The Guest Cottage Read Online Free

to sleep, he takes out all his clothes for the next day and arranges them on the floor of his bedroom in an absolute unchanging order. Briefs, jeans, T-shirt, socks, sneakers, sweatshirt. He’ll eat his lunch only if I pack the same thing day after day: a cheese and mustard, not mayonnaise, sandwich on whole-wheat bread, a banana, yogurt. One day I was out of bananas and put an apple in the lunchbox. When Leo got home that afternoon, I opened the box and saw Leo hadn’t touched any of the food.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Well, he’s gotten kind of obsessed with Legos.”
    For the first time, Dr. Warren smiled. “He’d be unusual if he weren’t obsessed with Legos.”
    “Good,” Trevor said, relaxing a bit. “That’s good to know.” He waited.
    After a moment, the psychologist said, “I think Leo is dealing with the loss of his mother by trying to take control of his own small universe.”
    Trevor nodded, listening hard.
    “Leo has to do something,” Dr. Warren said, “and these are actually not worrisome actions. If they continue, or become worse, then I’d like you to bring him in. He could have OCD. Obsessive-compulsive disorder. OCD is an anxiety disorder related to the transmission of serotonin in the brain. But I think it’s too soon to be concerned about that.”
    “What can I do?” Trevor asked.
    “Summer is almost here. Perhaps you could take him on a vacation, somewhere the child has never been with his mother. A new environment might provide a break for the boy’s grieving. Is that a possibility for you with your work? Financially?”
    “Yes, sure,” Trevor said, nodding.
God,
it felt great to have an expert advise him.
    “It’s good that you built the shrine,” Dr. Warren continued. “Good to talk about Leo’s mommy, try to get him to talk about his feelings. It would help if you found a way to deal with your own grief, too. Children are remarkably sensitive to their parents’ emotions. Leo is very young.
You
are not so very old—how old are you? Thirty?”
    Trevor nodded.
    “You both have a great deal of life before you. I’m sure you will find a way to make it a happy life for your son and yourself.”
    Driving home after the appointment, Trevor thought about the psychologist’s advice. There was so much Trevor hadn’t said, he felt guilty. For months before her death, Tallulah had been all over the place emotionally, staying out all night, losing weight, having rages, shrieking at her puzzled son to leave her alone. He’d suspected she was using some kind of drug, but heroin? If he’d even suspected, he would have tried to help her. If only he had tried to help her!
    Trevor parked in his driveway and sat in the car, thinking. Leo was going to a playdate with his best friend, Cassidy, after preschool and wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. He scrutinized his apartment building. It was kind of a dump, although the neighborhood was safe. An old three-story, three-family house, he’d first rented it back when he was a graduate student at MIT. After Leo’s birth, Trevor had suggested buying a house in one of Boston’s many suburbs—he had the money. This freaked out Tallulah. Maybe they needed a bigger condo, she said, so the crying baby could have his own room, but no way was she going to become a suburban mom. The city was where the action was.
    Tallulah treasured the location, so near theaters, shopping, and the T. She hadn’t cared about interior decor—hell, she hadn’t even cared about comfort. Tallulah’s basic needs were, in order of importance, a closet for her many clothes, a bathroom with a shower and a large mirror so she could put on her intricate makeup, and some kind of bed to flop on at the end of the day or the long night. They had turned the sun porch into Trevor’s office, and turned what had once been his office into a bedroom for Leo. His son’s room held the only new furniture in the apartment. It never occurred to Tallulah to suggest