Intensive Therapy Part 13

"Who the h.e.l.l are you to tell me what I need? Since when do you know what it's like to be part of people's lives the way psychoa.n.a.lysts are? So don't come around here like Elmer Gantry preaching I need psychological enlightenment."

"That's not fair, Jonas."

"Life's not fair. Our father was supposed to be at my graduation. It killed me that he wasn't."

"I was there for you. I always will be."

"I know. I know," Jonas relented. "You mean the world to me, Eddie, but you can't show up like Father Earth bearing World Series tickets and expect me to say, 'C'mon in, Dad, let's have a heart to heart.' Jennie wants a family with me. She knows how much you and Margo mean to me; she wants to be a part of that."

"But you care about someone else. What do you do about that?"

"Do? There's nothing to do. Victoria's therapy ends in eight months. I'll never see her again. I can't have you and Margo second-guessing me about Jennie."

"Are you sure about this?"

"What about when you-?"

"What?"

Jonas took two deep breaths and bit his lip hard. "You and Margo were a lot younger than me when you got together. Were you sure about her?"

"Yeah, as sure as anyone my age could've been. Listen, I'll stand by you, brother, no matter what you decide. I just want to make sure you have your eyes wide open."

After Eddie left, Jonas unwound with the late news. That night, he dreamt about Jennie. In the dream, she wore a Phillies cap.

Since the Sunday game didn't start until 4:00 PM, the foursome gathered for a late brunch.

"That was fun last night," Pete said over his omelet.

"Victor's is always fun," Jonas said. "How'd you like it when the waitress broke out with Un bel di? I love that aria."

"You and your opera," Pete said. "Give me Simon and Garfunkel, a fireplace, and a good Burgundy."

"I'd just as soon go to a Stones concert," Steve said.

"I was twenty-two during Woodstock," Eddie said. "You three were riding three-speeds while we were scared s.h.i.tless about Vietnam."

Jonas said, "My generation's nightmares are about AIDS. There's no test for it yet."

"You're the last bachelor. Doesn't it scare you?" Steve asked.

"You bet," Jonas said.

"What do you tell your patients?"

"Wear a condom and know who you're sleeping with. Better yet, take a s.e.xual history. How's that for foreplay!"

"In college they ran us around so much in basketball practice," Pete piped in, "that by the time we finished studying, we couldn't get it up enough to beat off, let alone get laid. Thank G.o.d I met Beth before AIDS came along."

"What a fun conversation," Eddie said. "I'd rather talk about the death tax."

Late that afternoon the Orioles won the World Series, as Jonas's youth slipped beneath the horizon along with the October sun.

When Jonas hugged his brother good-bye at the Thirtieth Street Station, he knew his grief for w.i.l.l.y Speller was finally over.

26.

Monday, November 22, 2004

For Victoria, the rest of Sunday felt like a vigil. On Monday morning, Melinda refused to leave her room, but Victoria had to work. The voir dire for the Duke's case turned out to be even more contentious than Victoria had imagined, with Denise Mather challenging potential juror after another. When the judge adjourned court at 3:00 PM, Victoria returned home immediately and sequestered herself in her office, wondering what was ahead. It was more-far more-than just fear about how he would react to her after all these years. Did she really want to open up about her mother and about her own mothering? Not to mention her feelings about Martin and what was and wasn't happening inside their bedroom. Old wounds, newer wounds, already inflamed and oozing.

One look at the most treasured doc.u.ment in Victoria's life aside from Gregory's birth certificate, even more precious than her marriage license, convinced her to reach for the telephone. The last thing Victoria looked at before dialing was her college diploma.

27.

Sunday, May 20, 1984

Victoria's commencement day was gloriously sunny. She was graduating summa c.u.m laude, with a GPA of 3.98. She had one B+-in Biology.

She scanned her cheering section of friends and family, including Lorraine and Morris-his last drink two years ago-and Victoria's surviving grandparents, Grandma Jeanine Cohen and Grandfather Samuel Schone, who had battled prostate cancer to the bitter end to see his granddaughter graduate from an Ivy League school. When she saw Dr. Speller smiling through the crowd, she approached him, sheepskin in hand.

