Chapter 26

The next morning, we woke with the alarm and I felt good, refreshed and eager to talk to Dr. Spencer. I got out of bed and looked at the champagne bottle, checking how much we’d had to drink the night before. I was proud of us for not draining it. There was probably enough for us to have had half a glass more, but we’d had enough by the end of the night.

I kissed both my girls and got adoring looks from them for thinking to celebrate last night. We showered together as we usually did and got dressed before heading next door to have breakfast.

We got some very knowing looks from Patty and Dan when we sat down. Mom and Lilly weren’t there and I asked about that.

“They wanted to sleep in,” Patty said. “Charlotte took Lilly out to a late movie to give you a chance to have the house to yourselves. How did it go last night?”

“Did you know?!” Lana gushed about it, babbling about the candles and the roses and the champagne.

Patty nodded and brought us breakfast before sitting down again. “Charlotte and I went and took care of it after Matt explained what he wanted and why. We were undecided about the champagne, but in the end, we found a bottle small enough that we were convinced wouldn’t make you all drunk.”

I nodded and told her we hadn’t even finished it. “It was good though. I’d expected it to be different. I’ve had a sip of beer from Donald in the past. I have a much different opinion of that.”

We ate quickly, the three of us famished. Dan had to go to work and I was being dropped off at the hospital to see Dr. Spencer for the day so I kissed the girls while Dan kissed Patty. Then he kissed each of the girls on the cheeks while I got a deeper kiss from Patty and she gave me an unreadable look like I’d done something to make her personally happy and before I had a chance to ask, we had to leave.

I was glad that things hadn’t changed between Dan and I on the drive to the hospital. It was a slight detour for him and I was an hour early, but he’d wanted to do this. He pulled up in front of the hospital and put a hand on my arm before I got out.

“Matt,” he said slowly. “I want you to know how proud Patty and I are of you,” he told me. “You treat our girls better than we could have hoped, even if the three of you are living together years ahead of what we’d have preferred. Wanting to do that for the girls last night, made them feel very special.”

“They ARE special,” I said simply. “They deserve it. Last night was about me too though. They’re the center of my world. Last night I got to remind them of that. That’s not a selfless act. It gave me as much pleasure as it did them. It’s a day I observe every year. I just got to share it this time.”

“Keep treating them like this and you’ll be able to share a lot of things with them over the years,” he assured me with a smile which I returned and got out of the car to go to my appointment.

I’d packed my backpack a little differently today, leaving my computer at home and instead bringing the sketchpad and pencils I’d picked up along the way yesterday.

I showed up at Dr. Spencer’s office with a bottle of Coke and my backpack. I knocked, but she wasn’t here yet. I was nearly an hour early so that I could have the chat with Dan, so I sat on the floor to wait.

I took my new pad out and decided to try to do a sketch of Beck while I waited. I started working and the sketch just seemed to come naturally. I let my thoughts drift while I sketched, replaying the last few weeks and how much better I felt now.

I looked back on the day that I learned about the divorce and I felt like a completely different person. I could still connect with all those emotions, but they felt more distant. I was finding myself far less prone to flying off the handle lately and that was good, but it also made me wonder how extensive the changes were. I was more intellectually gifted, more emotionally stable and certainly more fulfilled sexually. I couldn’t account for the sudden shift and part of me worried about that. I put a pin in that thought to mention to Dr. Spencer later.

I heard heels clicking on the floor and looked up to see her coming toward me. I smiled and started gathering up my things to move inside.

“Good morning, Matthew,” she said brightly. “I half expected you to be late this morning. I presumed your nights are too hectic to get a fresh start to the day.”

I chuckled and stood up, shouldering my bag and picking up my drink. “I guess I’m just not smart enough to know my own limitations,” I offered for an explanation. “I half expected you to show up with some wayward X-Ray technician to test my reactions.”

“It’s not that kind of examination, Matt,” she scolded me with a smile as she unlocked the door and lead me inside.

