High Anxiety (5 page)

My next patient,
Ann Ross, suffered from depression. It began shortly after her youngest child left for college, and the woman discovered that she and her husband of twenty-five years had little in common. It was not unusual for couples to drift apart after spending much of their lives focusing on family and career. In fact, it was fairly normal, and I had stressed as much to Ann countless times, to no avail.

“I have to force myself to get out of the bed in the morning,” she confessed, mopping her tears with a tissue. “Now that the children are grown, I don’t seem to have a purpose.”

She and I had discussed the possibility of her going on an antidepressant until she felt better, but she wanted to try to get through it without medication. “I know you’re sad and tired,” I said gently, “because depression does that to a person. But if you’ll recall, last week we agreed it might be fun for you to take up golf or tennis again.” She and her husband had enjoyed playing both early in their marriage.

“It has been so long,” she said. “I’m sure I’m quite rusty. I would be self-conscious. I would embarrass myself.”

“So take lessons,” I said. “You can recapture some of the fun you and your husband shared before the children. And the fresh air, sunlight, and exercise will do you good.”

She sighed.

“If you continue to sit in your house and think about how bad you feel, it’s only going to get worse. It doesn’t have to be that way, because you’re not clinically depressed, Ann. It
will
lift,” I said, “but you’re going to have to do your part.” I leaned closer and touched her shoulder, trying to draw her attention so that she could allow my words to seep into the fog that clouded her world.

“You know how it feels when it rains for several days and you think the sun is never going to come out again and everything seems dire and gloomy?”

“Yes.”

“The sun will come out again. I promise. You need to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

She nodded, and I saw hope in her eyes.

 

 

I finished seeing
patients later than usual. On the way home, I swung by a fast-food restaurant for burgers and fries. I always ordered Mike’s burger plain. I arrived home and was surprised to find Jay’s SUV in the driveway, since he worked twenty-four hours on and forty-eight hours off. I wondered if he’d started feeling bad at work, although it was unlike him to admit it to anyone.

Mike greeted me at the front door. Jay barely acknowledged me from the sofa; his eyes were trained on the television, no doubt checking the status of the wildfire. He held a newspaper in his hand. Finally, he turned off the TV and regarded me. He didn’t look happy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, thinking the fire must’ve worsened.

“You were on the six-o’clock news.”

I gave a mental gulp. “Really?”

He held up the newspaper. “There’s even an article about you in the paper. Seems you’re a real hero,” he added.

“You can’t believe everything you read, Jay,” I said. “They probably said I was an atheist, too.”

“You lied to me.”

I shook my head. “I never—”

“You lied by way of omission. You had no intention of telling me what really happened at that meeting.”

“That’s not true. I was just waiting for the right moment.”

“Last night would have been a perfect time.”

“I was too upset to talk about it.”

“You were upset, and it didn’t occur to you to come to me?”

“I knew you’d get angry,” I said finally. “I just couldn’t deal with that after what I’d already been through.”

He tossed the paper aside, stood, and walked into the kitchen.

I followed. “She wasn’t pointing the gun at me, Jay,” I said. “She’d intended to shoot her daughter-in-law.”

“Kate, you
stepped
in front of a person holding a loaded weapon. That is just plain stupid, and you damn well know it.”

“You’re saying I should have done nothing?”

“Why is it always up to you to save the day?” he demanded. “Do you have any clue what a thirty-eight can do at point-blank range? Or did you even stop to consider what a person’s guts look like once they’re splattered to hell and back?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The obvious answer is no. And that’s where we have a big problem.”

I tried to think of a good defense. I considered bringing up the fact that his job had given me a lot of sleepless nights, but the gray duffel bag sitting beside the back door caught my attention before I could do so.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“They need additional men in Florida.”

“But you’ve barely had time to heal,” I said. “Why can’t you send someone else?”

“I’ve had experience with wildfires.”

