was not crazy, the doctor insisted. In fact in some ways what she had done was healthy, for a time. She had cut out the part of her life that was so painful to her, and buried it. It had happened unconsciously, possibly moments after her mother's death or, as the psychiatrist and Teddy both suspected, at the moment when the baby had been taken from her and given to Andreas Arbus in court. It had been at that moment in time that it had all become too much for her. And she hadn't been the same since. She would recover, the psychiatrist felt certain, but whether she would ever remember the truth was a question he could not answer. If she did, it could come upon her at any time, in a month, in a year, in a lifetime. If she didn't, in some way the unresolved pain would always haunt her. He advocated psychiatric treatment for a time, to see if the memories would surface. He insisted though that she should not be pushed or prodded, that the way her mother had died should not be told to her. She should be left alone with her forgotten memories, and if they came of their own, it was all to the good. If they wouldn't come, she should be allowed to keep them buried. It was a bit like living with a time bomb, because one day they would probably surface, and it was impossible to say when. He hoped, he explained to the court and all of the parties involved, that when the child felt more secure again, her presently traumatized psyche would relax enough to allow her to deal with the truth. It would have to be dealt with, he said sadly. One day. If not, it would severely damage the child.
The judge inquired whether the doctor felt that she was in particular need of a mother figure, or if he thought that she would fare as well without.
“Absolutely not,” the doctor exploded. “Without a woman to relate to, that child will never come out of her shell. She needs a mother's love.” The judge pursed his lips then, and Teddy waited, and half an hour later the decision was announced. Permanent custody was to be granted to Greg and Partie. Greg looked relieved as he left the court, and Pattie was elated. She didn't even look at Teddy, as she forced Vanessa to walk ahead of her. The child walked like a machine, without looking, seeing, feeling. Teddy didn't even dare reach out to touch her. He couldn't bear it. And as he walked slowly down the steps in the chill air, his mother came up beside him.
“I'm sorry, Teddy.” Her voice was husky and he turned to her with angry eyes.
“No, you're not. You could have helped me, and you didn't. Instead you've left her to those two.” He indicated the limousine pulling away from the curb, carrying Vanessa back to their apartment.
“They won't do her any harm her mother didn't already do. And you'll see enough of her.” He said nothing, but walked away from her as quickly as he could.
He sat home alone that night, in his darkened rooms, staring out into the night. It had begun snowing. And tonight he planned to be just like his brother. He had taken out a full bottle of Scotch when he got home, and he planned to drink it all before morning. He was halfway into it when the doorbell rang, and he ignored it. There was no one he wanted to see now and his lights weren't on, so no one could know he was home, but after the bell rang for almost fifteen minutes, someone began banging on the door. They pounded repeatedly and finally he heard muffled shouts of “Uncle Teddy.” Startled, he put his glass down, jumped to his feet, ran to the door, and pulled it open, and there she was. Vanessa, carrying a paper bag in one hand and an old doll he had given her years before in the other.
“What are you doing here?”
She said absolutely nothing for a minute, and suddenly she looked afraid. “I ran away.”
He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry as he looked at her. They were both standing in the light from the hallway. And self-consciously, he flicked on the lights in his apartment. “Come on in and we'll talk about it.” He knew however, that there was nothing to talk about.