Brain Damage, page 9
part #2 of Prescription: Murder Series
“Sure,” I say.
Clark flicks on the light, and I shield my face instinctively. I washed off all my make-up last night, and I don’t want Clark to see the purple circles that formed under my eyes during residency and never went away. And that reminds me—I’ve got to get my hair retouched—my roots are very visible.
I’m as quick in the bathroom as I can possibly be, then Clark and I take off in the direction of Our Diner. Yes, we have a diner. Initially, we went to a different restaurant every time we went out, but we both love the silver dollar pancakes at the Greek diner two blocks away, so every time we go to breakfast, that’s where we end up. Everything is still pretty new between us, so it’s nice to have one comfortable habit forming. I can see us going to Our Diner thirty years from now, when we’re old and gray-haired. (Well, Clark will be gray-haired. I’ll still be honey blond thanks to the hairdresser.)
Clark holds the door open for me. “After you, m’lady.”
I smile and push past him, nearly running smack into a man who looks incredibly familiar. His face lights up when he sees me. “Hi there!” he says.
“Hello…” I say, hoping to place him before this gets embarrassing. A patient maybe? A former classmate?
Luckily, he notices my hesitation. “It’s Stan. Stan Leroy. You treated me in your clinic for…”
Groin Fungus Guy! Right. How could I forget? Especially after he asked me out and I was forced to reject him.
“Oh, right!” I say. “How are you doing, Mr. Leroy?”
“Can’t complain,” he replies. He glances over at Clark, and they eye each other curiously.
“This is my fiancé,” I say, nodding in Clark’s direction. God, it feels weird to say that. I’m sure it will be even weirder to say “husband.”
“Oh, congratulations then,” Mr. Leroy says, his face falling noticeably. “How did the two of you meet?”
I send Clark telepathic vibes to keep his mouth shut. It doesn’t work. He grins with his perfect white teeth. “Actually, I was her patient.”
Mr. Leroy’s kind brown eyes widen. “Is that so?”
Clark nods. “Great story to tell the grandkids, right?” He leans in to peck me on the cheek. “I’ll go get a seat, Charlotte. I’ll see you inside.”
I want to follow Clark into the restaurant, but I feel like I have to say something to Mr. Leroy. Something to prove to him that I’m not the worst person in the universe, which is sort of how I’m feeling right now.
“Look,” I murmur, “the thing about dating patients…”
“No, I get it,” Mr. Leroy says quickly. “I understand. You don’t have to explain.”
“Oh,” I say, relieved. “Okay.”
“When you said you couldn’t date patients, you just meant that you’re not allowed to date patients who aren’t attractive enough to meet your high standards.” He raises his eyebrows. “That’s it, right?”
Oh God, this really couldn’t be any more awkward.
“Mr. Leroy…” I begin.
He holds up his hand. “No, it’s okay, really.” He shrugs. “The truth is, I don’t think I’d want to spend any time with someone like you anyway.”
Mr. Leroy pushes past me and leaves the restaurant. I just stand there a minute, a lump rising in my throat. What an asshole. No wonder his wife left him. I’ll bet it had nothing to do with groin fungus.
But I still feel like bursting into tears.
I take a deep breath and start to walk into the restaurant to join my fiancé. But before I do, I glance out the door to the diner, and I notice that Mr. Leroy is still standing in front of the restaurant.
Staring at me.
I look away and hurry off to my table.
Chapter 19
Fourteen Months Before
Clark and I are in a taxi cab headed downtown. As we navigate through the narrow streets of Chinatown at breakneck speed, Clark reaches out and takes my hand in his. He gives me a squeeze and I squeeze him back.
We skid to a stop at a red light, and I say a quiet prayer that we won’t get involved in a fatal (or even non-fatal) collision prior to reaching our destination. As the cab idles at the light, a homeless man approaches us, and without asking, starts wiping down the windshield.
