{"id":5862,"date":"2026-01-04T12:22:58","date_gmt":"2026-01-04T12:22:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/flesh-and-blood-kellerman-jonathan\/"},"modified":"2026-01-04T12:22:58","modified_gmt":"2026-01-04T12:22:58","slug":"flesh-and-blood-kellerman-jonathan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/flesh-and-blood-kellerman-jonathan\/","title":{"rendered":"Flesh and Blood – Kellerman, Jonathan"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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CHAPTER<\/p>\n

1<\/p>\n

SAD TRUTH<\/small>: Had she been just a patient, I probably wouldn’t have remembered her.<\/p>\n

All those years listening, so many faces. There was a time I recalled every one of them. Forgetting comes with experience. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.<\/p>\n

Her mother phoned my service on a Saturday morning soon after New Year’s.<\/p>\n

\u201cA Mrs. Jane Abbot,\u201d said the operator. \u201cShe says her daughter’s an old patient. Lauren Teague.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jane Abbot’s name meant nothing to me, but Lauren Teague<\/em> sparked an uneasy nostalgia. It was an 818 number, somewhere in the Valley. When I’d known the family they’d lived in West L.A. I searched my old case files before returning the call.<\/p>\n

Teague, Lauren Lee.<\/em> Intake date, ten years ago, the tail end of my Wilshire Boulevard practice. Shortly after, I cashed in some real estate profits, tried to drop out, met a beautiful woman, became friends with a sad, brilliant detective, learned more than I wanted to know about bad things. Since then I’d avoided the commitment of long-term therapy cases, stuck to court consults and forensic work, the kinds of puzzles that removed me from the confines of my office.<\/p>\n

Lauren had been fifteen at referral. Thin file: one history-taking meeting with the parents followed by two sessions with the girl. Then a missed appointment, no explanation. The next day the father left a message canceling any future treatment. Unpaid balance for the final session; I’d made a halfhearted effort to collect, then written it off.<\/p>\n

When old patients get in touch it’s usually because they’re doing great and want to brag, or exactly the opposite. Either way they tend to be people with whom I’ve connected. Lauren Teague didn’t qualify. Far from it. If anything, I was the last person she’d want to see. Why was her mother contacting me now?<\/p>\n

Presenting problems: poor school achiev., noncompliance at home. Clin. impressions: fath. angry; moth. possib. deprssd. Tension bet. moth. and father\u2014marital strss? Parents agree re: Lauren’s behavior as the prim. prob. Uneventful birth hx, only child, no sig. health probs., contact pediatric M.D. to verify. School: per Mom: \u201cLauren’s always been smart.\u201d \u201cUsed to love to read, now hates it.\u201d B<\/em>2 aver. till last year, then \u201cchange of attitude,\u201d new friends\u2014\u201cbums\u201d (fath.), some truancy, C’s and D’s. Basic mood is \u201csullen.\u201d \u201cNo communic.\u201d Parents try to talk, get no resp. Suspect drug use.<\/em><\/p>\n

As I leafed through the file, Jane and Lyle Teague’s faces came into semifocus. She, thin, blond, edgy, a former flight attendant, now a \u201cfull-time mom.\u201d A heavy smoker\u2014forty-five minutes without tobacco had been torture.<\/p>\n

Lauren’s father had been slit-eyed, blank-faced, reluctant to engage. His wife had talked fast . . . nervous hands, moist eyes. When she’d looked to him for support, he’d turned away.<\/p>\n

They were both thirty-nine, but he looked older. . . . He’d done something in the building trades . . . here it was, elect. contractr<\/em>. A powerful-looking man, fighting the advent of middle age with long hair, sprayed in place, that fringed his shoulders. Black pelt of beard. Muscles made obvious by a too-tight polo shirt and pressed jeans. Crude but well-balanced features . . . gold chain circling a ruddy neck . . . gold I.D. bracelet\u2014how did I remember that? Put him in buckskins and he could’ve been a grizzly hunter.<\/p>\n

