Sugar, salt, and pepper welcomed sulfa to that special place on the kitchen table. It would have been hard to eat there day after day without noticing the distinctive brown plastic jar which was now the vehicle of Eden’s preventive care. As for the upheaval that preceded the change, no hint emerged from the daily table talk. The wounds sustained at the session in Rick’s office followed the natural course of untreated wounds: They healed with varying degrees of scarring and left their victims changed, for better or for worse.

For Eden the effect was a maturing one. She took responsibility for her daily medication, allowing her father to stay safely away from that treacherous subject. In time she also looked more charitably on his actions. If his remarks on the phone to camp had been offensive ― and she still thought of them that way ― they had also been prophetic. Nor was she without blame for the scene in Rick’s office. It had been her decision to keep quiet about losing the pills.

Alan fared less well. As if losing his self-control wasn’t bad enough, he also misread his daughter. Her message was, “I’m dependable”; he read, “I’ll show you I don’t need you.” But he was a prisoner of silence, partly because nothing Eden said or did justified confrontation, partly because the real cause of his paranoia was an internal struggle he could not share.

~~~~~~~~~~

He had a dream. He was on trial; the charge was not clear. A young woman was shouting accusations at him. He looked pleadingly around the courtroom but met only silent stares. When the plaintiff’s tirade was over, the judge, a middle-aged woman, pointed her finger at him and said, “I find you guilty. I know the law!”

He woke with a start. Without disturbing Karen he stole downstairs and sat in the dark study. What light there was outside gave the overcast sky a purple-black tint. Against its background he counted six small panes in the upper sash of the window and a single large one in the lower. A new discovery ― after how many years in this house? The branches of a tree waved fitfully in the wind. Fall was only weeks off, and with it the colors that had captivated Eden. He wondered whether she and Josh would have a rite of fall to celebrate the anniversary of their friendship. He ran out of distractions and his eyes began to burn. He went back to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you realize I’ve been with F & D twenty years? Except for maternity leave.”

“We’ve also been married twenty years,” answered Alan. “With no time off.”

She smiled. “You did better than Bruce. They’ve been divorced, what is it, eleven years?”

“How’s she doing?”

“She doesn’t have a family, so she’s missed out on some interesting experiences. Still trying to find a new husband, though I wonder how hard. She’ll never have children.”

Interesting experiences. And what emotion informed the statement about children? Envy or sympathy? She went on, “Except for lunch once in a while, I hardly ever see her. When she’s not in court, she’s on the road meeting clients, taking depositions, God knows what.”

“Sounds hectic.”

“And interesting.” Same word, but with no hint of hidden meaning.

“Doesn’t she sometimes wish she did have a family?”

“I imagine she does. But she wouldn’t give up her career, or any part of it, for a child.”

He thought he detected a subtle emphasis on the last she, but its meaning was ambiguous; maybe Karen was being critical rather than envious. One thing was sure, talking about Bobbie with Karen was hazardous to their domestic peace.

~~~~~~~~~~

Alan had another dream. Again he was on the witness stand facing an accusing finger. But this finger belonged to a middle-aged woman in a black robe. “Guilty of obstructing a justice!” she said. He stood transfixed, unable to utter a word in self-defense.

He tried to connect the dream to reality. Coming barely two weeks after another nocturnal courtroom scene, it was the last straw on his overburdened back. He knew what he had to do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sara Walsh, Ph.D., had an office for the practice of psychotherapy on the floor above Keller & Cade, P.C. They consulted with each other often. “You and I are like parents to our patients,” she had said once. “We have different roles, but they benefit from our teamwork.”

Alan called for an appointment. “The patient’s name, please?” the receptionist asked.

He was sure his hesitation gave him away. “Tell her it’s a personal question.”

“I will, doctor.” He hoped she could be trusted.

Sara called back twenty minutes later. “Alan, it’s Sara. Is something wrong?” Sara’s voice conveyed a warmth and concern designed to calm anxiety. He had often wondered if it was the result of training or a personality trait that fitted her for her profession.

“Nothing serious, but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Are you free at three this afternoon?” Alan was. “Does Gordon know you’re coming?”

“No. It’s personal.”