“No!” the cabbie screams at the man. “No! I don’t want! Go away!”
The homeless man gives him a thumbs-up and keeps scrubbing. When the light changes back to green, the cabbie zooms off so quickly, the squeegee guy nearly falls on his ass. “Jesus,” Clark mutters under his breath.
“I know!” the cabbie says. “Can you believe these guys? No respect.” He glances back at us, taking in Clark’s dark suit and my off-white knee-length dress. “You two look all nice. You goin’ someplace special?”
“You could say that,” Clark says, winking at me.
You could definitely say that. In less than an hour, Clark and I will be married.
Married!
I can’t believe it either. Only eight months ago, it would have been unthinkable that I’d be in a cab zooming off to City Hall to my own wedding, but here we are. After Clark popped the question, there really wasn’t any point in waiting. We’re both closer to forty than we are to thirty.
Still, getting married to a guy who I’ve known less than a year doesn’t seem like a Charlotte McKenna kind of move. I’ve never been the sort of person who does things spur of the moment—if anything, I’m over-cautious. But then again, I don’t look like the Charlotte McKenna of a year ago either—I’ve definitely upped my game recently.
But I still can’t hold a candle to Clark. God, he’s gorgeous in his dark suit and tie. I thought the attraction would have faded by now, but it hasn’t. Not even a little bit. If it were appropriate, I’d jump him right here on the leather seats of this old cab that smells faintly of fast food and cigarettes.
In record time, the cabbie slows to a stop in front of the nondescript white building a stone’s throw away from the Brooklyn Bridge. When Clark asked me if I was okay with a small ceremony at City Hall, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. Unlike a lot of other women I know, I’ve never really been into weddings. Let me put it this way: I never wanted my parents to buy me the Bridal Barbie doll. I would have asked for the Doctor Barbie, but those didn’t exist when I was a kid. So I had to settle for slicing holes in my dolls’ extremities with a scissors and “suturing” them up with needle and thread.
That’s not weird, right?
Anyway, I’m thrilled about the small ceremony. Today it’s going to be just Clark, me, and the judge. Well, and my mother.
My mother is our witness. I had hoped that Clark’s parents would come too, but apparently, they live in Michigan and he doesn’t get along with them. I only spoke to them on the phone once when they offered me a stiff congratulations. I couldn’t get a straight answer as to why Clark and his parents don’t get along. He’s really good at changing the subject. He might be better at it than sex.
Clark and I get out of the taxi, and I watch him smooth out his suit, and straighten out his tie. He doesn’t seem happy with the knot he’s made, so he pulls it open and redoes it. After he’s made the second knot, he frowns down at his chest.
“This doesn’t look right,” he complains.
“It looks fine,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Charlotte, can you fix it for me?”
I snort. “You think I know how to tie a tie?”
He raises his eyebrows. “You can sew up someone’s face but you can’t tie a tie?”
“They’re completely different skills.”
Clark rolls his eyes then unties his knot so he can redo it one more time. I look up the steps of the building and see my mother waiting by the entrance. She’s waving so enthusiastically, she might dislocate a shoulder. She literally could not possibly be happier that her only child is getting married.
“You okay?” I ask Clark as he continues to fiddle with his tie.
“Of course,” he mumbles.
“Are you sure?”
Clark looks up at me with those blue, blue eyes. He sighs and his shoulders sag. For a second, I’m terrified he’s going to say he can’t go through with it. I mean, I would deal with it, but I can’t imagine having to break it to my mother. It could very well kill her.
“It’s just…” He shrugs a little sheepishly. “I’ve never been married before. It’s kind of… a big deal.”
“Are you wondering if you made the right choice?” I ask.
“No,” he says, although he hesitates a beat before answering. “It’s just…”
I frown at him. “Just what?”
He stares at me for a minute then shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m being dumb.”
Hmm. That didn’t sound like nothing.
