The Limits of Trust – The Land Without Mosquitos 8A

Dr. Patel leaned forward, arms resting across his desk. “Can I assume that you’ve told your mother . . .”“Yeah,” Jane realizing he was waiting for her to finish his thought. “The waking up one morning and finding out the world’s all different around me — yeah, I told her.”

“You obviously must trust her.”

Jane looked confused. “I have to. Not trusting her would be — crazy.”

Sumeet placed his hands down on the desk. “Interesting.” Jane stared back at him blankly. “But if I’ve correctly judged the tone of your voice just now, you’re not particularly thrilled about her upcoming visit.”

Jane shook her head. “No. Honestly, I’d rather she not come.”

Sumeet put his hands together, lightly. “Allow me to make an observation, Jane. You say you trust your mother, so much so that you’re able to confide in her — am I correct in assuming you haven’t told many people about your condition?”

“No. I mean yes — you’re right, I’m not going out to streetcorners or posting online about what’s happened.”

“I understand.” Sumeet contorted his face inquisitively, as if he were being pinched. “But here’s what I don’t understand. If you trust your mother, why don’t you want her nearby during this very troubling period for you?”

“Because.” Sumeet refrained from responding, sensing Jane had more to say. “Because, I need to figure out what’s going on. And to do that, I need some time, space of my own. Which isn’t going to happen, so long as she’s in town.”

Jane Summers turned her head to the left, towards the pair of tall bookcases in Dr. Patel’s office. Swiveling in his chair behind the large oak desk, Sumeet Patel watched Jane scan through his shelves; he liked to collect and display curiosities, finding their presence helped him relax. And over his years of practice, he’d also discovered they were a great benefit to his patients, or at least in his analysis and treatment of them.

Suddenly Jane stopped, her gaze focusing on the left bookcase; she pointed to third shelf. “Is that what I think it is?”

“The ball?” She nodded, her index finger making a line towards an orange, roughly spherical object, about the size of a fist. Sumeet flavored his reply with pleasure — “I believe you think correctly. Please, go on, pick it up.”

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