Panic Attack (33 page)

Hello, Dr. Bloom, this is Lisa DiStefano. I’m very sorry to tell you this, but...but I’m going to have to discontinue my treatment... I’m really sorry, Doctor, but I just feel like I have no choice. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and—

Adam couldn’t listen to any more. He deleted the message, as well as the other messages he hadn’t even listened to yet, and shut off his BlackBerry. He didn’t know how many patients he’d lost so far— ten, fifteen? And those were only the ones who’d bothered to call, the ones he’d been seeing for years, who felt indebted to him. The others probably just wouldn’t bother to show up to their appointments.

It wasn’t like the situation would ever improve, either. Even if the police announced that they’d made an arrest in the case, if Adam was completely vindicated, the damage had already been done. His name had been permanently scarred, and people would always believe that there had to be some truth in there somewhere. Maybe he really did kill his wife and the police botched the evidence. Or if he didn’t kill his wife, he’d shot that guy in his house, hadn’t he? He was still unstable, still crazy. Maybe if he was a plumber or a carpenter he could’ve continued his career at some point, but as a psychologist, people needed to trust him with their mental health; they needed to know that the person treating them wasn’t potentially crazier than they were.

All funerals are like nightmares, but for Adam, Dana’s funeral was especially horrific. It was bad enough that he had to bury his wife, a woman whose life had been tragically cut short— she’d only been forty- seven years old, for God’s sake— but he had to suffer through the indignity of being scrutinized and judged, not only by the media and the public but by his own family. Even Marissa didn’t believe he was innocent. This made Adam feel horribly sick whenever he thought about it, and he wasn’t sure their relationship could ever recover from this. At the chapel and at the cemetery, people kept giving him looks and acting generally suspicious. Even when people came up to pay their respects, he knew that they weren’t being sincere. They were sorry for Dana, but they had no sympathy for him— and these were the people who supposedly cared about him the most. These were people he’d grown up with, gone to school with, worked with. He’d been there during the difficult times in their lives, when their loved ones were sick or had died, but now, when he needed them the most, they deserted him. He felt bitter and betrayed. He felt completely alone in the world.

Well, almost completely alone. He was glad his mother was there. Like every other person in the world, Adam had mother issues. Despite his best attempts over the years to achieve resolution, to reach closure, he had petty, unresolved resentments toward his mother that he’d harbored for years and that led to constant bitterness toward her. Although he always tried to confront his feelings and express himself fully, it was usually hard for him not to act irritable when he was around her for an extended period of time— well, for more than a day or two. But today he needed support and unconditional love from his mother, and he’d appreciated it when, shortly after she arrived from Florida, she took him aside and said, “I know my son isn’t a killer.”

“Thank you, Mom,” he said. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.”
As his mother held him, he felt like he was a child again and he’d just scraped his knee on the sidewalk and run home to his mommy.
“Don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay,” she said.
For a few moments, he actually believed her.
Then, maybe because he was with his mother and felt safe and protected, he suddenly felt the need to cleanse his soul. He said, “I made a mistake the other night, Mom. I didn’t have to shoot that guy.”
Adam had talked to his mother on the phone a few times since the shooting, but he’d only given her the general details because he didn’t want to upset her too much.
“Oh, stop it, you did what you had to do,” his mother said. “Somebody was in your house in the middle of the night. What were you supposed to do, let him shoot you first?”
“But I didn’t have to shoot him so many times.”
“So, who cares?” his mother said. “Stop feeling so guilty about everything. You always make yourself feel guilty, you drive yourself crazy. Give yourself a break.”
Her advice wasn’t bad. Forgiving yourself was always a good idea, though it was hard to feel innocent surrounded by people who were convinced he was guilty. It was also hard not to let what the media was saying get to him, especially that crap about how he was a “person of interest.” He didn’t even want to think about the very real possibility that the police could somehow put together a case against him, actually charge him with his wife’s murder. He knew that if he let his thoughts go there he wouldn’t be able to function at all. As it was— maybe because he hadn’t taken enough Valium— during the entire funeral he’d felt extremely disoriented. He wasn’t exactly sure who’d been there or what he’d said or how he’d behaved. He remembered Carol coming over to offer her condolences, and holding Marissa’s hand while he cried, and falling to the ground in front of the grave, but that was about it.
When he got back to the house, he was experiencing major anxiety symp - toms— rapid heart rate, severe dizziness, a pounding headache. He called a psychiatrist he’d once seen, Dr. Klein, and Klein called in a prescription for Klonopin to the local Duane Reade. Adam thought he’d have to get the medication delivered— what with all the reporters out there, he would be a prisoner in his house for days— but Xan volunteered to go pick it up.
After his first dose, Adam started feeling better. Well, he was still a mess, but at least he didn’t feel like he was on the verge of having a heart attack anymore. He joined his friends and family who had come over for the shivah, aware of notable absentees, like Sharon and Mike. Adam didn’t really mind, though. He’d rather be alone than around a bunch of people who were judging him.
When Adam went to get a glass of water, his mother came over to him and whispered, “I don’t like him.”
“Who?” Adam said.
“Who do you think? Her boyfriend.”
Adam looked over at Xan, who was looking right at him. Adam shifted his eyes back toward his mother, then rolled his eyes slightly and walked away, shaking his head. His mother had always been critical of Marissa’s boyfriends, especially the ones who weren’t Jewish.
But his mother wouldn’t let it go. Later, when Marissa and Xan had gone upstairs, she picked up as she if she’d never left off and said, “I don’t care, I don’t like him.”
“Come on, he’s a nice guy,” Adam said.
“Where did she meet him?” his mother asked.
“In the city. I think at a bar or a club, I’m not really sure.”
She gave him a look.
“A lot of people meet in bars, Ma, and Marissa seems happy with him. He’s been great, actually— very supportive throughout all of this. I mean, I had my doubts at first too, but he’s a good guy.”
“What kind of doubts did you have?” His mother was squinting seriously.
“I don’t mean
doubts.
I mean I was just a little skeptical, about his career mainly. He’s an artist, a painter, and I didn’t want Marissa to get involved with some flaky guy. But that doesn’t seem like the case at all. He seems very dedicated, very passionate.”
“He reminds me of Howard Gutman.”
“Oh, come on,” Adam said.
His mother had told the story of Howard Gutman dozens of times before, but that didn’t stop her from retelling it again and again.
“He sat at our table at your dad’s cousin Sheila’s wedding,” she said. “Everyone was talking to him and thought he was this great, wonderful guy, but I knew something was off about him. There was just something about the way he looked at people. It was as if he wasn’t really looking at them at all. A couple of months later we heard he killed his wife. He took a hammer and pummeled her to death while she was sleeping.”
“And what does this have to do with Xan?” Adam asked.
“I don’t like the way he looks at people,” his mother said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something just off about him.”
“Whatever you do, please don’t mention any of that to Marissa,” Adam said. “Just try to give her a break, okay? She’s going through a lot, obviously, and she seems very happy with Xan.”
“Xan,” his mother said with disdain.
“A lot of kids shorten their names these days,” Adam said. “It’s not his name I’m worried about,” she said.