“OK. Say nothing right now. We’ll talk more about it later.”

That afternoon Gordon was at the hospital, so Alan didn’t have to explain.

“Doctor Walsh is in her office. You may go right in.”

Alan searched the receptionist’s face for signs of forbidden knowledge. But her attention was already back on her crossword puzzle. To his irrational relief ― considering how often he’d been there on other patients’ business ― no one else was in the room. Even the receptionist’s presence, despite her detachment, disturbed him.

Sara was in her late forties, her short hair halfway between gray and its original brown. Among her techniques for relaxing her patients was a habit of putting her legs up on nearby pieces of furniture. Alan found her talking on the phone, one leg on the coffee table. With her free hand she motioned him to the sofa. “Monthly meeting,” she said, hanging up. “I’ve just been appointed secretary. I take notes and keep my own mouth shut. Love it.” She closed her appointment book with a decisive snap. “How can I be of help?”

“Do you believe in dreams?”

“Can’t help believing. I have them.” She waited for the real question.

“You know what I mean. Can you tell anything from them?”

“A great deal. I don’t agree with Freud on everything, but he was right about them being the royal road to the unconscious. Have you had some that bother you?”

“I think I can figure a couple of ’em out partway, and I don’t much like what they’re telling me. Then there are others, going back a while, that are really obscure.”

“Then let’s work backwards.”

“I’ve had two bad ones in two weeks. I don’t want any more.”

“I can’t guarantee you anything. Maybe understanding them will help, but that doesn’t mean they won’t recur, especially if there’s a common theme that’s important to you.”

Alan recounted the two courtroom dreams. “Remarkably similar, aren’t they?” Sara said.

“Obviously I’m guilty of something.”

“Obviously you feel guilty about something. That’s all the dreams tell us. Whether you are is a different matter. Do you have any idea who your accusers are?”

“I didn’t recognize them. The judge in the first dream and whoever was yelling at me in the other were about my age. For all I know, they could have been one and the same. The young one looked more like a teenager.”

“Do they remind you of anybody you know?”

“I’d been thinking more about what they were accusing me of.”

“The charges seem pretty vague.”

“I suppose they’d have to be important people.”

“To have that effect on you, I’d certainly think so. Important to you, that is.”

“The only people that important to me are my wife and daughter,” Alan said.

“Does it fit?”

“I didn’t think I’d been that bad a husband or father.” He laughed nervously.

“Nobody says you have ― except maybe you yourself. But I need to understand more about your personal and family history. Tell me first about your wife, how you met, what she did before your daughter was born, your lives together.”

Alan spoke for about ten minutes, highlighting Karen’s promising career, their decision to have a baby, and her return to work.

“She sounds like a very bright person. Does she still have professional ambitions?”

“Sometimes she seems content to work her hours and come home. Other times, I get the feeling she regrets what she’s passed up. She has this friend, Bobbie Buehl, who joined the firm while Karen was on maternity leave. Bobbie refused to have children. Her marriage broke up, but she’s a full partner and very successful.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Sara said calmly. “Another would be that she’s a professional success but her marriage broke up. Which way does Karen put it?” Alan couldn’t remember.

“You say they’re friends? There’s no sense of competition, or displacement? You said Bobbie started during Karen’s leave. That makes Karen technically the senior, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so, but Bobbie never took a leave. I don’t know how close they are. They sometimes have lunch together, but nothing more.”

“An interesting relationship. Did Karen ever have higher ambitions?”

“Before Edie, she was a rising star. She’d even talk about being a judge someday.”

Sara’s eyebrows rose. “What was it the black-robed lawyer said in the dream? ‘Obstruction of justice’? Or was it ‘obstruction of a justice’? It sounded as if you said a.”

“Yes, it was ‘obstruction of a justice.’ I remember that clearly. It seemed strange, but then I thought it was just a dream and the detail wasn’t important.”

“It could be,” Sara said. “Don’t they call the members of the Supreme Court justices?”

Now Alan’s eyes lit up. “Do you think she was talking about obstructing her appointment to the court, instead of the usual meaning of obstruction of justice?”

