Saving Elijah

right now."
    "Sam, I am not crazy."
    He sighed. "I just think you should talk to somebody besides me."
    "I don't need a psychiatrist."
    "Dinah, I'm sorry, but I think you do. You tell me you're being haunted by a ghost, and you expect me to just believe you?"
    "Maybe it's you who needs the psychiatrist, Sam. You are so intent on calling me crazy, you don't even see what's been happening with your son."
    "Which son?" I could hear phones ringing in the background. Must be calling me from his client's office.
    "Elijah. How can you not have noticed the things he says, what he's suddenly interested in. It's like something's changed in him."
    "He's happier, less scared of the world. Smarter, maybe. What's bad about that?"
    "How can you be so complacent? Sam, you told me yourself he said he could see God by listening for Him."
    "So? Kids say all kinds of things. And what does this have to do with this ghost you're telling me about, anyway?"
    "I don't really know, Sam. I just thought you would help me."
    "Help you? I don't know what to do."
    "Neither do I, Sam."
    "So maybe you should talk to someone who does."
    Who? Ghostbusters? "I'll see you tonight, Sam. When do you get in?"
    "I land at six. I'll be there around seven. We have the party, remember?"
    Right. I'd completely forgotten Becky and Mark had invited us to Mark's forty-seventh birthday party that night.
    "I remember." I hung up before he could tell me he loved me, which I didn't want to hear.

    *    *    *

    As we were dressing for the party that evening, he brought up the psychiatrist again.
    "You know, Sam," I said, slipping a silk blouse over my head, "your concern about my seeing a doctor is touching, but you haven't even asked if I've called David Selson for Elijah."
    He was pulling on a pair of pants. "You're the one who wanted a second opinion."
    "You don't?"
    "Frankly, I trust Moore. I think he's being cautious, and that's probably good." He began buttoning his shirt.
    "And you like him?"
    "Not particularly. He's not the friendliest guy in the world, but who cares? Besides, we have opinions from Moore and both of his colleagues."
    "How do you know they even agree?"
    Sam's hands dropped to his sides. "What makes you think they don't?"
    It wasn't something I could explain to him. "Well," I said, "if they don't agree, they're discussing their disagreement behind closed doors. And we'll never know. Will we?"
    "I think you think too much, Dinah."
    I thought the way my mind worked was part of what he loved about me.
    "You want everything in life to be perfect," my husband said, "including the people in it. Including yourself. And if it isn't perfect, you think you can will it to be perfect. Or analyze it into perfection."
    I grabbed my purse. "I just want my baby to be okay."
    He grabbed my shoulders, looked me square in the face. "Elijah is fine."
    "Who wants everything perfect now? Pretending doesn't make it so."
    "Dinah, I just think this ghost business is coming from deep in your mind, maybe as a way to help you find a reason for your continued pain. Anxiety. Whatever it is."
    "Please, Sam. Spare me the amateur analysis, would you? We could lose him, and you seem entirely too complacent about it."
    "And you seem entirely too hysterical. We are not going to lose him."

    *    *    *

    Becky greeted us at the door of her dramatic, contemporary home. She was wearing drama, too, deep red lipstick, pale white makeup that set off her shining black hair. And the black slip dress from Henry Lehr.
    "Come in, come in." She kissed us and I looked through the two-story foyer into the living room, to a party already well under way. She had lit candles everywhere, adding to the romance and atmosphere. I was in no mood for a party.
    "You look wonderful, honey," Becky said.
    "Thanks." I didn't feel wonderful.
    "Hey, what about me?" Sam whipped off his glasses and struck a pose. "Don't I look wonderful, too?"
    She sidled up to him, batted her eyes. "Baby, do you."
    This little pseudoflirtatious exchange was typical for the two of them, but that night it irritated me. Maybe it was because Sam was so damned self-possessed. After all, we'd just had an argument that for us was major, and arguments were getting to be a habit.
    I was determined to act uncrazy. I kissed Mark when he came over, vowing that I would never say a word about his failure to show up at the hospital except that one brief uncomfortable time, instead talked to him about a case he was working on. I took