I turned into the driveway of Lindsey’s office.

“We’re here,” I announced, stating the obvious, then asked, “Do you like Dr. McNeil?”

“She’s okay. I like her fish.”

The wreck and the rain had made us late.

“Hello,” Amanda greeted us, for the moment distracted by something on her computer screen.

Cissy headed over to the fish, not returning Amanda’s greeting. I said hello, then sat down in one of the waiting room chairs.

After only a moment Amanda said, “There, that’s finished.” She turned away from her computer. “Want to go back? The doc’s ready,” she said to Cissy.

Still watching the fish, Cissy nodded her head, then slowly turned away from the tank and started to follow Amanda.

“Can I go to the restroom?” Cissy abruptly asked as she passed in front of me. I wasn’t sure if she was asking me or Amanda. Or asking Amanda in front of me so I would back her up with my previously given yes.

“Of course you can,” Amanda answered. “It’s right this way.” She led Cissy down the hall past Lindsey’s office.

I settled back in my chair for the fifty-minute wait. Instead of coming back to the reception area, Amanda ducked into Lindsey’s office to chat with her. I picked up a magazine to read.

Several minutes later my attention was caught by Amanda tapping on the bathroom door, asking, “Are you okay in there?” I couldn’t hear Cissy’s reply. It seemed to satisfy Amanda, who leaned in Lindsey’s door to continue talking to her.

I went back to skimming through the magazine, not paying much attention to it. I did notice that when Amanda went back to tap on the bathroom door, Lindsey appeared in the hallway, hovering near her office door.

“Cissy, can I come in?” Amanda asked, then slowly opened the door. After a moment or two she stuck her head out and motioned Lindsey in.

I put the magazine down and stood up, taking a couple of steps toward the bathroom. But I didn’t go any further. Whatever was wrong, Lindsey and Amanda were much better qualified to handle it than I was. I would be just another person invading what Cissy was trying to keep behind closed doors.

It was several minutes before Amanda emerged from the bathroom. Lindsey didn’t come out.

“Do you know how to reach Mrs. Selby?” she asked, heading purposefully behind the reception desk.

I tried to remember Barbara’s work number, but my mind blanked.

“Never mind, I can pull it up,” Amanda answered as she sat down at the computer.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Amanda ignored me as she hit the computer keys to bring up Barbara’s name.

“What’s wrong?” I repeated.

“Let me call Mrs. Selby first,” she said.

I almost reached over the reception desk and grabbed her wrist. Amanda, sensing my intensity, paused for a moment and said, “She’s okay. She appears to be bleeding vaginally.”

“What?” I exclaimed, feeling a chill place grow inside me.

“She’s okay,” Amanda repeated, then dialed Barbara’s number. She spoke very briefly, just asking her to come by, that there was something that Dr. McNeil wanted to discuss.

“What happened?” I demanded as soon as Amanda put the phone down.

“The urination may have irritated the area or perhaps wiping. There’s not much blood, just some spotting.”

“How do you know it’s not her period?”

“It’s possible,” Amanda replied, but her tone and body language added, It’s not very likely.

“What do we do now?”

“Lindsey’s going to talk to her, make sure she’s okay. We’ll wait for Mrs. Selby and see what she wants to do.”

“Can I talk to her?” I asked, starting to head down the hallway.

Amanda reached across the reception desk and grabbed my arm to stop me. “Lindsey’s very good at this. Let her handle it.”

Amanda was right. My anger and outrage wouldn’t help Cissy. I turned away from the hallway.

“Should we call the police?” I asked.

“That’s up to Mrs. Selby.”

“What if it’s someone she knows? Someone she’ll believe over her daughter?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Amanda calmly replied. “You might go walk around the block a few times if it would make you feel better,” she suggested.

I shook my head and settled for pacing around the waiting room. The nightmare had become real. Part of me was in the shock that comes when you see what is going to happen and how powerless you are to stop it. That alternated with a deep fury that I was afraid to directly look at—it had no control and no mercy. I finally managed to hold these warring emotions in abeyance, forcing myself into a façade of calmness.

It took Barbara about half an hour to get to Lindsey’s office. The door opening startled me. I was standing at the tank watching the fish flit back and forth.

“Hi, Micky,” she said, a nervous catch in her voice.

I started to return her greeting, but Amanda said, “Hello, Mrs. Selby, please come this way.”

Barbara cast me a quick look, but I wasn’t invited and I remained at the fish tank. Amanda led her down the hallway into Lindsey’s office. Lindsey, holding Cissy’s hand, came out of the bathroom and went into the office. Cissy’s face was pale, her eyes downcast. Amanda followed, closing the door behind them. I was left by myself in the waiting room. I tried to sit, but couldn’t, instead falling into an agitated pacing, covering the waiting room in long strides. I sat down once or twice, but immediately got up to resume my pacing.

Finally the door to Lindsey’s office opened. Amanda came out first, followed by Barbara holding Cissy’s hand, whose eyes remained downcast. Lindsey was behind them. Her cane, Cissy’s lowered eyes, the grim set of Barbara’s lips, were all talismans of how often we’re bent and battered by acts of fate or will that can never be undone.

“Look, Ms. Selby, if you want…” Lindsey was saying.

Barbara cut her off with, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s my decision. I have a lot of things I need to think about.”

Lindsey tried again, “If I can help—”

Barbara again cut her off. “I’ll let you know. I need to take Cissy home now.”

“I understand, I—”

Barbara turned on her. “Do you? Do you understand?” Her voice was agitated, a wavering edge of anger in it. “How can you?”

“I’m sorry,” Lindsey said slowly, calmly, allowing herself to be the lightning rod for Barbara’s anger.

“This is my daughter, not yours,” Barbara lashed out at her.

“I’m very sorry,” Lindsey repeated with the same quiet calmness.

Barbara started to say something else, but didn’t, staring instead at Lindsey as if this were a dream she might wake from any minute.