these moments, times when the person you’re with will seem lucid and you’ll find yourself wondering if, hoping…” Venus sighed. “Well, that’s what keeps us going, those moments. And knowing we’re doing the right thing.
“David, the man in the lobby, we’ll save him for later. Don’t want to scare you off, have you deal with David your very first day.” She rolled her eyes. “Just remember, you never want to take him out, because, well, you just don’t.”
“He’s right by the door. He never—?”
Venus shook her head. “That’s his post,” she said. “He’s there most of the day, just looking out. He never tries to leave.”
“Was he there Saturday?” I asked. “When—”
“He was,” she said. “But he doesn’t communicate, and it’s doubtful he sees what’s right in front of him. So whether he was there or not, it doesn’t make a bit of difference.”
“Nothing changed with him since the accident? He didn’t seem frightened, agitated, he didn’t stop eating?”
Venus got that look again—should she trust me or not? Go slowly, she’d told me. She was taking her own advice, something few people do.
“Despite Dr. Kagan’s warning and my pleading, one of the detectives tried to question him. At first, nothing happened. Nothing is our middle name. But the detective didn’t get it. He kept right on asking questions. Eventually, David began to keen, really loud.”
“To block out the detective’s voice,” I said.
Venus nodded.
“Did that stop it?”
“No—the detective only got more aggressive. And so did David. He broke the window with his hands. He neededeleven stitches in one hand, seventeen in the other. That stopped it.”
“And now?”
“He’s on extra meds, and before bedtime, Molly rolls him in gym mats. That calms him more than the squeeze machine.”
“Molly?”
“Our den mother. She helps with bedtime, baths, meals, whatever’s needed.”
“So aside from increased tension, no other changes with David?”
“Not that we can tell. He doesn’t speak about what he saw, if he saw anything, if that’s what you were hoping. I’m sure it’s what the detective was hoping for. But as we told him, David doesn’t speak, period. Aside from some occasional agitation ”—Venus said each syllable separately—“nothing’s changed with him in the five years he’s been here. And before he came to us, he was in another institution. And nothing changed there either. Still, I love that kid, but I’d be hard-pressed to tell you why. It’s more or less like loving a statue. The most difficult ones, the ones you worry about most, sometimes those are the ones that grab you hardest. Do you know what I mean? Taking care of them, you just get attached, even when they don’t seem to know you from a hole in the wall.”
“And why shouldn’t David go out?” I asked, thinking it was something I ought to know. “Doesn’t he want to?”
Venus didn’t answer me right away.
“Is it too much stimulation for him? Too much change? Too much noise?”
Venus straightened the books on her desk—a dictionary, some medical reference books, the PDR—standing between two bronze bookends, African heads atop long necks, one male, the other female.
“He’s gotten violent a couple of times. Dr. Kagan took a risk accepting him here. But he always says, If not here, then where?
“We can do it here. We have such a small population, only sixteen right now. Somewhere else, it would be like jail for him.” She shook her head. “Anyway, it’s only happened twice. But we can’t predict it. So you don’t want to take him out in public.”
“Oh,” I said.
“He’s been pretty stable on medication for several months, he’s sleeping through the night, he’s eating better, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. He would love some time with Dashiell, though.”
“You mean he’ll interact with him?”
“I didn’t say that, did I? I’ll be with you the
“David, the man in the lobby, we’ll save him for later. Don’t want to scare you off, have you deal with David your very first day.” She rolled her eyes. “Just remember, you never want to take him out, because, well, you just don’t.”
“He’s right by the door. He never—?”
Venus shook her head. “That’s his post,” she said. “He’s there most of the day, just looking out. He never tries to leave.”
“Was he there Saturday?” I asked. “When—”
“He was,” she said. “But he doesn’t communicate, and it’s doubtful he sees what’s right in front of him. So whether he was there or not, it doesn’t make a bit of difference.”
“Nothing changed with him since the accident? He didn’t seem frightened, agitated, he didn’t stop eating?”
Venus got that look again—should she trust me or not? Go slowly, she’d told me. She was taking her own advice, something few people do.
“Despite Dr. Kagan’s warning and my pleading, one of the detectives tried to question him. At first, nothing happened. Nothing is our middle name. But the detective didn’t get it. He kept right on asking questions. Eventually, David began to keen, really loud.”
“To block out the detective’s voice,” I said.
Venus nodded.
“Did that stop it?”
“No—the detective only got more aggressive. And so did David. He broke the window with his hands. He neededeleven stitches in one hand, seventeen in the other. That stopped it.”
“And now?”
“He’s on extra meds, and before bedtime, Molly rolls him in gym mats. That calms him more than the squeeze machine.”
“Molly?”
“Our den mother. She helps with bedtime, baths, meals, whatever’s needed.”
“So aside from increased tension, no other changes with David?”
“Not that we can tell. He doesn’t speak about what he saw, if he saw anything, if that’s what you were hoping. I’m sure it’s what the detective was hoping for. But as we told him, David doesn’t speak, period. Aside from some occasional agitation ”—Venus said each syllable separately—“nothing’s changed with him in the five years he’s been here. And before he came to us, he was in another institution. And nothing changed there either. Still, I love that kid, but I’d be hard-pressed to tell you why. It’s more or less like loving a statue. The most difficult ones, the ones you worry about most, sometimes those are the ones that grab you hardest. Do you know what I mean? Taking care of them, you just get attached, even when they don’t seem to know you from a hole in the wall.”
“And why shouldn’t David go out?” I asked, thinking it was something I ought to know. “Doesn’t he want to?”
Venus didn’t answer me right away.
“Is it too much stimulation for him? Too much change? Too much noise?”
Venus straightened the books on her desk—a dictionary, some medical reference books, the PDR—standing between two bronze bookends, African heads atop long necks, one male, the other female.
“He’s gotten violent a couple of times. Dr. Kagan took a risk accepting him here. But he always says, If not here, then where?
“We can do it here. We have such a small population, only sixteen right now. Somewhere else, it would be like jail for him.” She shook her head. “Anyway, it’s only happened twice. But we can’t predict it. So you don’t want to take him out in public.”
“Oh,” I said.
“He’s been pretty stable on medication for several months, he’s sleeping through the night, he’s eating better, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. He would love some time with Dashiell, though.”
“You mean he’ll interact with him?”
“I didn’t say that, did I? I’ll be with you the