“Only Freud himself would be sure,” Sara answered, “but you and I can speculate. The fact that your accuser wears a black robe could mean that you see her as a judge, or justice.”

“So she holds it against me that she’s in a rut,” Alan muttered under his breath.

Sara leaned toward him, both legs on the floor. “Now listen to me, Alan. Your assessment of her feelings may or may not be correct, but you can’t use your dreams to read her mind. Don’t ever forget that. . . .I don’t like telling people what to do, but let’s draw the line here.”

“OK, but she’s probably said a few things over the years to put that thought in my mind.”

“Maybe. But let me say it again, it’s your mind we’re reading, not hers. Now, the other dream, the one with the teenager, might involve your daughter, so I want to know something about her. Let’s do that next week, Monday.”

“How about Gordon?”

“It’s up to you, but why not be frank? You’re entitled to have concerns just as much as any of your patients. He’ll understand that.”

As he passed the receptionist, she smiled and said good-bye. She was working on a different puzzle. Alan assumed that she had not had her ear to the door, but that she knew nonetheless. Without looking her in the eye, he mumbled good-bye and hurried out.

His waiting room was full. “Ah, here he is,” said Gilda pleasantly. He took her words as a reproach for not being there sooner. Assuming his patients also wondered what he’d been up to, he went through his appointments with unaccustomed speed. It was time to tell Gordon.

It then occurred to him that they hadn’t broached the question of telling Karen. Just as well. He didn’t want to tell her ― not yet.

He buzzed Gilda: “Did Gordon say when he’d be back from the hospital?”

“He is back ― working in his office.” Alan knocked on the door and went in.

“I had a talk with Sara,” he said, sitting down. “About myself.”

“We can all use some help from time to time,” Gordon answered. “You’ve had more than your share of upsets. Just work out your schedule the best way you can, and let me know. By the way, what did she do with her legs?”

Monday he again ran the receptionist’s gauntlet. “Any more dreams?” Sara greeted him.

“No, thank goodness. But you know, I’m intimidated by your receptionist.”

“Brenda? Why would you be intimidated by her?”

“It’s nothing she’s ever said. She just looks at me so knowingly.”

“She knows what kind of practice I have, but she’s more interested in her puzzles.”

“I guess I’m self-conscious. Funny, I wouldn’t be embarrassed having a receptionist know about my physical problems, but emotional problems are so ― stigmatizing.”

“Some people never seek help just because of that stigma, which, sadly enough, is real in our society. They can’t help having a problem, but they can avoid talking about it. You’d be amazed how many people convince themselves there’s nothing wrong just to stay ‘clean’ in the eyes of society. Like staying out of trouble with the law. You have them in medicine too, I know, but not like we do. I’m convinced that denial is our most rampant epidemic.”

“That kind of inhibition can have its advantages,” Alan said. “Like co-pay. Discourages people from coming in with nothing wrong.”

“People don’t come in here with nothing wrong. There’s always a reason.”

“Proves your thesis, doesn’t it? Just seeing a therapist damns the patient.”

Sara threw up her hands. “Maybe if I’d been married to a lawyer for twenty years I could hold my own in this kind of conversation. But I concede. Tell me about your daughter.”

“I left her schooling pretty much up to Karen. She had the time, and I was working long hours. We sometimes had words about that ― that I should be more involved. I’m sure she was right. I wasn’t the most attentive father. But I never felt distanced from Edie. We became closer after she got sick, because she was interested in her illness and I enjoyed teaching her.”

“What kind of illness?”

“She had rheumatic fever just before she turned thirteen. It was very serious. I’ll never forget rushing her to the hospital in the night, the oxygen, the diuretics, the steroids. Weeks of intensive care. We came close to losing her.”

“That must have been a horrendous time, for you and Karen as well as Edie.”

“Edie never knew how close she came to dying, and the moment she was well she wanted to forget she’d been sick. How’s that for denial! But Karen and I knew it could just as easily have gone the other way. And I had to deal with her getting it in the first place.”

“Oh?”

“Rheumatic fever is preventable. All you have to do is treat the strep throat. I didn’t.”

“Are you your own family doctor?”

“No. Edie has a pediatrician, Rick Harmon. But I’m sort of gatekeeper. A lot of minor stuff doesn’t need a pediatrician. I made a bad decision.”