Lyle Teague had sat with his legs spread wide, consulted his watch every few minutes, fondled his beeper as if hoping for intrusion. Unable to maintain eye contact\u2014lapsing into dreamy stares. That had made me wonder about attention deficit, something he might’ve passed on to Lauren. But when I raised the topic of academic testing, he didn’t stir defensively, and his wife said Lauren had been examined two years before by a school psychologist and found to be \u201cnormal and extremely bright.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBright,\u201d he said, putting no praise into the word. \u201cNothing wrong with her brain that a little discipline won’t cure.\u201d Accusing glance at his wife.<\/p>\n

Her mouth twisted, but she said, \u201cThat’s what we’re here to learn.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lyle Teague smirked.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cMr. Teague, do you think anything else is going on, besides Lauren’s being spoiled?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNah, basic teenage garbage.\u201d Another look at his wife, this time seeking confirmation.<\/p>\n

She said, \u201cLauren’s a good girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lyle Teague laughed threateningly. \u201cThen why the hell are we here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHoney\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, yeah, fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

He tried to tune out, but I stuck with him, finally got him talking about Lauren, how different she was from the \u201ccute little kid\u201d he’d once taken to job sites in his truck. As he reminisced, his face darkened and his speech got choppy, and by the end of the speech he pronounced his daughter \u201ca real hassle. Hope to hell you can do something with her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Two days later Lauren showed up in my waiting room, alone, five minutes late. A tall, slender, conspicuously busted, brown-haired girl, treated kindly by puberty.<\/p>\n

Fifteen, but she could’ve passed for twenty. She wore a white jersey tank top, skimpy, snug blue-denim shorts, and ludicrously high-heeled white sandals. Smooth, tan arms and long, tan legs were showcased by the minimal clothing. Pink-polished toes glinted at the tips of her sandals. The strap of a small black patent leather purse striped a bare shoulder. If she’d been studying the hookers on Sunset for fashion tips, she’d learned well.<\/p>\n

When young girls flaunt, the result is often a comic loss of equilibrium. Lauren Teague seemed perfectly at ease advertising her body\u2014like father, like daughter?<\/p>\n

She favored her father in coloring, her mother in structure, but bore no striking resemblance to either. The brown hair was burnt umber sparked with rust, thick and straight, hanging halfway down her back, parted dead center and flipped into extravagant wings at the temples. High cheekbones, wide mouth glossed pink, dominant but perfectly proportioned cleft chin, heavily lined, azure-shadowed blue eyes\u2014mocking eyes. A strong, straight, uptilted nose was dashed by freckles she’d tried to obliterate with makeup. Lots of makeup. It stuccoed her from brow to jaw, creating a too-beige mask.<\/p>\n

As I introduced myself she breezed past me into the office, taking long, easy strides on the impossible heels. None of the usual teenage slump\u2014she held her back straight, thrust out her chest. A strikingly good-looking girl, made less attractive by cosmetics and blatancy.<\/p>\n

Selecting the chair closest to mine, she sat down as if she’d been there a hundred times before. \u201cCool furniture.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike one of those libraries in an old movie.\u201d She batted her lashes, crossed and recrossed her legs, threw out her chest again, yawned, stretched, folded her arms across her torso, dropped them to her sides suddenly, a cartoon of vulnerability.<\/p>\n

I asked why she thought she was there.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy parents think I’m a loser.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA loser.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYup.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you think of that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Derisive laugh, toss of hair. Her tongue tip skated across her lower lip. \u201cMay-be<\/em>.\u201d Shrug. Yawn. \u201cSo . . . time to talk about my head problems, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jane and Lyle Teague had denied previous therapy, but Lauren’s glibness made me wonder. I asked her about it.<\/p>\n

\u201cNope, never. The school counselor tried to talk to me a couple of times.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy grades.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid it help?\u201d<\/p>\n

