Devil's Waltz Part 6

Ca.s.sie paused for breath.

Cindy said, "It's okay, honey, everything's okay."

Whimper and sniff from the bed.

"How 'bout a story, baby, okay? Once upon a time there was a princess named Ca.s.sandra who lived in a great big castle and had wonderful dreams about candy and whipped-cream clouds. . . ."

Ca.s.sie stared up. Her bruised hand touched her lips.

I placed the yellow bunny on the floor, opened my briefcase, and took out a notebook and a pencil. Cindy stopped talking for a moment, then resumed her story. Ca.s.sie was calm now, caught up in another world.

I started to draw. A bunny. I hoped.

A few minutes later it was clear the Disney folk had nothing to worry about, but I thought the end product managed to be cute and sufficiently rabbitlike. I added a hat and a bow tie, reached into the case again, and found the box of colored markers I kept there along with other tools of the trade.

I began coloring. The markers squeaked. Rustles came from the bed. Cindy stopped telling her story.

"Oh, look, honey, Dr. Delaware's drawing. What are you drawing, Dr. Delaware?"

Before I could answer, the word doctor precipitated another tear-storm.

Again, maternal comfort squelched it.

I held up my masterpiece.

"Oh, look, honey, it's a bunny. And he's wearing a hat. And a bow tie-isn't that silly?"

Silence.

"Well, I think it's silly. Do you think he's one of the LuvBunnies, Ca.s.s?"

Silence.

"Did Dr. Delaware draw a LuvBunny?"

Whimper.

"C'mon, Ca.s.s, there's nothing to worry about. Dr. Delaware won't do anything to hurt you. He's the kind of doctor who never gives shots."

Bleats. It took a while for Cindy to calm her down. Finally she was able to resume her story. Princess Ca.s.sandra riding a white horse . . .

I drew a companion for Mr. HatBunny. Same rodent face but short ears, polka-dot dress-Ms. Squirrel. I added an amorphous-looking acorn, pulled the page out of the notebook, reached over and placed it on the bed near Ca.s.sie's feet.

She whipped her head around just as I got back to my seat.

Cindy said, "Oh, look, he's done a . . . prairie dog, too. And she's a girl, Ca.s.s-look at her dress. Isn't that funny? And she's got big dots all over her dress, Ca.s.s. That's so funny-a prairie dog in a dress!"

Warm, womanly laughter. At the tail end, a child's giggle.

"So silly. I wonder if she's going to a party with that dress . . . or maybe she's going to go shopping or something, huh? Wouldn't that be silly, a prairie dog going shopping at the mall? Going with her friend Mr. Bunny, and he's got that silly hat on-the two of them are really dressed up silly. Maybe they'll go to Toys "R" Us and get their own dolls-wouldn't that be something, Ca.s.s? Yeah, that would be silly. Boy, Dr. Delaware sure makes silly pictures-wonder what he's going to do now!"

I smiled and lifted my pencil. Something easy: hippopotamus . . . just a bathtub with legs . . .

"What's your bunny's name, Dr. Delaware?"

"Benny."

"Benny Bunny-that's ridiculous!"

I smiled, concealing my artistic struggle. The bathtub was looking too fierce . . . The problem was the grin . . . too aggressive-more like a dehorned rhino . . . What would Freud say about that?

I performed reconstructive surgery on the critter's mouth.

"Benny the Hat Bunny-didja hear that, Ca.s.s?"

High-pitched, little-kid laughter.

"And what about the prairie dog, Dr. Delaware? What's her name?"

"Priscilla . . ." Working away. The hippo finally hippolike, but still something wrong . . . the grin venal-the greasy smirk of a carny barker . . . Maybe a dog would have been easier . . .

"Priscilla the prairie dog! Do you believe that!"

"Pilla!"

"Yes, Priscilla!"

"Pilla!"

"Very good, Ca.s.s! That's excellent! Priscilla. Can you say that again?"

Silence.

"Priscilla-Pri-scil-la. You just said it. Here, watch my mouth, Ca.s.s."

Silence.

"Okay, you don't have to if you don't want to. Let's get back to Princess Ca.s.sandra Silversparkle, riding Snowflake up into the s.h.i.+ny Country . . ."

The hippo was finally done. Scarred by smudges and eraser abrasions, but at least it didn't look as if it had a rap sheet. I placed it on top of the bedcovers.

"Oh, look, Ca.s.s. We know what this is, don't we? A hippopotamus-and he's holding a . . ."

"A yo-yo," I said.

"A yo-yo! A hippo with a yo-yo-that is really silly. You know what I think, Ca.s.s? I think Dr. Delaware can be pretty silly when he wants to, even though he's a doctor. What do you think?"

I faced the little girl. Our eyes locked once more. Hers flickered. The rosebud mouth began to pout, lower lip curling. Hard to imagine anyone being capable of hurting her.

I said, "Would you like me to draw some more?"

