Intensive Therapy Part 28

Melinda said, "Please, I really need to see him."

"We'll talk about that first thing at our next session," Dr. Milroy said.

"I promise nothing bad will happen. I promise," she pressed.

Victoria perked up, eager to observe how Dr. Milroy handled Melinda's insistence.

"Speaking of promising," Dr. Milroy said artfully. "I promise you and I will talk the whole thing out. Then we'll see."

"What is there to see?" Melinda contended.

"There's a lot about that night we haven't discussed," Dr. Milroy said. "Understand, Melinda. I'm not saying no. But we need to be sure that visiting Gregory won't cause a setback. Remember, I want you to go home as soon as you can."

"You're not sure I'm ready?"

"No. Not one hundred percent."

"How will you be able to tell?"

Dr. Milroy laughed impishly. "We'll know when you can tolerate not knowing whether or not you can visit Gregory without getting upset about it."

"Oh. Okay, I get it," Melinda conceded.

"Good," said Dr. Milroy, who ushered the family toward the door. "I think we've accomplished a lot tonight."

As they walked down the hall, Dr. Milroy said to Victoria, "It's obvious that you and Melinda are better with each other. You and Dr. Speller seem to be doing well, too. Please tell him I said h.e.l.lo."

52.

December 21, 2004

For Jonas, the week before Christmas seemed endless. The first day of winter dawned raw with swirling gusts and single-digit wind chills that turned Manhattan's cross streets into wind tunnels. No one dared sit on Central Park's stone benches lest they adhere to them like ice cubes clinging to moist fingertips. Even the rats deserted the subway for the steam pipes and abandoned tunnels of Manhattan's subterranean world.

On the shortest day, the sun never really rose; instead it glowed dimly like a refrigerator light bulb, meandering across the sky barely above Central Park's treetops.

From the nonstop beeping of his telephone, Jonas concluded that his was not the only mood that was plunging. Whenever he thought about the holidays, his mind drifted back to Thanksgiving and how caught up he had become in Victoria's family. Guiltily, Jonas tried to rea.s.sure himself he cared as much about Gil and Gracie as he did about the Braun children. He could hardly wait for the family excursion to Puerto Rico the day after Christmas.

Hoping to break his mood, Jonas bundled up and walked south on Madison Avenue. When an arctic blast nearly toppled him, he ducked into Starbucks, which was teeming with gray-skirted girls in matching cardigans: Dalton School uniforms. A baby-faced strawberry blonde sat pigeon-toed, absorbed in her laptop. Jonas reckoned she was about fourteen, two years older than Gracie.

"This is so cool," she said to the friend on her left, a curly-haired round-faced girl who gazed out the window dreamily.

"Huh," her friend responded. "I can't see the screen."

The blonde girl adjusted her laptop. "Can you see it now?"

"Do you think they're coming?"

"Who?"

"Justin and his friend, the lacrosse player; I think his name is Dewitt."

"I don't know. Why?"

"Justin thinks you're hot."

The blonde girl's cheeks turned pink. "What? Who told you that?"

"Justin told Rhiannon Schlieder, who's friends with Shannon Parks, who told her sister-you know, that goofy-looking girl from Trinity Day who wears derbies and blood-red lipstick-that he thought you looked like Britney Spears."

"Britney Spears? That ditz. Is she for real?"

The round-faced girl didn't answer. She set her drink on the corner of an open book between the two of them. When the round-faced girl adjusted the laptop, she propelled her Frappuccino all over her friend's skirt and computer.

Instead of going ape as Jonas expected, the blonde girl laughed and grabbed a fistful of napkins, which she plastered to her clothes like paper towels.

"I always hated this skirt," she said.

"I'm sorry," her friend said unconvincingly. "Here, let me." She turned the laptop upside down, and a thin, steady stream of liquid poured out, reminding Jonas that Gregory Braun was still in a coma, hooked to an IV.

Two boys who looked like Abercrombie models walked in. One said something to the curly-haired girl, who wriggled around enough to make room for him to sit between her and her friend.

The barista called, "Skinny half-caff no-foam latte."

"That's mine, thanks," said Jonas, taking a last look at the two girls. Admiring the good-natured one, he thought he'd love to have a daughter like that. Or would he, given the challenges of parenting a teenaged daughter? Thanksgiving had made him painfully aware of how much he wanted to leave children of his own flesh and blood behind when he died.

Back at his office, Jonas had twenty minutes to kill before the weekly differential therapeutics seminar he conducted. He propped his feet next to a portable electric heater designed to look like a steam radiator. It reminded him of the scalding radiator at his grandmother's house on holidays where he used to play "I Spy" with his favorite cousins-blood relatives, too.