She laughed. \u201cYeah, right. Okay, ready for my neurosis?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNeurosis,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have psych this year. Stupid class. Ready?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure. I mean\u2014that’s the point, right? I’m supposed to spit out all my deep, dark secrets.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt’s not a matter of supposed to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, I know,\u201d she said. \u201cThat’s what shrinks always say\u2014no one’s gonna force you to do anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know about shrinks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know enough. Some of my friends have seen ’em. One of them had a shrink give her that shi\u2014That stuff about never forcing her, then the next week he committed her to a mental ward.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe tried to kill herself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSounds like a good reason,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Shrug.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow’s your friend doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFine\u2014like you really care.\u201d Her eyes rolled.<\/p>\n

I said nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat, too,\u201d she said. \u201cThat’s the other shrink thing\u2014just sitting there and staring. Saying \u2018Ah-ah’ and \u2018Uh-huh.’ Answering questions with questions. Right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUh-huh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery funny,\u201d she said. \u201cAt what you charge, I’m not coming here forever. And he’s<\/em> probably gonna call to make sure I showed up and did a good job so let’s get going.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDad’s in a hurry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. So give me a good grade, okay? Tell him I was good\u2014I don’t need any more hassles.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI’ll tell him you cooperated\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTell him whatever you want.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I’m not going to get into details, because\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cConfidentiality, yeah, yeah. It doesn’t matter. Tell them anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo secrets from Mom and Dad?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat for?\u201d She played with her hair, gave a world-weary smile. \u201cI’ve got no cool secrets anyway. Totally boring life. Too bad for you\u2014try not to fall asleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo,\u201d I said, \u201cyour dad wants you to get this over with quickly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever.\u201d She picked at her hair.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat exactly did he tell you to accomplish here, Lauren?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet my act together, be straight\u2014be a good<\/em> girl.\u201d She laughed, arced one leg over the other, placed a hand on a calf and tickled.<\/p>\n

\u201cBe straight,\u201d I said. \u201cAs in drugs?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey’re paranoid about that, along with everything else. Even though they smoke.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey smoke dope?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDope, tobacco. Little after-dinner taste. Sometimes it’s booze\u2014cocktails<\/em>. \u2018We’re mature enough to control it, Lauren.’\u2009\u201d She laughed. \u201cJane used to be a stewardess<\/em>, working all these fancy private charters. They’ve still got this collection of tiny little bottles. I like the green melon stuff\u2014Midori. But I’m not allowed to touch pot till I’m eighteen.\u201d She laughed. \u201cLike I’d ever<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPot’s not for you?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cPot’s boring\u2014too slow. Like hey, man, let’s pretend we’re in the sixties, get all wasted and sit around staring at the sky and talking about God.\u201d Another gust of laughter, painfully lacking in joy. \u201cPot sure makes them<\/em> boring. It’s the only time she slows down<\/em>. And he<\/em> just sits and vegges on the TV, munches nachos, whatever. I’m not supposed to be talking about their bad habits, I’m the one who needs to change.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChange how?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cClean my room<\/em>,\u201d she singsonged. \u201cDo my chores, get ready in the morning<\/em> without calling my mom a bitch, stop saying \u2018fuck’ and \u2018shit’ and \u2018cunt.’ Go to class and pay attention, build up my grades<\/em>, stop breaking curfew<\/em>, hang out with decent<\/em> friends, not low-lifes.\u201d She rotated one hand, as if spooling thread.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I’m supposed to get you to do all that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLyle says no way, you never will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLyle.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes got merry. \u201cThat’s something else I’m supposed to not do. Call him by his name. He hates it, it drives him crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo no way you’ll stop.\u201d<\/p>\n

