The Pattersons were both visibly touched by her words. After a moment, Mr. Patterson wiped one of his eyes and said, “He’s not been doing too well, poor little guy.”

“That’s the other reason I’m here,” said Lucy. “If you think I’m being presumptuous or tactless, please say so and I promise you I won’t be offended—nor do I mean to offend. It’s just that…look, I’m a licensed grief counselor for children. I thought perhaps the two of you might…well, might have thought about getting some help for Randy but might not have any idea how to go about it.”

“We’ve talked about it some,” said Mrs. Patterson. “He’s been having these dreams—hell, nightmares, really, about some little girl named Sarah who tells him that a monster is coming to get him.”

Lucy hoped the shock didn’t show on her face.

(I gotta do something, Mommy.)

Mr. Patterson put his arm around his wife. “He even has a name for the thing. He calls it ‘Mr. Hands.’”

Lucy was astonished that she was able to hold her composure. “Even though what happened was a horrible, tragic accident,” she said, “he still feels guilty. This monster, this Mr. Hands, is it? It’s just a subconscious manifestation of his guilt.” It was over-simplified pop-psychology bullshit, but it must have sounded good to the Pattersons because both of them smiled relieved smiles.

“Could you maybe talk with him a little tonight?” asked Mrs. Patterson.

Lucy smiled, took hold of the other woman’s hand, and squeezed it with genuine affection. “I was hoping you’d let me. There’s a small coffee lounge at the end of the hall. It was empty when I came in. I could take him there for a little while.”

Their faces filled with so much gratitude Lucy had to fight her own feelings of guilt over what she was about to put them through.

Mrs. Patterson moved forward and gave Lucy a short but warm embrace. “That would be so kind of you, Miss Wagner.”

“Rachel, please.”

So much gratitude in his mother’s eyes. “Rachel. Like in the Bible.”

They took her over and introduced her to Randy and told him that she was going to take him someplace for a little bit and talk about Kylie Ann and how he was feeling.

“I want you to tell me all about Mr. Hands,” Lucy said to him as they walked into the hallway. She turned and smiled at the Pattersons, who smiled their grateful smiles in return before going back into the room where Kylie Ann’s face grinned at the world over her closed casket.

Taking hold of Randy’s hand, Lucy led him toward the lounge, then—with a last, sad, apologetic look over her shoulder—veered right and went out the nearest exit.

Randy offered no resistance.

Through the parking lot and into her car; she secured Randy’s seat belt, then her own, and a minute later they drove into the welcoming night.

Chapter Eight

Randy Patterson said nothing for the longest time, only sat staring down at his hands or looking out the window. They had been on the freeway for the better part of ninety minutes before he spoke.