“That’s a shame,” I said, still in good spirits. “Maybe next time.”

She took a seat away from her desk in a comfortable chair and motioned me to the couch. I put my things down and we chatted for a bit. I assumed she’d get around to more serious questions when we’d gotten through the pleasantries, but she didn’t seem to be interested in getting to the study just yet.

“How’re the girls?” she asked curiously. “I noticed you were alone this morning.”

“Well, like I said, I expected you to bring along an X-ray tech. I figured that you wouldn’t steer me wrong,” I teased and shrugged. “They’re actually really good. Lana would have been here to drop me off, but she’s still walking on air from last night. I arranged for a private celebration for her and Beck and I. Yesterday was nine years since the day I moved in next door to them, so I wanted to celebrate with them, sort of our anniversary.”

She nodded. “That’s very thoughtful,” she said, smiling and asked how we’d celebrated.

I told her about the champagne and roses and candles and she nodded approvingly. “You had help arranging things, I take it, since buying alcohol is tricky for a young man your age.”

I nodded. “I told Mom what I wanted and she and Patty made the arrangements,” I told her.

“Speaking of Patty, how are you handling that? Still thinking about climbing that wall?”

I shook my head. “We’re putting in a gate instead. I told you about Dan’s medical problems. Well, it’s going to be a semi-regular thing. I was worried that things would change, but they haven’t really. My sister’s starting to think I’ve become the zombie plague of sex. She says everyone that sees me wants to sleep with me. I think she’s looking into getting a bomb-shelter somewhere in the Dakotas to hide out in until it’s over.”

She nodded at the news about Patty, taking it in stride and gave me a wry smile at Lilly’s concerns. “I think we can allay your sister’s fears,” she said dryly. “Clearly not every woman you meet is enamored with your charm.”

“Clearly,” I agreed, amused by the rebuke. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my sketchpad and started back to work on the sketch of Beck that I was doing as we continued to talk. “I actually meant to ask you about it though, since we’re on the topic. I HAVE noticed that she’s right. I’ve gotten a lot of female attention lately. That’s not a complaint, mind you. I can only hope my strength holds out long enough to avoid having ‘Minuteman’ carved into my headstone. I have four girlfriends, Patty, Lilly has claimed that Mom looks at me the same way and Lilly’s said she wants out of the house because she doesn’t know how long her resolve to keep her hands off me will last.”

“She said that?” Dr. Spencer asked, surprised.

“Not in those words, but she’s been hinting about moving in with Patty and Dan to put some distance between us because she doesn’t want to end up in my bed. I told her I wouldn’t let that happen for a number of reasons.”

“And what reasons would those be?” she asked leadingly.

“Because it’s wrong for her. As much as part of her wants it, part of her doesn’t. She may ignore that part in a moment of weakness, but she’d immediately regret doing it and that would be devastating to both of us. I told her that I wouldn’t love her any less if it happened, but that she’d stop being my sister if we did that. My sister is far more important to me than Lilly’s pussy, to put it bluntly,” I said, making the distinction of how I’d view her after sex by using her name. I never really raised my eyes except for a glance here and there as I put little touches on the sketch.

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” she started. “It shows that you put value on your relationship with her as a sister. Every therapist treats at least one patient in their career that’s received inappropriate attention from a family member. As much as you’re learning to process sex and love together, you’re not trying to use those terms interchangeably. That’s excellent news, considering the sheer amount of sex that’s coming your way now and in the next few months.”

“Well, now is less than you probably think for a bright-eyed boy my age,” I admitted. “Last night, Lana, Becky and I were very tender and loving. Our first time was a lot more of a party mentality and there was only once with Patty. That’s it so far.”

She nodded grateful at the trust. “Back to your original point, you seem to have thought a lot about this change in the amount of female attention. Can you trace back to when this started?”

