. Just to be ... in her life."

"Dave, I never tried to keep her away from you."

Fury rose in his face, shown in the tight set of his square jaw. "Yes, you did. You were so pissed off about me leaving and not calling her enough. Okay, I didn't. I know that. I couldn't sometimes. And then . . . things didn't go like I wanted. The cruise business slacked off. You said before I left that it would be a disaster. Remember that? 'Dave, you're dreaming. It's going to be a disaster.' So maybe ... I was ashamed."

His eyes had reddened. "I wanted it to be good when I called her. But I thought about her, Gail. I did. Every day. She was in my heart all the time. I had to come back. I wanted to start over, to do it right. To be the kind of man—the kind of father—I should have been all along. You know what you said to me? 'So you're back. Well, you've lost your daughter.' "

Gail shook her head. "I don't remember."

"You said it."

"Did I? If I said that, I'm sorry. Yes, I was angry. I used to make up stories about where you were, and why you didn't call, so she wouldn't be disappointed."

"Oh, God, honey, I've been trying to make up for that. Trying like hell. All the mistakes. All the things I did wrong, going way back. Mistakes with you. We were so young when we married. I was twenty-three. I thought—Jesus. I thought I'd never lived. I was so wrong."

He put his hand on her shoulder, and when she didn't pull away, he left it there. He squeezed gently. "You're a great mother. We'll work this out, Gail."

Tears were running from under Gail's glasses. She wiped them away with trembling fingers.

Dave pulled her awkwardly against his chest. "I've missed you. When I left Miami, it was you I left. Because I was so screwed up and hurt."

She was so tense her body was aching. Her sunglasses pressed against his collarbone and tilted off her nose.

He held her clumsily at first, then more closely. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry. Sorry for throwing away what we had. You and me and Karen." His voice was tight and ragged. A sob tore out of his throat. "I threw it all away, Gail. How stupid ... thinking I'd be happier. But I never stopped . . . loving you. Not one day."