it all doesn’t make sense. “Why did you take him away? I mean… how did you figure this all out?”
“It’s just guesswork at this point,” Susan concedes with a sigh. “Based on observation. I will be very interested to see how Dylan does away from Beth for a significant length of time. If he is able to thrive in school, as well as in a more regulated household. If the tantrums and shrieking stop, because he isn’t so anxious about Beth and her reactions.”
“That’s why he screams? Because of Beth?” That can’t be right, since he’s done it here, too.
“I think Dylan experiences a lot of anxiety,” Susan says. She sounds sad. “Anxiety that Beth, most likely unknowingly, feeds. I’m hopeful that, with the right support and therapy, he can begin to address those anxieties, and Beth can learn to recognize her own unhelpful behaviors.” Susan touches my hand briefly. “But we can talk more tomorrow, when we go through Dylan’s action plan. Thank you for everything, Ally. The lemonade was delicious.”
My mind is still spinning as I follow Susan downstairs. Beth is still in the family room with Dylan, and Susan suggests we sit in the living room, a room we hardly ever use, to give them some privacy. We sit stiffly on armchairs and make awkward chitchat while I instinctively strain to hear Beth’s murmurs from the other room.
Finally, after what feels like an age, Susan rises and heads back to the family room. After an uncertain moment, I follow. Susan tells Beth they need to go, and Beth looks stricken for a single moment before her expression hardens into resolve and she stands up, Dylan still clinging to her.
I realize the farewell is not going to go smoothly, and I have about six seconds to brace myself before Beth tells Dylan she has to go, and Dylan starts screaming. Beth is trying not to cry as she attempts to pry her son off her, and I stand there, feeling useless.
It’s Susan who steps in, removing Dylan with a calm forcefulness as she explains the whole process. “Your mom has to go now, Dylan, but she’ll see you next week. You’re going to stay here with Ally. Maybe you can have some lemonade and a cookie?” She gives me a pointed look and I rush in.
“Yes, yes, a cookie, Dylan. Let’s have a cookie.”
Susan hands him to me and I find my arms full of flailing boy; I haven’t actually held Dylan since he’s been with us, and I feel as if I’m trying to catch hold of a giant grasshopper, or a writhing snake. Susan takes Beth by the elbow and steers her towards the front door; she is crying now, one fist to her mouth. Dylan elbows me in the eye and I bite my tongue to keep from swearing out loud.
Then I hear the front door close, and I put him down, only to have him sprint for the door, which, of course, is unlocked this time, since they’ve both just left.
I rush after him, nearly falling in my haste, and manage to close the door with the flat of my hand before he’s gotten out. Thank God I didn’t trap his fingers or worse.
“Mama!” Dylan starts pounding on the window, hard enough to make the pane rattle, as Susan reverses the car out of the driveway.
I lock the door.
“Mama!”
We both watch the car disappear down the street, and then Dylan starts to scream. I want to cover my ears; I want to scream myself. Three more months, I think. Three more endless months.
13
BETH
“I know that was hard, but it will get better.”
Susan sounds offensively calm as we drive away from Ally’s house. From my son. I can’t reply, because my throat is clogged with emotion and tears are trickling down my cheeks. How many times will I fall apart in front of this woman? I really do want to be stronger than that.
And so I take a breath, and wipe my face, and will my voice to sound even. “I don’t know how you can see how much he misses me and still think you’re doing the right thing.”
“Doing the right thing isn’t always easy, Beth,” Susan says. “And it isn’t always clear. But I still believe Dylan needs this time away from you.”
I don’t bother asking why, because I know she’ll blather on about support, and I really don’t want to hear that now. I want to remember how Dylan felt when I