Page 18 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
“Uncle Wes don’t like dogs,” Valeria filled in as her feet fell to my lap with force. Her heels barely missed my groin. “He says dogs is slobbery poopers.”
Dr. Bajaj looked at me with a raised brow and a tiny smirk.
“I will confess to saying that but only after the little mongrel barked at me for no good reason. He knows who I am. I’ve lived beside him and his annoying owner for three years now. It seems Miss Howarth would be able to instill some obedience into the little shit.”
Valeria’s mouth formed a perfect O. “You said shit. That is a bad word for young mens and ladies.”
I sighed. The doctor chuckled. I felt my cheeks grow warm. I could not see how this was going to help Valeria at all, to be honest. So far all that had been expunged was that I was unwilling to bare my feet, I disliked dogs, and I said naughty words in front of my ward. I’d give this odd man with hisquestionable sock taste a few more sessions to prove himself, and then I was walking. With my sock-covered feet firmly in my shoes, thank you very much.
***
“I like Dr. Baba very much,” Valeria informed me as we strolled toward the old Hancock Tower hand-in-hand. I gave her a distracted smile as we pushed through late afternoon foot traffic. I’d gotten a text from Rissa while setting up our next appointment with Dr. Sock Fan that had been a little worrisome. One of my clients, the wife of a city councilman, had reached out to us to discuss filing for divorce. That in and of itself was nothing concerning since many people contacted us to end marriages. Divorce lawyers were, as the kids say, printing money. So one potential new client wasn’t anything new. What was new was how desperate this woman sounded on the phone. Rissa, who was very adept at her job, had expressed worry over her safety as the woman had mentioned her husband monitoring her messages and calls. She had touched base with us on her mother’s cell. Yes, that was a large red flag. So, I told Rissa to contact her back at the number given, set up a consultation with her as soon as possible, and to tell her if she was in a place to do so, she was to stay with her mother for the foreseeable future. There was little we could do until she hired us officially, but we could certainly offer free advice despite what the elder partners said about doing so.
“Uncle Wes, do you like Dr. Baba too?” She tugged on my arm, pulling me from my thoughts.
“He seems quite nice,” I replied as we neared the glimmering tower. “He likes socks.”
“I like socks too!”
We paused amid the crush of busy Bostonians to look skyward. “The heaven building is so tall,” Valeria said, her awe clear on her face. “I think we can for sure talk to Mama.”
“I think so as well,” I replied, looking down from the clouds to my niece. Her big brown eyes were glued to the wispy clouds floating by. “Why don’t we find a bench nearby and then you can have a nice long talk with your mother?”
She nodded, her sight lingering on the glassy tower as we located a city bench about a block away. I shook out my hankie and placed it on the bench for her to sit on. I stood. Lord only knows what was dried on those metal slats.
Valeria stared at the tower as a soft wind rustled some papers down the street, her eyes closing softly for a moment before reopening.
“Hello, Mama!” she shouted. I placed my hands on her slim shoulders, then bent down to whisper that she didn’t have to yell. “But yes, I does because she won’t hear me in Heaven.” I could not find a way to argue with that logic. “Hello, Mama. I am here with Uncle Wes, who is very nice. His house is big and fancy. He has a nice house lady named Mrs. Polka who makes me brownies without nuts. We do not have a dog because Uncle Wes thinks they make hair on his clothes.” I nodded at the people passing by, most chuckling as the child shouted to the very heavens. “We have a friend named Lennon, who is funny and sings and wears a hat like Willy Wonka! Only him don’t have chocolate, but no kids get turned into berries so I like Lennon better for that. And we have a new doctor for our thoughts.” She tapped her forehead. “His name is Dr. Baba, and he has moon socks! Uncle Wes is very nice. I have lots of socks. Are you happy in Heaven? I think God would be nice to you since you was sick with drugs.” She glanced back and up at me. “Don’t you think so too?”
I was rapidly learning that this child could whip a question at you that would rock you soundly.
“Oh, well, I’m sure God is nice to everyone who goes to Heaven. Particularly those who struggled greatly while here on Earth.” That sounded diplomatic. To be honest, I had never thought about how God would feel about those who took drugs. Surely, they would be loved just as much as those of us who didn’t. God, I had always felt, loved all of his children just as the bible school song proclaimed. Oh, that was Jesus. Well, same thing, yes? Father, Son, Holy Ghost. All of that. “Yes, I am sure God is extra loving to those who battle so strongly while here.”
“Here is Boston. It has beans and red socks,” she informed me before turning back to the sky. She talked for twenty minutes that day, the wind tossing her hair about, my hands on her shoulders. She filled Aida in on everything right down to the fact that Uncle Wes used a buzzing stick in his hairy ears. There was no privacy at all with a child. They see you trimming your ears once with your elite little nose and ear trimmers, and now they were informing all of Boston you had bushy ears. When she ran out of news, she glanced back at me. I peeked up from my phone where I had been texting Rissa when I felt her gaze on me.
“Are you done?” I asked.
“I am done. Your turn.” She patted the bench. “You can talk to Mama in Heaven too. God is good like that.”
“Oh.” I shoved my cell into my back pocket as my sight flew upward. “Well, I’m not sure your mother wishes to hear from me.”
Valeria shook off my hold so she could stand on the bench. “No, that is not right. Mama is sad if you don’t talk to her. No one should be sad in Heaven.”
My Lord. This child. I cleared my throat, found a cloud that looked like a skinny horse, and said the first thing that came to mind. It was about how well Valeria colored. I was not aboutto stand here on a bustling sidewalk and bellow my deepest emotional baggage to the side of the old Hancock Tower. Hell, I was not comfortable discussing my feelings with Dr. Baba—damn it, Dr. Bajaj—or any other trained therapist. Feelings were soft, squishy things that people could squeeze the life out of…history had shown me.
“That is good.” Valeria reached up to pat my cheeks. “Now Mama is happy. Can we talk to Mama here on this bench every day?”
“Not every day, but perhaps every time we visit with Dr. Baba?” Damn it. “I mean Dr. Bajaj.”
“Okay. Bye, Mama! See you on a flip side!” She leapt off the bench, offered me her hand, and steered me to Copley Place where I ended up purchasing socks with caterpillars so next time we were with Dr. Baba—damn it to hell—Dr. Bajaj, I could put my sock feet in the air too.
As ifthatwas ever going to happen.
Chapter Eight
It was an oddity that I now set my schedule by when we would see Lennon.
Valeria had learned quickly that Saturdays were songs in the park days, and so as I lamented and waved farewell to Wesley’s Holy Days—at least for now—I found myself also looking forward to our mornings under that big shade tree.