“But you know how to treat strep throat. Adults get it too. What happened here?”

“I didn’t make the diagnosis.”

“I’ve heard it’s difficult. My doctor won’t give me penicillin unless she’s sure.”

Alan leaned back, closed his eyes, and let his head fall forward on his chest. Sara waited patiently. “I think I’d better tell you the details,” he said. “You’re right about not always giving penicillin.”

“How do doctors decide?”

“I wasn’t convinced by the looks of her throat, so I did a culture. I insisted on proof ― real scientific, you know. And what a mess I made of it.” He told her what happened in the lab.

“People make mistakes,” Sara said. “I’ve made my share. You thought you were doing the right thing, and you got burned. What was Karen’s input? Did she leave Edie’s treatment to you? You know, mothers sometimes don’t trust their doctor-husbands as much as another doctor. Did she ask a lot of questions?”

“She wanted me to give penicillin. She worried about scarlet fever ‘and other horrible things’ ― those were her words. After I promised to get a culture, she said no more, but I don’t think she was ever convinced. As things turned out, she was right, wasn’t she?”

“Is that what she said?”

“No, she never mentioned it again. Now Edie has to take sulfa every day. And all my conservatism’s gone up in smoke. An ounce of cure is worth a pound of prevention.”

“I’ll remember that one.” Sara laughed. “Do they always use sulfa for prevention now?”

“That’s another story. When you hear it, you won’t be reassuring me about mistakes.”

Sara looked at him attentively and waited. “Penicillin is our first choice for prophylaxis,” he explained. “Edie took it almost four years without a problem. Then the shit hit the fan.” He told about the events beginning in camp and culminating in Eden’s anaphylaxis.

Sara leaned forward, feet on the floor, eyes wide. “So she did become allergic! Your caution about treating her wasn’t misplaced after all. Didn’t you feel vindicated?”

“When your daughter almost dies, it’s small satisfaction to say ‘I told you so.’ ”

“I didn’t mean it that way. Only that you didn’t need to flagellate yourself.”

“I yelled at her in Rick’s office, accused her of bringing it on herself. We had this meeting a couple of days after her reaction. That was when I heard for the first time ― ” he looked at Sara, waiting for this to sink in, “― that she had lost the pills. I was furious.”

“With her?”

“If she hadn’t gone without all those weeks, she wouldn’t have had such a reaction. She should have known better.”

“You mean, she should have known she was risking a reaction?”

“Not that. We’d never talked about allergy. But she should have known she was risking a strep throat; that had been drilled into her for years.”

“Yes, I’d imagine she knows that pretty well. She couldn’t have forgotten that awful illness entirely. So why would she take such a chance?”

“It must be her age. She was a counselor at camp, with an image to protect. You should have heard her go on about the kids not respecting her if the nurse was chasing her with her pills.”

“Why would that have been necessary? A counselor has responsibility for a bunkful of campers. She’s obviously trustworthy. Why would she have to be reminded about her pills?”

Alan shook his head. “This was too important. I wasn’t crazy about the idea to begin with. But she talked me into it, so I insisted on some safeguard. And Karen agreed with me.”

“You talked it over with Karen before sending the pills?”

“No. But after that scene in Rick’s office, Karen calmed Edie down by explaining that I had acted out of concern for her. Obviously Karen understood.”

Sara looked at her hands, processing these words of self-delusion.

“I see your dilemma. Teenagers challenge us constantly. They want independence, and they want someone to lean on. They want to feel competent, and they’re insecure. They haven’t learned yet that maturity makes allowances for both. Parents can find it hard to deal with those contradictions. How nice it would be if our kids were totally obedient until their eighteenth birthday and then, presto! they became totally self-sufficient. But adulthood isn’t spliced onto childhood like two pieces of film; it’s more like twine with a hundred unequal strands, and there’s a long section where strands from both sides are intertwined.”

On the coffee table was a notepad, on which she drew pictures to illustrate her point. As she was putting the finishing touches on the twine, Alan said, “Are you saying I was wrong to insist on someone checking that she take her pills?”

