turned-down mouth, the sense of helplessness in the lack of hands or feet. The black hair surrounded her and reached her feet, Rapunzel-like, affording some protection from the outside world.
Across the page on the right-hand side, a much larger, menacing male figure was engaged in an act that made Claudia catch her breath. Annabelle had drawn her father pushing a car over the edge of a cliff.
Depicted from behind, he faced away from the viewer, a shocking portrayal of the rejection Annabelle felt by Dominic Giordano, whom the drawing showed she believed had turned away from her, both symbolically and literally.
Abruptly, Annabelle grabbed the drawing from Claudia’s hands and crushed it into a ball. “I hate him,” she said again with a vehemence that prickled the hair on Claudia’s arms. “I’m gonna get even with him. I swear I will.”
Chapter 9
Paige handed over a mug of good coffee. “So, how’d it go?”
Claudia took a grateful sip. She felt emotionally drained after her meeting with Annabelle. “Better than I expected. She’s agreed to try the graphotherapy program. I left her with some exercises to do.”
“But what did she tell you?”
“It’s a therapeutic relationship, Paige. She has to be able to trust me if she’s going to confide in me. I can’t give you details.”
Paige’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding, right? Did she say anything about me? Did she talk about Cruz?”
“No, I’m not kidding, and don’t ask me specific questions, because I won’t answer them. It would interfere with the therapy if she found out.”
“Who’s gonna tell her?”
“No, Paige,” Claudia said firmly. “I’m not going to share what she said to me.”
What Claudia had said wasn’t strictly true. As handwriting analysis was an unlicensed profession, she was not legally bound to confidentiality laws the way a therapist would be. But even with her assurance of privacy, Annabelle had begged her, “Don’t tell anyone! Promise you won’t tell anything I told you.”
What was I supposed to do? Claudia asked herself.
So Paige was royally pissed, but couldn’t very well refuse to let Annabelle work the program for a month’s trial. If the combination of hand movements and therapeutic music was going to help unlock the logjam of emotions, some initial signs should have appeared by then in her handwriting. At that time, they would reassess the situation.
The rain started up again as Claudia hurried out to the Jaguar. She had parked under a shedding jacaranda tree and the wet flowers made a purple mush under her feet. The wind buffeted her umbrella, and her sprint from the school’s portico left her soaked to the skin. Shivering, she turned on the heater and slid a Richard Elliott disk into the CD player.
The rain pelted the windshield in noisy sheets, mocking the wiper blades as she left the Sorensen Academy and turned onto Sunset. Any other day she would be admiring the mansions that lined the Boulevard. Today it was a challenge to see six feet in front of her. Worse, an overturned vehicle on the east side of the street kept the traffic at snail’s pace.
A mile from home the skies began to clear, and as she crossed Lincoln on Jefferson a double prism of color arced across the road ahead. The stunning beauty of it took her breath away. She started to reach for the cell phone. A rainbow that spectacular was meant to be shared.
Before she could dial, Jovanic’s special ring tone sounded.
“Hey, where are you?” he asked without preliminaries.
“Almost home. I’ve been over at the Sorensen Academy, getting to know my new graphotherapy student—”
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he interrupted.
“Oh, really? What were you thinking about?”
“How much I miss you.”
Claudia’s lips curved into a smile as she signaled left near the beach end of Jefferson and started driving up the hill. “So, tell me, Columbo, just how much do you miss me?”
“Mmmm, enough . .
Across the page on the right-hand side, a much larger, menacing male figure was engaged in an act that made Claudia catch her breath. Annabelle had drawn her father pushing a car over the edge of a cliff.
Depicted from behind, he faced away from the viewer, a shocking portrayal of the rejection Annabelle felt by Dominic Giordano, whom the drawing showed she believed had turned away from her, both symbolically and literally.
Abruptly, Annabelle grabbed the drawing from Claudia’s hands and crushed it into a ball. “I hate him,” she said again with a vehemence that prickled the hair on Claudia’s arms. “I’m gonna get even with him. I swear I will.”
Chapter 9
Paige handed over a mug of good coffee. “So, how’d it go?”
Claudia took a grateful sip. She felt emotionally drained after her meeting with Annabelle. “Better than I expected. She’s agreed to try the graphotherapy program. I left her with some exercises to do.”
“But what did she tell you?”
“It’s a therapeutic relationship, Paige. She has to be able to trust me if she’s going to confide in me. I can’t give you details.”
Paige’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding, right? Did she say anything about me? Did she talk about Cruz?”
“No, I’m not kidding, and don’t ask me specific questions, because I won’t answer them. It would interfere with the therapy if she found out.”
“Who’s gonna tell her?”
“No, Paige,” Claudia said firmly. “I’m not going to share what she said to me.”
What Claudia had said wasn’t strictly true. As handwriting analysis was an unlicensed profession, she was not legally bound to confidentiality laws the way a therapist would be. But even with her assurance of privacy, Annabelle had begged her, “Don’t tell anyone! Promise you won’t tell anything I told you.”
What was I supposed to do? Claudia asked herself.
So Paige was royally pissed, but couldn’t very well refuse to let Annabelle work the program for a month’s trial. If the combination of hand movements and therapeutic music was going to help unlock the logjam of emotions, some initial signs should have appeared by then in her handwriting. At that time, they would reassess the situation.
The rain started up again as Claudia hurried out to the Jaguar. She had parked under a shedding jacaranda tree and the wet flowers made a purple mush under her feet. The wind buffeted her umbrella, and her sprint from the school’s portico left her soaked to the skin. Shivering, she turned on the heater and slid a Richard Elliott disk into the CD player.
The rain pelted the windshield in noisy sheets, mocking the wiper blades as she left the Sorensen Academy and turned onto Sunset. Any other day she would be admiring the mansions that lined the Boulevard. Today it was a challenge to see six feet in front of her. Worse, an overturned vehicle on the east side of the street kept the traffic at snail’s pace.
A mile from home the skies began to clear, and as she crossed Lincoln on Jefferson a double prism of color arced across the road ahead. The stunning beauty of it took her breath away. She started to reach for the cell phone. A rainbow that spectacular was meant to be shared.
Before she could dial, Jovanic’s special ring tone sounded.
“Hey, where are you?” he asked without preliminaries.
“Almost home. I’ve been over at the Sorensen Academy, getting to know my new graphotherapy student—”
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he interrupted.
“Oh, really? What were you thinking about?”
“How much I miss you.”
Claudia’s lips curved into a smile as she signaled left near the beach end of Jefferson and started driving up the hill. “So, tell me, Columbo, just how much do you miss me?”
“Mmmm, enough . .
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