Safe Harbour

“What do you like to do?” he asked with interest, glancing over at her from time to time. Most of the time he talked while he painted, and Ophélie liked that. They could talk to each other without her feeling overly focused on or scrutinized. It was almost like therapy as she opened up to him, just as Pip did.

“You know, it's embarrassing, but I'm not sure. I haven't done anything for myself, or that I wanted to do, in such a long time. I was always busy with my children and my husband. And Pip seems to need me much less than Ted and Chad did.”

“Don't be so sure,” Matt said quietly. He wanted to tell her that the child was obviously lonely, but he didn't. “What about some kind of volunteer work?” It was obvious from the house they were renting, and the fact that her husband had flown his own plane, that she didn't need the money.

“I've been thinking about that,” she said, looking pensive.

“I used to teach a drawing class in a mental hospital. It was wonderful. One of the best things I've ever done. They taught me more than I taught them, about life, and patience, and courage. They were terrific people. I stopped doing it when I moved here.” It was more complicated than that, he had stopped when he had been overwhelmed by depression himself, when he stopped seeing his children. And by the time he'd come out of it, or felt better at least, he was happier here alone, and rarely went into the city.

“People with mental illnesses are sometimes extraordinary people,” she said softly, and the way she said it made him turn to look at her. He could see instantly in her eyes that she knew more than a little about what she was saying. Their eyes met, and then he turned back to his painting. He was suddenly afraid to ask her why she had said it, but she sensed his question.

“My son was manic-depressive… bipolar…it was a struggle for him, but he was very brave. He tried to commit suicide twice in the year before he died.” It was an enormous gesture of trust that she had shared that with him, but she knew from what she had seen of him with Pip that he was compassionate and understanding.

“Does Pip know that?” He looked shaken.

“Yes. It was very hard for her. I found him the first time, and she found him the second. It was very traumatic.”

“Poor kid… both of them… how did he do it?” His heart went out to her as he watched her and listened.

“The first time he slashed his wrists, and made a botch of it, thank God. The second he tried to hang himself, and Pip went into his room to ask him something, and she found him. He was already blue, and he had nearly done it. But she came and got me, we got him down, and his heart stopped. I kept him going with CPR until the paramedics came, and they saved him. They had to defibrillate him, and it was a close call, a very close call. It was terrifying.” She seemed almost breathless herself as she said it. The memory of it was still haunting. Even now sometimes, she had dreams about it. “He was doing much better when he died, which is why I had sent him to L.A. with his father that day. Ted had meetings, and I thought it would be fun for Chad to go with him. They didn't spend a lot of time together. Ted was very busy.” And had almost total denial about Chad's problems, although she didn't say that. Even after the suicide attempts, Ted steadfastly insisted it had been a play for attention, and not something far worse.

But Matt knew men, and children. “How did he relate to your son? Was it hard for him to accept his illness?”