MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 19

“Personal relationships.” Sarah let the phrase hang in the air while she looked from one member of the group to the other. In his wheelchair, Will Ellis stared at his knees. He was without prosthetics this session. Clare Fergusson sank lower in her seat and examined the ring she wore on her right hand. She buffed it against her short-sleeved black blouse. Tally McNabb lifted her hair away from the back of her neck and sighed.

They were having a spell of Indian summer on their third session, and the eighty-degree temperature would have been welcome, if the community center had better ventilation. Sarah could see, from the row of damp swimming suits and towels, how the preschool had escaped the heat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t move her therapy group to the kiddie pools in the playground.

“It’s a well-known phenomenon that a child who has been well behaved and cheerful at day care or on a play date will fall apart into tears and tantrums at home. Why? The child bottles up any negative emotions during the day and lets them all out with his or her parents.” Eric McCrea and Trip Stillman were nodding. “Even familiar caretakers and friends might not be safe—but parents can be relied upon to still love the child no matter how badly he or she behaves.”

Will Ellis absently kneaded his thigh muscles. His disengagement worried her. It might be time to refer him to more one-on-one care.

“As adults,” she continued, “we carry on these same patterns. We unload our baggage on our partners or family members because we learned as kids that it’s safe to do so. The problem is, of course, that we’re not kids anymore. We’re not dealing with all-powerful, all-forgiving parents, either.”

Clare Fergusson shot a glance at Will Ellis. He looked at her and shifted in his seat. Sarah realized Will was, in fact, still dealing with his parents. Better cut the metaphor short.

“Let’s talk about how we’re dealing with our loved ones.”