As if I needed to be reminded. “But Jay—”

“I’ve already made up my mind, Kate. I’m only telling you out of courtesy.”

My old fears slapped me in the face. “You could have discussed it with me first,” I said.

He looked incredulous. “You really think you’re in the position to point a finger?”

I didn’t try to hide my annoyance. “Give me a break, Jay,” I said. “This has nothing to do with me holding back on you last night. You’ve been itching to get involved with that fire since it started. At least give me some credit for knowing you.”

“Then you clearly have the advantage, because there are times when I don’t think I know you at all. This happens to be one of them.” He wiped both hands down his face. “I’m tired of dealing with your life-and-death dramas.”

“Gee, like I don’t know how that feels every time you run into a burning building,” I said, feeling hurt.

“There’s a big difference,” he said. “I know what the hell I’m doing. I follow a plan of operation and don’t act impulsively. You just jump into dangerous situations with both feet, and to hell with the consequences.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “You’re a real pro. That’s why you’ve been laid up here for six weeks surrounded by all your drinking buddies.” I regretted the words the minute they left my mouth.

Jay’s face hardened. “I think we’ve said enough.” He picked up the duffel bag and opened the back door.

A wave of panic hit me. “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“When the fire is out,” he said. He stepped outside.

The absolute last thing I wanted was for him to leave angry. “Jay, wait.”

He turned. “I have to go. I’m meeting a couple of guys so we can ride down together. We’ve got a four-and-a-half-hour drive ahead of us. I’m already late.”

“At least promise to call so I’ll know you’re okay.”

He nodded and closed the door behind him.

I realized I was still holding my purse and the fast-food bag. I slumped in a kitchen chair. Mike’s tail thumped wildly as she stared at the bag. She could smell a hamburger before I pulled into the driveway. “How can you eat at a time like this?” I said. “Can’t you see I’m in crisis?” I pulled out our food, removed the wrapper on her burger, and handed it to her. She wolfed it down, then stared at my food. I gave her a French fry. I continued to feed them to her as I sipped my soft drink and tried not to feel miserable.

I’d known all along that Jay would be upset when he learned what had really happened in the anger management group. I’d made it worse by not telling him myself, but even then he would have been mad as hell. There was no way to win, which was probably the reason I hadn’t moved back into the loft we had shared before our split.

As if that weren’t bad enough, my best friend was battling a case of hives brought on, at least in part, by what Jay had referred to as my drama.

Mike gave a sudden loud belch, and I could almost swear she looked as surprised as I was at the sound. For some reason I found it incredibly funny, and I burst into laughter. I petted her. It felt good to laugh after the harsh words Jay and I had shared, because I knew I was this close to having the mother of all pity parties, and I wasn’t sure I had the energy. Besides, it wasn’t all bad. My dog loved me, and that had to mean something.

I left my uneaten burger on the table and went upstairs. I changed into my favorite jeans and a sweatshirt, then stuffed my feet into fuzzy bedroom slippers.

I returned to the kitchen, took a bite of my cold burger, and tossed the rest into the trash. If I got really hungry, I could always nuke one of my cardboard-tasting frozen meals. The doorbell rang. I checked the peephole and gave a huge sigh of dread at the sight of my neighbor, Bitsy Stout. She was a religious fanatic who firmly believed I was hell-bound because I refused to attend her church, where the minister brought his congregation to salvation by preaching hellfire and damnation. I decided not to answer the door.

“Kate Holly, you open this door!” Bitsy called out loudly. “I know you’re in there, and I’m not leaving, even if I have to camp out in front of your house.”

I knew she meant it. I unlocked the door and opened it. “Bitsy, what a surprise,” I said. I noticed the newspaper in her hand.

