have to resort to painful interrogation.”
Awareness thickens between us as I ponder the meaning of his words. If we can plumb the depths of an evil mind, perhaps we can stop terror. Dr. Mewton says evil loves darkness, and Gutenberg may be a way to shine a light into dark places. The dread of that light may be enough to stem the tide of viciousness that men exhibit to one another.
I look at Mr. Traut. “I’ll do my best for you, sir.”
“I’m sorry, Glenda, but it’s all I can do to look at that girl.” The words spill easily from Mr. Traut’s lips as he stands in the elevator, not knowing that I am watching—and listening—via the security camera mounted in the corner of the car.
I swallow hard and wrap my arms around myself, shivering beneath the sweater I have pulled over my shoulders. I’m not surprised to hear this; really, I have always known he felt this way. Still…disappointment strikes like a punch to the stomach.
“Jack.” Dr. Mewton’s voice is low with reproof. “She has feelings, you know, and she desperately wants to please you.”
Mr. Traut slips his hand into his pocket. “She’s an employee. I would hope that all my employees want to do a good job.”
“It’s different with Sarah. She’s different. Since you assumed your position, I think she’s come to think of you as a father figure. Did you know she keeps that equivalency diploma you sent in her room? It’s been hanging on her wall for over five years.”
Traut shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to encourage her. Not like that.”
“Why shouldn’t you encourage her? She’s brilliant, and she’ll work hard for you.”
“And what else is she going to do?” He turns away from the camera to look at Dr. Mewton, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
Dr. M folds her arms and stares at the back of the guard’s head. “All I’m saying is that you need to be more sensitive to her. She’s a young woman, with a young woman’s feelings.”
The elevator stops. “I’ll see you later.” Dr. Mewton nods at Mr. Traut and steps out of the car.
I am about to exit the surveillance program when Mr. Traut folds his hands and looks at the guard, who has backed away from the sliding door. All I can see is the top of the guard’s head, so I have no way of knowing who he is.
“You know that girl, Sarah?”
The guard nods.
“If you were trapped with her on a desert island for a year, would you?”
The guard throws up both hands and utters an expletive, then reassumes his military posture. “No way, sir.”
Traut grins. “That’s what I thought.”
I turn off the program and head for bed. I get under the covers and leave the lamp burning.
Dr. Mewton once told me that beautiful women sleep on their backs because sleeping sideways contorts the face and causes wrinkles.
I always sleep on my side.
Chapter Eight
Renee
C hristmas approaches, bringing the promise of busted budgets and the holiday blues on its wintry breath. Our office closes a full week before the holiday, and as Becky plans to host a turkey dinner for twenty-five aunts, uncles, cousins, and miscellaneous family offshoots, I decided to paint the kitchen and clean out my walk-in closet. When people ask if I have big plans for the holidays, with perfect sincerity I answer yes.
Since Becky and I are close, I buy her the first three seasons of Seinfeld on DVD. I buy a ten-pound doggie stocking for Elvis, my two-hundred-pound mastiff, and order citrus gift boxes for all my partners in the practice. I can’t help wondering if this will be the last time I’ll place those orders. Next year I may be a CIA shrink and bound to secrecy.
At the closing-of-the-office party, I receive tins of fruit, chocolate, and nuts from my partners, and a leather-bound copy of Cry, the Beloved Cou ntry from Becky. I am touched.
The day before Christmas, during a break from painting, I receive the most unsettling gift of the season: a letter from Spain containing a copy of
Awareness thickens between us as I ponder the meaning of his words. If we can plumb the depths of an evil mind, perhaps we can stop terror. Dr. Mewton says evil loves darkness, and Gutenberg may be a way to shine a light into dark places. The dread of that light may be enough to stem the tide of viciousness that men exhibit to one another.
I look at Mr. Traut. “I’ll do my best for you, sir.”
“I’m sorry, Glenda, but it’s all I can do to look at that girl.” The words spill easily from Mr. Traut’s lips as he stands in the elevator, not knowing that I am watching—and listening—via the security camera mounted in the corner of the car.
I swallow hard and wrap my arms around myself, shivering beneath the sweater I have pulled over my shoulders. I’m not surprised to hear this; really, I have always known he felt this way. Still…disappointment strikes like a punch to the stomach.
“Jack.” Dr. Mewton’s voice is low with reproof. “She has feelings, you know, and she desperately wants to please you.”
Mr. Traut slips his hand into his pocket. “She’s an employee. I would hope that all my employees want to do a good job.”
“It’s different with Sarah. She’s different. Since you assumed your position, I think she’s come to think of you as a father figure. Did you know she keeps that equivalency diploma you sent in her room? It’s been hanging on her wall for over five years.”
Traut shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to encourage her. Not like that.”
“Why shouldn’t you encourage her? She’s brilliant, and she’ll work hard for you.”
“And what else is she going to do?” He turns away from the camera to look at Dr. Mewton, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
Dr. M folds her arms and stares at the back of the guard’s head. “All I’m saying is that you need to be more sensitive to her. She’s a young woman, with a young woman’s feelings.”
The elevator stops. “I’ll see you later.” Dr. Mewton nods at Mr. Traut and steps out of the car.
I am about to exit the surveillance program when Mr. Traut folds his hands and looks at the guard, who has backed away from the sliding door. All I can see is the top of the guard’s head, so I have no way of knowing who he is.
“You know that girl, Sarah?”
The guard nods.
“If you were trapped with her on a desert island for a year, would you?”
The guard throws up both hands and utters an expletive, then reassumes his military posture. “No way, sir.”
Traut grins. “That’s what I thought.”
I turn off the program and head for bed. I get under the covers and leave the lamp burning.
Dr. Mewton once told me that beautiful women sleep on their backs because sleeping sideways contorts the face and causes wrinkles.
I always sleep on my side.
Chapter Eight
Renee
C hristmas approaches, bringing the promise of busted budgets and the holiday blues on its wintry breath. Our office closes a full week before the holiday, and as Becky plans to host a turkey dinner for twenty-five aunts, uncles, cousins, and miscellaneous family offshoots, I decided to paint the kitchen and clean out my walk-in closet. When people ask if I have big plans for the holidays, with perfect sincerity I answer yes.
Since Becky and I are close, I buy her the first three seasons of Seinfeld on DVD. I buy a ten-pound doggie stocking for Elvis, my two-hundred-pound mastiff, and order citrus gift boxes for all my partners in the practice. I can’t help wondering if this will be the last time I’ll place those orders. Next year I may be a CIA shrink and bound to secrecy.
At the closing-of-the-office party, I receive tins of fruit, chocolate, and nuts from my partners, and a leather-bound copy of Cry, the Beloved Cou ntry from Becky. I am touched.
The day before Christmas, during a break from painting, I receive the most unsettling gift of the season: a letter from Spain containing a copy of
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