“I appreciate your concern that she not miss a dose. I also suspect she may have felt mistrusted. And since we know how important image was to her, we can understand her reluctance to admit to losing the pills, how threatened she might feel by the thought of justifying your mistrust. So there’s the conflict, medical versus psychological. The trick is to reconcile them. You made a judgment that the medical need was overriding, and no one knowing her history could hold that against you. What would have worked? There’s no magic formula. We need to be sensitive to our children’s feelings, and from knowing them a way often suggests itself. But our best efforts don’t always succeed, so don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Do you think the young woman in the dream was Edie?”

“How does it seem to you?”

“I guess she was accusing me of ruining her life.”

“Is that the way you feel?”

“That’s what my dream says, isn’t it?”

“Could be. But that’s as far as I can go. In my opinion you made justifiable decisions, and you can’t be held accountable for unfortunate results. I think most doctors would agree.”

Alan meditated for a few seconds. “By the way, do you think the judge in that dream was anyone particular? I’m getting the idea that everything has some sort of meaning.”

“What was it she said?” Sara asked. “‘I find you guilty. I know the law.’ Wasn’t that it?”

“Yes.”

“Most judges wouldn’t have to remind a defendant that they know the law.”

Alan looked up suddenly. “Karen?”

“Reminding you that she’s a lawyer might have been a way of identifying herself to you.”

“And, of course, she was judging me,” Alan said bitterly.

“In your mind,” Sara reminded him.

“The other dreams had nothing to do with courts.”

“Maybe we can learn something else from them, but I bet the same theme runs through them too. Guilt seems to have gotten a pretty good grip on you.” Alan recounted them.

“Interesting,” Sara said. “In both of them there’s a bus. What do you make of that?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“I’d bet that the little girl also is Edie.”

“But the one about the bike accident was recent, and the girl’s much younger than Edie.”

“There’s a reason. The woman who accused you was an adult because she was acting an adult role. In the bike dream, the girl was in the role of a child, so she was a child.”

“But what do they mean?”

“The thing that stands out is the bus. In both dreams the child was prevented from taking it. One could imagine it representing security; things are taken care of, someone else does the driving. As it was, she had to fend for herself, in the first case by walking and in the second case by riding her bike. She met with an accident both times. Can you relate that to anything in—”

She never completed the question. “It’s crystal clear! The bus is the injection, which takes care of things for her. She loses her bus fare­ ― the pills ― and gets hit by the bus.”

“And the other dream?”

“That bus was the penicillin she should have got for her strep throat. That would have taken care of it. But she was forced to walk, meaning to fight the infection off by herself.”

“Go on,” Sara said gently.

“The driver was a woman. She was angry when we didn’t get on. That must have been Karen, upset that I didn’t give Edie penicillin. Then Edie broke one bone after another, and they healed miraculously. That was rheumatic fever, a lot of pain but no damage. But I don’t know about the bird flying out of the cage.”

Sara arched her eyebrows and tilted her head, telling him that she expected him to find the answer.

“That cage is her ribs, isn’t it? And her heart flew away. Meaning that her heart, as she knew it, was gone. No, that’s stretching it too far.”

“Not ‘as she knew it’; as you did,” Sara said. “That’s not stretching it. And wasn’t the bird named ‘Cordie,’ or something like that?”

“Yes. But how does a little girl come up with stuff like that?”

“How’s your Latin?”

Alan grinned sheepishly. “You win. It’s Latin for ‘heart.’ Cor, cordis.” Sara beamed.

After a while, Alan went on, using the metaphor of the dream. “What really hurts is that she could have got the carfare replaced. And she wouldn’t have broken her bones, and Cordie wouldn’t have escaped, . . . I kept her from it ― both times.”

“You’re blaming yourself for Edie’s medical problems.”

“That,” Alan said softly, “and Karen’s unfulfilled dreams. Not pretty, is it?”

Sara, her feet still on the floor, leaned forward again. “I don’t know of anyone in the world who doesn’t have cause to regret some things they’ve done or failed to do. Imperfection is part of us all and we must accept it in ourselves as well as others. Guilt is appropriate for wrongs and hurts committed with the knowledge that they were wrong and hurtful. For the pain caused by our mistakes we can only feel sad, and we can try to help those we’ve hurt inadvertently. When you made medical decisions, you didn’t know Edie would be hurt. Please think about that distinction. Don’t let it slip back into your unconscious mind unresolved.”

