EYES ON YOU Page 6

  Roman found Cheryl and Eli sipping on cups of something hot before the game began. Eli was jawing back and forth with other fans of the home team, something the gregarious law enforcer always did. Cheryl did some of that too, knowing everyone on the home team’s side. Roman nodded or spoke with several people he knew as well, before climbing onto the bleachers four rows up.

  Cheryl, noticeably a different person when not in uniform, was now just another mom who had high expectations for both her sons. Roman didn’t take his parka off right away; Cheryl dove into one side of it, beneath his arm, Roman giving her an extended hug. They had their sister-brother moments that demonstrated how close they were. She was snuggling and smiling while high school cheerleaders were yelling their hearts out, and the band was playing something snappy, but Roman managed to quip, “Cheshire cats have lower wattage smiles.”

  “Just wait a couple of minutes,” she informed him.

  Roman was truly mystified until the gymnasium’s lights were lowered, and the game announcer greeted everyone attending the game, and he then said, “Please stand for our national anthem.”

  He hadn’t noticed the girl, or her mother, until that moment, and probably wouldn’t have seen them in the cluster of people standing close by. A lot of hometown people gathered courtside before the games. Molly Leitner proceeded onto the court with a cordless mic in her hand and dressed in a simple black outfit that appeared to be a kids’ sweat pants and sweatshirt. She walked out a short way and waited until the spotlight illuminated her. Roman’s breath caught in his throat as he and everyone stood.

  She sang unaccompanied, her voice magnificently pure and loud, especially for such a young girl. With no tremors, nor an inkling of hesitation, she sang the lyrics in perfect pitch. Was it only his imagination, or was the entire gymnasium full of people feeling as he did, so awestruck by the little girl’s powerful voice that he—and they—could barely breathe? Even her precise diction was amazingly clear. Before she finished the final words, people began applauding and whistling in jubilant admiration of her, as much, if not more so, than for the song itself. The applause and the crowd’s amazement continued for an extended period of time. Finally, Molly took a modest bow, and the lights in the cavernous building came up again, while she returned to her mother’s side.

  Over the loudspeaker and above the sustained cacophony of excited fans, the announcer proclaimed, “That was Miss Molly Leitner, age nine, from Forest Elementary School.”

  He was watching Molly and her mother from then on, still incredulous that the youngster he had briefly met hours before, the one with the typical girlish giggles in the backseat of her mother’s vehicle, was the same one who had just sung the national anthem brilliantly, without a flaw, in front of several hundred people.

  Cheryl asked in an overly-excited voice, “What’d you think?”

  It took a moment for Roman to say anything. His eyes were on the woman and her daughter, even though a large group of people obstructed much of his view of them. When he finally did say something, all that came tumbling out of his mouth was, “Good Golly, Miss Molly!”

  CHAPTER 8

  Roman woke up late, after nine o’clock, but attributed that to staying out with the family for a long while after the game. Patrick’s team had won their game, and everyone was happy, celebrating afterward at a local pizza place. The business had been packed, taking an extended amount of time filling orders, but everyone got their drinks and then refills, happy as quahogs.

  He got up and looked out at the bay, like he did every morning. Roman leased a small house on the Atlantic side of Whittler Island with a large yard for Mona. Reaching the house required meandering through a copse of trees that hid the house from the main road. His mother’s house was in town, sitting on a hilltop, one block away from the ferry landing. Roman liked having the privacy; its rock-strewn location meant the place required little outdoor maintenance, and even the interior of the cottage needed a minimum of effort to stay presentably clean. He had a lot of books that filled the small extra bedroom, plus the living area was also lined with crammed-full bookcases, downplaying the need for much furniture. He admitted that he was an avid book collector.

  Placing a pod into the Keurig, he waited a minute to have a cup of coffee, before he settled in with it on the brown suede couch. He wore heavy sweats with socks to bed so that he could keep the house’s temperature as low as possible. Outside, the morning was misty gray, a layer of snow lying pristinely undisturbed, the ocean below the steep rise of the property almost as still as glass. He expected the snow to melt some, and the afternoon to be mostly clear.

