“Unbelievable,” Atley groaned out loud.
Atley noticed another psych evaluation in Wallis’s file, from when she was even younger, just seven or eight years old. She had seen a private therapist occasionally over the course of a few years, presumably paid for by her parents. This shrink’s report contained none of the bullshit psych jargon that had filled the Social Services evaluation. There was only a brief notation by the therapist under the diagnosis heading: “Wally is a lovely girl, intelligent and mature and resourceful and determined. She is also confused and angry, as would be expected. There will be struggles ahead for Wally.”
There will be struggles ahead
. Strange, Atley thought, to praise the girl so lavishly and then predict struggle. The thing that struck Atley most about the evaluation was the tone—it wasn’t clinical sounding, really, but more personal than he had seen in other such files. And one phrase in the conclusion struck Atley as equally intriguing: “She is also confused and angry,
as would be expected.
” Expected why?
It seemed unlikely that the shrink would be able to contribute to his investigation, but …
fuck it,
Atley thought. He got on the phone and made an appointment to meet the therapist, Dr. Charlene Rainer.
FIFTEEN
It was already dark
when Wally and the crew settled into their seats in the Starbucks coffee place, the four of them lined up shoulder to shoulder at the window counter that gave them a clear view across West 88th. They fixed their eyes on the entrance to the office building on the opposite side of the street.
“So this shrink … she was at this Emerson School the same time as Benjamin Hatch?” Jake asked.
“And left the same year,” Wally confirmed. “I don’t know how well they knew each other. If Hatch had some connection to my mother, maybe Charlene Rainer knew her in Russia too. I don’t know.”
“And you recognize her name?” Tevin asked.
“From somewhere, yeah, but I can’t remember from where or when. But it can’t be a coincidence, right? She was in Russia the same time as my mother—all those years ago—and she just happens to have a connection to my life here?”
Wally checked the clock on her cell phone: 5:42. She intended to keep the six o’clock session she scheduled with the therapist—under a made-up name so that Dr. Rainer would not know it was Wally—but was hoping to get a look at the woman’s face first; if she recognized Charlene Rainer by sight and remembered their connection, it might give Wally an advantage in their meeting. Dr. Rainer’s chatty answering service lady had said the doctor would be arriving at her office from another appointment, so hopefully Wally would get the look she wanted.
Over the next fifteen minutes or so, several dozen pedestrians passed by on the opposite sidewalk, at least half of them women. Wally didn’t recognize any of them, and none entered Dr. Charlene Rainer’s office building.
“This is brutal,” Wally said, struggling to stay cool during this process when in reality she could barely stand the suspense.
“Why are you so stressed?” Tevin asked.
“While I was researching this woman, it seemed like there were lots of overlaps between her history and my birth mother’s,” Wally said. “It’s kind of possible that she actually
is
my mother. …”
“Wow …” Tevin said, he and the others realizing how easily the situation could tie Wally up in knots.
“Whatever happens,” Ella said, “it’s better to know.”
“Knowing would be nice,” Wally agreed with a wry grin.
At that moment a woman came strolling quickly down 88th Street, wearing a knee-length blue overcoat and with a simple leather valise slung over her shoulder. As the woman passed under a streetlight, her features became visible. The woman was in her mid-fifties, most likely, well dressed without trying to make a show of it, a bit of gray peppering her hair.
“That’s her,” Wally said with certainty.
“How do you know?” Jake asked. “You figured out where you know her from?”
“No,” Wally said. “But that’s the doctor. I just know it.”
Wally stood at the front entrance
to Dr. Rainer’s building and punched in the code for her office, which was listed on a directory beside the door. The door buzzed and popped open. Wally entered the small lobby and followed a narrow hallway, which opened into a surprisingly large space. It was an atrium, rising up the center of the stylish, turn-of-the-century building. At each level was an overlooking balcony, with a polished wood banister running the full perimeter of each. Wally consulted a directory by the elevator, only to find that Dr. Rainer’s suite number was not listed. The whole place seemed strangely quiet; there must have been forty or fifty office suites bordering the atrium, but most of them looked dark.
