Robert sat in the waiting room with Cleo. From the fourth story window he could see the Gulf. Cleo could see it too. She had her face pressed against the glass. “Can we go to the beach after Mama get’s done with the doctor?”

“No we can’t. Mama is tired we have to go home.” Fortunately Cleo didn’t argue the point. She came and sat down beside him and pulled her sketch book and markers out of her tote bag. With her usual concentration, she began to draw. Her markers squeaked across the page. Over and over during the past few weeks, she had been drawing and redrawing pictures of an underwater castle. It was unnerving. He took a quick peek at what she was drawing. Relief flooded him, it was just another portrait of Whaley. He glanced at his watch. The forty-five minute session was almost over. This was Sophia’s first time to speak to a therapist. She had been really nervous. The last thing he had wanted to do was accompany her to this sort of place. As a child he had often been entertained by the receptionist while his mother went through a heavy session. On lighter days, he went into the room with her and played with cars and stuffed animals while his mother quietly talked. About what? He had no memory. Once again he reminded himself, “Sophia isn’t like Mom.”

The door to the offices opened and Sophia stepped out. Her eyes were a bit red rimmed, but her nose wasn’t red, so at least she hadn’t been sobbing or anything. The petite therapist smiled at him and then told Sophia, “If you have any questions, call.”

Sophia nodded and paid for her session.

In the car, Cleo asked, “Did you get a shot Mama?”

“No Sweetie, no shot.”

“Ohh, that’s a relief. I hate shots. They sting.”

In his head, Robert thought, “If only there was a shot for this.” He wasn’t sure exactly what this was. He was not yet at a place where he could admit his wife had some sort of mental illness. He glanced up into the review mirror at Cleo. Her face was turned toward the window. With her gene pool, what troubles might reside in her young mind? It was a scary thought.

Back at the apartment, Sophia went to their room and closed the door. She hadn’t said a single word on the way home. When Cleo spoke to her, she would give her a weary smile. Since the incident, she hadn’t been sleeping very well.

From the kitchen Cleo called, “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

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He went to the pantry and opened it. Sophia looked at the row of snacks. She said, “I want chocolate chip cookies, but we don’t have any.”

“Pick something else.”

She frowned and asked, “Do we have any krill?”

“Uh, no.”

“I bet you got some at school. Go get it. Whaley told me it was really good.”

Sometimes his child’s imagination was worrisome. Every toy she owned had a distinct personality and specific tastes. Even her toy cars came with fully formed issues and dislikes. He said, “Whales like krill. People have to peel them because their exoskeleton’s are toxic. So, no, I’m not peeling krill for you. I might not do a good job and you’d get sick.”

“How come Whaley don’t get sick?”

Robert wanted to shout, “BECAUSE HE’S NOT REAL!” Such a declaration would end badly. To Cleo, Whaley was as real as Santa Claus. Patiently he said, “Because the toxins don’t hurt whales’ tummies.”

“Oh, okay. Guess I will just have toast with blueberry jelly.”

That was easy enough and something he could actually make. “Will do.”

“Thanks Daddy.” Cleo spun around, headed down the hall and disappeared behind her curtain. When the toast was ready he took it to her. She had her sketch pad out and was once again drawing a sea castle. Whaley was swimming in the background, In front of the sea castle were three girls. He didn’t ask who they were. He knew, it was Cleo, Sophia and Sophia’s mother. All he said was, “Here is your toast.”

She looked up from her drawing and said, “Just put it on the floor.”

He put the plate on the floor and left quickly. He wasn’t superstitious, he didn’t believe in God, but he felt like some evil was seeping into his family. How could he protect them? He shook his head, he was being silly and paranoid. The logical thing to do was to face this straight on. He turned around and pushed open Cleo’s curtain.

She looked up from her drawing and asked, “What is it Daddy?”

He pointed at the picture. “Who are the people in your drawing?”

“Oh.” With a smile she said, “The one in pink is Mama. The one in red is your mama and the third one is the Sea Lady.”

Cold fear swept over Robert. His mother had been found in a red dress when she over dosed. He fought to keep his voice steady as he asked, “Why is she wearing red?”

“Cause its her favorite color and she looks pretty in it.”

It had been his mother’s favorite color. “How do you know its her favorite color?”

Cleo cocked her head and thought for a moment before she said, “Cause she wears that color a lot in the box of pictures.”

“What box of pictures?”

“The one Pawpaw hides in his shed.”

Unable to respond, Robert stood frozen staring down at his child. Children were more resourceful and capable than adults gave them credit for. “Does Pawpaw know you look at his pictures.”

She nodded affirmatively.

Why would his father share those photos with Cleo?

Aloud Cleo answered his question. “Pawpaw thinks I’m pretty like she was.”

Never before had Robert allowed himself to see the resemblance between his child and his mother. Now, he couldn’t deny it or unsee it.

Cleo asked, “Daddy are you okay? You look scared.”