In the Water
By Katherine Mankiller
Yvonne looked up from her monitor, the beads in her cornrows clattering as Roger walked into her office.
Roger sat in the dark wooden chair opposite her desk. “Weren’t you assigned Alice van Buuren?”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Yvonne said. “You can’t have her.” Yvonne hadn’t been assigned Alice; she’d requested her. Alice was probably the only murder victim’s wife she would ever meet. They hadn’t even put the murder in the papers. Maybe they thought there’d be a panic.
“Please,” Roger said. “I’m just trying to save you some trouble. I’ve already spoken to her, and…”
Yvonne crossed her arms and glared. “Wouldn’t you raise hell if I talked to one of your patients behind your back?”
“She’s refusing modern therapy. What are you going to do, use the old-fashioned techniques your grandmother used?”
Roger had a lot of nerve mentioning Grandma. Yvonne glanced at the photo on the corner of her desk. Grandma Jackson had been a big woman, with braids down to her hips and skin like chocolate. Grandma Jackson smiled back at the camera, all reassuring good nature.
Roger said, “I think we should just wipe her and have done with it.”
“Too bad she’s not your patient,” Yvonne said.