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“Did it hurt?”
“Not in the way you fear.” He smoothed my hair back. “It hurt to see how much you carry. It does not hurt to carry a little of it for you.”
I closed my eyes.
“That’s a lot of trust,” I said.
“It is the only kind I have.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“I have been told that the ones who say it are always the ones who do.”
I laughed, weakly. It turned into a hiccup. He kissed the top of my head.
“I’ll do it again,” I said. “It won’t be the last time.”
“I know.”
“I’ll get like that. On bad days.”
“I know.”
“You’ll have to be there.”
“I will be there.” He was quiet a moment. “I would also like you to speak to someone who is not me.”
I stiffened.
“A doctor,” said Maksim. “Your father named one. Dr. Ono. He is in the city and by all accounts a decent man. I would not like you to give up on this alone. Nor would I like to be the only wall you have.” He lifted my chin. “I will hold the door. But it seems to me you deserve a room.”
I stared at him.
Dad, I thought. Dad named a doctor.
It made no sense. My father had never said a word to me about therapy. He’d stopped the pills when I was seven and never mentioned them again.
“Since when does my dad name doctors?”
Maksim’s face went smooth. “It came up.”
“When?”
“In conversation.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am withholding. It is a different thing.”
“Maksim.”
“Ask your father.”
“I’m not asking my father. My father doesn’t answer questions. He gives you a look. “
“Perhaps,” said Maksim, “he might give you something else.”
I lay very still. A tiny, dangerous suspicion was unfurling in my chest, cold and bright as a spring.
