The Pieces We Keep(46)
She certainly felt that discomfort now, if that was any sign.
At his desk, facing her chair, Dr. Shaw made notes from her update on Jack—about the German inscription and Sean Malloy. A connection still seemed ludicrous, but without a rational answer she was willing to consider anything.
Within reason.
Heater vents on the ceiling stirred the opened sunburst curtains. The windows served as frames for the Saturday morning grayness. In the play area, a tea set and doll clothes were strewn over the floor, remnants from a prior session.
Dr. Shaw pressed up his glasses. He crossed his ankles below his plaid pants and flipped through the pile of Jack’s drawings. Though the man had asked to review them again, he had yet to detail the purpose. He had yet to say much at all.
Every minute accrued a billable charge. Wasn’t he financially obligated to speak?
Finally, he exhaled, pen over his notepad. “So, Jack’s added nothing about all of this when you’ve asked him?”
“That’s right.”
“And that word you heard during his nightmares?”
“Himmel.” A few times now he had repeated it in his sleep. While serving pancakes one morning she’d revisited the question. “He says he doesn’t know what it is or where it’s from. I also asked him again about the German adage, but says he doesn’t know that either.”
“And you believe he’s telling the truth?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure what to believe. The only thing I can figure out is he may have seen some things on TV, like you suggested.” During a visit with Robert and Meredith tomorrow, Audra planned to reiterate her request that they not subject Jack to military shows. Of course, she would ask them kindly and at the end, to avoid dampening the celebration of Jack’s eighth birthday.
Sadly, with the burdens her son carried, he already seemed much older.
“That still doesn’t explain everything else though,” she admitted. “Which is why I’m here.”
Dr. Shaw scribbled some more. He glanced up at her, then down, as if debating on expressing a thought. “How about ... birthmarks?”
“What about them?”
“Does he have any you’d describe as unusual?”
Although puzzled by the relevance, she scanned Jack’s body from memory. On the backside of his shoulder was a small hemangioma, a common enough mark. It was flat and smooth, and the majority of its red hue and strawberry shape had faded over time. Devon used to say it was proof they had originally picked Jack in a berry field and taken him home to make cobbler.
“Nothing unusual that I’ve seen,” she replied in truth.
Dr. Shaw nodded. “When he was younger, did he happen to have imaginary friends?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember.”
In a room set for the Mad Hatter, Audra was being lured down a rabbit hole. She’d had her fill of trudging through the dark without direction.
“Dr. Shaw, if you’re going somewhere with this, I’d appreciate if you could tell me.”
After a quiet moment, he closed Jack’s file. He walked toward the door in a distracted manner.
Audra started to wonder if clothing wasn’t his only indulgence that trended in the seventies.
But then he stopped at a shelf and slid out a book. “I know this might seem unconventional—and it’s not often I would suggest it. But with everything about Jack I’ve heard and observed, I think it would be worth taking a look.”
“What is it?” she said eagerly.
“An old professor of mine wrote this, based on interviews with literally thousands of children.” Dr. Shaw handed over a paperback titled From Beyond. Smudges of fingerprints tinged the glossy black cover. Its corners were curled from use. A sprinkling of stars implied a book of ... astrology.
Perfect. Just what Audra needed: a summary of Jack’s celestial traits. Combine that with his lucky numbers from a fortune cookie at Chow Bello, and their problems would be over.
“So you’re saying, you want me to read about children’s Zodiac signs?”
“Past lives, actually.”
Even better.
Now her son was—what? A German pilot who died in a crash during World War Two?
She came here for guidance, yes, but not the Ouija-board variety.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Shaw. But I don’t believe in reincarnation. Not any more than I believe in voodoo dolls or psychic hotlines.” She tried to give the book back, but he gently refused.
“What you or I believe isn’t important here. What matters is what Jack believes, and finding out why.”
The point was difficult to argue. Borrowing anything from the man, however, would guarantee another visit, and she strongly doubted she would return.