  His thoughts were on Molly and Jess Leitner, how utterly surprised he’d been, and still was, at how gloriously the little girl sang. Even though he and the Randalls were sitting within twenty-five feet of them, he didn’t think Jess Leitner had seen them during the time she and Molly were at the game. They left the gymnasium after first quarter, he never saw Aden, and figured that Molly Lietner wasn’t a follower of basketball. That was quite understandable at her tender age. Her mother might not be a fan either.

  And now he knew where they would be living. The Hartman house was a Victorian, one of thousands that lined the coast and its few inhabited isles. She must have paid a good sum for it, he thought, because houses on the island tended to be pricey. It still had most of its original trim intact, with a side porch that the previous owners had re-done. There was probably a great deal of renovating left to do, however. The house had stood vacant for some time, and was about the only place that had been for sale on Whittler. Land that wasn’t already built on tended to be tied up in trusts and/or was inheritance property. Islanders liked keeping things in the family for generations to come.

  Somewhat more awake after the coffee, Roman showered, left off shaving, and dressed in old jeans and a sweatshirt. He thought to eat a piece of toast before going to his mother’s to pick up Mona. His mother would ask if he’d had breakfast, and he didn’t want to have to lie to her. The previous night, he’d eaten only one slice of pizza with the Randalls, determined now to get the weight off. The fog was beginning to lift as he got into his vehicle.

  From his mother’s house on top of the hill, he could see a good bit of the town, including Ruth’s Restaurant. Ruth Fenwick’s house stood a few houses down from her business locale, and now that he knew what to look for, he could faintly see the black Range Rover parked beside it.

  Mona met him at the door, doing her little dance of gladness at seeing him again. A dog’s sense of time was often far afield from humans’ knowledge of it. Roman gave her a long greeting, ruffling her withers and then patting her chest. His mother smiled as she said, “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” he answered. “What a night.”

  “I mentioned that the little Leitner girl could sing.” Cheryl and their mother had been on the phone together already. “Our own little diva has come to Whittler.”

  “What a voice for such a little kid,” he remarked. “You ready for market day?”

  Julia still owned a car, and drove quite well, in fact. But during the winter months, especially when the island’s hills tended to be icy, Roman took his mother to the grocery store and anywhere else she needed to go.

  “Got my list,” Julia said while getting her coat and purse.

  *****

  His mother was slow to shop, mainly because she met up with so many people she knew, stopping to talk for a few minutes with each of them. Roman, too, knew most of the islanders and spoke briefly to whoever they ran into. But he found ways to get on with the mission, getting his own cart, passing by the hothouse azaleas, lots of early daffodils and crocuses emerging in pots, mixed arrangements of all sizes wrapped in heavy cellophane, along with vases that held roses of all colors, mixed with assorted greenery—and those were going quickly. Several shoppers were gathered around the floral section in what was now Albert Kromer’s store.

  He almost missed seeing her, intent on moving his cart
away from the large floral displays, thinking that he would steer into the regular plant section that appeared far less crowded. She was looking at mixed bouquets, seeing him at the same time that he saw her, both of them with momentary surprised looks on their faces. He was the first to smile, but she quickly returned the gesture.

  Pulling his cart beside hers, he said, “I was there last night.” He was still stunned to run into her, and aware that he showed it. “What an amazingly talented daughter you have!”

  Her smile grew, showing very white teeth. She modulated the smile before saying, “Molly’s teacher, Mrs. Hayslip, was behind that.”

  “She must be a hundred-years-old by now.”

  Soft laughter burst out of her, the freckles on her cheeks turning darker with her blushing face.

  He kept his deadpan humor going. “I had her for a teacher back in nineteen oh-nine.”

