Chapter 9 - What Lucas Told His TeacherThe school counselor's office was painted pale yellow.
There were beanbag chairs, picture books, a miniature basketball hoop, and a basket of stuffed animals beside the window.
Daniel sat across from Rachel Greene, the counselor at Lucas's private elementary school.
She had worked with children for nearly twenty years.
"Lucas is not a violent child," she said.
Daniel looked up.
"He threw a boot at his housekeeper."
"I understand."
"He's pushed another student. He's broken toys. He screams when people try to leave rooms."
Rachel nodded.
"Yes. Those behaviors need to be addressed."
"Then why are you telling me he isn't violent?"
"Because behavior is something a child does, Mr. Whitmore. It isn't necessarily who that child is."
Daniel remained silent.
Rachel opened a folder.
"Lucas has been increasingly distressed whenever a teacher leaves the classroom. He asks whether substitutes are permanent. He becomes frightened when routines change."
She turned another page.
"Last month, he asked me whether good children ever get replaced."
Daniel felt his throat tighten.
"What did you tell him?"
"That children aren't objects. No one replaces them."
Rachel watched him carefully.
"He cried."
Daniel stared at the floor.
She continued.
"Then he asked whether adults can stop loving children when they're inconvenient."
The word struck him.
Inconvenient.
Margaret used it constantly.
An inconvenient employee.
An inconvenient question.
An inconvenient scandal.
"When did he say that?" Daniel asked.
"Three weeks ago."
"Did anyone contact me?"
"We sent a written summary to the family email address listed on his school forms."
"Which address?"
Rachel turned the computer monitor.
Daniel recognized it.
The administrative mailbox managed by Margaret's personal assistant.
He had rarely opened it himself.
"Can you send the reports directly to me from now on?"
"Certainly."
Rachel hesitated.
"There's something else."
She withdrew a drawing.
It showed a large house with many windows.
Inside were three stick figures.
One had been crossed out.
Another stood by the door with a suitcase.
A little boy remained in the middle.
"Lucas told me the person with the suitcase was Miss Evelyn."
Daniel studied the drawing.
"Why is she leaving?"
"He said he hadn't made her leave yet."
Daniel looked up.
Rachel continued.
"He seemed to believe that making people angry was a way to find out whether they would stay."
Daniel remembered Evelyn kneeling beside Lucas after being struck.
His son's terrified plea.
"Miss Greene, do you think someone has been encouraging him to behave this way?"
Rachel chose her words carefully.
"I can't determine that from one conversation or drawing. What I can say is that Lucas repeats certain adult phrases that sound rehearsed."
"Such as?"
"'My home environment is unstable.'"
Daniel closed his eyes.
"'My father is unable to provide adequate emotional supervision.'"
He remembered the laminated card.
"And when I asked him what those words meant," Rachel said, "he told me he was supposed to say them when grown-ups asked questions."
"Who told him?"
"He wouldn't identify anyone."
Daniel looked out the window.
Children were playing on the lawn beyond the glass.
A girl chased a soccer ball.
Two boys argued about whose turn it was to kick.
Lucas should have been worrying about things like that.
Instead, he was carrying a vocabulary designed for courtrooms and board meetings.
Rachel slid a blank sheet toward him.
"Mr. Whitmore, I think Lucas needs a consistent adult environment and a comprehensive assessment from a licensed child psychologist. I also think the adults around him need to understand how their conflict is affecting him."
Daniel nodded.
"Can you recommend someone independent of the family?"
"Yes."
He almost smiled.
Independent.
The word had become unexpectedly precious.
When the meeting ended, Rachel walked him to the door.
"May I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"When Lucas threw that boot, what happened afterward?"
Daniel described Evelyn's response.
Rachel listened.
"And he asked her not to leave?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"That's important."
"Why?"
"Because in that moment, he may have been testing the very thing he feared most."
Daniel looked at her.
"Whether hurting someone makes them disappear?"
"Perhaps. And he received a different answer."
Outside, Daniel called Evelyn.
"I need to ask you something."
"Yes, sir?"
"Has my mother ever asked Lucas to practice sentences?"
There was a long silence.
"Mr. Whitmore, I've heard her correcting him."
"Correcting what?"
"What he should say if a doctor asks whether he feels safe."
Daniel gripped the phone.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wasn't present for the entire conversation. I didn't want to accuse someone without knowing exactly what was happening."
"What did you hear?"
Evelyn took a breath.
"Mrs. Whitmore said, 'Don't say you miss Mommy. Say Daddy can't keep people from leaving.'"
Daniel leaned against his car.
Before he could answer, Evelyn spoke again.
"There's something else. I found an appointment card in Lucas's desk."
"For what?"
"A behavioral evaluation."
"With whom?"
She read the name.
Daniel recognized it from his mother's trustee-resignation packet.
It was the psychologist whose preliminary opinion had been cited in Grant's family-risk report.
May you like
The appointment was scheduled for Friday.
And nobody had asked Daniel's permission.
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