She looked at her mother and grabbed Cindy's sleeve.

"Sure," said Cindy. "Let's see what other silly things Dr. Delaware can draw, okay?"

Minuscule nod from Ca.s.sie. She buried her head in Cindy's blouse.

Back to the drawing board.

A mangy hound, a cross-eyed duck, and a spavined horse later, she was tolerating my presence.

I edged the chair closer to the bed, gradually. Chatted with Cindy about games and toys and favorite foods. When Ca.s.sie seemed to be taking me for granted, I pushed right up against the mattress and taught Cindy a drawing game-the two of us alternating turning squiggles into objects. Child a.n.a.lyst's technique for building rapport and getting to the unconscious in a nonthreatening way.

Using Cindy as a go-between even as I studied her.

Investigated her.

I drew an angular squiggle and handed the paper to her. She and Ca.s.sie were snuggled together; they could have been a poster for National Bonding Week. Cindy turned the squiggle into a house and handed the paper back, saying, "Not very good, but . . ."

Ca.s.sie's lips turned up a bit. Then down. Her eyes closed and she pressed her face against Cindy's blouse. Grabbed a breast and squeezed. Cindy lowered the hand gently and placed it in her own lap. I saw the puncture marks on Ca.s.sie's flesh. Black dots, like snakebites.

Cindy made easy, cooing sounds. Ca.s.sie nuzzled, s.h.i.+fted position, and gathered a handful of blouse.

Sleepy again. Cindy kissed the top of her head.

I'd been trained to heal, trained to believe in the open, honest therapeutic relations.h.i.+p. Being in this room made me feel like a con man.

Then I thought about raging fevers and b.l.o.o.d.y diarrhea and convulsions so intense they rattled the crib, remembered a little baby boy who'd died in his crib, and my self-doubts turned stale and crumbled.

By 10:45, I'd been there for more than half an hour, mostly watching Ca.s.sie lie in Cindy's arms. But she seemed more comfortable with me, even smiling once or twice. Time to pack up and declare success.

I stood. Ca.s.sie started to fuss.

Cindy sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and said, "Uh-oh."

Gently, she rolled Ca.s.sie onto her back and changed the little girl's diaper.

Powdered, patted, and reclothed, Ca.s.sie remained restless. Pointing at the floor, she said, "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"

"Out?"

Emphatic nod. "Ahd!"

She got on her knees and tried to stand on the bed, wobbling on the soft mattress. Cindy held her under the arms, lifted her off, and placed her on the floor. "You want to walk around? Let's get some slippers on you." The two of them walked to the closet. Ca.s.sie's pajama bottoms were too long for her and they dragged on the floor. Standing, she looked even tinier. But st.u.r.dy. Good steady walk, good sense of balance.

I picked up my briefcase.

Kneeling, Cindy put fuzzy pink bunny slippers on Ca.s.sie's feet. These rodents had clear plastic eyes with movable black beads for pupils and each time Ca.s.sie moved, her feet hissed.

She tried to jump, barely got off the ground.

Cindy said, "Good jump, Ca.s.s."

The door opened and a man came in.

He looked to be in his late thirties. Six two or so, and very slim. His hair was dark-brown, wavy, and thick, combed straight back and left long enough to curl over his collar. He had a full face at odds with the lanky physique, rounded further by a bushy, cropped brown beard flecked with gray. His features were soft and pleasant. A gold stud pierced his left earlobe. The clothes he had on were loose-fitting but well cut: blue-and-white striped b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt under a gray tweed sport coat; baggy, pleated black cords; black running shoes that looked brand-new.

A coffee cup was in one hand.

"It's Daddy!" said Cindy.

Ca.s.sie held out her arms.

The tall man put the cup down and said, "Morning, ladies." Kissing Cindy's cheek, he scooped Ca.s.sie up.

The little girl squealed as he held her aloft. He brought her close with one swift, descending motion.

"How's my baby?" he said, pressing her to his beard. His nose disappeared under her hair and she giggled. "How's the little grande dame of the diaper set?"

Ca.s.sie put both of her hands in his hair and pulled.

"Ouch!"

Giggle. Yank.

"Double ouch!"

Baby-guffaw.

"Ouch-a-roo!"

They played a bit longer; then he pulled away and said, "Whew. You're too rough for me, Spike!"

Cindy said, "This is Dr. Delaware, honey. The psychologist? Doctor, Ca.s.sie's dad."

The man turned toward me, holding on to Ca.s.sie, and extended his free hand. "Chip Jones. Good to meet you."

His grip was strong. Ca.s.sie was still yanking on his hair, messing it. He seemed impervious.

"I minored in psych," he said, smiling. "Forgot most of it." To Cindy: "How's everything?"

"'Bout the same."

He frowned. Looked at his wrist. Another Swatch.

Cindy said, "On the run?"

"Unfortunately. Just wanted to see your faces." He picked up the coffee cup and held it out to her.