The Edge of Normal (13 page)

“Which brings up the issue of the trial. That was a long and awful ordeal for you, so I thought it was extraordinary that Tilly asked for that meeting with Jackie Burke.”

“I thought so, too. It’s like she’s in a rush to get it all over with.”

“Maybe she is.” He dabs a piece of fresh bread in olive oil and pops it into his mouth, looking thoughtful.

“Well, now that she has given her statement to Burke, maybe the worst is over. Or at least until the trial.”

Reeve looks up as three new customers come in the door, then settles back and looks around. The decor is a warmly peculiar mix of Americana with rustic Tuscan. Each table has the traditional red-and-white checkered tablecloth with a quirky set of salt-and-pepper shakers. Their set is a cow and a moon.

Their food arrives and they address it in silence, with the reverence of the truly hungry. After several bites, Dr. Lerner asks, “How’s your risotto?”

“Fabulous. How’s your ravioli?”

“Outstanding.” He lifts his glass of Chianti, and asks, “So, what do you think of Tilly’s haircut?”

“She looks like a young, dark-haired Justin Bieber, doesn’t she?”

“What do you think about the color?”

“That it’s a lot like mine? Hard not to notice.”

“So, you two had a good day today?”

“Well, we understand each other. But her brother,” she adds with a sour expression, “he’s another story.”

“This kind of thing is hard on siblings, particularly brothers of that age,” Dr. Lerner says, nodding. “You can bet he’s getting all kinds of strange reactions from kids at school. He wants to protect his kid sister, but doesn’t know how to act.”

“You think that’s it?”

“Even trained adults can have a hard time dealing with these kinds of situations. Which is why the Cavanaughs so appreciate your help with Tilly.”

With a fleeting smile, she says, “It’s kind of like we belong to the same tribe.”

“You are both survivors.” He takes a sip of his wine. “Any nightmares lately?”

“You know, it’s funny, but I haven’t had a single one since I’ve been up here.”

“Funny how?”

“Well, I had a rough time when I first heard about Tilly. But since coming up here, since actually meeting her, I’ve been fine.” She had expected recurrent nightmares, but except for a fitful hour or two, has plunged into pools of deep sleep.

“And why do you think that’s the case?”

She squints at him. “Once a shrink, always a shrink, right?”

“Guilty.”

“Okay.” She sets down her fork. “It seems pretty pedestrian, but seeing her makes me realize how far I’ve come. Maybe I’m not as gentle and wise as Beth Goodwin, but I can assume that sort of role. I can help.”

He smiles at her, tipping his glass in a toast. “You are indeed uniquely qualified. And you’ve been an enormous help.” After a moment, he adds, “You know, Tilly’s family has told me more than once how very grateful they are that you came up here. In fact, they’d like you to stay.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, I told them that’s not possible.”

“Right. You’re her therapist,” she says, absently rubbing the tiny ridges of the healed bone in her little finger. “Why would they even ask?”

“They see that Tilly is bonding with you, and they’d like you to continue meeting with her, but I told them it’s too much of an imposition, that these sessions raise painful memories for you.”

“Well, sure.” She cocks her head. “But do they really think I’m helping? She seems so…”

“It’s going to be rocky for a while, of course. For all of them. Because the Cavanaughs are suffering through a painful adjustment. That’s true in every case.”

Reeve is hit with a pang of sympathy for Tilly’s family, followed by a surge of guilt over how she had treated her own. How churlish she had been. How selfish. She had spent hours alone in her room, wrapped in a sulk, punishing them and herself with isolation.

He leans forward, his voice low but intense. “Tilly is just beginning to reclaim her life, and healing takes time, as you know.”

“Sure. I mean, I understand what she’s going through better than anyone else.” A frown creases her forehead. “So if they want me to stay, maybe I should.”

“Oh no, that’s way beyond what anyone expects of you. You’ve done enough. Everyone underst—”

“Does Tilly want me to stay?”

“Well, of course, but—”

“Okay then. If I can help Tilly, I’ll stay on.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? You just said I’m uniquely qualified.”

“Well, it’s a serious—”

“Weren’t you just saying that Tilly’s family isn’t equipped to offer what she needs? That they’re suffering through their own adjustment?”

