“We’ve been better,” was all Kris would say.
Dr. Baker nodded, understanding. She looked down at the shy redheaded girl standing at Kris’s side. “Oh my goodness. This must be Sadie.”
Kris nudged Sadie softly with her hip. “Say hi.”
Sadie waved hesitantly and said, “Hello,” in a voice as sweet and perfect as a gently pressed piano key.
“Well, Sadie,” Dr. Baker said, “I wonder if you could help me with something.” She motioned to a nearby shelf, upon which sat a small wicker basket. “I have some art supplies over there, colored pencils and crayons and notebooks. Do you think you could get them out for me and set them on the coffee table? Later, we can do some coloring.”
Sadie nodded obediently. She slipped away from her mother and crossed to the shelf, removing the items from the wicker basket one by one.
Dr. Baker looked from Sadie to Kris, her eyes widening in exaggerated shock.
Kris nodded. “I know. She looks just like me.”
“Exactly,” Dr. Baker said in awe. “It’s as if you walked in here after, what? Thirty years? And you hadn’t aged a day.”
They watched as Sadie leaned over the basket and collected loose pencils, putting them in a small pile on the floor.
“What is she doing that has you worried, Kris?” Dr. Baker asked, her voice low so Sadie couldn’t hear.
Kris sighed, unsure of how much to unload on the doctor in this moment. She briefly filled Dr. Baker in on Jonah’s death and her decision to spend the summer at the lake house, away from the constant reminders of their loss. She talked about her hope that this would be a time of healing.
“Just looking at her, you’d think it was working,” Kris explained. “She acts happy most of the time. She’s smiling and laughing. And talking. Right after Jonah’s death, she barely said a word to anyone. Now she acts like she’s forgotten all about the accident. She seems to love the lake house. Loves playing there. But …”
Dr. Baker gave Kris the time she needed to continue.
“She’s always been a creative kid. And I know how important that can be, especially at times like this. But she’s spending more and more time alone. Playing alone. I’m starting to think maybe I should try to find other kids in town because it seems like … like she’s pretending to play with someone.”
There was a slight change in Dr. Baker’s expression. Perhaps her eyes narrowed just the tiniest bit, or her head tilted a half inch to the right. Kris could not be sure. But she felt as though the doctor were staring at her with a new sense of scrutiny.
“What are you talking about?” a soft voice asked them.
Sadie was back. She stared up at them as if waiting for an answer. Behind her, the art supplies were stacked neatly on the coffee table.
“Just catching up,” Dr. Baker said. Crouching down so that they were on the same level, she looked directly into Sadie’s eyes. “I knew your mother when she was about your age. She was a very special little girl. But she was going through kind of a scary time. Did she tell you about that?”
“A little bit,” Sadie said.
“Well,” Dr. Baker explained, “sometimes when we feel a little scared or worried, it’s good to talk to other people. And sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who isn’t your mommy or a close friend. That’s why you’re here today. I’m a doctor, but not like the kind that looks down your throat or gives you shots. I’m like—”
“A talking doctor,” Sadie said suddenly.
The words caught Kris off guard. She searched for any recollection of telling Sadie this nickname for Dr. Baker.
From Dr. Baker’s knowing smile, it wasn’t the first time someone had referred to her as the “talking doctor.”
“That’s right,” she said. “And that’s why you’re here. Just so we can talk. Is that okay?”
Sadie seemed to take the question very seriously. For a moment, she did not respond as she thought it all over. Then she gave a little nod.
Dr. Baker’s smile widened. “Good. Good.”
“So … should we sit down?” Kris asked.
“Actually,” Dr. Baker said, rising up so she could lean in close to Kris’s ear. She lowered her voice to a hush. “I would like to speak to Sadie alone, if you don’t mind.” She must have sensed the wave of uneasiness that washed over Kris, because she quickly added, “I find that children speak more freely when they don’t have to worry about pleasing their parents.”
Kris considered this briefly, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
She swept a finger across Sadie’s cheek, tucking a few stray curls behind her ear. “I’m going to step out for a little bit, and you stay with Dr. Baker, okay?”
“Mommy—” Sadie muttered nervously.
“It’s fine, I promise. I won’t go far. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Dr. Baker motioned to an overstuffed leather couch opposite her chair. “We can talk about anything you want, Sadie. You can sit or you can lie down or you can jump on the couch for all I care. Just don’t jump up to the ceiling fan. I’m tall, but I don’t think I could get you down from there.”
Sadie pursed her lips as she fought a smile.
The reaction was exactly what Dr. Baker had hoped for. She turned to Kris and said in a reassuring voice, “We’ll be okay.”
“Okay,” Kris said, as if repeating the word made it all the more real.
She watched as Dr. Baker took Sadie’s hand and led her to the couch. Turning back, the doctor mouthed, “Ten forty-five,” to Kris.
Without another word, Kris turned to the office door and opened it. She paused just long enough to glance over her shoulder.
Sadie was standing before a large framed black-and-white photograph of a handsome African American man in his forties.
“That was my daddy,” Dr. Baker explained. “He died when I was just a little older than you. I missed him very much. I still do. Missing people and being sad is part of remembering. That’s our job, once they’re gone. Our job is to remember.”
For one brief moment, Kris was back in the cold steel room of the coroner’s office, Jonah’s smashed face staring over the top of the black plastic sheet.
And then she was stepping out onto the landing, Dr. Baker’s office door closing behind her with a soft click.
CHAPTER THIRTY
PATTY’S PLATE WAS deserted save for a smattering of lone diners scraping forks across yellow smears of wet yolk and crunching on butter-slathered toast, whiling away their morning in anticipation of an equally uneventful afternoon.
At a small square table in the corner, Kris sipped a cup of lukewarm coffee that tasted like it had been brewed the day before. She watched two new mothers seated near the front windows as they attempted to squeeze in some “girl time” while obsessing over every move, every sound made by their newborn babies. Their youth seemed strangely out of place.
They held their infants and their coffees with equal adoration. The babies squirmed, every object and movement drawing their attention. Kris remembered those days. Despite Sadie’s fussiness, there were still moments when she would snuggle into Kris’s shoulder, her smooth, little nose pressed into the crook of her mother’s neck, and Kris would close her eyes, listening to the gently lapping tide of Sadie’s slow, content breaths.