Chapter 30 #2
My eyes turn to hers in horror. “I, er…” Then I do the most stupid thing.
I burst into tears. When she hands me a tissue, my words tumble out one after the other.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time. It was a mistake to come here.
I’ll just go.” I start to stand, but she reaches over and places a hand lightly on my leg.
“And that reaction suggests you need me even more than you know.” At my stunned look, she chuckles and continues, “I’m a therapist. I read people. And it’s normally those who’re reluctant who need my help most.”
“I need help for my son,” I admit, in little more than a whisper. “But, what will you do with whatever I tell you? Will you go to the police?”
To give her her due, she doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Have you committed a crime?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her I’m complicit and guilty, but then I remember Pippa’s words.
I was a victim. I had no control, just as Trip doesn’t.
It’s thinking of him that reminds me it’s important to put him first now.
Even if it means laying bare my own soul.
“No,” I answer her, my voice surprisingly strong.
“Then no police.” She smiles comfortingly.
Before she can repeat or rephrase her question, I blurt out, “Trip’s never seen a doctor.” Then, I correct myself. “His father’s a doctor, so his medical needs were catered to by him.”
“Not exactly ethical.” She frowns. She consults her notes, which must be what I told her on the phone, and then examines me critically. “Your son is eight years old, yes? Bronwyn, can I ask, how old are you?”
I glance at the door, wishing it would open and some kind of magic would spirit me outside. But that doesn’t happen, and neither does the floor open up to swallow me, so in a whisper I respond with the truth. “Twenty-two.”
She doesn’t gasp or clutch her pearls, or in this case, the gold chain she wears around her neck. In fact, my answer doesn’t cause any adverse reaction. If anything, she softens her features.
“It takes years to qualify as a doctor,” she says.
“And I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but that man who accompanied you doesn’t look like he has any medical degrees.
” I shake my head, the statement so ludicrous, I sport a small smile.
Noticing it, she moves on. “So, Trip’s father had to have been far older than you. Was the sex consensual?”
I don’t want to dance around this. If I’m going to tell her the truth, I’m going to rip the band-aid off all at once.
My eyes start to leak as it all comes tumbling out.
“He is my father, too. He started abusing me when I was the same age as Trip is now, eight years old. I was thirteen when I got pregnant, and fourteen when I had my son. My parents wanted to keep it a secret, so I delivered at home.” My body shudders at the memory of the horrific experience.
“When Trip was born, I was too traumatised to deal with him, which I now believe played into their hands. My mom took over all of Trip’s care, and I kind of ignored the fact that he was there.
Up to then, I’d been taught at home. A few weeks after his birth, Dad enrolled me in school.
I was too ashamed to tell anyone, and never spoke about Trip.
” I take a deep breath. “No one knows of his existence. I’m not even sure he’s got a birth certificate.
We never had visitors to the house. Dad and Mom had no family I ever knew of, and after Dad lost his licence to practise, his former friends dropped him like a hot cake.
” I risk a glance at her, but she’s just taking it all in.
I feel a deep need to justify myself, “At fourteen, I didn’t know any better, and by the time I started to question it, when I was eighteen, I was old enough to feel the guilt, and knew I was complicit in hiding him. ”
“Complicit is the wrong word to use,” she says patiently.
“I’d say conditioned.” There’s a brief moment while she stops speaking, then she asks, “Can I ask why your father was struck off?” When I don’t immediately answer, she gentles her voice.
“There’s no judgment here. All I want is the background to see how best to help Trip. ”
Trip. He’s important. Why the hell am I protecting my dad? I breathe out. “Because he was sexually abusing his patients.” My eyes squeeze shut, not wanting to see the disgust that must be on her face.
“Bronwyn,” she starts in a measured tone. “You’ve been through some traumatic experiences. You need therapy yourself. I specialise in children, but I can put you in touch with one of my colleagues if you like?”
And go through this all over again?
“I don’t need help. Trip does,” I protest.
“I take it you’ve now taken over the role as his mother?
” When I nod, she says, “Bronwyn, I see all kinds of parents, and I’m a pretty good judge of character.
You’re not to blame for coming into the role late.
That’s clearly down to your parents, and the age that you were when you had your son.
I haven’t met many fourteen-year-old girls who were mature enough to step up to that responsibility.
You bore a child born of an incestuous relationship, which traumatised you by itself.
Now, if you want to be the best mom to Trip you can, you’ve got to lose some of your own baggage. ”
I straighten my shoulders. “I want to be a good mom. That’s why I’m here, to try to understand his problems and learn the best way to help him.”
“Then you’ll take my advice?”
Grimacing, I nod. “If you really think that will be of benefit to Trip, I’m willing to give it a try.”
“I’ll get you a name later. But for now, we’ll focus on your son. You say your mom was the main caregiver. Did she accept or resent him?”
Heaving a sigh, I admit to her, “For the first few years of his life, I was just pleased I wasn’t the one to change diapers, to feed him, or care for him.
I left it to her and assumed she was treating him kindly.
She’d colluded with my dad in everything about him, so I suppose, using your terms, I believed she accepted him.
” I rack my brains for what more to give her.
“She was the main caregiver.” Glancing up, I see her encouraging nod.
“I started college when I was eighteen, and he’d just turned four.
I was led to believe he was being homeschooled.
” Tears start to fall from my eyes. “I always knew my ‘little brother,’” I put that in air quotes, “was developmentally challenged. He didn’t talk, and when he was touched or was startled, he’d have meltdowns. ”
“You said he never got outside medical attention? Did your dad have to doctor him often?”
“You’re asking me if he was abused?” A corner of her mouth turns up as she nods again.
“I wasn’t aware of them hitting him, but from what I know now, they may well have done.
Dad didn’t spare the rod when it came to me.
” I hiss the next words out through my teeth.
“What I do know is that when he was loud, screaming, and having a meltdown, they locked him in a closet until he calmed down.”
There’s a fleeting flicker of something in her eyes. If I hadn’t been looking for her reaction, I’d have missed it.
She taps her fingers against her tablet. “Bronwyn, can I ask why you have your son with you now? What do your parents think of you having him? Did something happen?”
On a sob, the words tumble out. “Dad was making him hot chocolate. The same hot chocolate he gave to me when he wanted me drugged and submissive. I got Trip out of there and ran. That man outside, Short? I knew he’d help me.
He took me in. And you know what? That first night?
Trip had a meltdown. Short just folded him in his arms and rocked him, comforted him, until he eventually calmed down.
Trip, the boy who hates being touched or held, let him.
Short never considered locking him in a room. He instinctively knew what to do.”
A noise I can’t interpret comes out of her, then she quickly puts her professional face back on.
“So, you had suspicions your father was going to molest him, and got him out of that environment?” When I nod, she raises her chin.
“There’s so much I want to say to you, Bronwyn, but my job is to concentrate on Trip, and,” her eyes flick to the clock on the wall, “time’s ticking by.
I do strongly advise you take my advice and speak to the therapist I’m going to refer you to.
But…” she pauses, looks down at the notes I hadn’t realise she’d been taking, then sums up, “Trip was born of incest. Now, not every child born to a father/daughter relationship is going to have developmental issues, but the risk is definitely increased. You don’t know how your parents actually treated him, but you do know he was locked in a closet to calm him down.
How about we bring him in now, and I’ll spend some time with him, assess him, and see what I can do to help? ”
I feel battered, like I’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Getting the focus off me and onto Trip, who deserves it, sounds like a brilliant idea. I’d jump at anything to get the pressure off me for a while. “I’d like that.”
She goes to the door, opens it, and disappears. Only a moment later, she reappears with Trip.