“Herman relied on the bottle a little too much. Just look at the empties. Marnie said he promised he’d stopped. He hadn’t had a regular job in years. God, I feel like a damned fool for letting him baby-sit my son, but he’s my wife’s brother and … Yes, he knew I kept a gun in the house, locked up there in the drawer—
That was when Andy remembered that his fingerprints were on the brass drawer handle, not Uncle Herman’s. The handle seemed to grow larger, looming, almost shouting for attention.
Caught.
One stupid mistake.
Everything thrown away. The great new life finished before it had a chance to start.
The situation, however, looked pretty clear cut to the cops. Suicide, plain and simple. No one had heard the shot, but everyone had heard the TV. A couple of photographs; no dusting for prints, no firearm or trace metal residue tests. A brief visit from the medical examiner. He agreed with the cops. The orderlies from the coroner’s office bagged Uncle Herman and toted off the remains.
A few swipes with a Handi Wipe, and it was over, except for one little detail.
“It’s your son, Captain Rain,” said the one uniformed officer, a big man with black hair and olive skin. “He really ought to be put into some kind of counseling. Besides seeing the suicide, from the welts on the boy’s face I’d say it’s a sure thing that your brother-in-law smacked the kid around some before he shot himself. That combination of things has a good chance of screwing up the boy’s whole life. He might even be blaming himself for what happened. I’ve seen it before. Anyway, keep it in mind. I can get you the names of some good people if you want.”
And then they were all gone, except for John Draper, who was leaning against the back of the couch, looking at the sparkling clean kitchen. He turned and looked at Andy’s father. Gary Rain rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks for coming all the way back, John. I guess you ought to call home and let Ellen know what happened.”
Mr. Draper placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Gary, why not let Ellen talk to the boy? She’s really good with kids and I think Andy likes her.”
Andy watched as his father covered his face, shook his head, and turned away from Mr. Draper. “She’d be great, John, except, you know. What if she finds out?”
“How?” The writer waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “That project became ancient history as soon as the funding dried up. Andy is just a boy that needs help and Ellen knows how to give that kind of help. Think about it.”
They said goodnight and Andy quickly ran back up the stairs and climbed into his crib. The door opened quietly and his father entered the room. “Andy? Son, are you awake?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“I guess that was a stupid question.” Gary Rain stepped all of the way into the room and stood next to the crib. His eyes seemed to glisten in the dark. He reached down, took his son’s hand, and said, “How are you doing, son?”
“Okay.”
“That was a horrible thing that happened down there. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m sure, Daddy.”
“Did your uncle hit you?”
Andy turned his face away from his father’s gaze. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes. He was scared. He didn’t want to kill anyone. Uncle Herman shouldn’t have hit him, though. That was dead wrong.
Gary Rain held his hand against the boy’s cheek. “Andy, how would you like to talk to someone about what happened tonight? A special person; someone who’s trained to help?”
The tears would not stop. Andy nodded. “Somebody I know, Daddy. Could I talk to that friend of Mommy’s, Mrs. Draper?”
“Ellen?” Andy’s daddy frowned for a moment, then raised his eyebrows. “Sure. Sure, that’d be fine.” He picked up his son and began drying his tears. “That’d be fine.” That night Andy slept in the chair wrapped in his father’s arms.
The next Tuesday Gary Rain dropped the boy off at the Draper’s house and, upon Mrs. Draper’s advice, went to work. Ellen would take Andy back to his home.
Andy sat on the couch and Ellen Draper sat in a chair facing the couch. She studied the boy for a long time before she spoke. “You can call me Ellen. May I call you Andy?”
“Sure.”
She studied him some more. “Your father told me what happened, Andy, and I’m so sorry. Gary said that you asked for me by name. Do you remember me from somewhere?”
“Somewhere.” Andy looked around at the room. He was seated in a cozy den before a fireplace. On the mantelpiece were a tobacco humidor and a rack of six pipes. He turned and faced Ellen. She was in her early thirties, but she looked like a teenager. Ellen was petite and attractive with large dark eyes and billows of auburn hair. An oversized turquoise knit sweater and black slacks finished the picture.
“I want to know something, Ellen.”
“Very well, Andy. What do you want to know?”
“Is everything between you and me secret?”
Ellen’s beautifully smooth brow wrinkled in a tiny frown. “What do you mean?”
“If I tell you something, is it just between you and me, or do you tell my parents or the police or someone else?”
“What kinds of things, Andy?”
The boy sat back on the couch and clasped his hands over his belly. “Any kind of things.”
As her eyebrows lowered, Ellen Draper settled back in her own chair. “How old are you, Andy?”
“Five and a half.”
“I thought that’s what your father said. You talk as though you are older.”
“My question still needs an answer.”
She stared at him for a long time. At last she blinked her eyes. “According to the law, if I suspect certain things in a family situation, I’m required to report it.”
“I want it different between us,” stated Andy. “Whatever I say to you stays just between you and me.”
“I don’t know if I can do that, Andy.”
“If you can’t, I won’t talk to you about anything.”
Her lips spread into a wary smile as she studied the boy. “Andy, I can’t quite get over the way you talk. I know your parents very well, and neither of them talk the way you do. You’re very assertive. Do you know what I mean when I say ‘assertive’?”
“Yes.”
“Then, how does a boy not yet six years old know terms like ‘assertive,’?”
Andy closed his eyes as he fought down the frustration, the fear, the loneliness. Something within told him that he couldn’t trust Ellen Draper. Something else told him he didn’t have any other choice. He needed to talk to someone.
“Do you agree?”
Again she smiled. “If I agreed, what would I tell your parents? They’ll want to know how you’re doing.”
“Say I’m doing better, things are moving along, he’s just fine. Nothing specific.”
Her smile faded by slow degrees as her eyes studied him. At one point she frowned. “Okay.” Before she spoke again she let the word hang in the air for a long time. “Okay, Andy. We have a deal. Whatever you say to me is just between us.”
“No tapes, no notes, no files.”
She held out her hands. “I have to make notes.”
“No you don’t.”
Ellen Draper leaned forward. “Why?”
“People can get into notes.”
“What people?”
He shrugged and began playing with the crimson fringe on one of the couch’s pillows. “Anybody.” He looked at her. “Your husband.”