“And Karen? That wasn’t a medical decision.”

“You had an agreement, didn’t you?”

Alan got up, took a deep breath, and stood for a few moments engrossed in thought. “I suppose so. And if I hadn’t pushed her to have the baby then, she should ― if that’s the right word ― have had it six months later.”

“You need to remember that. In the overall picture those six months mean nothing.” She paused for emphasis. “Before we wind up, how are things between you and Edie right now?”

“Polite but cool, I’d say. After that scene we never talked about it again.”

“Do you sense hostility ― on your part or hers?”

Alan shrugged. “I don’t think I could say that. We just don’t seem to be as close.”

“This could have been a real growth experience. Do you check on her taking the pills?”

“Not directly. I have to see to it that her supply doesn’t run out, so I know indirectly. But no one reminds her to take them, and so far she hasn’t missed a day.”

“Good,” Sara said, “so you don’t need to do a thing right now. This distance may be nothing more than her determination to take responsibility. She’s growing up.

“There’s something else to keep in mind. Other people don’t always think the same way we do. Take Brenda, for example. I bet she didn’t give you a second thought. It’s that way with children too. What’s trivial for us can be a major issue with them, sometimes growing with time if the difference never gets talked out. And some things that stick in our craws they’ve long forgotten.  I’d keep an open mind on how much resentment Edie bears you.”

“That doesn’t make me any less guilty.”

“I don’t expect your feeling to be dissipated that easily. But there are two parts to this, her physical health and her relationship with you. One doesn’t have to suffer because of the other. You still have an important place in her life. I don’t want you paralyzed by the past and unable to be a father to her in the future. Actually, I’d like to get to know her. Would you object to my talking with her?”

“I was hoping we could avoid getting the family involved.”

“I don’t want to force the issue. But it might help to hear her perspective. Think about it.”

“How would we arrange it? Would you want me to tell her, or would you call her at home? Karen doesn’t know I’ve been to see you. This isn’t the way I’d want her to find out.”

“We could work it through Rick. I could call him. Karen, of course, would have to agree too. You should speak with her directly.”

“I wonder what her reaction will be,” Alan said, scratching his head.

“You’ll find out! In any case, if you don’t tell her, soon you’ll feel guilty about keeping it from her, and guilt isn’t something you need more of right now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, with Eden safely insulated in her room, Alan said to Karen, “I spoke with Sara Walsh. She’s a psychotherapist. We refer patients to each other.”

“And who’s the patient? You?” Her expression said she was joking. His answer took her by surprise. “Yes. As a matter of fact, it was my second visit.”

He stopped, unsure whether he wanted to be asked for more details or to have his privacy respected. He thought about the conflicting needs of teenagers. Like daughter, like father, and that’s the second time I’ve turned a common saying on its head. This time Karen really was taken aback; he was smiling for no reason she could divine.

“You must have had a good time,” she said.

“No, I just had a thought. We talked about the fight in Rick’s office. I think Edie’s still mad at me.”

“Why not talk with Edie?”

“Sara suggested I don’t, but she said she’d like to get to know Edie. You know, I had to tell her quite a bit about Edie’s history—”

“And mine?” Karen’s face was expressionless.

“Just a bit. She asked about your work, Edie’s childhood, you know, that sort of thing.” Karen said nothing; she seemed to be waiting. Alan, looking at her blank face, had the uncomfortable feeling that she expected him to dig a hole for himself. He found a way out.

“Has Edie ever said anything to you about that day?”

“No.” She turned back to the sink. The conversation appeared to be over, and he felt more uncomfortable than ever. “Would you like to talk with Sara too?” he asked.

“What’s happened has happened. We must make the best of it.”

“But you blame me, don’t you?” he said, his voice rising ever so slightly.

At this she swung around. Her eyes were moist. “I just can’t get it out of my head that it didn’t have to happen. And I can’t imagine what good it would do me to talk with this Sara.”

