The Clinic

simple.”

“As opposed to Tessa.”

“Tessa's as complex as they come. Creative, imaginative, artistic temperament. Likes to deal with existential issues. In the best of circumstances, she'd be high-maintenance. With this family it's like giving a Ferrari to a couple of perfectly competent Ford mechanics.”

“Fate's little tricks,” I said. “I've seen my share. Will she talk to me?”

“I haven't asked her yet. Why don't we find out?”

“Just pop in on her? The two times I tried she became highly anxious.”

“But now you've got something to tell her. And my wife does know what's going on, heard rumors of a student busted for the Devane murder. If he's Tessa's rapist it would be nice for her to know he's in custody.”

“It would be, but the D.A.'s keeping it quiet for a couple of days.”

“I could convince Tessa to stay here for more than a couple of days. She told me she likes it here, finds it restful.”

“What if I talk to her and she gets agitated?”

“Better here, where I can deal with it. Worse comes to worst, she freaks and I spend the whole night here.” Grinning. “My job. Sure beats sitting with your feet up having a beer, watching Comedy Central, right?”

I laughed.

He laughed, too, then turned serious. “Want to give it a try?”

“Can you keep it confidential?”

“She's got no phone and I ain't known as a blabbermouth.”

“All right,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Come on, she's in Three.”

Effort had been taken to make the room look homey: white wallpaper stamped with pale blue, wavelike abstractions; real wood furniture; a big window; flowers in a vase. But a closer look revealed padding under the paper, no sharp edges on the furniture, the light fixture Allen-bolted into the ceiling, external wooden bars striping the window. The vase was plastic and also bolted. The flowers were real lilies. Lilies are related to onions. Nontoxic.

Tessa sat on the bed reading The Atlantic Monthly. Other magazines were piled nearby. She wore a gray University sweatshirt and denim cutoffs. Both other times I'd seen her she'd been in all black. Her legs were long and skinny, nearly as white as the walls. A triangle of bandage peeked out from under her left sleeve.

She kept reading.

Hunched vulnerability. Muscadine had read it as fair game.

“Hello again,” said Emerson.

She looked up, saw me, and that same look of panic filled her eyes.

“It's all right, Tessa,” Emerson said, striding to her side. “Dr. Delaware's a good guy. I vouch for him.”

Her lower lip shook.

I smiled.

She looked down at her magazine.

“Good article?” said Emerson.

She didn't answer. Her chest was heaving.

Emerson came closer and read over her shoulder. “Reforestation of the Eastern seaboard.” He read some more. “Says here the trees are coming back on their own accord. What, they're allowing in good news for a change?”

Tessa chewed her lip. “The trees are coming back because the economy sucks. As industries close down, people move out of small towns and the land regresses to wilderness.”

“Oh,” said Emerson. “So it's what, bad news? Or a mixed bag?”

“You tell me.”

“What do you think?”

“That I don't want to talk to him.”

“Is it okay if he talks to you a bit?”

“About what?”

Emerson looked at me.

“About what Reed Muscadine did to you,” I said. “I know it's true. Muscadine's scum and he's in jail.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Why?”

“This is going to be tough to hear, Tessa, but you'll learn it soon enough. He's the prime suspect in Professor Devane's murder.”

Her eyes got wild. “Oh!” The word was as much animal cry as human speech. “Oh, oh, oh!”

She sprang up, fingers in her hair, crossing the three-pace room, returning and crossing again.

Stopping, said, “Oh God… God GodRobbie!”

“What about Robbie?” said Emerson.

“Where is he?”

“Back home with your mom, Tess.”

“How do I know?”

“Why wouldn't he be?”

She stretched her hands in front of her, fingers curled, tremoring.

“The phone!” she exclaimed.

“You want me to call home?” said Emerson. “Have your mom tell you Robbie's okay?”

“I want to call! I want to speak to him!”

“It's almost eleven, Tessa, I'm sure Robbie's aslee-”

“I have to, I need to- please, Dr. Emerson. Let me call, please, please, please!” Sobbing. “Oh, please, let me speak to my little Robbie-”

“Okay, hon.” Emerson tried to put his arm around her but she backed away. Confusion tugged at his blue eyes as he unlocked the door and let her out.

At the nursing station, he got her an outside line and both of us watched as she dialed.

“Mom? Where's Robbie? You're sure? Go check… please, Mom. Please, Mom… just do it!”

She waited, pulling at her hair, blinking, rolling her shoulders, twisting the skin of one cheek, shifting her feet.

Emerson observed her with a mixture of pity and fascination.

“You're sure-did you check to see if he's breathing? What? I'm serious- from the nursing station. He let me, he's right here- yes… no, I'm not tired… I was reading. What? Soon, soon… yes… you're sure he's okay, Mom? I know- I know you wouldn't… sorry, Mom. Sorry for bothering- what? Okay, yes, thanks. Sorry to bother you. Just take care of him. Take real good care of him… loveyoutoo.”

She put down the phone. Sighed. Buried her face. Looked up.

“I'll go back now.”

In the room, I said, “Robbie was the wedge Muscadine used on you. He threatened to kill Robbie unless you dropped the charge at the hearing.”

She looked at me with what seemed like new respect.

Nodded.

I didn't ask the next question: Why didn't you tell the police?

Because I knew the answer: She'd told the police before, had been sent away a liar.

His word against hers.

“He can't hurt Robbie, now,” I said. “He can't hurt anyone.” Wishing I were sure. Almost hoping Muscadine