Chapter Thirty-Six

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I wait just inside the main entrance of the aquarium, scanning the approaching visitors.

Any minute now, she'll arrive.

I feel as wired and uneasy as I did the first time I saw Rose. I have no idea how she'll respond to my presence. At least Ian will bear witness if Rose acts out in an aggressive way.

He's the only Barclay who seems to be holding the possibility in his mind that something could be deeply off with his brilliant, wildly talented, delicate-looking daughter.

A group of schoolkids in matching yellow T-shirts flows around me like a school of fish. They're about the same age as Rose. I think again how peculiar it is that she has virtually no interaction with children.

They'll be impossible to avoid today. I'm going to look for an opportunity to arrange an encounter so I can gauge Rose's reaction.

Ian and Rose show up right on time. Ian smiles and gives a little wave when he sees me. It's impossible to discern Rose's feelings. Her shield is in place.

I bend down to look her in the eyes. "Hi, Rose."

No response.

Ian puts a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Rose, can you smile at Stella? We're going to have a fun day."

Ian doesn't look at Rose to see if she has followed through on his request. Perhaps he already knows she won't.

"Where should we start?" Ian asks. "The dolphins? Octopi? Sharks?"

Rose shakes her head at each option.

"Touch tank?" Ian guesses.

Rose nods vigorously. We make our way to the exhibit, with Rose and Ian walking slightly ahead.

I study their body language. They stroll side by side, their gait neither hurried nor slow, with Ian reaching out to touch Rose's arm and point out a turtle in an exhibit they pass. At first glance, they look like a typical father and daughter. But despite Ian's striking good looks, Rose is the one who commands the eye. Her posture is as flawless as a ballerina's, and her knee-length plaid skirt and turtleneck sweater that looks like cashmere are far more formal than the jeans and T-shirts other kids wear.

I'm so focused on the Barclays that I don't immediately notice the trio of college-aged women who are following the same path as us. The women edge closer to Rose and Ian, and I have to move aside to avoid getting jostled by them.

The energy surrounding the women feels off; they're huddled together, whispering excitedly, and the blonde in the jean jacket keeps releasing a high-pitched giggle.

We reach the touch tank area, where horseshoe crabs and stingrays move through huge, shallow aquariums filled with salt water.

A staff member tells visitors to rinse their hands if they plan to touch the creatures. Rose and Ian move toward the little sink, but I stay back. I'm watching five people now, including the three women who seem to have no interest in the seawater exhibit.

Ian glances back at me. "The rays can't sting. They're harmless."

I smile. "You two go ahead. I'm good."

The staff member illustrates how to touch the rays with a steady, flat palm, and Rose pulls up the sleeve of her sweater, then extends her hand into the water, watching as a big gray ray approaches.

The women tilt their heads close together, whispering again. The one in the jean jacket lifts her phone and appears to snap a picture.

"It is him!" she whispers, this time loudly enough for me to hear. "The daughter has red hair just like his wife."

"Ex-wife," her friend clarifies, and they burst into laughter.

Ian's body language grows rigid. Rose pauses, her hand hovering above the stingray. It glides away before she can touch it.

"You just missed it." Ian's voice is strained. "Try again, sweetie." Rose pulls her hand out of the tank and stands there, her head hung low, her fingertips dripping water onto the floor.

The blond woman lifts her phone again. It's as if Ian and Rose are creatures in an exhibit, too, placed here for her amusement.

Anger rushes into me, as swift and strong as a thunderclap. Not just on behalf of Rose. What I'm about to do is for all the children I've seen turned into pawns in vitriolic divorces. For all the kids who become collateral damage in their parents' lives.

I step forward, inserting myself between the Barclays and the woman just as she takes the picture.

I keep my voice low, but steel runs through it.

"Delete the photos now or I'm calling the police."

Her tone is snide. "For what, taking pictures of the stingrays?"

I keep staring her down. "Show me, then."

Her gaze skitters away. I can sense Rose behind me, taking it all in.

"We can take pictures in public places," one of the blonde's friends pipes up in a snotty tone.

"Correct. However, Section 26 of the Constitution states that a child's best interests are paramount to any matter involving the child. I'm pretty sure your picture is not in the best interest of this child, so it'll be up to the court to decide if this a privacy infringement."

