PROLOGUE
TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO
Dr Pescki’s Office
Aged 10
“Miss Lore.” Dr Pescki, my psychiatrist, glances between my mother and me before knotting her fingers on the desk. “I can assure you—there is nothing wrong with your son.”
My mother drops her gaze to the thin blue carpet. “A hundred percent sure?”
“I’ve been seeing Aeron for three months now. He exhibits none of the DSM markers I’d expect to see in a child at this point. In fact...” She flexes her bony fingers in exasperation. “For a ten-year-old boy, I’d say he’s well-adjusted. Polite. Considerate. Smart, even.”
I am all of these things, sitting beside my mother and shrinking into the chair; let them talk over me. Let me exist only in terms of what I do or do not have. We’ve been to this quiet, chintzy downtown office more times than I care to remember, and I hate missing school for it. Hate being singled out.
“I just...there’s something not right,” my mother says quietly. She was beautiful once, with her dark hair and shining eyes. Now she has faded like cartoons on an old TV.
“I understand your concern. Given the circumstances...things must be very hard for you. All children are capable of exhibiting eccentricities from time to time; it’s part of the process of growing up, exploring boundaries. I see a lot of parents who want a diagnosis to make things easier, but let me tell you, that’s not what it does.”
My mother tips her chin with an indignant stare. “I’m just looking out for him. That’s my job.”
“It is,” Dr Pescki agrees. “And it’s my job to reassure you that your son is emotionally stable. He’s healthy.” She glances at me. “Aren’t you?”
I fiddle with the hem of my tan sweater and offer her a shy smile. “I guess.”
“You have a bright future ahead of you, Aeron,” the doctor tells me. “Your mother loves you very much, and with that kind of support, you’ll go far.”
Yes.
Yes, I will.
