“And they know about my-about Trent?”

Brenda called her husband by his surname. Merritt had apparently adopted the name, too.

“Again, I don’t know what they suspect. They know that he was there.”

She retreated for almost a minute, and I feared that she had decided to once again be dumb. Finally she said, “I have some other questions.”

“Okay,” I said. I almost said, “Shoot.” Sometimes I’m really stupid.

“Trent’s a psychologist, you know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“And I know all about the rules that you keep reminding me about that says he, or you, can’t say anything about what happens with somebody that they’re talking to. But he does, you know? Not seriously, but he’ll tell my mom that my patient, George, or whoever, said this or that, or did this or that, or whatever. You know?”

“Yes, I know. Unfortunately, it happens. Are you concerned I will do that, too?”

“Can you wait before you ask your questions?”

Chastised, I said, “Of course, please continue.”

“My roommate told me something last night that I didn’t know. She said I have rights, even though I’m a kid, that I can talk to you and tell you things and that you can’t tell anybody, even my parents, what I said. Is that true?”

Colorado law grants fifteen-year-olds many of the psychotherapy privileges and protections that are enjoyed by adults.

“Yes,” I said, “that’s true. With some exceptions.”

She seemed surprised and troubled by my reply. “What are the exceptions?”

“Child abuse is one. Or if I think you’re going to kill yourself, or if you threaten to hurt someone else. That’s about it.”

“That’s about it? Or that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Can I even keep you from telling Mr. Maitlin what I said?”

“Technically, yes, you can.”

“Even though I’m a kid?”

“Even though you’re a kid.”

“I am fifteen, you know.”

“I know.”

“Good.” She looked at her feet. “I’m including your wife. You have a wife, right?” She moved her gaze to my left hand searching for a ring.

“Yes, I’m married.”

“Not her, either. You can’t tell her.”

“Not her, either. That’s no problem.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Except for the trusting me part.”

She rubbed the place on her arm where the IV catheter had been pulled. “I already trust you. I was beginning to trust you before Chaney got so bad the other night. That night aced it for me.”

“I’m glad you trust me, Merritt. Consider yourself warned, though, I’m not convinced that keeping everything secret is what’s best for you, especially not from your attorney and your parents.”

“Well…maybe that’s because you don’t know what I have to say.”

“Maybe.”

“You remind me of Trent.”

Dangerous ground. I didn’t comment.

Merritt read my reticence and said, “Don’t worry, that’s a compliment.”

“What about me reminds you of your stepdad?”

“You don’t get caught up in stuff. Things go nuts all around you and you act like it’s going to be fine. And like I said, I think I can trust you.”

“Thanks. You trust him? Trent?”

“Yeah, I do. Maybe more than my mom. What do you want to know first? Why I’ve been silent?”

“Sure.”

“Wait, what about the people here at the hospital? The nurses, and Dr. Franks? Can you tell them what I say without my permission?”

In all my years of inpatient work, I’d rarely had a patient ask for confidentiality from the treatment team. “Again, technically, you can keep me from telling anyone what you tell me. Including the treatment team. I doubt if I have to tell you that I think that’s a bad idea. But it’s your right to prohibit me from telling anyone.”

She straightened in her chair. “Okay, let me list the rules. If you want me to tell you what’s been going on, then you’re going to have to consider yourself prohibited. From telling anybody anything. My parents, my lawyer, anybody here, anybody.”

I thought about her offer and said, warmly, “Fine. I understand what you’re asking. And with that restriction in place, our session is over.”

“What? I’ve just started talking.” She couldn’t believe I would walk away from the opportunity to hear her story.

“Merritt, you have rights, and because of those rights you can set the rules. Clinically, I’ll accept that you may have valid reasons for wanting confidentiality from your parents and even your lawyer. I’m not saying I agree, but I’ll abide by those rules. But I disagree with your exclusion of the treatment team here at the hospital. And I do have a choice about that. I won’t be manipulated by your rules. I won’t conspire with you around them, and I won’t let them dictate my treatment of you. If you insist that I keep our conversations secret from the treatment team, then I have to do that. What I don’t have to do is be your collaborator. As long as you insist I keep secrets from the hospital staff, I won’t listen to your secrets. We won’t have conversations until you change your mind.”

She pulled her legs back up onto the chair, again resting her heels on the lip of the seat. She lowered her head to her hands and gazed at me through the space between her knees. She eyed me, unblinking, lips parted, for what felt like an eternity of seconds.

“The reason I’ve decided not to talk is that I think that if I start talking, I’m afraid that I’ll screw up and say something that will…hurt other people.”

“Have you changed your mind about the treatment team?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t let you go on, Merritt. I’m sorry. I owe you confidentiality. So, as much as I would like to hear what you have to say, I’m forced to decline to listen.”

“I’m trying to talk to you here. God, I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“More than you know. I just can’t accept your limitations. And it appears you can’t accept mine. So we’re back at stalemate, I guess. We can both think about our positions and go over it again tomorrow.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“We need to stop, Merritt. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t do it.”

I felt an incredible compassion for her struggle right then. I was sorely tempted to grant her anything she wanted just to keep her talking. But what I said was, “Give up, please, Merritt. Let me help you surrender. I won’t leave you alone.”

I stood to escort her out the door.

She stopped to look at me. I thought, for the first time in this treatment, that patient and therapist were equally exasperated.

I hoped I had made the right decision.

Twenty-seven

Before I left the hospital, I stopped by the cardiac care unit and checked on Chaney. John Trent was in the corridor outside, pacing. He said the docs were once again worried about his daughter’s pulmonary function. If the trend continued, it would be a sign of the beginning of the deterioration that everyone knew was inevitable.

I used the nursing station phone to call Lauren at the hospital in Washington where she was camped out with her mother. The frozen section of her mom’s breast biopsy had come back negative. Most of the family had gathered and were celebrating in the room.

I was thrilled for them. But the background joy sounded peculiar and foreign.

Dinner with Adrienne could be anything, one of life’s most certain rolls of the dice. Since the day we became friends, she had maintained an elliptical orbit around my life. At any time she could be as distant as the most distant comet, or as close as a meteor on a collision course with my planet. With Lauren gone and Sam so consumed with Merritt and Chaney, I was hoping for a close encounter with Adrienne.

On the way home from the hospital in Denver, I stopped and picked up pud Thai and chicken satay and a bottle of Gewürztraminer. When I arrived at Adrienne’s door with Emily by my side, it was almost ten and Adrienne had just managed to get Jonas to bed.