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group?"
    Like hell I was going to discuss it with the whole group. "Not really," I replied as nonchalantly as possible. "I was waiting up to talk with Joey, but he never came in."
    Kelly swung her head around and stared at me in disbelief. "Why don't you tell them the truth, Daddy?" she blurted passionately. "Why don't you tell them that you were mad at Joey because he's a really awesome guy? You caught us kissing and jumped to all kinds of terrible conclusions. You acted like I was a stupid two-year-old or something. I've never been so embarrassed in my whole life." With that, she burst into tears.
    Her frontal attack left me with no line of retreat. Everyone looked at me. Glared is more like it. I felt like I was totally alone, standing naked at center stage under the glare of an immense spotlight with every flaw and defect fully exposed. I waited, hoping a hole would open in the floor and swallow me, but just when I was at my lowest ebb, help came from a totally unexpected quarter.
    Scott, sitting on the other side of Kelly, leaned back in his chair far enough to catch my eye behind the back of his sister's head. He winked at me as if to say "It's okay, Pop. I've seen these kinds of fireworks before. Hang on; it'll pass."
    For the first time in years, I could feel that ineffable bond of kinship flowing back and forth between my son and me. It lanced across the room like a ray of brilliant sunshine, giving me something to cling to, putting a lump in my throat.
    "Is that true, Beau?" Burton Joe asked.
    That blinding sense of renewed connection with Scott left me too choked up to answer. I nodded helplessly. Misreading the cause of my emotional turmoil, Burton Joe nodded too, an understanding, encouraging nod. As far as he was concerned, my uncontrolled show of emotion demonstrated a sudden breakthrough in treatment.
    "Just go with it," Burton Joe said solicitously. "Let it flow."
    Other words of reassurance and support came from around the circle. Ed Sample, sitting next to me, gave the top of my thigh a comforting, open-handed whack. I couldn't explain to any of them what had really happened. Talking about it would have trivialized it somehow, when all I really wanted to do was grab Scott in my arms and crush him against my chest. But that didn't happen, either.
    The outside door opened. Everyone shifted slightly in their seats, disturbed by the sudden intrusion into the privacy of the session. This time, instead of Nina or Louise Crenshaw, Calvin Crenshaw himself stood in the doorway.
    "Sorry to disturb you, Burton," he said slowly, "but I need to speak to Mr. Beaumont."
    Burton Joe nodded. "All right," he said. "You can go, Beau."
    We were all used to Louise popping in and out, but for Calvin Crenshaw to interrupt a group was unusual to begin with. Beyond that, and despite an apparent effort to maintain control, it was clear to me that something was dreadfully wrong. Calvin Crenshaw's complexion was generally on the florid side. Now his skin was livid—his cheeks a pasty shade of gray and his full lips white instead of pink.
    I got up quickly and followed him from the room. I waited until he had closed the door to the portable before I spoke.
    "What's wrong?" I asked.
    Before the session started, I had been ready to tear into the deputy for putting me off, for not calling me in to talk to him as soon as he arrived at Ironwood Ranch, but the emotional roller-coaster of the past few minutes had left me hollow and drained. I didn't want to fight anymore, but I did want to know what was going on. Calvin didn't answer right away. He seemed to be having some difficulty in making his lips work.
    "Where's the deputy?" I asked. "I know he showed up, but I still haven't seen him."
    "Up there," Calvin croaked, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the path that detoured around the ranch house and led up to the parking lot. He swallowed then, as if recovering control of his voice. "Where are your car keys, Mr. Beaumont?" he