She left the kitchen before he had a chance to reply.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eden was now going for her checkups unaccompanied. At her next visit, she found her father waiting in Rick’s office.

“Hi!” She wondered if there was a change in her heart or her medication. It was neither. After examining her, Rick asked “Would you have any trouble talking with a psychologist?”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know that there is one. Her name is Sara Walsh. Your dad often refers patients to her and knows her well. He spoke with her about some of the things that have happened.”

“What kind of things?”

“You’ve been very sick a couple of times, and it’s been stressful for your parents too.”

“Oh, you mean like what happened here last time?”

“There’s an example, yes.”

“I don’t see the point of bringing that up again. I was stupid and Dad got angry. He had a right to. Now it’s over. I take my pills, no fuss, no bother. Why do I need a psychologist?”

Oh, the logic of adolescents! It was clear that Eden had no wish or need for a psychological consultation, and nothing short of the truth would persuade her to go. Rick cued Alan.

“No one says you do. I went to see Doctor Walsh because I had something on my mind, and it involved things that have happened to you. She’d like to hear your side, so to speak.”

“My side?” She looked puzzled and annoyed. “What is there that we have to take sides on?”

“It isn’t that easy to explain. Even though you’re the one that’s suffered most from being sick, it’s also hard on the parents seeing their child go through something like that.”

Eden’s tone softened a little. “Has Mom also been to see this psychologist?”

“No.”

“Well, she’s one of my parents.”

“Her reaction and mine aren’t necessarily the same,” Alan said. “We’re two people.”

“So I’m to help settle the difference? Like seeing who’s right about their reactions?”

Rick was enjoying this repartee as a spectator. Alan was not having fun at all. “If you really want to know, I felt bad about what happened and I wanted to talk with someone outside the family. Now Doctor Walsh wants to know how you feel. Psychologists do that, talk with a person who’s important to their patient. It doesn’t mean you’re a patient.”

“Are you Doctor Walsh’s patient?”

“I had a couple of conversations with her. I don’t think that makes me a patient.”

“Why didn’t you just talk it over with Mom?”

“Sometimes it’s better to go outside the family, to someone who’s uninvolved.”

“I don’t think you should blame yourself. Everybody gets strep throats, and some get rheumatic fever. I was unlucky, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s nice of you to say that. But it really would be nice if you were willing to talk with Doctor Walsh. She can help me better if she knows you too.”

The appointment was made. Not the least bit self-conscious, Eden chatted with Brenda before being shown into Sara’s office.

“Thank you so much for coming. I hope my invitation didn’t alarm you. Your dad’s been in a couple of times, and we talked about your history, so I felt like I should get to know you.”

“Are you going to see my mother too?”

“Maybe, but right now I just want to speak with you.” With a laugh she added: “We don’t always observe seniority.”

Eden joined her laugh. “Yes, Dad told me about seeing you. He says he felt bad after our fight in Doctor Harmon’s office. But I think I was just as much to blame.”

“You have quite a medical history, don’t you?” Sara asked, noting Eden’s poise and matter-of-fact attitude.

“Yes, it started with rheumatic fever.”

“That was quite a few years ago, wasn’t it?”

“I was about to turn thirteen. I’ll be seventeen in August.”

“Do you remember your illness?”

“It was frightening. At first that awful pain in my joints. Then the heart failure. They had me hooked up to oxygen for days on end. And the way they all looked at me when they came in, I didn’t know whether I was going to live or die.”

“It must have been awful. I don’t think anyone can really know what it’s like to be ill without personal experience. Your parents must have been worried to death as well.”

“I’m sure they were. Dad especially. And Mom too, although sometimes I thought she looked ― I don’t quite know ― sort of angry. Never said anything angry, though. Maybe I was imagining it.” She shrugged. The momentary lift of Sara’s eyebrows escaped her notice.

“Did you ever hear them talk about it between themselves?”

“Not about the worrying. But there was all the practical stuff, how soon I could go back to physical activity and to school, the Bicillin shots, the follow-up exams.”

“How about you? Did you talk about it afterwards with either of your parents, like ask them questions about what had happened?”