  She laughed yet again, and he liked the sound of it. Her nose crinkled and her eyes sparkled when she laughed. She caught herself, conscious of the crowd around them. He was compelled to suggest, “Should we move our carts?”

  She wasn’t hesitant moving with him to a vacant corner of the green plant department. He asked, “What’s with all the flower shopping today?”

  She said, “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Tell me you knew that.”

  He was totally flummoxed and showed it. But he thought of something to come back with. “No one to buy for, so I wasn’t paying attention to the date. Didn’t we just get over New Year’s?” He scratched his head in mock frustration.

  “We bounce…”

  “From one holiday to another,” he finished the line. “Molly’s utterly amazing.”

  Her face grew more serious when she said, “I’ve been trying to find her a voice coach.”

  “You might be SOL on that one. Why does she need one with a voice like that?”

  She answered, “Molly thinks she needs one. Who am I to quibble with a budding diva?”

  He came back with, “That diva is already blooming.”

  “Thank you,” she modestly replied. “She’s been singing her heart out since she was a year old.”

  “Might the choral director at the high school be an option?”

  “She, too, has been teaching since nineteen oh-nine.”

  It was his turn to laugh, and he chuckled with her. “There’s gotta be someone.”

  She paused a moment, her eyes holding his. Then she quietly admitted, “We know so few people.”

  “But you know me, and I know lots of other people.” His gray eyes had become even more enlivened.

  “I know more about you than you’ll ever guess.” As soon as she said that, she regretted that she had, shaking her head in disbelief.

  He pretended to be shocked, but pulled another smile out of her with one of his own as he said, “Ruth Fenwick tells nothing but lies about me.”

  Shaking her head again, she shyly nodded, letting him know that he had guessed right. “She says you’re the most trustworthy man she’s ever met…and that you’re a saint who’s been put here, on earth.”

  Stifling a laugh, he held a finger to his lips before softly acknowledging, “The saints might boot me to hell if they knew what sometimes goes through my head.”

  There was a pause. His smile grew, but hers grew even more, showing her bright white teeth and a degree of playfulness that was impishly showing in her wondrous eyes. She said, “I would think that your head’s all sorted out.”

  “Far from it,” he earnestly quipped. “There’s mostly a cluttered mess up here,” he said, thumping his silvered head.

  She laughed yet again, and he felt lightheaded from just looking at and talking with her. They were both flirting, and he didn’t give a damn.

  “I think I need to move on,” she said.

  “But we’ll talk on Tuesday,” he reminded her.

  Halfway meeting his gaze, she smiled again before moving beyond the plant section and on to produce.

  He didn’t dare watch her go, afraid she’d turn back around and catch him ogling her. He saw his mother instead, walking abreast with one of her female friends, rolling their carts in tandem, immersed in conversation, and far too occupied to notice him in the corner of the plant section.

  CHAPTER 9

  He and Mona maintained their quiet life of solitude over the rest of the week-end, that is, except for taking his mother out for Valentine’s Day, something that Cheryl and he did every year. She would put up a little fuss about them spending time and money on her, but they knew she secretly loved just being out with the family. They had opted for a place called Justin’s, having made a reservation for an early dinner.

  Nothing was mentioned about the Leitners, for which he was eternally grateful. He had wanted to ask Patrick or Danny if either of them had happened to meet a new boy at school by the name of Aden, but that, too, would have provoked far too much curiosity and intrusion, some of it work-related. He’d wait, he decided, for a more private time in the near future, a casual thing. He knew the boy needed new friends.

  The fact was, he was anxious for the work week to begin. After dropping off Mona at his mother’s, he caught the 7:05 ferry as a walk-on to the city, as the locals called it, something he routinely did, no matter how bad the weather was. He liked getting the exercise, as well as having the extra time to look over the week’s schedule of clients.