“Reeve, you can’t—”

“Listen, the main reason I’m here is because our cases are so similar, because Tilly and I were about the same age when we were taken, and we were both held captive by sadists.”

He gives a shrug, conceding her point.

“But that’s only part of it. We’re almost like sisters. And I understand her also because I’ve read a lot of the literature. You know that, right?”

“Well, sure.”

“I mean, I’ve read all of your scholarly articles.”

He gives a half-grin. “Fishing for compliments?”

“I’ve also read Lawler, Auerbach, Zarse, and Ochberg.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Impressive. But I doubt you’ve read any of the profilers, the guys from the FBI’s Behavioral Sciences Unit.”

She leans forward and raps on the table as she lists the names: “Dietz. Hazelwood. Douglas. McCrary. Ressler.”

“How about Cantor and Price, from Australia? And Favaro’s study, the one about trauma among kidnap victims in Italy?”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “Favaro’s study was weak, at least in terms of captivity syndromes.”

“You’ve read all that?”

“See?”

He laughs. “Okay, point made. You’ve practically got an honorary degree.” He takes a sip of water, keeping his eyes on her.

“It’s not like I’m trying to replace you or anything. You’re still her therapist. But Tilly has no sister, no other girlfriends she can talk to.”

“You’re really sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely. We survived similar ordeals, and how many people can say that?” She sits back, crossing her arms. “Besides, if the Cavanaughs want me to stay, it’s a free country.”

“Burke will spit bullets,” he says, shaking his head.

“Why would she care? You’re still her expert witness, you’re still the name with the golden credentials. As long as I stay under the radar, what difference does it make to Burke?”

He exhales heavily.

“It’s not like I’m going to
impede the prosecution of her case
,” Reeve says, mimicking Burke’s hoarse manner of speech. “I’ll just be hanging around eating cookies with Tilly. Besides, I have no plans, no job, no life, and I’m embarrassingly free.”

“If you’re sure,” Dr. Lerner says, turning up his palms in a gesture of surrender, “the Cavanaughs will be delighted. And on second thought, it might be good for both of you.”

“Both of us? How’s that?”

He says nothing, giving her an enigmatic look.

She studies him, sensing a deeper meaning. “Okay, I get it,” she says finally. “Your suggestion that I establish a personal connection with someone, is that it?” She rolls her eyes. “I suppose it’s better than having an affair with the hot guy at the pet store.”

“Oh? You never mentioned anyone.”

“Just kidding. Never mind. Anyway, if I’m going to stay, I guess I’ll have to go shopping. I didn’t bring enough clothes.”

*   *   *

Back in her hotel room, Reeve sprawls on the bed and calls Anthony to ask him to take care of Persephone.

“When will you be back?” he wants to know.

“I don’t know. Not long, I don’t think, but I hadn’t planned on leaving her alone for more than a weekend. Can you help me out?”

Anthony laughs. “It just so happens that emergency spidersitting is my specialty.” He knows just what to do, and he lays it all out for her.

She listens carefully and agrees to call the building supervisor, a matronly woman named Helen, to arrange for brief entry into her apartment. Once they’ve covered the logistics, she says, “One more thing: You didn’t mention how much you’ll charge.”

“Are you kidding? For a beauty like Persie? Just promise me you’ll be back soon.”

Next, Reeve calls her father to let him know she won’t be coming home for at least a few more days. When she tells him she’s going to be working as a kind of mentor for Tilly, the words feel foreign in her mouth.

“That’s great, kiddo. It seems you’re entering new territory, forming this bond with her.” She can hear the pride in her father voice. Then he sighs and adds, “Does this mean you’re not Dr. Lerner’s patient anymore?”

She suffers a pang of regret. If she is not his patient she’s—what?—his former patient? Is that even possible? Or is she like a recovered alcoholic, forever defined by her condition? “Well, yeah, maybe I’ve finally crossed over to some version of adulthood,” she says begrudgingly.

When she explains that Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh have offered to cover her expenses, her father chuckles, but does she sense a relief that goes unsaid? Despite her father’s generosity, she has felt more uncomfortable about her dependent status with each passing birthday.

They exchange the usual questions about how everything is going, a comfortable back-and-forth that has its own rhythm, until, during a lull in the conversation, he asks, “You didn’t happen to see
60 Minutes
tonight, did you?”

Detecting a note of concern, she sits up. “No, why?”

