time.”
“Can I do anything?”
Billy smiled at his mom, imagining her bracing Dave or Russ. “No, we’re okay. We pretty much ignore them.”
“You’re popular with Amy,” Corey remarked, thinking Billy was more and more like Abe, the way he was so realistic about his life, and the way he could talk about it.
“Amy’s cool,” Billy said, smiling now and rocking. He was taller than Corey, and still gangly. His long arm was draped over the back of the porch swing, around her back. He touched her far shoulder, and when she turned that way, surprised, they laughed, a private joke between them. “I really like her.”
“How are you two doing?” she eventually asked.
“She wants to go out.”
“What exactly does ‘go out’ mean?” Corey ran her hand through her short, black hair. There was a braided red and black bracelet tattooed on her wrist.
“It means we see each other a lot. You know, lunch, after school, even at night on the weekends.”
“Sounds serious.” Corey watched his face. Billy’s first, and last, girlfriend, Morgan, had ended their relationship six months after her family moved to New York City less than a year ago.
“I dunno. We’ve only been together—what?—it’s not even three months.”
“I’m sure she’s had her eye on you for quite a while. She was just waiting for you and Morgan to break up.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, that’s what I think, and even if you factor in that I’m your mom, I’ll bet I’m right.”
Billy smiled. “It’s not always, well, a good thing, to have a mom who’s so sure of everything.”
“Fair enough…so what’s worrying you?”
“Well she’s had lots of boyfriends, and she might lose interest.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I’m not so…you know.”
Corey took a beat, putting it together. Okay, Mom. “You mean you’re not as experienced as she is?”
“I guess.”
When Billy was uncomfortable, he got vague, monosyllabic. “Listen. I went out with guys who weren’t as experienced as I was, and the ones that I kept seeing were the ones that didn’t pretend it wasn’t so.”
His black eyebrows tilted down. “How do you do that?”
Corey leaned in, pleased that he was asking her about this. Pleased, too, that he was smart enough to know she could help. “Tell her. You can even ask questions about what she likes.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Hey. Let her take the lead. It’s just the two of you, you know. No one else cares.” Her smile, when it came, was open and warm.
He thought about that. “Huh,” was all he offered, along with another tap to her far shoulder.
***
At the end of his day, Abe returned phone calls. He rubbed his thumb over a well-worn spot on the old oak desk and dialed Jim Peterson’s number at work. Abe believed the groove in his desk had been worn while he waited for doctors. As he held for Dr. Peterson, he was thinking about Sara, how she was so sensitive, even hypersensitive; Sara didn’t miss much. And the mythological universe she’d constructed was, at first glance, both orderly and detailed. No small accomplishment. Still, he had no idea why she’d built it, or what purpose it served. He hoped to answer those questions. He couldn’t do that, though, without her help. And why would she ever want to help him unless she thought he could help her? She didn’t think that now; he knew that much. After holding for a very busy receptionist and an even busier nurse who asked if he was waiting for “Doctor,” he explained that he, too, was a doctor returning Dr. Peterson’s call, and Abe was put through right away.
“Jim, Abe Stein,” Abe said. They’d had patients in common, and though they didn’t know each other well, Abe liked and respected Jim. He was sure Jim wouldn’t have sent Sara to see him if the feeling wasn’t mutual.
“Nice to talk with you, Abe, sorry about the circumstances. I’m worried. I’d appreciate your take on Sara.”
“My take?” Abe was wary—something about the way some doctors assumed they were part of some special club, that Abe would just tell him about Sara, his daughter, Abe’s patient.
“I’ll level with you, Abe. I’m okay with the black clothes, the Wicca, the spells. I’ve learned to live with the piercings, the pentagrams, even the tattoos. And Lord knows, since she was a child, I’ve encouraged her interest in Greek mythology. But this is different. She’s depressed. She’s become uncommunicative and reclusive. In the past few weeks, it’s gotten worse. To her, these Greek stories are becoming real. And setting a fire at school is a felony. Help me out here. I’m lost. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Can you help her? What’s the matter with her?”
Abe hesitated. “Jim, you’re putting me in an awkward position. If I’m going to treat Sara—and I suggested we meet three times a week—I can’t have side conversations with you. If you want to come in, I’ll talk with Sara first and work out what I can and can’t say.”
“Cut me a little slack here, Abe. I know how this works.”
Abe was quiet. “I’ll do my best to help Sara,” he eventually offered.
“Okay. I know. That’s why she’s seeing you.”
“Jim, I need time with her. I can’t say yet how long. I can only help her if you give us time and room.”
“I’m sorry if I was out of line, I’m just—I’m just upset, and honestly, sometimes I’m so worried it’s hard to bear.”
“I understand.” And he did. Abe could still see Sara—she was imprinted, indelibly, in his mind—waving her Athame, calling on the Oracle of Delphi to help her. It was as if she’d embraced, no, ingested, Greek mythology, then added a dash of the occult. And now, she was insisting that worrisome aspects of her modern life were driven by the strict rules and harsh consequences of the ancient Greek Myths.
Abe could hear Jim, taking a slow breath, using his inhaler. “Take what time you need, Abe,” he eventually said, “But please work out with Sara some way to keep me in the picture. Okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“Thanks for your help.” Jim said.
“I haven’t helped yet,” Abe wanted to say. “And I’m not sure I can.” Instead, he said, “I’ll do my best.”
Abe set down the phone, wondering why Sara had retreated to a world that existed, what?—he
