Chapter 20
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— Lilac —
Bea’s office was quieter than I expected.
I’d pictured something clinical—a couch, a box of tissues, framed diplomas spaced at exact intervals.
Instead it was warm. Deep green walls, a low bookshelf crammed with actual books, two chairs angled toward each other like the room was arranged for conversation rather than examination. No couch. No tissues that I could see.
“The boys are doing well,” Bea said, settling into her chair with her notebook closed in her lap. She didn’t open it. I got the sense she’d already read whatever she’d written and didn’t need it. “Better than I’d expected, honestly.”
I wrapped both hands around the mug she’d handed me at the door—coffee from a small French press on the shelf behind her desk, not a therapy prop, just coffee—and let out a breath. “That’s good to hear. Luca seemed lighter this week.”
“He’s carrying less.” Bea tilted her head slightly. “The nightmares haven’t stopped, but they’ve changed. He’s starting to be able to talk about them when I ask instead of going silent. That’s a meaningful shift.”
“And Knox?”
“Knox processes differently. He moves through things—names them out loud, asks a direct question, then sets it down and goes back to whatever he was doing. He’s remarkably healthy, actually. He’ll be okay.” She paused. “Luca needs more time.”
I nodded. I’d known that. I’d known it for years, the way you know something about your own child without being able to say exactly how you know.
“What is he carrying?” I asked. “What do you think it is?”
Bea was quiet for a moment. “He knows more than he should about fear. Not his own—yours. He’s been monitoring your fear since before he had words for it.
Waking up and checking on you. Staying between you and strangers.
” She met my eyes. “He took on the job of keeping you safe. That’s a lot for a six-year-old. ”
“I tried not to let them see—”
“They didn’t need to see it. They felt it.
” She said it gently, not as a rebuke. “Children that age are extraordinarily sensitive to the emotional environment around them. They absorb everything. It wasn’t something you could have prevented.
” She let that settle. “And it isn’t permanent.
That’s the important thing. He can put it down now that things have changed. He’s already starting to.”
I exhaled slowly. Outside, through the window, a bird landed on the sill and then left. “How much does Colt being around help?” I asked. It came out more clinical than I felt.
Bea’s expression changed—just briefly. “Significantly. Both boys are grounding a lot of their sense of safety in him right now.” She watched me. “How do you feel about that?”
“I think—” I stopped. Started again. “I think it’s good. For them. He’s been consistent.”
“And for you?”
“I’m still figuring that part out.”
Bea nodded once, not pressing. That was the thing about her—she asked questions like she was opening doors and then stepped aside to let you decide whether to walk through.
“He’d like to be more present,” I said, not sure why I was saying it. “He’s careful about giving me space. But I can tell.”
“He came in yesterday like you asked,” Bea said. “To talk about the boys.”
I nodded. “I thought it made sense.” I turned my mug in my hands. “He’s with them so much now. I wanted him to hear it from you directly—what they’re working through, what helps, what doesn’t. Not filtered through me.”
“It was a good call. He listened well.” She paused. “He asked good questions.”
“About the boys?”
“Mostly.” She watched me. “He asked about you too. Whether you were sleeping. Whether the headaches had been bad.”
I hadn’t known that, but I had given Bea permission to share things about me with him if he asked.
“I told him what you’d authorized—that you were sleeping better than you had been, that the headaches were manageable.” She kept her voice neutral. “He didn’t push for more than that.”
I nodded slowly. That was the part I hadn’t been certain of—whether he’d ask Bea things he hadn’t felt able to ask me. Whether he’d use the access I’d given as a shortcut around the harder conversation.
He hadn’t.
“You seem surprised,” Bea said.
“I gave you permission because I was worried,” I admitted. “That he might—” I stopped. “My amnesia. I thought he might wonder if I was capable. As a parent. Whether the gaps meant I was missing something the boys needed.”
Bea was quiet for a moment. “Is that something you worry about yourself?”
“Sometimes.” I looked at the window. “Less than I used to.”
“He didn’t ask anything that suggested that concern. Not once.” She said it plainly. “What he asked about was you. Not your fitness. Just you.”
“I don’t know why I should be surprised,” I said finally. “He’s been exactly what everyone says he is. Consistent. Present. Patient. I keep waiting for it to stop and it doesn’t.”
“What would it mean if it didn’t stop?”
I thought about Luca. About how he’d stopped checking the hallway before he fell asleep. About Knox asking three days ago, matter-of-fact, whether Colt would be at pickup—not excited, just folding it into the structure of things.
“It would mean the boys have built something around him,” I said. “That I let them.”
Bea was quiet.
“I know how to start over,” I said. “I’ve done it. I know what it costs and how long it takes and how quiet everything gets after.” I paused. “I don’t think I could watch them go through that.”
Bea studied me. “Is that the only thing you’re protecting?”
I didn’t answer that. “It would mean I have to decide something,” I said finally.
Bea let that sit.
“I don’t remember falling in love with him the first time.” I set my mug down. “I don’t have access to whatever it was that made me say yes. I can’t go back and check my own reasoning. I have to start from nothing and decide if—” I stopped.
“If it’s worth the risk,” Bea finished.
“If I’m brave enough,” I said. It was closer to the truth. “He’s not nothing. That’s the problem. If he were nothing it would be easy.”
Bea smiled at that. “That’s usually how it works.”
I picked up my mug again. Through the window the bird was back, or a different bird, and I watched it for a moment.
“The boys have been asking questions about him,” I said. “About who he was. What he was like before.” I paused. “I can’t answer most of them.”
“What do you tell them?”
“That I’m finding out too.” I set the mug down. “They seem to accept that. More than I expected.”
“Children are often more gracious with honesty than we give them credit for.” Bea studied me. “And Luca in particular. He respects people who don’t pretend.”
“He takes after Colt in that.”
Bea smiled. “Maybe.” She tilted her head. “Or maybe you.”