Bleeding Hearts Read Free Page A

myth that medicine can treat parts instead of the whole. Even psychologists have to concern themselves with the whole person. Especially psychologists.”
    “Oh.” How many times had she said “oh”? Hannah couldn’t remember. She looked around a little wildly and remembered she had promised to get some mineral water. She fixed her attention on the kitchen and headed in that direction. She had to do something, she really did, because she just couldn’t think.
    “Mineral water,” she said under her breath. “I do have mineral water. I just don’t have Perrier.”
    Paul Hazzard was following her. “Of course, all that about the whole person is very nice—and it’s absolutely essential that you get in touch with your inner child, I insist on that with all my clients—but the fact is, there isn’t any whole person to concern ourselves about if there isn’t a person at all. If you see what I mean.”
    “No,” Hannah said breathlessly. “I’m sorry. I’m not very well-read in this kind of thing—”
    “The lights in your foyer,” Paul Hazzard said.
    “The—?”
    “They ought to be on.”
    “Well, I suppose they should, but—”
    “It’s not sensible to say that there’s never any crime on this street. There’s crime everywhere. It’s a sign of the times. It’s a wholly dysfunctional society.”
    Hannah had reached the kitchen. The door was shut. She pushed it open and looked in on the usual spotlessness. It amazed her how much time she spent cleaning. What did she do it for?
    “The mineral water will be in the refrigerator,” she said. “Would you like it in a glass with ice?”
    “In a glass will be fine. No ice. I wish you’d pay attention to me about the lights.”
    “I am paying attention to you about the lights.”
    Paul Hazzard propped himself up against the kitchen table. His legs looked impossibly long. His body looked impossibly lean. His gray hair was as fine and smooth as spun silver. Hannah had a hard time believing that he was real.
    “I am paying attention to you about the lights,” she said again, “it’s just that—I don’t think you realize—well, Cavanaugh Street isn’t like other places. It really isn’t.”
    “We all think our own neighborhoods aren’t like other places. We all feel safe for a while. And then something happens.”
    “Did something happen to you?”
    “Oh, yes. At least, I was the secondary victim. Who it really happened to was my wife.”
    “Your wife?”
    Hannah felt a spurt of panic go through her, but it subsided. Paul was a widower. He had said so back at the meeting. She remembered that now. There was a small bottle of Colorado Sunshine Naturally Carbonated Water on the top shelf of the refrigerator door. Hannah got it out and looked around for a bottle opener. She used to keep bottle openers all the time. They were a necessity. Then flip-tops had come in and she’d got out of the habit. She opened her miscellaneous utensil drawer and stared into it.
    “Just a minute,” she said. “I’ll find something to open this with in no time at all.”
    “Let’s get back to my wife,” Paul Hazzard said. “Don’t you know what happened to her?”
    “No. No, of course I don’t. Should I?”
    “Oh, yes.” Paul Hazzard was nodding. “You really should. It wasn’t that long ago. And it was in all the papers.”
    “What was?”
    “My wife’s murder,” Paul Hazzard said simply. “A man broke into our town house one night to rob the place, and stabbed her through the heart.”

3
    E VERY ONCE IN A while, Caroline Hazzard was required to remember that she had once had a stepmother. When that happened, she became extremely agitated and had to go immediately to Group. Caroline had several Groups, and a psychotherapist, too, but when the subject was Jacqueline Isherwood, Caroline stuck to her Healing the Inner Child Workshop. After all, Caroline had been a child when her father had married Jacqueline—Caroline had been five. She