Her shoulders ceased to shake but her voice trembled. “One night when I was twelve, I’d been in bed for a while but I heard yelling. Both of them, which was strange, cuz Daddy seldom ever raised his voice. I got out of bed and sneaked up to the door of the living room. They stood there arguing.
“Momma shook her finger in Daddy’s face. ‘I know what you plan on doin’. She’ll get her period any day now, ‘n’ then her hormones will start racin’ and make it easy for you to do what you always wanted. Hell, you ain’t touched me in fuckin’ years, you goddamn child molester. I’m not young enough for your sick ass.'”
Vanessa choked. She curled on her side in the fetal position weeping soundlessly. I got up and crouched down beside her. She flung her arms around my neck and begged, “Please, make it stop. I can’t stand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. Not ever. All he did was love me. Daddy. Daddy. Where’s my Daddy?”
Clinical guidelines be damned. I feared she’d never make it home alive. I returned her hug. I cradled her head and kissed her brow and muttered, “There, there, baby girl. I’m here. Nothing can hurt you here, I won’t let it. Cry just as much as you need. Scream it out if you want.”
I rocked her as one would a child. She didn’t scream and she loosened her grip. I glanced at the clock. My three o’clock patient was probably waiting. I shushed the poor girl and kissed her brow again. “I need to get up and tell my next patient she’ll have to reschedule.”
She released her grip on me and whimpered. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be so much trouble.”
I ran my hand through her hair and back under to cup her chin. I came close to kissing her lips, but managed to suppress the impulse. I stared into her eyes and whispered. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve done nothing wrong. The woman in the waiting room will understand. I know her. She’d be angry with me if I stopped with you now and didn’t make her reschedule.”
Vanessa started to say “Thank you,” but stopped and flung her arms around my hips and pressed the side of her face in my belly and then let me go.
When I returned from the waiting room, Vanessa was sitting in the side chair at my desk. A cigarette dangled from her fingers. She blew a long stream of smoke through her pursed lips. With the smoke expelled, she crushed out the cigarette and gave me a sheepish smile. “I know I didn’t ask your permission, but I saw the ashtray and didn’t think you’d mind.”
I shrugged. “I don’t smoke myself, but many of my patients do. Women come from all around South Mississippi to get my help. Most come to see me about far more serious issues than a smoking habit so I tolerate it with good grace. Do you mind?” I pointed toward the window.
Vanessa answered, “Sure.”
I raised the shade and opened the window. I rented two rooms on the fourth floor of an office building with no elevator on Harwood Street, near the college, one for my patients to wait in and another for an office. The view didn’t compensate for the climb, but the cheaper rent did.
I sat behind my desk. I needed some space between us. Gentle physical contact is nearly always a sure way to calm somebody, but my growing feelings for my lovely patient made it too likely for inappropriate behavior to develop and I had to avoid that at all costs.
I tried my best to look solemn and professional and asked, “Do you feel like going on?”
She met my gaze. I said to myself, “Truth. She’s about to tell me the truth and it’s going to hurt.” To help her, I said, “Don’t be ashamed. You said your father did nothing wrong and you loved him as a daughter should. I know you told the truth. Tell me the rest of it.”
She lit another cigarette. “You know how they say schoolyard bullies are really cowards and if you hit back they leave you alone? Well, I wanted to hit Momma and make her stop bullying Daddy. But Daddy beat me to it. I doubt if he had ever laid a hand on her before. But she had pushed him over the edge. I think he went crazy when she accused him of … that. He wasn’t a big man, just normal size, but he back-handed her hard enough that he split her lip and she fell down. His eyes went big, as if he’d just realized what he’d done and he stepped back.
“Momma spat blood and started laughing. ‘You’re done now, asshole. I’m calling the cops and filing a report. Tomorrow I’m going to a lawyer and filing for a divorce. You are DONE. I’m gonna stick you with alimony and child support. And I’ll make sure you never see your precious little ‘Darlin’ Girl’ ever again. Oh, I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch.'”
Vanessa paused to wipe her streaming tears and blow her nose. She continued. “I saw the light go out of Daddy’s eyes. That bitch was right on the money. He was done. His shoulders drooped and he walked outside. Momma dialed the phone and I looked out the window. Daddy sat on the steps and waited. A few minutes later, a police car arrived with two officers. One talked to Daddy and the other came in and talked to Momma. She told him they’d been arguing about money, which was a goddamn lie. I never knew what Daddy told the other one, but I saw him shake his head hard. He stood up and put out his hands for the cuffs. The officer put him into the backseat of the police car and waited. The other officer finished talking to Momma and put his pad away. He said, ‘I’d like to talk to the child.’ Momma said, ‘No. I don’t want her bothered. She’s too young.'”
Vanessa paused again and took a drag from her smoke. Half of it had burned away while she talked. She dropped it in the ashtray and lit another. I asked, “Did you talk to the officer anyway?”
She shook her head. “I was angry and afraid. I started crying and ran to my room. The officer didn’t come after me, so I guess he left.”
She got quiet again, took a pull from her cigarette, and expelled the smoke.
I waited. She ground out the stub. “I never saw Daddy again. He came back a few nights later. I heard the car start. I got out of bed and ran outside, but all I saw were the taillights headed away.”
I waited for her to continue, but she sat silent. “Do you know what happened to your father?”
She closed her eyes. “Somebody called the house the next morning. Momma answered and said, ‘I see. Can you send somebody to get me? I don’t have a car.’ Then she hung up. I just stared at her. She said, ‘Your father’s had an accident. He’s dead. I have to go and take care of some things. Go back to bed.'”
Though inappropriate under clinical guidelines, I offered an opinion to encourage her. “That was a cold way of handling the situation. What did you do?”
“I remember feeling numb. I don’t remember going back to bed. I don’t remember crying. I don’t remember falling back to sleep. But I must have, cuz I woke up in the morning and my pillow was still wet. The next few days were a blur. There was a wake and a funeral. Family and co-workers came. I just sat quiet. I don’t remember talking to anybody. I stayed out of school for a week, until Momma forced me to go back.”
I asked, “Did you talk to your friends? A teacher? The school counselor?”