Chapter Thirty-Nine

After Bob left to go see Daniel, I found myself restlessly roaming through the house. At one point I washed my hands and inspected my face in the mirror; other than dark shadows under my eyes, the stress of the last few days didn’t seem to have left an impact.

I stopped at Maddy’s door but didn’t enter. If only she were here—I’d never complain about her mess again.

Back downstairs, I wondered if I should think about lunch, but I wasn’t hungry. I was staring blankly out the kitchen window when the doorbell rang. Who now?

It was Dorothy. What was she doing here? I opened the door, and she bustled in, bringing a gust of cold wind with her. Handing me a cardboard bakery box, she took off her coat and hung it on a hook in the hallway. She’d never been to my house before, but she headed unerringly for the kitchen.

“Come,” she said. “Can we have tea?” She tilted her head to the box in my hands. “Those are cinnamon buns from my local baker. We’ll have two now, and there’ll be leftovers for your breakfast.”

I was still taken aback by her showing up unannounced, but I didn’t want to appear too witless. “Tea sounds good. Sit down. I’ll make it.” I filled the kettle and opened the box. There were six buns; two of them fit nicely on my grandmother’s yellow cake plate. “Thank you for these. They look delicious.”

She brushed away my thanks. “I wanted to come in person to tell you how sorry I am that you’re going through all this. You must be devastated, to have Maddy gone so long.”

Her kind words brought a warm flush to my face. “It’s hard. The police are doing everything they can, but so far they have no leads. We’re hoping the posters and appeals will help, that somebody may see her or know something.”

I poured us each a cup of tea. I’d gotten out cups with actual saucers and matching side plates. Somehow giving Dorothy a mug didn’t seem right, even though we were just sitting in the kitchen.

She picked up one of the buns and took a small bite, then set it on her plate. “As I said on the phone, take whatever time you need to deal with this. We’ll handle your cases at the clinic in the meantime.”

“I’m sorry to have my personal issues—”

Dorothy cut me off. “Personal issues! Your only daughter is missing! Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll divide up your clients among the rest of the staff. They’ll be fine.”

I took a breath. “Thanks for that. I appreciate it.”

She gave me a penetrating glance. “How are you holding up through all this?”

Her concern warmed me. “I’m trying to stay positive. I have to believe Maddy’ll be back, safe and sound.” I decided to raise a further concern. “But after she’s found, I’m going to need to spend more time with her. I’m wondering if I could work part-time, scale back my hours at the clinic.”

She leaned over and patted my hand. “I’m sure we can accommodate that.” She looked into my eyes. “You’re a skilled clinician, an asset for our team. I want to keep you. If that means making adjustments, that’s no problem.”

I blinked, surprised that she’d agreed so quickly—and somewhat taken aback at her matter-of-fact praise for my work.

She smiled wryly and continued. “I know how hard it is to have a professional career and to also be needed at home.” She tore off a piece of cinnamon bun but left it on her plate. “For now, you’re likely right. Your daughter’s needs can’t be postponed. You’re pulled in both directions.”

Tears suddenly pricked my eyelids.

“But longer-term, I hope you’ll continue the excellent work you’re doing at the clinic.”

I forced down a mouthful of tea, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat.

“So let’s not make any hasty decisions. We can play this day to day, and week to week.”

I choked. “I’m hoping this won’t last for multiple weeks…”

But my defenses were slipping. Her kindness was overwhelming me.

Without planning to, I found myself telling her about my struggle to understand why Maddy had run away. “I always thought I was a good mother, but in the last while, to be honest, it’s felt like she’s been pulling away from me. We’ve had a lot of arguments.” I paused. “Fights, really.”

Dorothy was watching me. I couldn’t read her expression.

“I feel like I’ve been floundering for at least a year.” My face was warm. “I blamed the problems on Maddy, but now I wonder if I drove her away.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

“I used to think I was a natural mother. Caring for Maddy seemed to just flow, without my thinking too hard about it. But that hasn’t been true for…”

She broke in. “Many parents find the teen years a challenge.”

I winced. “I feel like there’s a step I’m not taking. My ‘natural mothering’ isn’t working anymore.”

She leaned back. “You told me once that you lost your mother when you were young…”

The lump in my throat was back. “Yes, she died when I was eleven, and she was sick for a year before that.”

“Were you close to her?”

“Until she got sick, yes. She was a wonderful mother.”

A memory flashed into my mind. I was cuddling with Mom in a chair by the fireplace, my stuffed teddy curled under my elbow. Mom was holding a picture book and reading to me about three little kittens who had lost their mittens. I listened to her voice, rhythmic and soothing, while I traced the pictures with my hand. She’d read this book to me many times before, and I loved those kitties. On the next page, they’d soiled their mittens! Mom read it in that mother-cat voice she always used. “Meow meow meow, then you shall have no pie.” I shivered at their punishment. But on the next page they got some pie after all.