The mouthy woman doesn't have a reply to my bluff.

"Delete it now or I'm calling the cops."

The first woman taps a button on her phone. "Sheesh, fine." I lean closer and watch as the photograph disappears.

"Now empty the trash."

She rolls her eyes, but she does it.

I keep standing there, blocking their view of Rose and Ian, until they leave. The blonde shoots me the finger just before they disappear around the corner.

I give her my brightest smile.

When I turn around, Ian mouths, Thank you.

Rose doesn't react, but she puts her hand in the tank again. This time, when the stingray glides toward her, she touches its smooth gray back.

After about ten minutes, Ian squats down to face Rose.

"Honey, I need to peel away and make some work calls. You can spend some time with Stella. I'll be back here to meet you guys for lunch."

Rose looks over at me, and I hold my breath, waiting. Then she nods. I feel a strange sense of triumph, as if I've passed a test.

Still, I'm not letting down my guard. I thought Rose and I had connected at Lucille's, too.

"Where should we go next?" I ask Rose as Ian walks away. I consult the map on the wall and follow his example by listing options: "Jellyfish? The Australia exhibit?" She shakes her head. "How about Shark Alley?"

She nods, and I orient myself before we begin to walk. The aquarium is growing more crowded now that it's mid-morning. I keep an eye out for the trio of women as well as other children. We pass a few going in the opposite direction, but Rose doesn't react. A girl who looks a little older than Rose, however, turns to stare. She could be admiring Rose's distinctive hair or sensing some difference or damage in Rose. It's impossible to say.

Shark Alley is at the far end of the aquarium. While we walk there, Rose occasionally pauses to look at exotic fish or waxy tree frogs. As she lingers to study a harlequin tuskfish, the thin blue light coming from the tank illuminates the soft curve of her cheek, her straight nose, and her ringlets. Rose's profile reminds me of the cameo necklaces that were popular in the nineteenth century.

I don't have a lot of time with her. I need to jump right in. "You must feel so angry sometimes."

She blinks twice—the only signal I've caught her off guard. "Maybe you feel sad and scared, too."

Rose doesn't pull down her shield. She hasn't shut me out.

I do something I've only done with a very few people before, and never a client.

I open up.

"It happened to me, too, Rose. I became mute after my mother died. I couldn't talk for a while. I was seven."

Rose turns to face me. One half of her face is in the light, the other cloaked in shadows.

"I was in survival mode. I didn't trust anyone around me. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and want to cry out for her, but I couldn't."

I can't mask the quaver in my voice. "I felt completely alone, like I was in a tunnel and no one could reach me. But you're not alone, Rose. I don't know what's going on, but I want to help you."

Rose looks at me for another few seconds, then turns and glances back into the aquarium tank. I hope she's letting my words sink in.

After a moment, she continues walking to Shark Alley. A three-story walking ramp with a metal railing zags through the middle of the massive exhibit. The lighting is very dim. All around us are glass walls holding back the creatures in the tank. We're in the center of their world, not the other way around.

Sand tiger sharks and largetooth sawfish glide by, endlessly circling us.

Rose stands in the middle of it all, spellbound.

She watches the sharks. I watch her.

Is there an incremental softening in her? Is she beginning to trust me? I can't say for sure, but I think so.

A few people pass us—a young couple, then a dad with a toddler in a backpack—but Rose is content to stay in place.

"It must feel so strange to not have Tina around," I say softly. "I remember when my mother died, I couldn't understand it. How could she be here one moment and gone the next?"

Rose turns to face me. She's standing slightly above me on the slanted ramp, which gives her an extra foot of height.

I take a step closer to her before I realize why I'm doing it.

I don't like the illusion that she's almost as big as me.

I've thought about what I would have wanted someone to say to me after my mother died. Now I use those words with Rose. But I temper them to cover all the possibilities.

"The whole world changed for you. Nothing is the same anymore."

Rose is staring intently at me. I feel a hitch in her energy, as if we're linked by a current.

I'm getting through to her. Something I've said struck a nerve.

I'm about to continue probing when a mom and daughter appear above us on the ramp. The girl appears to be only a couple of years younger than Rose, but she looks like another species in her worn jeans and butterfly sweater, with messy hair and a bouncy gait.