About an hour after he took the first dose of Klonopin, Adam felt like it was wearing off, so he took another pill and a couple of Valiums, too. He didn’t bother to check for warnings about drug interactions, as at this point his health wasn’t exactly his top priority.

In the morning, when he went downstairs to the kitchen, his mother was already preparing for the second day of the shivah. It was hard to be in the kitchen and not think about what had happened there— that the floor around where the body had been was stained lightly pink didn’t help— and it was still hard to be on the front staircase and not think about the shooting and all the blood.

“How did you sleep?” his mother asked.
“I didn’t,” Adam said.
“Oh, you poor thing, why don’t you take a nap?”
“If I could sleep I would’ve slept last night.”
“At least go lie down on the couch. You need your rest.”
What he needed was some more Klonopin.
“I’ll just have a cup of coffee. Can you do me a favor and bring it out to me

A couple of minutes later his mother brought his coffee and said, “So I didn’t go to bed till after midnight, and Xan was still here.”
“I know, he slept over,” Adam said.
“He sleeps over already? How long has he known her?”
Adam took a sip of coffee and winced. His mother always made coffee too strong.
“Do you need another sugar for that?” she asked. “I put two packets in, but—”
“It’s okay, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure, becau—”
“I said it’s fine.” He managed another sip, then said, “Dana and I had discussed it. We didn’t feel comfortable with her bringing boyfriends home we hadn’t met, but we met Xan and we approved him.”
“Approved him,” she said.
God, she was already starting to annoy him, trying to say everything she could possibly say to aggravate him. Not surprising— they were at the two- day mark. When she got like this it was hard for him to believe that she wasn’t being passive- aggressive and doing this intentionally. The fact was, in this case he was actually on her side— he didn’t like the idea of Marissa having guys stay over either— but his mother had the uncanny ability to force a person into taking an opposing point of view.
“Do we really have to discuss this?” he said. “Sorry, but I really don’t think Marissa’s boyfriend situation is the most important thing in the world right now.”
They sat across from each other in silence for several minutes, but Adam knew his mother wouldn’t let it go. He could tell that her brain was churning, and he even saw her lips moving as she mumbled silently to herself.
“What can I tell you?” she finally said. “I feel the way I feel.”
“You never had problems when I had girlfriends over,” Adam said.
“What’re you talking about?”
“You and Dad,” he continued. “I had girls up to my room all the time and you never had a problem with it.”
“When did you have girls over?”
“All the time. Come on, don’t you remember my girlfriends? Stacy Silverman? Julie Litsky?”
His mother looked lost. She’d done it again, hit on another of his issues, how he’d felt ignored and emotionally neglected as a child. He’d always felt like his parents were too wrapped up in their own problems and didn’t pay enough attention to what was going on in his life. Was it possible that he’d re- created this dynamic in his relationship with Marissa?
“You really don’t remember Julie Litsky?” he asked, suddenly very agitated.
“Did she have red hair?”
“She had brown hair.”
“Oh, okay, I think I remember her now,” she said, but it was obvious she still had no idea who Julie Litsky was.
“And you don’t remember that you and Dad let girls sleep over in the house when I was in college? I used to have my girlfriends over all the time over the summer, for spring break, the holidays—”
“That was different,” his mother said. “They were girls you knew, who you went to school with, who came from good families. Who is this Xan? Some stranger off the street?”
“You don’t know anything about his family.”
“Neither do you.”
“Okay, I’m serious now, I really don’t want to discuss this anymore.”
Adam left the dining room. He went into the kitchen, just to get away from his mother, but then he noticed the pinkness on the floor and went back out toward the front of the house, avoiding looking at the staircase. Jesus, could he feel any more trapped? Then he peeked outside, saw a couple of news trucks, and thought,
Yes, I can.
