“I should think that you would know by now that I would never deliberately place you in harm’s way,” I added.
“Deliberately is right. Maybe you’re into something you don’t know about,” he said. “When was the last time you had a radioactive case?”
“in the first place,” I explained, “the case itself is not radioactive, only some microscopic debris associated with it is. And secondly, I do know about radioactivity. I know about X-rays, MRIs and isotopes like cobalt, iodine and technetium that are used to treat cancer. Physicians learn about a lot of things, including radiation sickness. Would you please slow down and choose a lane?”
I stared at him with growing alarm as he eased up on the accelerator. Sweat was beaded on top of his head and rolling down his temples, his face dark red. With jaw muscles clenched, he gripped the steering wheel hard, his breathing labored.
“Pull over,” I demanded.
He did not respond.
“Marino, pull over. Now,” I repeated in a tone he knew not to resist.
The shoulder was wide and paved on this stretch of 64, and without a word I got out and walked around to his side of the car. I motioned with my thumb for him to get out, and he did. The back of his uniform was soaking wet and I could see the outline of his undershirt through it.
“I think I must be getting the flu,” he said.
I adjusted the seat and mirrors.
., I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He mopped his face with a handkerchief.
“You’re having a panic attack,” I said. “Take deep breaths and try to calm down. Bend over and touch your toes. Go limp, relax.”
“Anybody sees you driving a city car, my ass is on report,” he said, pulling the shoulder harness across his chest.
“Right now the city should be grateful that you’re not driving anything,” I said. “You shouldn’t be operating any machinery at this moment. In fact, you should probably be sitting in a psychiatrist’s office.” I looked over at him and sensed his shame.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he mumbled, staring out his window.
“Are you still upset about Doris?”
“I don’t know if I ever told you about one of the last big fights she and I had before she left.” He mopped his face again. “It was about these damn dishes she got at a yard sale. I mean, she’d been thinking about getting new dishes for a long firne, right? And I come home from work one night and here’s this big set of blaze orange dishes spread out on the dining-room table.” He looked at me.
“You ever heard of Fiesta Ware?”
“Vaguely.”
“Well, there was something in the glaze of this particular line that I come to find out will set a Geiger counter off.”
” It doesn’t take much radioactivity to set a Geiger counter off.” I made that point again.
“Well, there’d been stories written about the stuff, which had been taken off the market,” he went on. “Doris wouldn’t listen. She thought I was overreacting.”
“And you probably were.”
“Look, people are phobic of all kinds of things. Me, it’s radiation. You know how much I hate even being in the X-ray room with you, and when I turn on the microwave, I leave the kitchen. So I packed up all the dishes and dumped them without telling her where.”
He got quiet and wiped his face again. He cleared his throat several times.
Then he said, “A month later she left.”
“Listen,” I softened my voice, “I wouldn’t want to eat off those dishes, either. Even though I know better. I understand fear, and fear isn’t always rationales’
“Yeah, Doc, well maybe in my case it is.” He opened his window a crack. “I’m afraid of dying. Every morning I get up and think about it, if you want to know. Every day I think I’m going to stroke out or be told I got cancer. I dread going to bed because I’m afraid I’ll die in my sleep.”
He paused, and it was with great difficulty that he added, “That’s the real reason Molly stopped seeing me, if you want to know.”