The Guest Cottage Read Free Page B

difficult for you,” Dr. Warren said, with no judgment in his tone.
    Trevor bit his lip. “Right.” He was having trouble breathing. “So, anyway, I had to figure out how to tell Leo. I mean, he was used to his mother being gone for hours and even days at a time. I’d always been the main parent for him, right from the start. Tallulah had never been keen on discussing preschools and play groups or Christmas presents and birthday parties, that sort of thing. Still, she was Trevor’s
mother.
He loved her. He
adored
her.” Trevor swallowed back a sob.
    After a moment of silence, Dr. Warren urged, “Go on.”
    “When I told Leo that afternoon—” Trevor had been much more reserved telling the other parents at the school, the teachers, and his friends about this. He hadn’t wanted it to get back to Leo. Now he was afraid he was going to cry. “When I told Leo, we were at the apartment after school. I had given him juice. We sat on the couch. I said it as gently as I could, that his mommy had died. He knew about death from animals in school, television. We had talked about it. He kind of understood. So I told him.” Trevor swallowed. “Leo said, ‘No, Daddy,
please.
’ ”
    Trevor cleared his throat. Dr. Warren waited.
    “I hugged Leo. We cried together. I told him Mommy lived in heaven now, a beautiful place where Mommy was always happy. Mommy had been sick, I told Leo—” He glanced at the psychologist. “Really, in a way she had, right? I told Leo it had happened suddenly, she had just gone to sleep. Well, that was probably true. I said Mommy would always be looking down on him with love. Leo wanted to know where she was, and I said up in the sky, and Leo jumped up from the sofa, raced to the balcony door, and stepped up to the railing. He, um, Leo
waved at the sky.
He yelled, ‘Hi, Mama!’ ” Trevor brought his hands to his face and forced himself not to cry. Embarrassed, he said, “I thought I’d cried myself out.”
    “It’s fine,” Dr. Warren told him. “It’s good. Take your time.”
    Trevor reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table and blew his nose. After a moment, he got himself back together.
    “So we went on. We made a small shrine to Tallulah in Leo’s room. Gradually, when Leo was at preschool, I removed some of Tallulah’s less conspicuous stuff—the shoes, cosmetics, wigs, secondhand clothes—so the apartment opened up a bit. We have three bedrooms—one is my office—I have a computer business. One bedroom is Leo’s, and for the first couple of months I slept with him.” Trevor thought of the nights in Leo’s room, curled around him on the small twin bed. He could only hope they brought as much comfort to his son as they did to him.
    Dr. Warren rose, went to a side table, and poured Trevor a glass of water.
    “Thank you.” The cool water revived him. Setting it on the table, he began again, more in control now. “So that’s why I’m here. Leo. I’m troubled about Leo.”
    “Go on.”
    “I mean, at first, Leo was sad, quiet. He dragged his feet when we went to the park and didn’t even want to get ice cream. He spent less time painting and drawing and more time curled up on his bed with his arms around Tubee, his pet giraffe. Other times, the slightest problem—a broken cracker, dropped soap—sent him into tantrums. I spoke with his preschool teacher, who said Leo was quieter and less playful but in general seemed happy enough. I talked with other parents. They told me Leo was young and children are resilient.” He glanced at the psychologist for confirmation.
    “Yes,” Dr. Warren agreed. “That is usually true.”
    “Usually?”
Trevor shifted on the sofa. He was glad he had come. “Okay, then, here’s what bothers me. In January, Leo started doing things that disturbed me, but I also thought maybe they were signs of, well, moving on. That’s why I wanted your advice.”
    “What kind of things?”
    “Well, at night, before Leo goes