Obsession

“I’d really rather meet in person, Dr. Delaware. Here in the lab it’s near impossible to find a quiet place, that’s why I’m whispering. Outside reception’s not too great-the psych building blocks everything out. Tanya said your office is in Beverly Glen. I could be there in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Really? Fantastic.”

Where I live in the Glen, high above an old dormant bridle trail, even a mediocre day appears glorious. People who visit the first time are often compelled to comment on the green-blanketed hills, the sliver of Pacific peekabooing above the Palisades, the caramel light.

Since we’ve had Blanche, no one’s been able to resist petting her.

When I opened the door for Kyle Bedard, he tramped past her, pumped my hand too hard, and said, “I appreciate this.”

His hair was wind-tunnel wild and the flannel shirt he wore over a frayed red T-shirt and rumpled khakis was misbuttoned. Blanche rubbed herself against his cuff. He muttered, “French bulldog,” as if answering a pop quiz.

Then: “Speaking of which, my father left for the Loire Valley.”

I took him to my office. Blanche trotted after him, trolling for eye contact she didn’t receive. Hopping up on my lap, she fell asleep.

“Dad had enough of L.A.?”

“L.A., the house-he despises it because it’s Grandfather’s domain. Having convinced himself he fulfilled his paternal duty, it was time to resume living.” Rolling his shoulders, he tugged at his shirtfront, realized he’d misaligned and unbuttoned hastily. “There was also a bit of the old wink and nod. Three’s a crowd, son, don’t want to get in your way. I told him this wasn’t about romance, it was about keeping Tanya safe. Dad can’t conceive anyone being alone with an attractive female and not wanting to immediately get into her pants.”

Sudden blush. “Of course I’m attracted to her, I’m a guy. But that’s not the issue. I wanted to speak to you because Tanya’s not sleeping.”

“Not at all?”

“Not to any significant degree. The room where she’s staying is directly above the library and when I’m working I can hear her pace. Incessantly, she can do it for hours.”

“Sounds like you’re not sleeping, either?”

“I’m fine. I work when I want because I don’t have formal hours. Sometimes I even bunk down in the lab, there’s a futon all the grad students use. But it’s different for Tanya. Her life is structured, she has a schedule. I don’t know how long she can keep going like this.”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“No, because I know what she’d say.”

“‘I’m doing fine, Kyle.’”

“Exactly. More than the insomnia, it’s the pacing that concerns me. Back and forth, as if she’s…I don’t know… caught up in something. Is it something to be worried about?”

I sat there.

“You can’t tell me that?”

“Why don’t you stick to statements rather than questions and we’ll try to make sense of things.”

“That’s basically it-no, I’m lying. It’s not just the pacing. It’s what it means-all her anxiety. It’s a stress reaction, right?-sorry, no questions. Stupid question, anyway, of course it’s anxiety. She’s probably scared out of her mind. Not to mention the grief over her mother-she doesn’t talk about that, either.”

“People talk when they’re ready.”

“Like that old joke?” he said. “How many shrinks to change a lightbulb, but the bulb has to want to change? But it’s hard when it’s someone…On top of all that, America-our housekeeper-told me about some other routines Tanya has. She happened to walk in while Tanya was…granted, she’s nosy, kind of a pain in the ass, actually, I liked Cecilia-her sister-a lot better. America’s extremely moralistic, since Tanya moved in she’s been walking around with this lemon-sucking self-righteous expression. No doubt she thinks something’s going on between Tanya and me, so maybe she walked into Tanya’s bedroom accidentally on purpose. But still, she did see it.”

“What did she see?”

He rebuttoned his shirt, bottom to top. Checked the order. “Maybe I’m making too big a deal out of this… there’s a dressing room behind Tanya’s bedroom and beyond that, a walk-in closet. The dressing room’s mirrored and the walls are angled at such a way that if you’re at the head of the bed you can see part of the closet. America claims she wasn’t spying, just fluffing Tanya’s pillows…She saw Tanya walking around the closet touching things. There’s tons of stuff in bags, mostly my dad’s overflow, stuff he hasn’t worn in years, he never gets rid of anything, keeps hoping I’ll eventually dig it. Like I’d do the whole smoking jacket and ascot thing- okay, okay, I’m getting off the topic. America says Tanya touched every single bag three times, then went back and repeated it four times, then five, then six, then seven.”

“America watched and counted,” I said.

“Told you she’s a snoop. She says Tanya stopped at seven, then started doing the same thing with Dad’s shoes. She asked me if seven was a magical number, had this look in her eyes like Tanya was some kind of devil- worshipper. She’s unsophisticated, what the hell would she know about stress reactions?”

“Did you explain anything to her?”

“I probably should’ve but I just got pissed. Told her Tanya was my friend, whatever she does is fine, don’t come finking to me. She didn’t like that but I don’t give a shit. She’s only been working at the house for five years and I find her annoying.”

“But you’re concerned about Tanya’s routines.”

“Tanya told me about her OCD, how you cured her.”

I kept silent.

“So that was also denial,” he said. “Is it incurable?”

“People have tendencies,” I said. “Stress brings them out. Habits can be unlearned.”

“So I’m expecting too much of Tanya right now-that’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

“I’m hearing concern, not expectation.”

“I’m not concerned about a few behaviors, Dr. Delaware. It’s the root cause that bothers me. How much stress she must be under, not being able to talk about it. How can I help her?”

“You’ve given her friendship and shelter.”

“That’s obviously insufficient.”

“Because she’s not happy all the time?”

His jaw tightened. He closed his eyes and massaged the lids. “I’m thinking about my worries rather than hers. Jesus, why can’t I focus on what needs focusing?”

“You’re doing a good job, Kyle.”

He waved that off. “Should I bring anything up with her? Would venting help?”

“Right now, no.”

“Why not?”

“Lightbulb wisdom.”

He stared at me. “So what, I just let her pace around and never sleep and pretend she’s fine?” Pummeling his temple. “Listen to me. ‘Let her.’ Like I’m the parent, where the hell did that come from?”

“Deep caring.”

His mouth hung open. Bending down sharply, he yanked a shoelace loose, retied a sneaker. “Deep caring… you’ve got that right. I frickin’ love her.”

“I know you do.”

Several moments passed. When he spoke next, his voice was low and indistinct. “Is there any chance it’s reciprocal?”

“She accepted your shelter.”