“Third floor, Suite G,” a woman’s voice echoed down from up above … Dr. Rainer, presumably. Wally climbed into the elevator and rode up to the third floor, then followed the balcony to the left, walking all the way to the suite at the far end: Suite G. The door was slightly ajar. Wally knocked twice, lightly.
“Come in,” came the same woman’s voice that had called out the suite number from above.
Wally pushed open the door and passed through a tiny waiting room—two upholstered chairs and a small coffee table with a selection of magazines—and then on into the tastefully decorated office space. The woman she had seen on the street, Dr. Charlene Rainer, was at her desk sorting through a stack of mail but looked up as Wally entered. She greeted Wally with a smile.
“Ms. Jones?” the doctor asked. “Welcome. I’m Doctor—” But then the doctor stopped herself and looked Wally over more closely, recognition dawning on her as she focused on Wally’s face.
“Wally?”
“Yes,” Wally said, and now—seeing the woman’s face up close—Wally remembered.
Shonny
. How old had Wally been? Maybe seven or eight, the first time? She’d been having some problems at the Harpswell School, and Claire had brought Wally in for counseling to a woman who she was supposed to call
Shonny
, casually as if they were friends. The visits had taken place in a different office, and the doctor had aged a bit in the last eight or nine years, of course, but this was unquestionably the same woman. Immediately, Wally remembered feeling safe with her, comfortable.
“Wally.” Dr. Rainer’s face brightened as she looked Wally over again, taking an inventory of the changes to her former patient. “Look how grown you are. How old?”
“Sixteen.”
“Good lord. Can it really be that long?” At that moment a thought crossed Dr. Rainer’s mind—she looked as if she was trying to work out a puzzle. “Are you Ms. Jones? My next appointment?”
“Yes,” Wally answered. “Sorry. I’ll explain.”
“No harm done,” said Dr. Rainer. “You’re always welcome here, Wally. Please sit down.”
Wally chose one of the two guest seats in front of the desk instead of the leather sofa that ran along the opposite wall—she wanted to be up close and personal for this discussion. Dr. Rainer sat down in the high, leather office chair behind her desk.
“It’s been how many years?” Dr. Rainer wondered aloud, and then swiveled her chair to face the wooden file cabinet behind her, opening one of the wide drawers. “I’m afraid I never took to the computerized file thing,” she said as she searched through the cabinet. “One of these days, maybe …”
After a moment of searching, she retrieved a file folder and shuffled through the pages, scanning for the information she wanted. “I can hardly believe it,” she said, swiveling back to her desk. “It’s been almost eight years since your last visit. I would have guessed four or five, but that’s what happens as we get older.”
Wally was deeply curious about the contents of that file. She was just about to ask if she could see it—wouldn’t happen, probably—when Dr. Rainer returned the file to its place in the drawer and closed the cabinet.
“I’ve spoken to Claire on occasion,” Dr. Rainer said as she turned back to Wally, and the doctor’s face revealed a slight look of disappointment. “So I guess I’m at least semi-up-to-date on your current … uh, situation.”
“I don’t want to talk about that now,” Wally said, determined to steer the discussion exactly where she needed it to go. No therapeutic bullshit, no recriminations for the choices she had made in her life.
“All right,” Dr. Rainer said. “Just … you’re safe? You’re healthy?”
“I can take care of myself,” Wally said.
Dr. Rainer smiled. “I don’t doubt it. You were always strong.”
“I need the truth, Dr. Rainer.”
“Of course.”
“You were my therapist.”
“Yes. Not regularly. We met a few times, when you were having specific problems. Do you want to talk about those issues?”
“No. Back then, when you first started meeting with me … you already knew who I was. It wasn’t just random that I came to you as a patient. We had a connection already.”
“Well …” Dr. Rainer shifted in her seat. “I’m not sure in what sense you mean that, Wally.”
“You used to live in Russia.”
Wally waited as Dr. Rainer remained completely still for a moment, her eyes locked on Wally. The doctor suddenly looked very nervous. She cast an anxious look toward the door of her office, which was still open.
“Wally, are you alone?” she asked warily.
“Um, yeah,” Wally answered, wondering what was spooking the doctor. “It’s just me.”
