expressions are so crucial. But I would be there to see it. I didn’t know how living through that terrible day again would make me feel, but I reminded myself this was not about me.
I picked up Jane at the LIRR station in Port Lewis and we drove to Dr. Lundy’s office. He explained the process to her the way he had to me, and she settled into the navy high-backed chair, took a deep breath of vanilla air freshener, and smiled at him.
D R . L U N D Y T O O K her back to the park, establishing who was there, getting her to describe the woman who approached them, then asked what she was saying to Jane.
“She says, she says—” Jane’s voice was piping and eager, the way it used to sound when Colin brought home a surprise. “ ‘Go pick that yellow flower for me and I’ll give you a toy from the carriage.’ ”
What toy? What carriage? I put my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out.
“What does the carriage look like?”
“It’s like our one at home.” She said it impatiently, focused on the promise of a toy. Did she mean it was plaid? Or double-wide? But I couldn’t interrupt her to find out.
Jane was fully in the moment. “I want . . . I want . . . the bunny! The bunny is so cute. He has a pink nose.”
And then suddenly she slumped back in the chair, defeated.
I couldn’t breathe. Something had happened; she was no longer in the park in Stratford. Where was she?
“Jane? Did she give you the bunny?” Dr. Lundy understood something had happened too, and asked the question as if it were in the past.
“ No .” Jane was still a child, but with a difference. “I got the flower for her, the yellow one. But she wouldn’t let me get the bunny out of the carriage. She said—she said—‘Go and tell your mum your sister fell in the river. Hurry now!’ ”
I started to gasp. This woman had seen it all!
Unexpectedly, Jane was back in the park again, breathless from running. “Mama, Mama, Cate fell in. She fell in the river!” After a moment, her face contorted. “No, don’t you fall in.”
“That’s enough!” My voice came from nowhere, ringing into the room like an alarm.
Dr. Lundy jerked his head to stare at me.
But I was back in the park myself. I had plunged into the river, thrashing around to try and feel where Caitlin might be, screaming her name over and over. This can’t be happening, it can’t be, not Cate. Then people were everywhere, some in the water with me, two men on shore horrified at the wet smock clinging to my baby-swollen stomach and reaching their hands to pull me out. My head was buzzing and Jane, crying and calling me from the bank, seemed very far away. An older woman had stooped down and was trying to comfort her.
And yet—had all that searching been for nothing? Jane had only been repeating what she had been told to say, not what she had seen. She probably believed that Caitlin had fallen in. Because when you’re four years old, adults don’t lie to you.
It all hinged on what that woman had seen.
Chapter Eleven
T O D R. L UNDY ’ S credit, even after my outburst he brought Jane out of her trance gradually, promising her that she would feel relaxed and well-rested. As she had asked, he pointed out that when she wanted to buy an expensive new purse, she would remember all the beautiful handbags she had in her closet, and put her credit card away.
Jane opened her eyes and smiled at me. She was a young adult again who looked as if she had just finished dozing over a book. “What did I say ? Is it—okay?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Something about a bunny?”
“You’ll hear. It’s wonderful.”
“I’ll give you the recording so you can listen to it.” Dr. Lundy turned from where he was extracting a CD from a system built into the wall, but he looked shaken, his pale eyes startled behind his rimless glasses.
As I zipped up my jacket, I asked him, “What do I owe you?”
“Suppose we handle it this way: If you come back and let
I picked up Jane at the LIRR station in Port Lewis and we drove to Dr. Lundy’s office. He explained the process to her the way he had to me, and she settled into the navy high-backed chair, took a deep breath of vanilla air freshener, and smiled at him.
D R . L U N D Y T O O K her back to the park, establishing who was there, getting her to describe the woman who approached them, then asked what she was saying to Jane.
“She says, she says—” Jane’s voice was piping and eager, the way it used to sound when Colin brought home a surprise. “ ‘Go pick that yellow flower for me and I’ll give you a toy from the carriage.’ ”
What toy? What carriage? I put my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out.
“What does the carriage look like?”
“It’s like our one at home.” She said it impatiently, focused on the promise of a toy. Did she mean it was plaid? Or double-wide? But I couldn’t interrupt her to find out.
Jane was fully in the moment. “I want . . . I want . . . the bunny! The bunny is so cute. He has a pink nose.”
And then suddenly she slumped back in the chair, defeated.
I couldn’t breathe. Something had happened; she was no longer in the park in Stratford. Where was she?
“Jane? Did she give you the bunny?” Dr. Lundy understood something had happened too, and asked the question as if it were in the past.
“ No .” Jane was still a child, but with a difference. “I got the flower for her, the yellow one. But she wouldn’t let me get the bunny out of the carriage. She said—she said—‘Go and tell your mum your sister fell in the river. Hurry now!’ ”
I started to gasp. This woman had seen it all!
Unexpectedly, Jane was back in the park again, breathless from running. “Mama, Mama, Cate fell in. She fell in the river!” After a moment, her face contorted. “No, don’t you fall in.”
“That’s enough!” My voice came from nowhere, ringing into the room like an alarm.
Dr. Lundy jerked his head to stare at me.
But I was back in the park myself. I had plunged into the river, thrashing around to try and feel where Caitlin might be, screaming her name over and over. This can’t be happening, it can’t be, not Cate. Then people were everywhere, some in the water with me, two men on shore horrified at the wet smock clinging to my baby-swollen stomach and reaching their hands to pull me out. My head was buzzing and Jane, crying and calling me from the bank, seemed very far away. An older woman had stooped down and was trying to comfort her.
And yet—had all that searching been for nothing? Jane had only been repeating what she had been told to say, not what she had seen. She probably believed that Caitlin had fallen in. Because when you’re four years old, adults don’t lie to you.
It all hinged on what that woman had seen.
Chapter Eleven
T O D R. L UNDY ’ S credit, even after my outburst he brought Jane out of her trance gradually, promising her that she would feel relaxed and well-rested. As she had asked, he pointed out that when she wanted to buy an expensive new purse, she would remember all the beautiful handbags she had in her closet, and put her credit card away.
Jane opened her eyes and smiled at me. She was a young adult again who looked as if she had just finished dozing over a book. “What did I say ? Is it—okay?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Something about a bunny?”
“You’ll hear. It’s wonderful.”
“I’ll give you the recording so you can listen to it.” Dr. Lundy turned from where he was extracting a CD from a system built into the wall, but he looked shaken, his pale eyes startled behind his rimless glasses.
As I zipped up my jacket, I asked him, “What do I owe you?”
“Suppose we handle it this way: If you come back and let
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