Gaits of Heaven

opposite Nixie Needleman and Vee Foote, Rita said, “John Tortorello. Dr. Tortorello is Ted’s psychiatrist.” The AKC enjoins its judges not to make what it calls theatrical movements. Rita’s little hand motion was admirably subtle. “Dr. Peter York, Wyeth’s therapist. Dr. Missy Zinn, Caprice’s therapist. Dr. Quinn Youngman, Ted’s psychopharmacologist. And Eumie’s. Dr. Vee Foote, their couples therapist.” She then introduced Eumie’s Reiki healer, her herbalist, Ted and Eumie’s acupuncturist, Ted’s massage therapist, and Ted’s primary-care physician, Dr. Salzman, who had been Eumie’s as well. “Neighbors. Dr. George McBane and Dr. Barbara Lei-bowitz, who live next door. And Holly Winter, with whom Caprice is now staying.”
    Ted, I could see, was itching to add that I was the family dog trainer. In fact, he stood up and, using his crutches, moved toward Dolfo, who had been lying peacefully at Barbara’s side. As Ted approached, Dolfo leaped to his feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Foote shake a tablet or capsule into her hand and swiftly toss it into her mouth. “Ted,” Barbara whispered, “not right now, I think.”
    “And,” Rita said, “Lieutenant Kevin Dennehy, who is our representative of the larger society.” She looked fleetingly embarrassed about the pretentious phrase. “Lieutenant Dennehy is with the Cambridge police. There have been legal ramifications to events in this family. And Oona Sundquist, who is an attorney.”
    “George,” Barbara whispered to me, “is the only person here who felt the need for legal representation. What does that tell you?”
    “Barbara,” George said none too quietly, “I love you. There is not a more repentant person in the world than I am.”
    “Murderer,” said Barbara, who continued to address me rather than her husband.
    “I think that’s everyone,” Rita said.
    Johanna rose to her feet. “I have to say that I’m not part of this psychobabble. I’m here because my child was threatened. I was told that my presence here was a condition for my son’s release from an institution that was trying to strip him of his identity. But I am here against my will, and I deeply resent the accusation that I am a bad mother.”
    No one had said that she was. Ted rapidly made up for the omission. “What else would you call yourself when Wyeth is out of control, acting out all over the place, and your response is to go out and buy him a new car? And a new computer? And God only knows what else by now? Meshugass!"
    “Someone has to do something to compensate for what a cold, selfish son of a bitch he has for a father,” Johanna said.
    “This meeting,” Rita said, “is about the family as whole. We are going to—”
    “Rita,” said Caprice, “let’s cut the crap. We’re here because Wyeth is dangerous, okay? He tries to kill people. With my mother, he succeeded. With Ted and me, he failed.”
    Barbara stood up. “I understand that the intention is to avoid focusing on one person,” she said with dignity. “To address the system. But Caprice has a point. After all, no one else has made a suicide attempt, and it’s plainly true that Ted and Caprice were injured as a direct result of Wyeth’s actions, as was Dolfo.”
    “Leave the goddamned dog out of it,” Wyeth said. “Barbara,” said George, “is fair and sympathetic almost to a fault. If she’s suggesting that we deal straightforwardly and directly with a troubled young man, we need to listen to her.”
    “And so we will,” said Rita. “But at the—”
    “This so-called meeting is degenerating into a melee,” said Dr. Needleman. “I find it highly unprofessional.”
    “Shut up!” Caprice told her. “Who are you to talk about other people being unprofessional? First of all, you look professional all right! You look like a, uh, a harlot! A, uh, demi-mondaine! And what did you ever do to help my mother? Did you ever try to get her off all those prescription drugs? You did not! You prescribed and prescribed and prescribed, and if she hadn’t been pumped full of...” Here, Caprice broke off and began to sob. Monty wrapped an arm over her shoulders. I could see that he was speaking to her.
    “What did I tell you?” Johanna said. “Psychocrap!“
    “Johanna,” Monty said, “you’re awfully eager to lay the blame for Eumie’s death on anyone except yourself, aren’t you? Well, I know better. Your rage and your bitterness—“
    “Who really