I stopped drawing and looked up then, frowning. “I want to say after the accident, but I’m not certain that was necessarily true. Mom and Lilly both focused on me after I found out about the divorce. I just assumed that was because I was the only one that was in emotional distress over it, but now I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll ever know since one happened so close after the other. It’s an interesting distinction though.”

“It is. It’s possible that they looked to you because you were the only male left in the household. It’s not that uncommon. Gender stereotypes are deeply ingrained. We’ve talked at length about your girlfriends and how you all gravitated toward each other. I think you can safely look to your attitude about secrets after the initial shock of the divorce. It’s a healthy attitude and it’s one that most people struggle with over their lifetimes. We’re complex beings. Our personalities are made up of many layers that often conflict. We all keep secrets without even trying. We understand that some things are inappropriate or hurtful to say, no matter how true they might be. I wouldn’t discount the absolutely random congruence of circumstance that brought you all together, but you hold them together. You developed a lot of maturity in a short period of time from what could have ended up being a scarring experience. That’s something to be proud of. If that hadn’t happened, you’d likely still be the boy you were when school finished in June. Don’t discount the value of moments like those. They change the normal course of your life and sometimes come to define greatness. Just remember, greatness doesn’t necessarily mean goodness. Adolf Hitler was convinced that he’d been spared from death in an artillery burst in World War One because he was destined to lead the Third Reich.”

I considered what she’d said and we sat in silence for a moment as I nodded and processed it. “The only thing that gives me pause is that I noticed the increase in sex, increase in maturity and increase in intelligence all happened around the same time. I can hardly credit my ability to learn pretty much anything to any change in attitude.”

“It’s possible that the concussion had some lasting affect on your brain physically or it’s possible that it’s a complete coincidence. It’s possible that your brain was always primed to go through this change during puberty. The shock, adrenaline and surge of pain during the accident could have acted as catalysts for that change. That too, is something we may never know for sure, but Dr. Saddler and I are both hopeful that the tests will help us figure it out.”

Again I nodded and looked down at my sketch. I was surprised. I thought it was particularly life-like and it must have shown on my face.

“Surprised by the results?” she asked lightly.

I turned the pad around and showed her. She shared my surprised look. “That’s very good, Matt. You never mentioned being able to draw before.”

“That’s because I didn’t know,” I told her and mentioned the sketch I’d done on Monday while waiting for my ride.

“Interesting. And you weren’t really paying attention to what you were doing?”

I shook my head. “I was just sitting on the lawn, talking to one of the other students and waiting for the girls.”

“You know some of the students enrolled there?” she asked.

“No. A girl approached me. She thought I’d wandered away from a day camp that I guess they hold on campus.”

She nodded. “Those would be for gifted children younger than you, but a student without contact with the program might not realize that. You said ‘she’,” she pointed out. “Is this the source of your questions about the attention lately?”

I shrugged and turned the page, starting another sketch. “Maybe,” I allowed. “She asked me if I was lost, asked about the day camps and then we were talking about what I was sketching, so we talked about the girls some. The study came up and she said the students are talking about what happened in front of the board as much as the faculty are.”

She nodded. “There has been considerable interest in the study and your place in it,” she told me.

“I just hope that I can squash the use of ‘Wonder-boy’ to refer to me,” I said dryly.

“Has your brilliant mind suggested an alternative?” she asked.

“That came up while I was talking to Emma on Monday too,” I said. “I told her I thought ‘Epic’ sounded like a better nickname for someone getting the attention of Harvard. It has a certain grandeur that ‘Wonder-boy’ lacks, I think.”

She laughed. “It certainly does have that going for it. You’re not worried that it’s going to come across as arrogant?”

I shrugged. “If it does, it does. It’s a population of people that have achieved enough that arrogance is thick enough to slow traffic around campus. That’s not a criticism. It’s just a fact. Harvard is the best of the best of the best. Once you’re accepted there, it’s a validation that you belong among the best of the best of the best. I don’t think I’m arrogant, but wearing wide-eyed humility like a badge is likely to get me taken less seriously. I’m already at the bottom of a hole in that respect, since I’m fourteen and have no history of acute mental prowess. Then again, maybe I am arrogant. Would an arrogant person KNOW when they step over the line from confidence to arrogance?”

