Chapter 8: The Psychologist's Report
Dr.
Simone Achebe had an office that smelled like cedar and had a small basket of smooth stones on the corner of her desk.
She told me they were for children to hold during sessions if they needed something to do with their hands.
Noah picked up a gray one immediately and didn't put it down for the entire hour.
I waited in the hallway.
Patricia had arranged the appointment in four days — faster than I'd expected, which told me she'd called in something.
When the door opened and Noah came out, he handed the stone back to Dr.
Achebe carefully, like he was returning something borrowed.
"Can I come back?" he asked her.
"Yes," she said.
"Absolutely yes."
She looked at me over his head and gave a small nod.
I took Noah to the waiting room and asked the receptionist to keep an eye on him for a few minutes.
Dr.
Achebe closed her office door behind us.
"He's a bright child," she said.
"Very verbal for his age.
He knows how to read a room."
"Is that good?"
"It means he's been paying close attention to the adults around him for a long time." She sat down.
"He told me about the laundry room.
He called it 'the quiet place.' He said Grandma took him there when he was 'too loud.'"
My hands went still in my lap.
"He said it happened more than once?"
"He couldn't give me a number.
But the way he described it — the matter-of-fact tone, the specific details about the chain and the bowl — suggests repeated exposure.
Children describe novel experiences with uncertainty.
They describe familiar ones with precision." She looked at me directly.
"Noah was precise."
"How precise?"
"He knew which hook on the wall the chain hung from when it wasn't in use.
He knew the chain made a specific sound when Grandma took it down.
He knew to be quiet and wait." She paused.
"He said his daddy had seen it and told him it was okay."
The room was very quiet.
"He said Ryan told him it was okay," I said.
"More than once, according to Noah.
He said Daddy said Grandma was just teaching him to be good."
I looked at the basket of stones on her desk.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"I'll prepare a written report for your attorney.
It will document Noah's disclosures, the language he used, the behavioral indicators consistent with normalized @buse, and my clinical assessment." She folded her hands.
"I want to be straightforward with you.
This report will be significant.
If the other side has retained Marcus Webb, they will attempt to challenge my methodology or my independence.
Be prepared for that."
"Patricia mentioned that."
"Patricia is good." A small pause.
"She called me herself.
That tells you something."
I stood up.
At the door, I stopped.
"He asked if he could come back," I said.
"Yes."
"Does that mean he felt safe here?"
Dr.
Achebe looked at me with an expression that was careful and kind at the same time.
"It means," she said, "that he recognized something in this room that he hasn't had enough of." She let that sit for a moment.
"We'll make sure he gets more of it."
I collected Noah from the waiting room.
He was sitting with his hands in his lap, watching the fish tank in the corner.
"Ready?" I said.
He stood up and took my hand.
"Mama, can we get the gray stone kind for home?"
"Smooth stones?"
"Yeah.
For when things are loud."
I squeezed his hand.
"We'll find some," I said.
May you like
"I promise."
We walked out into the afternoon and I did not cry until we were in the car with the doors closed and Noah was already looking out the window at something else entirely.