“Excuse me a moment …” Dr. Rainer stepped past Wally, out of her office and onto the balcony hallway. From there, she moved to the edge of the wooden railing, searching the atrium space with her eyes in every direction. Empty. She took a moment and just listened. All was quiet. Somewhat satisfied, Dr. Rainer returned to the office, closing the office door behind her and facing Wally again.
“Wally,” she said, exhaling as if she had been holding her breath. “I’m sorry, you surprised me, to say the very least. I’m just a little … a little something, today. I’m not sure what. A little anxious, I guess.”
“It’s okay,” Wally said, and forged onward. “You taught at the Emerson School.”
“I was there, but I didn’t teach,” the doctor answered, now making a poor attempt to appear relaxed and casual. “I’d just finished my doctorate at Columbia and I started exploring some of the more exotic job opportunities. I saw that Emerson was looking for an on-staff counselor, and the idea of traveling to Russia for a while was exciting.” The answer was longer and more detailed than necessary, and Wally could sense that the woman was stalling, maybe afraid of whatever questions would come next.
“And you knew Yalena Mayakova during that time.” A statement, not a question.
Dr. Rainer took a moment. The woman had been uneasy already, but the mention of Yalena’s name took her obvious sense of dread to a new level.
“How do you know that name, Wally?”
“I just know it. Please answer my question, Doctor.”
Dr. Rainer took a moment. “Yes. I knew Yalena Mayakova when I lived in Moscow.”
“You know that I’m her daughter. You’ve always known? Back then when you were giving me counseling or whatever …”
Another pause. “Yes.”
And now Wally had to ask: “Are
you
Yalena Mayakova?”
Whatever question Dr. Rainer might have been expecting at that point, this was not it.
“Me?” The woman was obviously taken aback. “Oh, Wallis …
no
.”
“You’re not my real mother?”
“I am not your real mother.”
Wally took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Okay. Good,” she said. “Nothing personal. I just now realized I wasn’t ready for it if you were. Not yet.”
“You’re not ready because I’m not your mother,” Dr. Rainer said kindly. “When you face her, you’ll know her. And you’ll be ready then. I’m sure of it.”
When I face her
. Wally’s mother was alive. She took a moment to let the reality of it sink in. It was hope that had driven Wally’s search forward, but in a corner of her heart she had always held on to a small amount of doubt, a lifeline to protect her in case her search ended in failure. That doubt was gone now, and Wally allowed herself to embrace the feeling of joy … and anticipation. The thrill of it raced through her, taking her breath away.
“Tell me everything,” she said, barely able to speak the words.
SIXTEEN
Detective Atley Greer
pulled onto 88th from Columbus and parked in a loading zone, just a few doors away from the doctor’s address. He was seriously dragging after a long day of canvassing on a home-invasion case, and when he spotted a Starbucks across the street, he headed in that direction for a jolt of espresso. He was early for his appointment and had plenty of time.
Atley was halfway across the street, just a hundred feet or so away from the coffee place, when he noticed that the shop was in the process of closing; the manager herded three teenage kids out onto the sidewalk and locked the door behind them. Atley stopped and scanned the street for another nearby source of caffeine but saw none, and was just about to head straight to Dr. Rainer’s office when something started to nag at him: hadn’t he seen those kids somewhere recently? He turned back to face the Starbucks and saw that although the shop had been closed, the teens were staying there, lurking outside the coffee shop as if waiting for someone. He looked them over again—still at a distance—and suddenly he realized who they were. These were Wallis Stoneman’s friends, the ones she had been with in the Greenport train station security camera footage. This coincidence struck Atley as especially unlikely; he’d been hunting them for over a week and here they were, outside an office where he was about to have a meeting that had to do with Wallis. What did that mean?
Atley looked away from them immediately, hoping they didn’t realize that he’d noticed them. After a few moments the teens abandoned their post in front of the Starbucks and began walking together down along 88th Street. They moved casually enough that Atley couldn’t tell if they’d made him or not. Following their movement in the reflection of a shop window, Atley waited until the teens disappeared around the corner at Amsterdam and jogged after them. He reached the corner and stopped there, peering down the avenue to confirm that the three kids were still far enough ahead of him that they would not feel him on their tail. They continued casually on their way down Amsterdam, not once looking back behind them.