That night, I’m not surprised to hear the phone ring in my closet. It’s another unscheduled call – Victor is used to getting what he wants, when he wants it – but he’s starting to develop a pattern with when he needs his therapist.
Checking to ensure that the boys are asleep, I tuck Archie into my lap on the closet floor and pick up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” Victor’s voice is brusk, unsettled, and – as usual – robotic. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, I can talk. The…usual overages, will apply, of course.”
“Yes.” Victor hurries on, dismissing this. “I’m having trouble,” he says, “balancing…well, balancing my life. My responsibilities to the people who I love, who love me.”
“I see,” I say gently. “Did something…happen? To bring about your unsettled state?”
He pauses. “Yes, it did.
