'Dr. Silverman is your son's psychotherapist,' I said.
The lines in her face deepened and the face got icy.
'Psych ?' she said.
'Psychotherapist,' I said. 'Dr. Silverman is a psychologist. She had been treating your son.'
Mrs. Felton's features were so pinched that they seemed centered in her face.
'What did he say?'
'About you?' I smiled. 'It's pretty long to summarize.'
'Gordon, what have you been telling about me?'
Felton maintained his rigidity.
'I don't hold with all that psycho logic business. Most of those doctors are crazier than the patients.'
'Surely, you would know,' I said.
We all waited. The silence was very forceful. I had no idea where I was going. I just wanted us all together there in a stressful environment for as long as I could keep us. If I pushed too hard, Felton would probably bolt. If I searched his bag too soon and found clean socks and a toothbrush, it would score one for Felton, and I didn't want his psyche scoring any. If I came right out and told his mother what he was, she might faint, or throw a wingding, or simply deny it and order us out. That too would prop Felton up.
We were still standing just inside the living room, me forward, Susan slightly back of me. There was a back door from the living room, which probably led to the kitchen. But Felton would have to get up from his chair and go around it to reach the kitchen. Probably a back door out from the kitchen. If he could make it before I stopped him, I'd lost more steps than I thought I had.
'Gordon,' Mrs. Felton said. 'Just what is this business?'
'Nothing.'
Felton said. His voice was flat, and nearly lost somewhere back in his throat.
'Well, I'll tell you one thing,' Mrs. Felton said. 'No boy had a better mother. I never left him for a minute. I was always there when there was trouble. I stood on my head for this boy all his life.'
I looked at Felton.
'That right, boy?'
Felton seemed to come back from wherever he was. He looked away from the fixed point in space and refocused on Susan.
'See,' he said. 'See what she's like?'
'Gordon,' his mother said, 'what on earth are you saying? Don't you dare speak to me that way.'
Felton was still looking at Susan.
'Was I speaking to her?' he said. 'No, I was speaking to you. But she says I shouldn't speak to her that way.'
'Gordon, don't you dare,' his mother said.
'See?' Felton said. He was smiling slightly. 'It's good you came here, Doctor. Now maybe you'll believe me about her.'
I looked at Susan and made a very slight headshake. Susan was silent.
'Gordon, that's enough. If you're in some kind of trouble, I want to hear about it. And I don't want any more fresh talk.'
Felton turned and looked at her slowly, his body motionless, only his head moving. He held the look.
'Aw, Ma,' he said, 'fuck you.'
She rocked backwards as if the phrase were physical, all the blood drained from her face. She spoke in a whisper. 'What?'
Felton stood up suddenly.
'Just fuck off, will you. You been saying how you stood on your fucking head for me all my fucking life and I don't want to hear it anymore. Dr.
Silverman knows. You stood me on my head. You didn't love me. You never loved anybody. You loved me when I did stuff you liked and didn't love me when I did stuff you didn't like, and none of it had any logic.
You frigid bitch, you ruined my life, that's what you did.'
I felt like cheering, except it was too late. The short, happy life of Gordon Felton. His mother seemed not to have heard him.
'Gordon, you may not use that language in my house.
You'll have to leave. And you'll have to take your friends with you.'
She sat very straight.
'Language?' Felton's smile had widened. 'Language? You mean like 'fuck you'?' He stared at her. 'You know what I've done?' he said.
'Gordon, I'm your mother. You do what I say.'
