I said, “‘Accusations’. That’s an interesting word to use. Did she accuse somebody of something?”
Vanessa snorted. “Only all the time. Even my poor dad. Or maybe especially him.”
“Would you please elaborate on that?”
She hesitated. I could tell from her body language that I’d hit a very sore spot. She remained silent and tense. I looked at the clock and decided we’d done enough for one session. “I tell you what. We’re nearly at the end of the hour, so let’s stop there. I’d like to see you at least once a week for a while. Will that be convenient?”
She nodded. I asked, “Will the same day and time be convenient?”
She glanced at me and then lowered her eyes and turned them to the left, a sure sign that she was about to lie. Without looking at me, she said, “I usually spend Tuesday afternoons playing tennis. Do you have any openings on Wednesdays?”
A child would have known she was lying, but I decided not to press. We all lie occasionally, and psychiatric patients more than most. We agreed on Wednesdays at two. She put on her shoes and walked toward the door. I couldn’t help but admire her derriere. It moved delightfully from side to side and her stockings swished as her thighs rubbed together. I licked my lips.
She put her hand on the door knob but didn’t open it. She half-turned and looked back at me.
“Thank you, Sue. I feel good about coming in to see you. You’re right. I believe I can talk to you. I trust you. Maybe more than anybody else in the world. See you next week.”
She left before I could respond, which was a good thing. Just as when she nodded her tear-stained face at me like a little girl, her words and the expression on her face smote my heart and I felt like crying myself.
Session 02
When I let my one o’clock out the door the following Wednesday I found Vanessa sitting patiently in the waiting room. She was dressed in khaki shorts, a light blue cotton blouse, and high-heeled cork-bottomed sandals. She carried a straw purse and matching wide-brimmed hat.
I smiled and said, “Please come in.”
“Thanks, Sue.”
“You look a lot more casual today. Been out having fun?”
Vanessa lowered her gaze and looked left. I waited for another lie. “No, not really. I feel more comfortable now, you know, less formal. Is it okay?”
“Of course. I’m here to do whatever is best for you, whatever it takes. Besides, you look exceptionally pretty in those clothes, THE All-American Girl.”
She blushed and took my hand, briefly, and then let it drop while she walked into the office. She sat on the couch, took off her shoes, and lay down while I dimmed the lights. I turned on the tape recorder, picked up my pad, and took my accustomed place at the head of the couch. I breathed deep and said, “Last week we stopped at the point of your mother accusing your father of something. The incident clearly upset you so we quit. If you feel up to it, I’d like to start there.”
Vanessa answered, “Okay. Well, you know, I really loved my dad. He showed me a lot of attention. You know how all some men do when they’re not at work is sit and watch TV? Especially sports. I’ve been to several ball games, baseball, football, and basketball. It’s fun to sit in a crowd and cheer and eat hot dogs and drink beer, you know, exciting. You get caught up in the moment with all the energy of the people around you. But watching it on TV? For three hours? And I’d bet most of the men doing that never put on pads or cleats and walked out onto the field. Just a bunch of silly wannabes.
“Well my dad wasn’t like that. He would often have a game on. Sometimes I’d watch it with him, especially baseball. Even then he paid attention to me. He told me all about the rules and what kind of plays might be made and then explained the action we were watching. But if I got bored and asked him to read me a book or something, he always got up and turned the TV off and took whatever book I gave him. I loved ‘Green Eggs and Ham.’ He read it to me even though I had heard it so many times I recited the words along with him. And we built Lincoln Log buildings and put together jigsaw puzzles and played Go Fish. And he always put me to bed with a hug and a kiss and called me his ‘Darlin’ Girl’. He would probably have put that on my birth certificate if my mother would’ve let him.”
Her voice cracked and she began to sniff. I put the box of tissues within her reach. She blew her nose and continued. “Momma never did anything like that. She stayed busy cleaning up the kitchen after dinner or doing something else.”
She remained silent for several moments. To get her started again, I asked, “It sounds as if you have many fond memories of your father, is that right.” After she nodded, I asked, “Do you have any similarly fond memories of your mother?”
Vanessa’s voice tightened. “Hell no. It was always, ‘You oughta know better. Stop that. Shut up. Can’t you see I’m busy? Christ, I wished I’d never had kids.’ And shit like that. My earliest memories involving her are about trying to hide from her. I was always afraid.”
“Did your mother ever strike you?”
Vanessa shrugged. “Maybe a few times, you know, a slap or two here and there. Nothing major. She never hit me with a belt or a switch. Her damn sour mouth was enough to keep me in line.”
“That’s a pretty grim picture. Why do you think she behaved that way toward you?”
“Not just toward me. Toward Daddy, too, and some in her family. I saw her own mother, my grandma, acting the same way. I guess Momma was just mean and unhappy and hateful. No other way to explain it.”