He dropped me home at one-forty p.m. Allison hadn’t called my cell and there were no messages on my machine.

In five minutes, she’d be between patients. I watched the clock, had a cold cup of coffee, phoned her office when the big hand touched the nine.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m in the middle of something, promise to call as soon as I can.”

“Emergency?”

“Something like that.”

“We’re okay?”

Silence. “Sure.”

* * *

It was seven-thirty when I heard from her.

“Emergency resolved?”

“This morning Beth Scoggins went into a changing room at work and locked herself in. It took awhile before anyone noticed. When they found her she was sitting on the floor, curled up, sucking her thumb. She was unresponsive, had wet her pants. The manager dialed 911 and the ambulance took her to the U. They gave her a physical and a tox scan, then some psych residents tried out their interview skills on her. Finally, she let someone know I was her therapist and an attending psychiatrist called me. It was him I was talking to when you phoned. I canceled my afternoon patients and went over there, just got back to the office.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Still regressed but she’s starting to talk. About things she never talked about before.”

“More about Daney or— ”

“I can’t get into it with you, Alex.”

“Sure,” I said. “Allison, if I had anything to— ”

“She’s obviously been sitting on a mountain of issues— a volcano. I was probably too laid-back, should’ve worked harder at opening her up.”

Same thing, nearly word for word, that Cherish Daney had said about Rand.

This was different. Allison was trained. Cherish had been running with scissors.

Out of her element.

Or maybe not.

My head flooded with what-ifs.

I said, “I’m sure you handled it optimally.” That came out hollow.

“Whatever. Listen, I’ve got to phone all those cancellations, rearrange my schedule, extend my hours, then go back to the hospital. It’s going to be awhile before we can . . . socialize. Don’t even suggest to Milo that he’ll ever have access to this girl.”

“It’s not an issue.”

“I know what’s at stake, Alex, but we’re on opposite sides on this one. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.”

* * *

Three hours later, she was at my door, dangling her car keys. Her hair was tied up in a careless way I’d never seen before, black as the night sky behind her. One of her stockings sported a run from knee to mid-calf, the polish on some of her nails was chipped, and her lipstick had faded. A picture I.D. badge was clipped to the lapel of her black cotton suit. Temporary privileges, Department of Psychiatry. Her eyes, always deep-set, were captives in fatigue-darkened sockets.