She didn’t look any happier to see me than I was to see her. She shook the newspaper in my face. “So, this is the thanks I get for saving your life,” she said. “If I’d known you were an atheist, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

I stood there and let her rant. In all honesty, she
had
saved my life when I found myself in yet another life-and-death situation one night, but only because she’d been skulking about my yard dropping piles of dog poop across my lawn that she swore Mike had left on hers. She’d heard the commotion going on inside my kitchen and raced home to call 911 and grab her pellet gun.

Bitsy finally stopped long enough to draw breath.

“I’m not an atheist,” I finally said, wishing I could smack that mousy Sarah-Margaret for starting the rumor. I would have loved to show
her
how I managed
my
anger.

“It says so right here,” Bitsy said, indicating the newspaper. She shoved the page in my face. The photo showed me facedown on the basement floor at St. Francis, my hands folded at the back of my head.

“Oh, gur-reat,” I muttered.

“We have
never
had an atheist in our neighborhood. Our property values are going to drop because of you. Even worse, you’re doomed for all eternity. What do you have to say to
that
?”

“I would have to say that is the most unflattering photo anyone has ever taken of me. I should call the newspaper and complain.”

“You can make all the jokes you want,” Bitsy said, “but it’s not going to be a bit funny when the devil gets his hands on you.” She gave a huff, turned, and marched away.

I closed the door, locked it, and lay on my sofa. Now I was
certain
the day couldn’t get worse.

Then I heard it: the rumble of a truck. I moaned out loud. I knew the day was about to get as bad as it could.

I got up and pulled the curtain aside just as my mother’s bright red 2007 Navistar CXT monster pickup truck pulled into my driveway. My aunt sat in the passenger seat. The back of the truck was piled high with junk that would ultimately be repaired, painted, or turned into artwork and sold for a ridiculously high price at their studio in Little Five Points.

My mother and aunt climbed from the truck. They had been junk collectors for as long as I could remember, earning the name the Junk Sisters. They knew the location of every Dumpster in Atlanta. They visited the swankiest neighborhoods on trash day in hopes that somebody had thrown out something that could be turned into art. I had been teased unmercifully in school for being part of this family.

They headed toward my front door, two plus-sized identical twins who still dressed alike despite being in their fifties. My grandmother had chosen to name them Dixie and Trixie. They wore their signature overalls—today’s color was lemon yellow. Their platinum tresses had been teased and lacquered so that not even hurricane winds could blow their hairdos out of place.

The doorbell rang. I considered not answering it, but I knew my mother would assume I was dead and call the police or break a window and climb through. I opened the door.

“Are you crazy?!” my mother shouted as she and my aunt stepped inside my living room. “Have you lost your d-a-m-n mind?”

My mother spelled out curse words because she thought the man upstairs wouldn’t enter them into the Book of Sins if she didn’t actually say them outright.

I waited, knowing what was to come.

“We saw the whole thing on the six-o’clock news,” Aunt Trixie said, giving me a grim look. She knew I was in for trouble.

“You actually wrestled a thirty-eight from a woman to keep her from shooting someone?” my mother said. “Do you know how dumb that was? What if you’d been shot? I would be talking to a dead person right now. How would that make you feel?”

“Terrible,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t be happy until she had delivered her daily dose of guilt. I tried to look remorseful.

“That’s
all
you have to say for yourself?” she demanded.

“Dixie, you’re getting all worked up for no good reason,” Aunt Trixie said. “As you can see, Kate is perfectly fine.”

My mother looked me over. “And when did you become an atheist? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Because you almost succeeded,” she added. “I’m surprised I’m not in the CCU fighting for my life.”

My mother’s heart was perfectly fine, so I felt certain she would live another day to chastise me for my behavior. “Mom, I’m not an atheist,” I said as calmly as I could.

She walked over to a chair and plopped down. “No mother should have to live like this. I never know if my only child is going to be maimed or murdered by some wacko she’s treating. Even worse, I had to hear about it on the news. You couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone?”

“You should be proud of Kate,” Aunt Trixie said. “Everybody is calling her a hero.”