reassuring.
. . . Just be careful, okay? As if my saying it makes a difference.”
“It does. I promise.”
She sighed and put her head on my shoulder. We sat there without
talking.
“I’ll be careful,” I said. “I mean it. Old guys can’t afford to be
reckless.”
“Okay,” she said. A moment later: “So that’s why you’re down. I
thought it might be me.”
“You? Why?”
She shrugged. “The changes-everything that’s happened.”
“No way,” I said. “You’re the bright spot in my life.”
She moved closer and rested a hand on my chest. “What you said
before-the hospital being gloomy? I’ve always thought of hospitals
that way.”
“Western Peds was different, Rob. It used to be. . . vital.
Everything meshing together like this wonderful organic machine.”
“I’m sure it was, Alex,” she said softly. “But when you get down to
it, no matter how vital or caring a hospital is, it’s always going to
be a place of death, isn’t it? Mention the word hospital to me and
what comes to my mind is my dad. Lying there, all tubed and punctured
and helpless. Mom screaming for the nurse every time he moaned, no one
really caring. . . The fact that your place treats kids only makes it
worse, as far as I’m concerned. Cause what’s worse than suffering
kids? I never understood how you stayed there as long as you did.”
“You build up a shell,” I said. “Do your job, let in just enough
emotion so you can be useful to your patients. It’s like that old
toothpaste commercial. The invisible shield.”
“Maybe that’s what’s really bothering you, coming back after all these
years, and your shield’s gone.”
“You’re probably right.” I sounded glum.
“Some shrink I am,” she said.
“No, no. It’s good talking about it.”
She snuggled up against me. “You’re sweet to say so, whether it’s true
or not. And I’m glad you told me what’s on your mind. You never used
to talk much about your work. The few times I tried, you changed the
subject, so I could tell you weren’t comfortable with it and I never
pushed. I know part of it was confidentiality, but I really wasn’t
after gory details, Alex. I just wanted to know what you were going
through so I could support you. I guess you were protectingme.”
“Maybe I was,” I said. “But to tell the truth, I never really knew you
wanted to hear any of it.”
“Why’s that?”
“You always seemed more interested in-how can I say thisangles and
planes.”
She gave a small laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. I never was much for
touchy-feely. In fact, when we first met, the one thing that I wasn’t
sure I liked about you was that you were a psychologist. Not that it
stopped me from chasing you shamelessly, but it did surprise me-being
attracted to a shrink. I didn’t know a thing about psychology, never
even took a course in college. Probably because of Dad. He was always
making comments about crazy psychiatrists, crooked doctors. Going on
about how anyone who didn’t work with his hands couldn’t be trusted.
But as I got to know you and saw how serious you were about what you
did, I loosened up. Tried to learn-I even read some of your psych
books. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
She smiled. At night, in the library. I used to sneak in when you
were sleeping and I couldn’t. Schedules of Reinforcement. Cognitive
Theory. Pretty strange stuff for a woodchopper like me.”
“I never knew,” I said, amazed.
She shrugged. “I was. . . embarrassed. I don’t really know why.
Not that I was trying to be an expert or anything. Just wanted to be
closer to you. I’m sure I didn’t send out a clear message . . . not
sympathetic enough. I guess what I’m saying is, I hope we can continue
this way. letting each other in a little more.”
“Sure we can,” I said. “I never found you unsympathetic, just-”
“Preoccupied? Self-obsessed?”
She looked up at me with another chest-tightening smile. Big white
upper incisors. The ones I liked to lick.
“Strongly focused,” I said. “You’re one a them artsy-fartsy creative