The Pieces We Keep(38)

His shoulders rounded downward before he shook his head. “You should go back to the States,” he said. “Without him.”





PART TWO




In Memory’s Mansion are wonderful rooms,

And I wander about them at will;

And I pause at the casements, where boxes of blooms

Are sending sweet scents o’er the sill.





I lean from a window that looks on a lawn;

From a turret that looks on the wave.

But I draw down the shade, when I see on some glade

A stone standing guard, by a grave.





-from “Memory’s Mansion”

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox





17


Late May 2012

Portland, OR





Contrary to Tess’s concern, Audra actually appreciated being put on leave. It had only been two days, but already she was able to focus more on Jack. She just wished quality time together would solve everything, eliminating appointments like these, where his actions and words would be scrutinized.

After school, while driving here, she had kept her explanation simple. “Your school counselor, Dr. Shaw, works at another office part of the week. We thought you might like to check it out. And he’s a great listener. You can talk to him about anything you feel like.”

Thankfully, little about the room resembled the office of a therapist. At least not the grief-counseling type Audra had endured. There were large picture windows with curtains covered in sunbursts. The love seat beneath her was purple and tucked, with a whimsical curve. Children’s decor dominated the space: a wall of painted handprints, colorful kites strung above toy bins, a kitchen play set, and a supermarket stand. If not for the framed diplomas over the desk in the corner, the place could easily be mistaken for a kindergarten classroom.

“Here, let me show you what that does,” Dr. Shaw said to Jack. Down on the carpet, the man with swooped bangs and geek-chic glasses pushed a button on the robot in Jack’s hands. Lights on the helmet frantically blinked and an automated voice declared the world safe from Veter Man.

At long last, the therapist was interacting with his patient, demonstrating the tiniest speck of earning his fee. Aside from a genial greeting, he had spent their whole session in silence, playing with toys himself. Audra was starting to question the Talk portion of his tagline.

“Do you like Transformers?” he asked.

Jack shrugged a shoulder and set the robot down. His interest shifted to a plastic apple and a fake carton of eggs. When Dr. Shaw asked about his favorite foods, Jack moved on to a train carrying circus animals and clowns. He used his cast to knock over the elephant and a trio of brown monkeys.

The man just watched, quiet once again. Audra imagined him scribbling on a mental steno pad. Shows signs of aggression. Possible attention deficit disorder.

“Jack actually loves animals,” she interjected. “And he’s great at concentrating on one thing at a time—when it’s a place he’s used to.”

Dr. Shaw replied with a splayed palm and smile: Your son’s doing fine.

Audra sat back on the couch and recrossed her legs. Surely the man would base his evaluation on observations from school, not a single hour in an unfamiliar room. Plus, over the phone she had provided other details that could help: the festival scare, the car ride after, and the vividly violent dreams.

Although the old joke about hiring a psychic seemed applicable here—No need to say much if they’re good at their jobs—she’d share just about anything to achieve a solution, with Dr. Shaw in particular. His input at school could put the principal at ease.

Assuming, of course, this all went well and the plan didn’t backfire.

“You know, Jack,” he said, “when you first got here, I saw you brought along your toy plane.”

Jack recoiled slightly. His hand covered the lump in his jacket pocket.

“Since you like old bombers, I think I’ve got something you’d enjoy.” He dug through a plastic tub, capturing Jack’s interest, and retrieved a dark-green aircraft. About a foot long, it was missing one of four propellers. “See that? It’s a B-seventeen from World War Two. Like the ones you like to draw.”

Jack mumbled something.

“What’s that you say?”

Jack repeated himself more clearly. “This one’s a B-twenty-four. The Liberator.”

“Hmm ... you sure about that?” Dr. Shaw flipped the plane over to examine its parts. Something told Audra he already knew the answer. “Is there a big difference between them?”

He nodded, though he didn’t look up.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“B-twenty-fours are faster and can go farther away. For a longer time too. And they can hold, like, three more tons.”