The mom has a baby in a front carrier and a diaper bag looped over her shoulder. She's a dozen yards behind. "Olivia, slow down!"

The little girl reaches Rose and blurts out, "What's your name?"

"Hi," I reply. "I'm Stella and this is Rose."

Olivia looks Rose up and down. "How old are you?"

I try to gauge Rose's comfort level. She doesn't appear bothered by the interaction, so I let it play out.

Rose lifts her hands and holds up nine fingers.

"She's nine. Four years older than you, Olivia." The mom looks at Rose for an extra beat, then at me. "We don't want to bother you. Come along, Liv."

I think about how I would've wanted my condition to be explained when I was a kid. "Rose isn't talking right now, but she can hear everything you say." I keep my tone casual, and I don't overexplain. "This is a good spot to watch the sharks, if you want to stay."

The mom smiles easily and sets down her diaper bag with a relieved sigh. "Well, Olivia will talk enough for the both of them."

It's true; Olivia is one of those happy-go-lucky kids who keeps up a steady stream of chatter. She's apple-cheeked and quick to smile.

She tells Rose that sharks never sleep, and it's funny, but I swear I can feel the frustration surge in Rose. She probably wants to tell Oliva that sharks have restful or inactive periods, and the issue is far more complex than most people realize.

Olivia moves closer to Rose and grabs her hand. "Look at my necklace. I got it for my birthday. It has an O for Olivia."

Rose tries to pull back, but Olivia grabs her hand again. "You can touch it if you want!" She doesn't give Rose a choice; she pulls her hand to her necklace.

I don't intervene. Rose doesn't need my protection.

"Why don't you talk or smile?" Olivia asks.

Olivia's question isn't aggressive, but I can feel a shift in the atmosphere.

The mom doesn't seem to hear what's going on; her baby has begun to fuss, and she's walking back and forth a few feet away.

"Huh?" Olivia probes.

As if in slow motion, I see Rose reach into the pocket of her sweater.

I lunge toward her.

I know what Rose sometimes keeps in her sweater pockets. I see the flash of something shiny a split second before I grab Rose's arm.

Then I freeze, my hand in midair. It's a silver tube of lip gloss.

Relief pours through me. It seems as if Rose wants to show one of her little treasures to Olivia, perhaps in exchange for seeing the necklace.

Rose twists open the gloss and dabs a bit onto her lips. The vivid red is gaudy against her porcelain skin. I can't imagine Beth letting Rose buy it, or possessing this shade herself. Plus, the brand is cheap, the kind you'd buy in a drugstore, with the fake silver chipping off the tube.

Where did Rose get it?

Then Ashley's words float back into my mind: Tina would sometimes put a little lip gloss on Rose when she got ready to go out.

Perhaps Rose took this from Tina's room. It looks like the shade she was wearing in the video Pete sent me.

Did Rose take it as a way to stay close to her nanny? Or as another trophy?

Olivia keeps up her happy chatter. "Can I see it?"

She reaches for the lip gloss, but Rose jerks it away.

The baby is fussing loudly now. His mom bends down awkwardly, reaching into the diaper bag and murmuring something about a pacifier that was just there.

I want to help her—to offer to find the pacifier or hold the baby—but I can't take my eyes off Rose.

I can feel her anger rising; it's palpable.

"No fair! I let you touch my necklace!" Olivia lunges, grabbing for the lip gloss.

Rose throws out her free hand and pushes the little girl.

Olivia staggers back before falling on her behind. She catches herself before she rolls backward beneath the railing, coming perilously close to tumbling off the edge of the platform.

"Oh, no—honey! Are you okay?" Her mother rushes over, her baby now wailing.

"I'm so sorry—it was—" The words dry up in my throat. It wasn't an accident.

Olivia wouldn't have been seriously hurt if she'd fallen through. The drop is only about two feet.

Still, my heart is in my throat.

"You shouldn't push. That isn't nice," the other mother admonishes Rose.

Rose slides the lip gloss back into her pocket and turns her back on us.

The mom takes Olivia's hand and they walk away. Olivia's high voice floats back to us: "I don't like that girl. She's bad."

I know what is going to happen even before I move to look at Rose.

Our fleeting connection is severed.

The shutters have fallen over her eyes. She's unreachable.