“No, she’s waiting for me at the house.”
“But why you?”
His surprise didn’t surprise me. I was worried that he might think I was a head case myself and that would scare him off. And then I thought, Is that really why Grandpa wants me to talk to the psychiatrist, too? Did he think I was mentally unstable? Did Mrs. Camden advise him to have me examined by Dr. Patrick? Until this moment, I was thinking it was solely to convince me to be kinder to the boy, but Aaron’s tone gave me second thoughts.
“It’s no secret in my house that I don’t want the boy to be there. I guess I sound very cruel and mean,” I said. It sounded like a weak explanation for my seeing a psychiatrist.
He nodded, but he didn’t really look like he agreed.
“Do you think I’m mean and cruel to want him someplace else? Do you think I need a psychiatrist now?”
He shrugged. Then he smiled. “I don’t know you well enough yet. Do you enjoy pulling the wings off of houseflies?”
“It’s not funny, Aaron. If you’re going to ask me serious questions, be serious when I respond. Otherwise, don’t ask.”
“Okay, okay. Take it easy.”
He was quieter, so I decided not to suggest Butler Heights today. When he did start talking again on our way to my grandfather’s estate, he talked about the other kids in school, some of his friends, who liked whom, and then he went on to tell me about his sister’s new opportunity at a magazine in New York. I thought he was talking more than usual, babbling, actually, because he had suddenly become very nervous around me and hated the silence between us.
Maybe he was regretting taking on the challenge and was trying to think of a way out. Who could blame him?
“You don’t have to pick me up every morning,” I said when we pulled up in front of the house.
“Don’t you want me to?”
“Only if you really want to,” I said.
“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. I’ll call you tonight.”
I started to get out but stopped. I sat there thinking a moment. He waited, watching me. “There’s more,” I said.
“More?”
“The boy was moaning last night. I went into the room and heard him say ‘Mickey’ like I told you, only I tried a little too hard, maybe, to get him to say whether that was his name.”
“A little too hard? What does that mean? What did you do to him?”
“I shouted and poked him, and Mrs. Camden, the nurse, was a little upset about it.”
“Poked him? With what? A knife or something?”
“No, just my hand. He was like in a daze, but when he woke and saw me, he was . . .”
“What?”
“Really scared. Later, he had an episode, and my grandfather blamed me. I think that’s why he wants me to see Dr. Patrick today.”
“What sort of episode?”
“Hyperventilation. They had to get the doctor. They said he had a panic attack or something.”
“Oh. That’s when you have trouble breathing, right?”
“Yes.”