There were fewer reporters than yesterday, but it was still early. There would probably be more later on, and then they’d start ringing the bell, trying to get him to come out and comment. One thing was for sure— this story wasn’t going to go away on its own. Until the police arrested Tony or someone else for the murder, Adam knew there would be constant speculation about his possible involvement. There would be newspaper and magazine articles, TV features, you name it. Actually, the real nightmare scenario would be if the police didn’t make an arrest and the case went unsolved. If that happened, no one would care about the evidence or facts in the case— Adam would be presumed guilty for the rest of his life.
Adam went upstairs and took a Klonopin and a couple of Advils. He felt nauseous several minutes later, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from anxiety or some side effect of the medication. He lay in bed for a while but decided this was making him feel even worse and returned downstairs.
His mother was alone in the living room, and the trays with bagels and doughnuts were untouched.
“I think it’s disgusting,” she said.
He knew she was referring to the lack of friends and family who had shown up for the shivah. Fewer than ten people yesterday and no one so far today.
“Eh, it’s expected,” Adam said. “People read the papers, they watch TV.” He noticed that the TV was on and picked up the remote and turned it off. “Sorry, but I’d rather live in a plastic bubble for a while, if you know what I mean.”
“But it’s not about you, it’s about Dana,” his mother said. “These are people who loved her, who supposedly cared about her, and they can’t be here for her now?”
His mother had pushed yet another button as he felt a pang of guilt for the way he’d treated Dana before she was killed. It was bad enough that they hadn’t been speaking to each other and had been on the verge of divorce, but even before then, over the last several months, he hadn’t treated her very well. She’d obviously been suffering, going through whatever internal conflicts had caused her to cheat on him, and she’d tried to talk to him so many times, but he’d been oblivious. He was the psychologist. He should have recognized the signs of the failing marriage and insisted that they go into counseling. There was no excuse for it, none at all.
“You can’t control what other people do,” he said, mindlessly ripping a bagel in half and then biting into one of the halves. Actually, he didn’t mind that no one had shown up today. He wasn’t in the mood to make phony conversation, especially with people who hated him.
Adam took another bite of the bagel, then realized he didn’t have an appetite and put the rest on the plate. He started pacing the living room, and then Marissa and Xan entered. They all exchanged good mornings, but when his mother spoke he noticed that she was looking at Marissa but not Xan.
“Can I talk to you a sec?” Marissa asked Adam.
“Sure,” he said.
“In private,” she added.
“I’ll wait in the hallway,” Xan said. Clearly he didn’t want to be left alone with Adam’s mother.
Adam and Marissa went into the dining room, and she said, “Sorry, but I have to get out of here today.”
“Where are you going?”
“Xan’s place. I just need some space, I need to breathe. I just can’t be around here.”
“I understand,” Adam said, wondering if “around here” really meant “around you.”
“I might come back to sleep here tonight, or I might stay at Xan’s and come back tomorrow morning,” she said. “Did you hear anything new?”
“No, nothing yet,” Adam said.
Marissa wouldn’t make eye contact with him, and he could tell that she still thought he was guilty. He couldn’t hide his frustration and let out a deep breath, as if signaling that this conversation was over. She took the cue and went ahead of him back into the living room. While she said good- bye to her grandmother, Xan came over and hugged him tightly and said, “I’ll be thinking about you, man.”
“Thank you,” Adam said. “I appreciate that.”
As Marissa and Xan started to leave, Adam’s mother said, “Call us later,” and Marissa said, “I will.”
His mother remained on the couch, and Adam picked up the other piece of bagel and bit into it and chewed it harder than necessary. He was still upset at Marissa for treating him that way. He wondered if she knew how badly she’d hurt him.
Then Adam became aware of a dog barking. It sounded like Blackie, the Millers’ dog, and the noise seemed to be coming from the street in front of the house. The dog was really barking wildly, the way he’d been barking the other day when Adam had returned from playing golf and found the note from Tony under the door.
“Do you hear that?” Adam asked his mother, but he was really talking to himself, thinking out loud.
“Hear what?” she asked.
Adam went to the front of the house, to one of the windows facing the street, and peered through a space in the venetian blinds. He saw JoAnne Miller holding the taut leash, trying to restrain Blackie, who looked almost rabid as he tried to escape to attack Xan.