She bit her lip. “Great monologue, Doctor. You could’ve made a living in my old business. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“You need help, Prema. You know that. That’s why you’re here.”

She opened her palm, watched the tissue expand like a time-lapse flower. Crushed it again. “Maybe you’re being sincere, I hope you are. But with the good ones—the performers—you can never be sure. Meryl, Jack, Judi. Larry Olivier—I knew Larry when I was a kid, he was always sweet to me. But when he chose to be someone else? Good luck. Maybe that’s you, Dr. Alexander Delaware.”

“You’re the performer, Prema.”

“Me? I’m a hack. I made a ridiculous fortune doing crap.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short.”

“Not in the least, Dr. Delaware. I know what I am and I’m okay with it.” Her knuckles were white and shiny as ivory. “How long have you been learning about us?”

“I did a bit of digging right after that first appointment was made. Because the circumstances were odd: The person who called was evasive, wouldn’t even tell me who the patient was. I assumed I’d be seeing one of the kids, looked for anything I could find about them. Which wasn’t much but I did come across a photo. You and the kids, a theater lobby in New York. They seemed unhappy. Ill at ease. You stood behind them. You came across detached. Not exactly a happy family portrait.”

Her eyes flashed. “Detestable picture, you have no idea how much time and money it took to get it offline.”

“I’m glad I saw it before you succeeded. Now I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I’d missed the emotional content. You were scared—all of you.”

She flinched. “Why would I be scared?”

I said, “Not why. Of who.”

She shook her head. Closed her eyes. Sat lower and got even smaller.

I said, “My guess is you—all of you—were scared of the person who set up the shot. Someone who doesn’t care about kids, but didn’t mind using them.”

The eyes opened. New shade of indigo, deep, hot. “You’re frightening.”

“Am I wrong?”

Silence was my answer.

I said, “You talk about your children in the singular. ‘I,’ not ‘we.’ You’re doing it alone. For good reason.”

She crossed her arms. Blanche licked her hand. Prema remained unmoved. Her lips set. Angry. I wondered if I’d lost her.

I said, “No matter what you do, he rejects them completely. It must be tough, living with that degree of callousness. Your kids are your world. Why can’t he see how wonderful they are? Understand the joy of being a parent. But he doesn’t. And now there’s a new level of fear and that’s why you’re here. Because of the other work I do.”