  Rene came in to the office promptly at quarter to eight, looking renewed from the week-end, carrying her vase filled with long-stemmed roses to her desk. They were, without any doubt, from her husband. The first thing she always did was make coffee, and she was halfway through when Roman told her he’d scheduled a four o’clock without consulting her. He had thought she would be peeved at the news, but she took the omission in stride.

  “No worries,” she said as Ben Girard walked in.

  “Hey Ben,” Roman called out, motioning for the man to follow him back to his office.

  Ben rarely made small talk, but appeared to want to practice a little of it with Rene. “Mrs. Sampson, those are beautiful flowers.” The guy even had an earnest look of appreciation on his face.

  “Why thank you, Mr. Girard,” she said with a friendly smile.

  “You can call me Ben,” he said in a low voice, almost to himself, while walking past her desk.

  “I’ll do that,” she promised while settling in at her desk.

  Once Roman shut his office door, he and Ben seated themselves and Roman asked what was on his mind. “On Friday, Hope Canard said something else to you after she told you that you reminded her of her husband. Care to share with me what that was?”

  Ben’s face became flushed. For the longest time, he couldn’t seem to get his moorings. For a moment or more, Roman feared that the guy was starting to have some sort of seizure.

  “Something…I thought about…all weekend.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “It’s sorta personal, but I can tell you.”

  “Not unless you honestly want to,” Roman conceded.

  Ben took his jacket off and settled back on the couch, taking his time to divulge the mystery. Finally, he did. “She said I smelled like her husband.”

  “You took a shower that morning—right?”

  Ben nodded. “I even had a little aftershave on. Not too much. My sister gives me a bottle of the expensive stuff for my birthday and for Christmas.”

  Roman’s face remained impassive. “What do you make of it?”

  “I’ve thought about it a whole lot over the week-end. I think she might be tryin’ to two-time her husband.”

  This was one of those times when a therapist had to make a judgment call, divulging something in a roundabout way. “What if her husband has died?”

  Ben’s look was halfway hopeful. “Did he?”

  “I’m not sure,” Roman said. “He could have.”

  “Could have,” Ben muttered to himself.

  “You’ll have to wait and see if Hope will divulge th
at.”

  “Yeah. Guess I will.” Ben didn’t look at all sure of it.

  “For now, let’s move on to our session,” Roman suggested. Ben relaxed on the couch, while Roman sat in a chair nearby. Only rarely did Roman put a desk between himself and his clients. He got up long enough to get his recorder out and tape another session, then sat down again. “As I’ve said before, we are continuing with the imaginal exposure exercises. You’ll tell me every single detail that you can remember about the run-up to the explosion, then—every detail of the explosion itself that you can recall, and every detail of everything that happened afterward. I’ll play this back when we’re done so we can listen to what you’ve said.”

  They’d been doing the exercises for two months, going over again and again what had happened the day that Ben’s unit had been ambushed and annihilated in Afghanistan. The goal was for Ben to detoxify the experience by its re-telling, hopefully reaching a point where the events of that horrific encounter would be less immobilizing and debilitating. When a person has fewer fears and anxieties related to memories, IE theory posits that what happened, no matter how gruesome, becomes less troubling in one’s present life. Ben now had a handle on his drinking problem, which was directly related to his PTSD, but the therapy had a long way to go before other important measures of success could be achieved.

  *****

  By ten minutes to four, Roman had seen six additional clients. Tess Gilliland had a full schedule too, typifying an average day for the office. Roman’s counseling service was the only one within a one-hundred-mile radius. In addition to police department referrals, the local hospital routinely asked for evaluations and counseling, many of the cases relating to substance abuse.

  He started out of his office with his three o’clock patient, but held back when he saw Jessica and Aden Leitner at Rene’s desk, no doubt filling out an initial questionnaire, as well as arranging payments through their health insurance policy. He liked to steer clear of clients when they were making financial arrangements, a necessary component to his practice, but one requiring that he and Tess keep their professional distance for an obvious reason. So, he waited until four, reemerged from his office, and found Aden sitting by himself in the waiting area.