"I felt your presence," she said.

"Congratulations, Victoria," he said, eyeing her cap and gown. "Look at you. You look like a nun."

"Fat chance. You know me better."

"You worked incredibly hard."

"So did you," Victoria said. "I couldn't have survived those awful days without you. At graduation from therapy tomorrow, I'll have something special for you."

A handsome couple edged toward them through the crowd. Dr. Speller said, "Your parents, right? Weren't you with your father that time at the baseball game?"

"I can't believe you remember that. Look at him; I'm so proud. He has his life back. Isn't that remarkable?"

"It's why I do what I do," he said. "You've gotten a handle on yourself, and the effects rippled through your entire world. The Talmud says, 'Save a life, save the world.'"

"Who was that?" Lorraine said after Victoria rejoined her family.

"Oh, that's Dr. Speller," Victoria said. "He's my ... my advisor."

"He's obviously fond of you. Judging from the look on your face, I'd say you feel the same about him."

"What look?"

"I know that look. I looked at your father that way when we first met. He was so handsome."

"Was? Look again, Mother. Besides, Dr. Speller is much more than a handsome face. Without him I'd never have become the person you see today."

"Ah, young love," Lorraine sighed. "To project onto your beloved the power to make all things possible. He becomes the blank canvas onto which you paint your hopes and dreams."

"My beloved? You know nothing about him, Mother. Or me."

"Touchy, touchy," Lorraine said with a duplicitous lilt. "All this, because I said something about your handsome professor. You don't think you'd be the first girl who had an affair with one of her teachers?"

"An affair? That's ridiculous. Besides, he has someone."

"Silly goose; since when did that keep a professor from plucking a blossom from his garden? You could at least introduce us."

"Why? So you can bat your eyelashes and hurl your innuendos at him? It would be humiliating."

"Come on, Victoria. We're grown-ups now. Why don't we let bygones be bygones and be friends? I've missed you since you moved out."

"Missed me? What did you miss?"

"Our talks."

"Our talks? They upset me for days. I'm different now. Same with Daddy, or haven't you noticed?"

"There you two are," Morris interrupted. "It's so nice to see you two talking, just like the old days." Victoria turned to her father without flinching. "Time to celebrate, everyone," he added. "There's a table waiting for us at Bookbinder's. Off we go."

28.

Monday, May 21, 1984

Victoria walked into her final therapy session toting a brown-paper-wrapped rectangle the size of a small picture.

"This is for you," she said, placing the package on the couch. "So you don't forget me."

"How could I forget you, Victoria, after all that we've been through?" he said.

After he had finished residency training, Dr. Speller moved across the hall into a larger office with a huge picture window that faced south. The decor was the same except for the addition of a couch and a larger desk. On it rested a portrait of a smiling woman with dark hair, her arms draped around Dr. Speller's neck from behind; the same woman from that night at the pizzeria.

Victoria looked out at an airplane disappearing behind the sea of oil tanks dotting the confluence of the Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers. At twilight, she could make out the Walt Whitman Bridge.

"What are you looking at?" he said.

"Airplanes. Bridges. The future, I guess."

"Journeys and connections," he said in a distant voice.

"Is something bothering you?" she asked.

Dr. Speller looked out the window.

"You didn't answer me."

"Sorry," he said. "I was thinking about how much I'm going to miss you. You have such a way with words and ideas. Your mind works so fast. And you have a terrific sense of humor."

"G.o.d knows where it comes from," Victoria said. "Abington felt like growing up in a funeral home."

Dr. Speller's head drooped, and his eyes, usually so lively, gravitated toward the window.

"h.e.l.lo, anyone home?" Victoria said, rapping her fist against an imaginary head. "What's going on in there?"

Dr. Speller remained silent.

"What is it you aren't saying?" she said. "You're not dying, are you?"

Dr. Speller grinned, then shook his head.

Victoria said, "Look, you've always told me to be honest. And I've upheld my end of the bargain. No one knows better than you how hard, sometimes humiliating, it's been to tell you the truth. This doesn't have to do with me, does it?"