“Well, uh…” He clears his throat. “They aired an update of that program about kidnapping and captivity syndromes.”

“Oh, crap.” She closes her eyes. “The one with Dr. Moody?”

“I’m sorry. They apparently dusted it off because of the kidnappings up there, with Vanderholt’s arrest and all. Riding a new wave of interest at your expense, I’m afraid.”

“And yours, Dad.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it was mostly old footage. There wasn’t much new, really. And of course they don’t have your new name.”

“So, it was just some old stuff about Daryl Wayne Flint?”

“Um, yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“But they interviewed Dr. Moody again.”

“That crackpot? Why? Can’t they see he’s a liar and an opportunist? They should pile up his damn books and strike a match.”

“And roast him on top, I agree. But he’s a crackpot with a Ph.D., unfortunately, so people are inclined to believe that he knows what he’s talking about.”

“Crap. Years of therapy, down the toilet.” After a beat of silence, she adds, “Just kidding, Dad. Relax.”

Her father coughs a laugh. “Anyway, I don’t think anyone would recognize you now.”

“Or Tilly, either.” She tells her father about Tilly’s new hairdo, then says good night and climbs into bed, exhausted.

But she can’t help mentally replaying that familiar
60 Minutes
segment. It first aired during a brief phase of comfort—when she was free and back home, when everything was beginning to settle into place—before she learned about her mother’s cancer.

She had almost forgotten about Dr. Moody’s love of media attention. “Dr. Ick.” She says the name out loud, groans into the darkness, and reflexively begins charting the internal geography of everything that has happened and how it has changed her. The long, deep pit of captivity. The dizzying high of being returned to her family. And then the trial and the cascading despair, punctuated by her mother’s death.

It had almost sunk her.

But now she has an opportunity to turn it into something positive. Tomorrow, she will dedicate herself fully to Tilly’s recovery. She vows to be attentive and compassionate, and to do her best to guard Tilly’s privacy from those damn reporters.

She pulls the covers up to her ears, and drifts off to sleep, wondering if she can somehow help Tilly remember anything about those two other missing girls.

TWENTY-TWO

Monday

An arctic cold drops down from the mountains, and residents of Jefferson County bundle up, stoke fires, and worry about frozen pipes, but Deputy Nick Hudson’s SUV is warmed up and waiting in the hotel’s parking lot before Reeve and Dr. Lerner have had time to finish breakfast.

Reeve hurries through the cold and climbs into the backseat. They exchange brief greetings, but Hudson barely offers a smile, and the group falls silent. As they roll west toward the Cavanaughs’ house, Reeve studies the mountains that ring the city, their bright, snow-covered peaks looking like diamonds cut from a backdrop of hard blue sky.

Oddly, Hudson doesn’t turn on the country music he favors, and after riding in silence for several minutes, Dr. Lerner asks, “Is everything all right?”

“Sorry if I seem … I’m kind of distracted,” Hudson says with a shrug. “There’s a lot going on this morning.”

“Anything you want to share?”

“Not really,” he says, smoothly accelerating onto the freeway.

Reeve studies his face. “What about the dogs?”

He glances at her in the rearview mirror but doesn’t respond.

“They were searching both of Vanderholt’s residences,” she prompts. “The first place Tilly was held, and the one that he moved to more recently, where she was found.”

“Right. Well, the dogs came back with nothing. Nada. Zip.”

“So you’ve got nothing to link Vanderholt to those other missing girls?”

“Apparently not.”

“What about the DNA evidence?”

“It’s not like TV, where DNA results come back in twenty minutes. That kind of work is sent out to experts, and the labs are slammed, so you send in cigarette butts, for instance, and it can take forever before you get anything back.”

“So there’s still a chance…”

“Yeah, maybe. But who says they’ll find a match? And the district attorney isn’t happy. He was all primed for a tight case, all packaged up and ready to go.”

“So what now?”

“So he’s yelling at Burke, who intends to hit Vanderholt with a fat list of charges tomorrow morning.”

“But there’s a pattern, right? In terms of timing?” Reeve pauses for a response, but Hudson seems to be ignoring her. “It just seems logical that since Vanderholt kidnapped Tilly, he took the other two,” she mutters, looking out at the passing scene, where trees tremble in the wind, dropping blood-red leaves.