Sugar and Spice - Chapter Twenty-six

 

Chapter Twenty-six

October 24 Friday  Late Afternoon

Patrick Kelly’s Home/Office

Cambridge, Massachusetts

 

PATRICK KELLY’S OFFICE was warm. The heating had come on against the October chill.  He and Nicole had made the room cozy for his patients. The walls were a soft almost baby blue, with lots of cream accents and a few white clouds painted on them.

There was a doll house for his little girl patients, but not to leave the boys out, there were model cars and a wooden airplane. Plane making balsa kits were marked with the name of the patient who started work but didn’t have time to finish on the last visit.

The rug in the center was soft. Nicole had found it at a flea market and paid $20. Later they discovered it was worth well over $1,600. Nicole said they weren’t going to sell it. It felt too good under bare feet, even if most of Patrick’s patients kept their shoes on. There were times that he had the little kids take off their shoes and pretend they were wading in the ocean blue of the carpet.

For his teenage patients, there were fewer distractions. Most of them sat in his waiting area along with their mothers. Both generations were on their mobiles. Patrick would not allow mobiles in his inner sanctum, as he called his patient-seeing room.

Patrick did a lot of pretend games with his patients. It reduced the dread that so many of his patients felt, especially at the beginning.

His last patient of the day was Bobby, age nine, who had been horribly bullied at his school before his parents realized it. Only when Bobby had tried to kill himself did they learn of the hell their kid had been through. The kid suffered from PTSD.

“That’s all for today, Bobby.” They had been sitting cross-legged on the rug. Patrick stood and pulled Bobby into a standing position.

As they walked into the waiting room Patrick was surprised to see Bill Reardon. After saying to Bobby’s mother, “It was a good session,” he addressed Bobby directly, “I’m looking forward to seeing you next week, Buddy.” He resisted ruffling the boy’s hair.

When the door closed, he went and sat next to Bill. “Didn’t expect you today.”

“I called. Nicole told me when you’d be finished for the day.”

“Let me lock up. Wanta come thru, share a beer?”

They settled at the oak kitchen table. Four different style kitchen chairs each found at flea markets, painted in blue, yellow, green and red surrounded the oak kitchen table, where the two men settled.

“What’s up?” Patrick asked.

“First consider this billing time, not just friendship time.”

Patrick looked at his watch. “You’re on. Wait, is this on the girls or you?

“Me.”

“Consider it friendship, but if it is something deep, I’ll recommend you to someone else who hasn’t known you all your life.”

“I’m thinking of quitting.” Bill nodded and took a long swig of his Sam Adams.

“What? You’ve got many years to go before retirement. Why?”

“It’s this case. I’ve handled lots of ugly cases. Slum kids that never had a chance. Domestic abuse. Simple robberies. Every now and then a murder. So far this year there’s only been one. Not like Springfield, Lawrence or Boston. Their murders are in the double digits.” He lifted the Sam Adams to his mouth but did not drink. “This thing with those four girls has wiped me out. I hate clichés, but Amanda Lander is the straw breaking my camel’s back.

Bill shoved a folder that was filled with the printouts that Elise Hanson had given him. “Read this.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair. The front two legs came off the floor, just the way Nicole said not to do one hundred times or more. The back of the chair rested against an oak cabinet.

Neither man said anything as Patrick read and read and reread some of the pages. When he finished, he straightened the papers and closed the folder. “Wow.”

“What I have is three little girls that were being led astray by a child with mental problems. And it points out that there are so many kids with major problems that the system can’t handle.” He stands and starts to pace. “I can have them go through the courts, but locking them up, well, will it keep Clay safe, other kids safe?”

Patrick let the front legs of his chair return to the floor, folded his hands and sat quietly looking at his friend. “I’ve an idea. Let’s go talk to Judge Wright. Tomorrow.”