“Oh yes. Once I felt better, it was sort of fun. Dad showed me pictures of the heart, and where the valves were, and Doctor Harmon explained EKGs to me.”

“My goodness,” Sara laughed, “I bet you know more about the heart than most adults!”

“I don’t know that much, but it’s fascinating. I mean, it’s so complicated, and it all starts with one cell. The whole body, not just the heart. It’s amazing that it all works so well most of the time. So many things could go wrong, and mostly they don’t. Josh calls it a work of art, and I agree. Of course, he’s always calling things works of art.” She laughed. Sara recognized in that laugh the nature of the relationship between Eden and Joshua. She already thought Eden one of the healthiest teenagers she had seen in her office.  A steady boyfriend fitted the picture.

“Who is Josh?”

“A friend. I used to go over to their house after school when I was younger, waiting for Mom to pick me up. His sister Debbie and I were classmates till I got sick, but I was out so long I had to repeat the year. We still go skating together, though.”

“Do you think you might want to study medicine?”

“I’ve thought about it. But my grades haven’t been all that good. Maybe, if I do really well the next two years, I might have a chance at a good college, and then I’ll have to work even harder. But I’m sure Dad’ll help me with things I don’t understand.”

Sara took a few moments to consider what she had heard, then changed the subject.

“Your dad told me you had another scare, with penicillin allergy.”

“Anaphylaxis, it’s called. I missed penicillin for three weeks, then when I got my shot I had a terrible reaction. This time I was sure I’d die, but Mom got me to the hospital in time and by next day I was out of danger. It had to do with antibodies piling up and no penicillin in my system to remove them, so I had three weeks’ worth of reaction all at once.”

“You’re well educated, Eden, I’ll say. Now how did it happen that after all those years of prophylaxis you missed penicillin for three weeks?”

She told the story of the overnight camp and the telephone conversation with her father. “I was pretty pissed off with him for not trusting me, but I kept my mouth shut because I was afraid if I said anything he’d veto the idea altogether. Then, when I lost the pills, I didn’t have the guts to ask for more. If he’d been a little nicer about it in the first place I probably would have asked to get them replaced, but it’s really my fault. I didn’t even try.”

“Did you talk about it later?”

“Oh, we had quite a fight in Doctor Harmon’s office. Dad told me I’d brought it on myself. Hearing that really flipped me. I mean even if he was right, I’d just come close to dying, and for him to blame me, that was pretty insensitive.”

Sara said nothing but looked expectantly at Eden.

“But I’ve thought about that too. He must’ve been beside himself when that happened to me, and he was probably too angry to think straight. I’ve heard that people sometimes get that way. Mom said it was because he was so worried about me, and I guess she was right.”

“How about your mom? What was her reaction to your losing the pills?”

“She looked angry when she heard the story, but she didn’t say anything right then. So I don’t know what she was thinking. That was before Dad and I started to fight. When I talked back to Dad, that’s when she told me about him being worried. I don’t know whether she was taking sides or just trying to make peace.”

“She’s a lawyer, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but I don’t know that she’s all that happy with her work.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes she complains about the cases she works on, how boring they are, or how frustrating. I don’t understand much about what goes on in her office. To hear her say it, all the good stuff, whatever that is, goes to other lawyers. Then she talks about Bobbie Buehl; she’s a lawyer too, in the same firm. They’re friends but I think Mom’s a bit jealous of Ms. Buehl for getting promoted, getting more interesting work, making more money.”

“Has this Ms. Buehl been there longer than your mom?”

“I think Ms. Buehl came while Mom was home taking care of me as a baby. Ms. Buehl doesn’t have any children; she’s divorced.”

Sara pursed her lips. She wondered what impact Karen’s disappointment in her work, and its apparent tie to Eden’s infancy, had on the relationship between mother and daughter. She couldn’t derive further insight into that area without probing much deeper than she wished to.

Satisfied, however, that Eden and Alan had different views on Alan’s role in Eden’s illnesses, Sara thanked her again for coming and concluded the session.

Alone, Sara propped both feet on the back of the sofa, and reviewed the conversation.

Two brushes with death. Both parents with problems related directly to her. Result: A normal, balanced, well-adjusted, sensible girl. That’s not what they teach us, is it?