Jonas's reverie ended when his cell phone rang.

"h.e.l.lo?" he said.

"It's me," Eddie said. "I just heard from the concierge at Dorado Beach. They're upgrading us to beach side."

"Well done," said Jonas, picturing five days in the South Atlantic sun. His beach reading included several medical record reviews and a biography of Richard Wagner. "Have you been outside today? It's freezing."

"Not really. I spent the morning taking the deposition of a guy from Greenwich who's suing an all-Jewish country club for not letting him in. He says they blackballed him after they found out his wife wasn't Jewish."

"Should you be telling me this?"

"Of course! You're my psychiatrist, Jonas," Eddie wisecracked. "Whatever I tell you is privileged."

"Do you care one way or the other?"

"Honestly? It's total bulls.h.i.t. But it's an oral contract case. Something different."

"Anything else about the trip?"

Eddie hesitated. "Are Jennie and the kids excited?"

"Gracie would just as soon stay home with her friends. Gil's Gil. He goes with the flow." Jonas walked to his window. "Do you know anything about adoption law?"

"Huh? Why?"

"Gracie is interested in her biological parents. Jennie told me that adoption came up in Gracie's ethics cla.s.s. The teacher said she had given up twin boys for adoption when she was seventeen and still wonders what became of them. Do you think Gil's and Gracie's parents think about them?"

"You said you didn't know anything about them."

"But they knew all about us. Both birth mothers thought long and hard. The adoption agency wanted a sc.r.a.pbook detailing everything about our lives. Jennie and I lived on edge for months, not knowing if we'd be chosen. It was like being pregnant forever. There were home visits, neuropsychological testing, drug screening, credit checks, and criminal background reports. We even had to give access to our health records. It was worse than applying to med school, more like a psychological colonoscopy."

"You need a vacation."

"Sometimes, I wonder if Gil feels he's really my son."

"You really need a vacation," Eddie said.

"I hate winter. How about opening an office in San Juan?"

"Good idea. And we can advertise in the subway: 'Abogados for slips and falls, asbestosis, and medical malpractice.'"

"If you do, I'll never testify for you again."

"Not to worry, Jo. Anything going on the rest of the week?"

"Jennie and I are going to The Barber of Seville at the City Opera tomorrow night. One of the residents' wives is singing Rosina. I wish I felt more enthusiastic."

"That's not like you."

"You're right. But I am looking forward to being warm. Can't you picture us jogging on the beach at sunrise?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Great. See you Friday night."

"Remember, we're bringing the wine ..." Eddie said.

Jonas knew there was more. "Yes ...?"

"And make sure to get somebody to be on call for you."

"So, that's the real reason you called," Jonas said. "To utz me about breaking up Thanksgiving dinner. You know, you're some character, Eddie. It's like Ahab and the whale with you. What do you have against her? What did she ever do to you?"

"Nothing. It's not that; it's ... never mind."

"Never mind? Congratulations, Eddie, you're making progress. You're learning to keep your mouth shut."

"What happened with her kids?"

"They're alive. Barely," said Jonas sipping his lukewarm latte. He hadn't spoken to anyone except Stan about the ordeal before and after the bridge. Jonas's thoughts returned to his children. He made a mental note to spend time that evening helping Gil with homework, and to find out what Gracie really thought about the vacation.

"Thanks for the trouble you've gone through to set up this vacation. Jennie even asked me how to shoot dice."

"That's funny. Margo asked the same thing!"

"Well after what happened last month at Foxwoods ..." Jonas's voice trailed off at the memory of Eddie's uppity att.i.tude at the dice table when a very s.e.xy woman sidled up to Jonas during a hot roll.

"I told Margo how you bet for all of us," said Eddie. "But I didn't tell her about the woman who shot the dice."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want her to tell Jennie."

"To tell Jennie what? Why shouldn't she tell Jennie?"

"I didn't want her to get the wrong impression."

"The wrong impression. Who?" Jonas asked indignantly. "Margo? Jennie?"

"Both of them."

The buzzer to Jonas's office went off. It was 3:00 PM exactly. "That's ridiculous, Eddie. I told Jennie everything the next morning."

"Including the hot blonde who shot the dice?"

"Why wouldn't I? I tell Jennie everything," Jonas added. "You know, I think you're laboring under some very mistaken a.s.sumptions, Eddie. I have a cla.s.s. I gotta go."

"What if I stop by on my way home? Maybe we can grab a bite."

"Sorry, but not tonight," Jonas said, thinking about Gil and Gracie. "There's something important I have to take care of."

53.