Clark reaches out and envelopes my smaller hand in his. “Let’s go get married, Charlotte McKenna.”
Okay. Let’s do it.
Chapter 20
Three Months After
Jamie and I have been separated during Walking Group. Because of the Pea Incident. I guess they don’t want to risk him throwing things at me. Luckily, we got a new member in our group to sit next to me.
She’s about forty with really pretty, long silky blonde hair because she didn’t have to have surgery on her brain like Jamie and I did. I love her hair. I can’t stop staring at it.
My hair is still really short since they shaved it. Before they shaved it, I used to have chin-length blond hair, although it seemed longer in more recent photos, like I was growing it out. I know because my mom hung up all these photos of me on the walls of my room. It’s supposed to help bring back memories.
“I have to tell you,” the woman says to me as we sit in our wheelchairs, waiting for our turn to walk. She has a gravelly voice like she’s been talking for a long time and needs some water. “You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. What color are they? Purple?”
“Violet,” I say. Actually, they just look dark blue to me, but everyone tells me they are violet. So I guess I’ll go with that.
“My eyes are the color of mud,” she says. I look at her eyes, which are brown. But I guess she’s right because brown is the color of mud. “I’m Angela, by the way,” she says.
I smile at her. Finally she says, “This is when you tell me your name.”
“Charly,” I say.
She smiles. Her teeth are a little bit yellow. I know that mine are white from all the photos hung up in my room. At least I have nice teeth. “As in Charlene?”
“No, Charlotte.”
“Oh, like the web.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about.
“Charlotte’s Web,” she says. “It’s this book for children. About a spider and a pig who become friends. And at the end, the spider dies.”
I still have no idea what she’s talking about. I never heard of this children’s book.
“I don’t have any children,” I explain.
“Neither do I,” Angela says. “That’s why I’m here. Because I was taking birth control pills and it made me get a blood clot in my leg which went up to my brain.”
“Oh,” I say.
Is a blood clot worse than getting shot in the brain? I don’t think it is. I’m pretty sure getting shot is the worst thing that can happen to your brain.
Angela adjusts her left arm, which is lying limply on her lap. She doesn’t seem to be able to move it, but at least she seems to be able to see things on her left side. I assume she can, because I’m on her left side. “What a mistake,” she says. “Stupid birth control. I’d of had a dozen babies instead of this. This is the worst.”
When it’s my turn to walk, I do a little better than I did that first day. I still need both Natalie and Steve helping me, but at least I can take a few steps on the ballet bars. It’s some sort of progress at least.
Angela has a bandage wrapped around her left foot that ties up to her calf. When it’s her turn to walk, they tie her left arm up in a sling. Natalie helps her to stand up, and makes her left leg move for her, then supports her while she takes a step on her own with her right foot. She has to hang onto the parallel bars, but she makes it all the way down to the end and then back.
When Angela sits down again, she releases the Velcro on the sling with her right hand. Her left arm falls back into her lap and she carefully positions it so that her hand is resting on her thigh.
“What’s that sling for?” I ask.
Angela gives me a funny look. “I guess it’s for the same thing as yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have the same thing on your arm!”
“No, I don’t.”
“Go look in a mirror, honey.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about. I don’t have a sling on my left arm.
Or maybe I do? Where is my left arm? It’s so hard to find anything on the left. I need Amy to help me find my arm.
“Come on, Jamie,” I hear Natalie saying. “It’s your turn.”
I look over at Jamie. He’s sitting in a wheelchair, his arms folded across his chest, staring down at his lap. He’s not smiling.
“I don’t feel like it,” he says, quietly but firmly.
“Don’t you want to get better?” she says. She adds, “For your son?”
He lifts his eyes to look at Natalie. “I’m never going to get better,” he mumbles. His fingers scrape absently at the staples on his skull. “This is stupid and pointless.”
“Come on, Jamie,” Angela pipes up in her gravelly voice. “None of us are any good at this. We’re all just getting better. You want to get better so you could go home and see your kid again, right?”
