to go through this while I am still here to keep an eye on it.
'See this?' he waved the blue letter at me. 'Someone wants money. They all have heard the enticing news of my cancer.' He grimaced. 'Every college on the East Coast, every charitable institution, a flock of former employees, and relatives I haven't heard from in years are suddenly interested in making contact with me.
'Perhaps you can understand then that Patrick, as my heir, will need to become tougher, to grow a much thicker skin. He will spend his life dealing with greedy people, many of them his own relatives. He has got to learn how to keep them from getting to him.'
'In time,' I agreed. 'But he's only seven years old.'
'And he is doing well enough for a little boy,' Adrian replied, 'keeping them at bay with this Ashley nonsense. Eventually he will learn to do better than that: He will intimidate them when necessary. And trust me, it will be necessary for Patrick's survival.'
I felt helpless. Adrian understood what I was saying, but he believed it called for a different response.
'In the meantime,' I said, 'why don't you speak to the school counselor? I'm a little surprised the counselor hasn't asked to speak to you.'
'She has, but I have no use for her prying and suggestions. One has to look no further than psychologists' children to see that these people don't know what they are doing. Patrick is in a very special situation, one his teacher and the counselor could never understand.'
'I think you are wrong,' I said.
'Rarely,' he replied. 'Is there anything else you wish to discuss?'
'Yes. Why did you lie to me about the reason my parents left? You were having my mother investigated for the death of Ashley.'
Adrian leaned back in his chair for a moment, as if catching his breath, then moved forward, leaning on the carved arm, looking me directly in the eye.
'As I said, I am rarely wrong, but I was that time, and it shames me. It shames me each time I look at you. Anything else?' he repeated, this time more softly.
'Just one thing. I am very afraid for Patrick.'
'So am 1, Kate. So am I.'
'But Kate, I kno-o-ow it's frozen,' Patrick protested Monday afternoon. He looked longingly out of the schoolroom window. 'I can see the ice.'
I laughed. Surrounded by tall evergreens, the pond wasn't visible from any window of the house.
'The ice isn't thick enough. Besides, we made a deal. We'll skate at the college rink this evening, but only if you finish your homework.'
Patrick sighed. He was failing math and had brought home remedial work from his teacher. It was taking him a long time to complete his subtraction problems. His focus would wander, and he would forget what he had borrowed from the adjacent column. My reminder to write it down only made him angrier.
'All right, shall we work on the next problem?'
He stared at the numbers.
'Can you take seven from five?' I prompted.
He pushed his pencil hard against the paper. The point broke.
'Think it through,' I said, calmly handing him a fresh pencil.
He threw it down. 'I hate this!' He pushed back his chair, looking pleased when it fell over. Striding around the room, he poked at things, his hand skipping from books to art supplies to a plastic globe, knocking them over. He'd already fidgeted his way through one 'time-out'; I doubted another one was going to help, but I also wasn't going to give in to playtime. He needed an activity that was physical as well as mental to work off some energy and help him concentrate. 'Let's take a break and try piano.' 'Piano?' He sounded interested. 'Yes, but don't forget that we're going to have to finish these problems if you want to skate.'
For the first ten minutes, he seemed intrigued. I taught him the way I remembered Joseph teaching Ashley and me. After numbering the fingers on his right hand with a marker, I called out one to five, and he would practice wiggling them. When I mixed up the order, it became a game for him. Then I assigned five black piano keys to his fingers and called out the numbers again, this time for him to play. He made a mistake. His jaw clenched. 'You're doing well. Everyone makes mistakes when learning, and afterward, too. Let's try again. Ready?'
He made another mistake, and I suppose it was one too many that day. He slammed both hands down on the piano. I hate this!' he screamed, jumping off the bench. His arm swept across the top of the piano, knocking off a pile of music books. They were Ashley's, their bindings old and dry. Sheets of music flew everywhere.
'Stop it, Patrick!'
A second pile was thrown to the floor.
'You can forget about skating,' I said angrily.
'I hate it! I hate you!' he cried.
Leaning over to pick up the books before he damaged them further, I noticed a pair of black shoes in the doorway. Perfect timing. I straightened up.
'Hello, Mrs. Hopewell.'
She nodded stiffly.
'Is there something I can do for you?'
'You can control him,' she said. 'And if you can't, you should resign.'
Patrick gazed up at her wonderingly. For a moment I was speechless. 'Well, thank you for clarifying the situation.'
Mrs. Hopewell stepped into the room and gazed down at the music sheets, her face grim. Patrick backed against me-I was his best friend again.
'Pick them up,' she ordered.
He jutted out his jaw, trying to look defiant, but I could see his little hands shaking. 'I will if Kate tells me,' he said.
I almost laughed. Just as she followed Robyn's orders over Emily's, he followed mine over hers. It angered her. A vein on the side of her head, a small blue one close to her hairline, pulsed.
'Let's do it together, Patrick,' I suggested.
'He'll do it himself,' Mrs. Hopewell said. 'You and I have something to talk about.'
'I can talk and pick up at the same time.'
'You were at the auction house with Joseph Oakley.' She spoke it like a challenge.
'Yes, this morning,' I replied. 'Here, Patrick, I think this page goes with the book you're holding.'
I am telling you for your own good, you cannot trust that man.'
'Thank you for the advice, Mrs. Hopewell, but I learned not to trust people a long time ago.'
'It would be foolish to make any deals with him regarding your father's paintings.'
I glanced up from my handful of sheets, surprised. Why would she care? What was it that really vexed her?
She walked over to the window and looked out, her chin raised, surveying the property. 'To Joseph Oakley, a fair deal is anything that works out well for himself.' That's not unusual in business.' She faced me. 'Joseph hasn't the brains to be a businessman. His only skill is whining. He sees himself as a victim of circumstances who deserves whatever he can get his hands on. I hope his view of the Westbrooks will not pervert yours.'
I make my own judgments of people,' I said, then turned to Patrick. 'Let's put these on top of the piano and order them later. Why don't you finish up your math problems, so we can get to the skating rink by five thirty?'
He set aside the papers and dutifully sat down at his worktable.
'Five thirty. . today?' Mrs. Hopewell asked. 'He is scheduled for dinner.'
'I spoke with Emily. She gave me permission to take him skating from five thirty to seven.'
'But you must clear it with me,' the woman insisted. 'Everything that goes on in this house is cleared through