“You make good points,” she allowed. “I don’t find you to be arrogant. You tend to internalize blame even in the midst of success. That’s not a trait arrogant people possess.”

We talked back and forth like that the whole morning, with me sketching away contentedly while we chatted. I finished a more polished sketch of Lana, one of Collie and started a family portrait with myself, the four girls, Patty, Dan, Lilly and Mom before we called a break for lunch.

We went to the cafeteria and had a light lunch still chatting before we returned to her office.

In the afternoon, I told her about Tabby’s concern that I was taking on too much. “Does that actually happen? A person just implodes mentally under the weight of their own intelligence?” I asked, my pencil still scratching across the page as I finished the portrait.

“It can. Every mind has a breaking point. She may have suffered from some other instability or endured a trauma that the students weren’t made aware of in deference to her privacy. You’re getting the benefit in the study of constant monitoring. That should prevent anything from creeping up over time and it gives you and I an incredibly valuable head start if something comes up suddenly and blind-sides you.”

“How so?” I asked, uncertainly as I turned the page and started something new.

“The first challenge every psychiatrist or psychologist or therapist faces is gaining the trust of his or her patient. If you suffer a traumatic break, you and I have already established that trust. That gives us a huge head start on overcoming it and getting you back on your feet whether you can rejoin the program afterwards or not.”

I nodded. “The psychological equivalent to having paramedics at a rock concert. They’re in the right place at the right time to be the most help.”

“Precisely,” she told me, still watching me draw. “Do me a favor, Matt,” she said slowly. “Switch hands. Draw this one with your left hand.”

I blinked at her and then at the blank page I’d been about to start on. “I can’t even write left handed. What makes you think I can draw that way?”

“Because two days ago, you couldn’t draw with your right hand either. Call it an experiment.”

I shrugged and awkwardly took the pencil in my left hand, thinking about what to draw. I finally decided to try my hand at Lilly’s portrait and started working, focusing my attention on Dr. Spencer while I let myself sketch her from memory.

“So what has Dr. Saddler asked you to talk to me about?” I asked.

“What makes you think he asked me to discuss anything with you?” she asked.

“Because you’ve avoided talking about him or the study all morning and because you avoided answering the question by turning it back on me. If I’d been wrong, you’d have just told me that he hadn’t asked you to go over anything special.”

“Not arrogant though,” she said with a smile. “Very well, he wondered why you were leaning toward engineering courses rather than more psychology or medicine or more advanced sciences.”

I shrugged. “Sciences are great, but it’s engineering that moves the science from concept into practice. I think that’s an incredibly beneficial place to start if I’m going to be delving into so-called high-science. How many researchers are following a tiny bit of raw science and have no idea how that could translate into a benefit to people’s lives? I could do it the other way around, but better to start off grounded in the reality and then move into the theoretical, in my opinion. Doing it the other way around runs the risk of the engineering seeming more mundane and beneath notice in favor of pure research.”

She nodded. “I think he’ll like that answer,” she admitted.

“Good. I like him. He’s more down to earth than I thought.”

“And he thinks you’re the next step in the evolutionary chart?” she filled in.

“He’s not worried that he filled my head with ideas that I’m better than other people, is he?” I asked, grimacing.

“Let’s just say he’s unhappy with the level of enthusiasm he showed.”

“Can you get him to relax about it? If I was full of myself, I’d think of other people as beneath me. I certainly couldn’t love one of them. I love my girls. Measuring their worth as people using their intelligence and mine for comparison is like basketball players treating short people like scum.”

“And yet athletes have been known to mistreat non-athletes,” she pointed out.