She played with her hair. \u201cWho knows what I’ll do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow does he react when you do things that irritate him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIgnores me. Walks away and gets involved in something else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe has hobbies?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHim? Only thing he does is work, eat, smoke dope, stuff his face, watch TV. He has no faith in me. In you, either.\u201d Conspiratorial smile. \u201cHe says shrinks are just a bunch of overpaid clowns who can’t screw in a lightbulb by themselves and I’m gonna just end up conning you like I con everybody. He’s only paying for this because Jane’s really getting on his nerves with all her nagging.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom has more faith in shrinks?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom’s totally worried<\/em>,\u201d she said. \u201cMom likes to suffer<\/em>. They’re\u2014 Here’s a juicy one for you: They only got married ’cause they had<\/em> to. One day I was looking for a bra in Jane’s drawer and I found their wedding license. Two months before<\/em> my birthday. I was conceived in sin. What do you think of that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it a big deal to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just think it’s funny.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow so?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHere they are being all moral and . . . whatever.\u201d Lifting the tiny black purse, she undid the clasp, peered inside, snapped it shut.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom likes to suffer,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, she hates her life. She used to work private charters, fly all around the world with superrich people. She regrets ever coming down to earth.\u201d She shifted to the edge of the chair. \u201cHow much longer do I have to be here?\u201d<\/p>\n

Rather than pick apart the fine points of free choice, I said, \u201cHalf an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n

Opening the purse again, she pulled out a compact, checked her reflection, plucked an eyelash and flicked it away.<\/p>\n

\u201cHalf an hour,\u201d she said. \u201cNo way do I have half an hour of problems\u2014want to hear all of them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n

She launched into a long, droning speech about stupid girlfriends getting on her case, stupid ex-boyfriends foolish enough to think they were still in her good graces, stupid teachers who didn’t know anything more than the students, stupid parties, a stupid world.<\/p>\n

Talking nonstop in the flat tones of a rehearsed witness, looking everywhere but at me.<\/p>\n

When she was through I said, \u201cSo everyone’s getting on your nerves.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou’ve got that right. . . . How much longer now<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwenty-five minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShit. That much? You should have a clock up there. So people can keep track.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUsually people don’t want to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey don’t want to be distracted.\u201d<\/p>\n

She favored me with a bitter smile, scooted forward on the chair. \u201cWell, I<\/em> want to leave early. Okay? Just today. Please. I’ve got some people waiting for me, and I need to get home by five-thirty or Jane and Lyle’re gonna freak out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople waiting for what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFun.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFriends are picking you up.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI told them to meet me a block from here. So can I go<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLauren, I’m not forcing you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut if I split early you’ll fink, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook,\u201d I said, \u201cit’s a matter of twenty minutes. As long as you’re here, why not make good use of the time?\u201d<\/p>\n

I expected protest, but she sat there, pouting. \u201cThat’s not fair. I told you everything. There’s nothing wrong with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m not saying there is, Lauren.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what’s the point?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI’d like to learn more about you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI’m not worth learning about, okay? My life’s boring, I already told you that.\u201d She ran her hands over her torso. \u201cThis is it, all of me, nothing exciting.\u201d<\/p>\n

I let several seconds pass. \u201cLauren, is everything really going as well as it could for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

She studied me from under grainy, black lashes, reached into the purse again, and extricated a pack of Virginia Slims.<\/p>\n

When she produced a lighter, I shook my head.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, c’mon.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow can you do that? People coming here all stressed out. Don’t they complain\u2014wasn’t Jane<\/em> climbing the walls? She’s a chimney<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMostly I see kids and teens,\u201d I said. \u201cPeople manage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKids and teens<\/em>.\u201d She gave a short, cold laugh. \u201cEvery teen I know smokes. Are you allergic or something?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSome of my patients are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo why does everyone have to suffer because of a few? That’s not democracy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt’s consideration,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cFine.\u201d<\/em> She jammed the pack back into the purse. \u201cHow much time left now<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Book Preview CHAPTER 1 SAD TRUTH: Had she been just a patient, I probably wouldn’t have remembered her. All those years listening, so many faces. There was a time I recalled every one of them. Forgetting comes with experience. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. Her mother phoned my service on … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5861,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[402],"class_list":["post-5862","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-jonathan-kellerman"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5862","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5862"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5862\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5861"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5862"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5862"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5862"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}