Chapter 6: Thursday
The counselor's name was Dr.
Anita Marsh, and her office had a small shelf of toys near the window that Tyler went straight to without being told.
Daniel and I sat in the two chairs across from her desk.
We hadn't spoken much in the car.
Not awkwardly — just quietly, the way people are quiet when they're paying attention to something.
Dr.
Marsh spent the first fifteen minutes talking to Tyler alone while Daniel and I waited in the hallway on a bench that was slightly too small for two adults.
Daniel had his elbows on his knees.
I had my hands in my lap.
"How did he seem this morning?" Daniel asked.
"Calm," I said.
"He asked if he could bring his dinosaur book to show the doctor."
"Did she let him?"
"She did.
He was very pleased about it."
A small silence.
"He told me last night," Daniel said, "that he was glad I came over.
He said it felt like things were getting fixed."
I looked at the wall across from us.
"He said that?"
"He said, 'Dad, things are getting fixed, right?' And I said yes." A pause.
"I hope that was the right thing to say."
"I think it was."
Dr.
Marsh opened her door and invited us in.
Tyler was on the floor with his dinosaur book open, apparently having explained the difference between a brachiosaurus and a diplodocus to a woman with a PhD.
"He's very knowledgeable," she said, with what appeared to be genuine respect.
"He really is," Daniel said.
We spent the next forty minutes in that room together.
Dr.
Marsh asked Tyler questions and he answered them with the careful honesty of a child who had decided the adults in this room could be trusted.
He talked about missing dinners together.
He talked about the nights he heard his father.
He talked about not wanting to make either of us more sad.
At one point Dr.
Marsh asked him, "When you called 911, what were you hoping would happen?"
Tyler thought about it.
"I wanted someone to come and make everyone feel better," he said.
"Like when you call someone to fix the heat.
Someone who knows how."
Daniel made a sound beside me that wasn't quite a laugh and wasn't quite anything else.
"That's a very smart way to think about it," Dr.
Marsh said.
After the session, she spoke to us briefly while Tyler waited in the hallway.
"He's a perceptive child," she said.
"He's been managing a lot of emotional information for his age.
The good news is he's communicating — that's the most important thing.
I'd like to see him weekly for a while, and I'd strongly recommend a few joint sessions for the two of you as co-parents.
Not couples counseling," she added, reading something in our faces.
"Just tools for helping him feel stable between two homes."
"Yes," I said.
"Absolutely," Daniel said, at exactly the same moment.
Dr.
Marsh smiled.
"Good."
In the hallway, Tyler was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, dinosaur book in his lap.
He looked up when we came out.
"Well?" he said.
"We're coming back next week," Daniel said.
"All three of us."
Tyler nodded, satisfied.
He stood up and tucked the book under his arm.
"I told you things were getting fixed," he said.
We walked out into the afternoon together — Tyler between us, holding both our hands without asking, swinging slightly as we crossed the parking lot.
Daniel caught my eye over Tyler's head.
May you like
I looked away first.
But I was smiling.