Jamie looks around and sighs deeply. I know how he feels. There are times when I don’t feel like doing something, but then everyone’s around me and telling me I’m going to let everyone down if I don’t do it. So I usually end up doing it.
“Okay, fine,” he mumbles.
Natalie and Steve take him to the ballet bars. He doesn’t do great. He’s no better than he was when I first saw him walk a few days ago. Lurching and all over the place. When he makes it down the length of the parallel bars, Natalie needs to help him get back into his wheelchair without falling on his ass.
Jamie drops his head into his hands. “Damn,” he says.
Natalie puts her hand on his shoulder but he won’t look up. “Jamie, listen to me,” she says. “You’re going to get better. Dr. Greenberg says based on your brain scan, you’ve got a really good chance of your ataxia improving.”
He still doesn’t lift his face from his hands.
“Jamie, look at me,” she says.
He slowly lowers his hands. His eyes are red rimmed and wet.
“But you’ve got to work at it,” she says. “You can’t give up. Okay, Jamie?”
He nods. “Okay,” he whispers.
Again, I know how he feels. There are a lot of times when they tell me not to give up. And I keep going, even though inside sometimes I feel like I want to give up more than anything.
_____
Jamie is very quiet today.
They put him next to me in the hallway because they forgot that we are supposed to be separated. I don’t think it makes a difference right now though, because he doesn’t seem in a pea-throwing sort of mood. I think I’m safe.
Jamie has always had staples in his head, but today they are gone. The incision is still there, caked with old blood, surrounded by shaved hairs. I guess somebody took out the staples. He’s healing, at least on the outside.
Despite the fact that I am staring at him pretty blatantly, Jamie doesn’t look up at me. He has a tray with a cup of water on it, and he just stares at that, his brown eyes glassy. I wonder why he finds the water so interesting. I stare at it myself for a little while, but I still don’t get it.
Dr. Greenberg comes down the hallway, dressed in his white coat, his tie slightly crooked today. Dr. Greenberg always wears interesting ties. Today he has ladybugs on his tie. It seems so weird to me that a doctor would have cartoon bugs on his tie, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is bothered by it. Actually, I like it.
I smile eagerly, hoping that Dr. Greenberg will talk to me. But instead he makes a beeline for Jamie.
“Hello, Mr. Knox,” he says.
Jamie lifts his eyes briefly but doesn’t say anything.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Greenberg asks him.
Jamie shrugs.
“Jamie,” Dr. Greenberg says. “Can you tell me where we are right now?”
My heart leaps. I know this one!
“We’re in the hospital,” I reply.
Dr. Greenberg smiles at me, although he actually looks sort of annoyed even though I’m pretty sure it’s the right answer. “Very good, Charly, but I was asking Jamie. Could you let him answer?”
I nod.
“Where are we, Jamie?” he asks again.
“The hospital,” Jamie mumbles.
“What kind of hospital?”
I know this one too!
“A rehab hospital,” I speak up.
Jamie cocks his head in my direction. “What she said.”
Dr. Greenberg lets out a sigh, but I don’t know what he’s so upset about because I got the right answer. Again.
“Jamie,” he says. “Do you know why you’re here?”
Jamie stares at the cup for a long time. Seriously, what is so interesting about that cup? Finally, he says, “Because I fell down the goddamn stairs, and now I can’t do anything anymore.”
A crease appears between Dr. Greenberg’s graying eyebrows. He reaches out and puts his hand on Jamie’s shoulder.
“Sometimes,” he says, “as your brain starts to get better, one of the first things that happens is you start to recognize how far you have to go. And sometimes that can really get you down.”
Jamie shrugs. “Maybe.”
“I’m going to give you a medicine to help with that,” Dr. Greenberg says. “Are you okay with that?”
Jamie shrugs again. “Sure, why not? Add it to the mix.”
