Gaits of Heaven

dogs barked or growled at him, his first response was to throw me a bewildered look that asked, Why don’t they want to be friends ? This from Rowdy’s son! I couldn’t get over it. I mean, who expects Tony Soprano to sire a pacifist? Not me. Consequently, I kept a close eye on the boys. Steve, however, habitually let the pack loose together, possibly because he trusted himself to repair any injuries the dogs inflicted on one another. I’d quit warning him to be careful. For one thing, he was careful. For another, the dogs responded to his expectation of good behavior by being good dogs.
    After Steve, Rita, and Leah had greeted one another, and after Leah and I had gone into the house and returned with a bottle of wine and four glasses, Steve asked, “Has Holly told you about her new job?”
    “Yes, I have. And it’s not a job. Rita knows Ted and Eumie, and Leah knows Eumie’s daughter, Caprice. The consensus is that this family is not a model of mental health.“
    “I don’t know them well,” said Rita, accepting a glass of red wine from Steve. “I’ve met them. I know them by reputation.”
    “Which is?” I asked.
    “Within their field, it’s okay, as far as I know.”
    “And their field is?” I prodded.
    Rita was expressionless. “Trauma. Ted wrote a book called Ordinary Trauma. Lots of people find it helpful.” She sipped from the glass Steve had handed her.
    “And that’s all you have to say about it?” Leah demanded. “What I said is perfectly truthful. Lots of people find it helpful. Some of my clients have read it.”
    Steve was watching her.
    “And,” I said, “have found it helpful. Don’t tell us again.”
    “It isn’t a bad book,” Rita said. “Really, it isn’t. It’s just that Ted has a very inclusive definition of trauma. But he’s perfectly sincere about it. And he’s connected to a place in western Massachusetts that’s, uh, in line with his thinking.“
    “Is that the place you tried to send Kevin to?” Leah asked.
    Our next-door neighbor, Kevin Dennehy, is a Cambridge police lieutenant. One time when the chronic stress of his job had become acute, Rita had tried to persuade him to spend some time at a retreat center of some kind. Her plan failed when Kevin discovered that one of the stress-reducing activities consisted of learning to feel at one with nature by developing the ability to identify wild animals by their spoor. He’d accused Rita of trying to send him to the woods to find raccoon dung, and there had ended her attempt at intervention.
    “No,” Rita said. “This one is called CHIRP.”
    “Birds,” I said. “Instead of raccoons.”
    “Not at all. Center for Healing, Individuation, Recovery, and Peace. CHIRP.”
    “Oh, God,” Steve said.
    “Yes,” said Rita, “except that it’s more spiritual than outright religious. It’s a sort of spa, I think, oriented toward personal development. Retreat center. And a detox facility for people who need support rather than actual detox. Twelve-step programs, yoga classes, meditation, steam baths. For all that it’s focused on construing almost everything as trauma or addiction, hence Ted Green’s involvement, it’s supposed to be quite luxurious. Maybe that’s part of the recovery. I don’t know.”
    “Steam baths,” I said. “That sounds wonderful.”
    Leah was skeptical. “How much do you want to bet that dogs aren’t allowed?”
    “I think Leah’s right,” Rita said. “There’s probably a concern about allergies.”
    “What’s it called again?” I asked.
    “CHIRP,” Rita said. “I assume it’s intended to sound upbeat.”
    “Center for...?”
    “Healing, Individuation, Recovery, and Peace.”
    “With no dogs allowed? Healing, individuation, recovery, and peace—the very definition of the magical powers of dogs. You know what, Rita? Steam baths or no steam baths, that place is no retreat center. What that place is, Rita, is a scam.”
    “You’re so quick to judge,” said Rita. “It’s a good thing you didn’t become a therapist.”
    “I am a therapist,” I said. “Remember? I’m the one who’s going to save Dolfo.”
     

CHAPTER 4
     
    In my mind’s eye I see Eumie and Ted on that same Thursday night as they prepare for bed. They are in the sumptuously renovated bathroom that adjoins the master bedroom of the Greens’ big house on Avon Hill. The neighborhood is perhaps a ten-minute walk from my house and, like mine, a twenty-minute walk from Harvard Square.