“And they’re terrible human beings for doing that. I’m not a mental bully. I think I might be the kind of guy that puts those people in their place when I become aware of them. I’ve been picked on and I have no doubt that I’ll be picked on again for one thing or another. It sucks. I wouldn’t want to be the guy that did that.”

“Who do you think will be picking on you in the future?” she asked.

“All kinds of people. High school is going to be easy for me so people that have a hard time will resent that. I’m fourteen, so people that I take Harvard courses with will sneer at me for that. Harvard is a prestigious school, so there’ll be people who want to make themselves feel better about not getting in by taking it out on me. I have utterly breathtaking girlfriends so people will feel like I don’t deserve them. Employers will want to slap down the ‘Wonder-boy’ later on in life to make themselves feel better about the fact that their career’s aren’t going to reach as high as mine has the potential to. Other drivers on the freeway, obnoxious people at the movies, you name it. We all deal with bullies. Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes it’s obvious.”

“What do you mean by subtle?” she asked, prodding me toward specifics.

I shrugged. “Well, there’s the kind of bullying where you know it’s not fair and you know there’s nothing you can do about it, but the bully keeps it low-key enough that it’s overlooked by others. When you have a boss who doesn’t like you, he can go out of his way to criticize your work and praise someone else in the department that doesn’t do nearly the job you do. There are even people like that in school. They exclude you from activities, pick you last for sports and just generally treat you with an indifferent sort of neglect.”

“And which do you prefer?” she asked.

I laughed. “You’d think I’d prefer the lesser bully to the guy that shoves you down a flight of stairs, but you know how I feel about secrets. That kind of bullying is trying to hide bad treatment in plain sight. I’d prefer the shove. It’s more honest and it respects your intelligence more.”

“So you’d rather risk a broken arm to the chance that someone might not notice you were being picked on?”

“That makes it sound pretty stuck-up,” I objected. “I don’t care if anyone notices either one. Bullying isn’t about entertaining. It’s about making someone feel better about themselves at the cost of their victim. Most bullying gets done before an audience because the bully takes solace in the reaction of the crowd. I suppose in that respect, they’re performing, but the victim isn’t. They neither seek, nor want to be the center of attention. At least that’s how I’ve always felt about it.”

“And yet, at every one of our encounters, you’ve gone out of your way to be engaging and flirtatious. Not the actions of a young man prone to shun the spotlight,” she pointed out.

“Do you view yourself as the audience to my performance, Doctor?” I asked, taking on the same tone she’d been using while questioning me.

“Do YOU view me as your audience?” she redirected. I thought there was a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.

“You’re becoming evasive,” I pointed out, fixing her with a look. “It appears we still have room for progress.” I was using my best Dr. Spencer tone and tapping my pencil on the sketchpad thoughtfully and it was suddenly a useful prop.

“And you’ve been paying more attention than you’re letting on,” she said, finally smiling at the side-track we’d taken. “That was a credible therapist’s manner,” she complimented me. “If you decide to specialize in psychology or even psychiatry, you’ll be well equipped to help a lot of people.”

“I have you to thank for that,” I told her truthfully. “You saw the potential in me to get me to a place where I can study any field that interests me. You’re teaching me more and more every day how a good therapist listens to her patients and gives them space to explore the topics that are important to them. I have no doubt that I’ll understand even more of your technique as I become more educated on the subject.”

“Thank you,” she said with a slight blush. “But I think we’ve talked about me quite enough for one day.

“That’s one opinion,” I said. “I think you’re far more interesting than you let on, but don’t want to give me a peek behind the curtain, so to speak for fear of jeopardizing our professional dynamic. You’re aware that no matter how intelligent and mature I am, I’m still fourteen and every thought, image and impulse is filtered through my libido and given a sexual undertone or discarded as unimportant. Of course, being an exceptionally attractive woman in a therapy role, you tend to attract sexual admiration from patients and even co-workers and colleagues much older and who should know better.”