CHAPTER 21

Dr. Mendel's office smelled excellent. Next to a stack of art books and a ceramic bowl full of smooth stones, the lemon oil diffuser sat on a side table. Angela had been coming here for six weeks, which was long enough for her to know that everything in the room had a purpose. The warm lighting was set up to soften the shadows, the comfortable chairs were angled so that they didn't feel like an interrogation, and the window looked out over a small garden where nothing had to bloom out of season.

Angela took her sketchbook with her this morning. Dr. Mendel never told her to bring it, but the therapist had said once that sometimes the hands knew things the mouth hadn't learned to speak yet. Angela had begun leaving the sketchbooks on the side table after sessions. Dr. Mendel would look through them carefully before giving them back, never saying anything about the pictures themselves but sometimes bringing up a specific drawing weeks later, as if the drawings were a language they were b