Dad came into the room just then. Mom closed the book and gave me a squeeze. Dad said, “So would my little kittens like some pie? Or maybe some hot chocolate?” I squealed and jumped down to the floor. Dad picked me up, twirling me around. I repeated, “Meow meow meow” in a squeaky voice as he carried me out to the kitchen, where Mom poured hot chocolate for all three of us.

Did it happen that way? Was I combining events? It didn’t matter—the core of the memory was that warm feeling, the sense of being their special girl.

Dorothy broke into my reverie. “So...you had a good model of what it meant to mother a young child.”

“But then—”

“When she fell ill?”

I swallowed. “She spent her last months in hospital.”

Dorothy watched me, compassion in her eyes. “And then she died, so you never knew how she would have adapted as you approached adolescence.” She leaned forward. “So you’re having to find your own way through this, without your mother as a model.”

I nodded.

“What about your father?”

My throat tightened. “We were close earlier, but after Mom died, it was like he withdrew too.”

Another memory surfaced. The visitors had all left after Mom’s funeral. Dad and I were alone in the house; it felt empty with her gone. I found Dad standing at the front window, staring out. I went over and leaned against him, waiting for his arm to curl around me and give me a comforting hug. But instead he turned away and left the room.

Sometime later, another day. We were in the kitchen at supper time. The oven timer dinged. Dad reached in to pull out what had been a frozen meal, swearing under his breath when he burned his fingers. Without speaking, he scooped the food onto two plates and put mine in front of me. The meal was silent. When we were done, he took our plates and dropped them in the sink. “Do you have any homework?” he asked, without looking at me. I shook my head. I did have some, but I knew he’d already forgotten the question.

I raised my eyes to Dorothy’s. “Dad made sure I was fed and had clothes and whatever I needed. But that was all.” I grimaced. “He was probably depressed, dealing with his own grief. But at the time, it felt like I’d lost both my parents.” Dad and I never regained our earlier closeness, though he adored Maddy from the time she was born.

Dorothy took a sip of tea, a thoughtful expression on her face. “From what you’ve told me—” She stopped. “No, pardon me. This isn’t the time or place.”

But I wanted to hear it. “Please...what were you going to say?”

“All right. I was just going to comment...here’s how it seems to me.” She put down her cup. “When Maddy was small, you were being a mother like your own mother was.” Her eyes were steady. “In effect, you were recreating your own protected childhood. It was like you were mothering yourself, reliving an ideal time in your life.”

I gulped. I hadn’t quite gone that far in my thoughts.

She gazed into her teacup, a reflective expression in her eye. “But your early teen years were painful. You felt abandoned by both parents.”

She didn’t wait for me to nod this time. “As Maddy approached that age, you unconsciously feared having to relive the emotions of those years. And maybe you were also trying to protect Maddy from similar pain, by continuing to treat her as if she were still at a younger age.”

My eyes widened. “You think...I’ve been trying to keep her from growing up?”

“Not consciously, I’m sure.”

I leaned my head on my hands. “I probably should have figured this out on my own, after all my training. But I guess I was blind to my own situation…”

Dorothy gave a little laugh. “Aren’t we all. It’s not easy to be objective about ourselves.” I read empathy in her gaze.

Grabbing the teapot, I jumped to my feet. “Let me make some more tea.” I didn’t want more tea, but I couldn’t sit still just then. As I plugged the kettle back in, Dorothy’s words resonated in my mind. I waited for the water to boil, my thoughts turned inward. She watched me without speaking.

I turned back to face her. “In my work as a child therapist, I’ve always gravitated to younger children. I’ve avoided dealing with teenagers...other than one summer early in my training, when I had a practicum at a youth services agency.”

She smiled. “And why did you choose to be a child therapist in the first place?”

Bringing the fresh tea back to the table, I shot Dorothy a look. This wasn’t a question I’d asked myself.

“This may be presumptuous of me to say…” she said, “…but perhaps it was a way to recreate that close time with your mother?” Gazing at me, she added, “That was the most important relationship of your life, made more important because it was taken from you.”

Oh my God.

Maybe that was also why I’d felt such a strong need to have a child myself—so strong that I hadn’t wanted to wait for an appropriate mate to show up, and chose the sperm donor route instead.

Dorothy picked up her bag. “That’s enough of a deep dive for today—I need to get back. No more tea, thank you. I came by to say you needn’t worry about us at the clinic. We’ll be thinking of you and hoping all turns out well.”

Fighting off a sudden weariness, I put the dishes in the sink; I’d deal with them later. Dorothy’s insights were illuminating but exhausting to deal with. I didn’t know where to go with these thoughts, but I knew that grappling with them had to be part of finding a new way forward with Maddy.

When—when!—she was home again.