The Many (4 page)

7

Two weeks after Christmas, Karl was thumbing through a three-year-old edition of GQ, trying to find a readable article between the ads for luxury watches, Italian suits and eau de toilette. But nothing held his interest past the first paragraph and he soon flopped the magazine back onto the coffee table, resting his elbows on his knees to stare up at the deco-style clock on the wall.

Stacey had been with the doctor for forty minutes now and the tension continued to build inside him. Not that there should’ve been any reason to worry. He hadn’t heard any cries for help or moans of despair coming through the walls. In all likelihood, they were having a calm, productive session. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t relax until Dr. Ramirez ushered his sister back into the waiting room.

The decision not to report Stacey to the authorities had been his mother’s idea. Mom was able to walk, albeit gingerly, only minutes after the attack, and her first concern was for her daughter, who’d slipped into a half-comatose state on the kitchen floor. With a dishtowel pressed to the back of her wounded head, she insisted Stacey be taken upstairs and safely tucked into bed before allowing herself to be tended to. In fact, it was only after Karl threatened to call the police that she agreed to medical attention.

During the short drive to hospital, Mrs. Morgan pleaded with Karl to keep the cause of her head injuries a secret, at least until they’d had a chance to talk as a family. She worried that Stacey would be charged with assault if the police found out, and Karl didn’t know enough about the law to disagree. Not that he would’ve considered it a bad thing if she faced criminal charges. Stacey would’ve killed Mom,
her own mother
, if Karl hadn’t intervened. She was completely out of control, and if she continued to deny she had a problem, a psych ward might be the best thing for her.

However, when his mother turned on the tears, Karl reluctantly went along with the story that she’d lost her footing on the staircase, knocking her head against the railing on the way down. It was an unlikely tale and the hospital staff regarded them both with due suspicion--Karl especially--but the Cave Creek ER was overrun with drunks on Christmas night and nobody could stop long enough to make a fuss.

After receiving a clean CT scan and spending several hours waiting to get stitched up, Mrs. Morgan was discharged shortly after midnight with the standard instructions to take it easy for a few days. When they arrived home, Stacey was waiting up for them in the living room. She burst into tears when she saw the thick bandage around her mother’s neck, apologizing profusely and claiming she remembered nothing from the afternoon’s attack. However, she accepted she was responsible, and begged for their forgiveness.

Mrs. Morgan was quick to exonerate her – still clinging to the idea that her daughter had suffered an extreme reaction to something she’d ingested. The champagne, most likely, or perhaps the turkey that had doubtless been pumped full of hormones.

Suspecting that Stacey wouldn’t seek help voluntarily, Karl announced that he was going to the cops, saying the attack was far too serious to ignore. Mrs. Morgan immediately went into hysterics, pleading with him not to betray his family, but Stacey simply stared at him from the sofa, wearing a flat expression he couldn’t read.

Karl had no intention of going against his mother’s wishes but the mere mention of the police gave him valuable leverage when he put forward a compromise. He wanted Stacey to see a psychologist. Since his own efforts to tease out her dark secret had been unsuccessful, a more professional approach might be required. Above all else, she needed to open up while the memory was still fresh in her mind. Otherwise, Karl feared she’d live in a permanent state of denial, convincing herself that everything was okay while she slowly turned blacker inside.

Mrs. Morgan hated the idea of therapy, refusing to believe there was anything wrong with her daughter’s mental health. But when Karl casually mentioned the police option again, she gave in. Stacey offered no objections, either. Despite being the subject of the discussion, she remained silent throughout, seemingly resigned to accepting her family’s recommended course of action.

He already had a psychologist in mind: Dr. Anita Ramirez. Her son, Hugo, was one of Karl’s best friends in elementary school. They'd drifted apart at high school when Karl started moving with the jock crowd and Hugo became a metal head, but they’d stayed on friendly terms. Karl regularly bought weed from Hugo, and Karl always vouched for Hugo at cheerleader parties. When Hugo and his family moved to Portland in their sophomore year, they kept in loose contact through Facebook, making the odd smart-ass comment on each other's wall. Karl occasionally asked after Hugo's parents, and that's how he knew his mom ran her own psychology practice in downtown Portland.

Growing up, Karl had always had a massive crush on Hugo's mother. Originally from Barcelona, Dr. Ramirez was a small, perfectly shaped woman with jet-black hair, big brown eyes and immaculate dress sense. Karl used to love having dinner at Hugo's place – he could spend hours listening to Dr. Ramirez’s rapid Spanish accent and watching her hands dance as she talked. She was easily the most sophisticated woman in Cave Creek and it was a mystery to everyone why she married Hugo's Dad, a quiet, grim-looking insurance agent. A green card, people used to say. People in Cave Creek always said things like that.

Karl found Dr. Ramirez’s details online but when he rang the office number, her secretary informed him that Dr. Ramirez only saw new patients on referral and she was completely booked solid through January. Instead of leaving a message in the faint hope she might remember him, Karl contacted Hugo and asked if he’d speak to Dr. Ramirez on his behalf. Although they hadn't spoken in two years, Karl didn't feel awkward about asking for a favor out of the blue. They'd always had an easygoing relationship, even when they were moving in different circles.

Hugo was happy to help and a few hours later, a much less enthusiastic Dr. Ramirez called Karl’s mobile. Her voice was frosty and impatient, nothing like what Karl remembered.

“This is extremely unacceptable,” she’d complained in a flurry of syllables. “I don’t appreciate my son being used as a bargaining chip.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t desperate, Dr. Ramirez. My sister needs help.”

“A lot of people need help, Karl. That’s why organizations like NAMI exist.”

“NAMI?”

“The National Alliance of Mental Illness. They provide support groups for people and their families who are living with mental illness. I can give you their number in Portland…”

“
No
. Sorry, but a support group won’t work. She doesn’t think anything’s wrong with her.”

“Maybe nothing
is
wrong,” Dr. Ramirez sighed. “Does your sister even want to see a therapist? Because I can save you a lot of time, Karl. If she doesn’t want help, she cannot be helped.”

“She needs to be
diagnosed
,” Karl stressed. “See, I know my sister is seriously disturbed but she’s convinced it’s just an anger management issue. That’s why she’s agreed to keep me in the loop.”

“I cannot discuss my patients with third parties,” Dr. Ramirez said, pouncing on the easy out. “You are mistaking private psychotherapy with institutionalized care. Even then you are not permitted to…”

“–I have her full consent,” Karl cut in. “Stacey wants me to hear your professional opinion. She’s happy to waive your confidentiality obligations. She’ll sign all the necessary forms.”

Dr. Ramirez clicked her tongue irritably, realizing Karl had done his research. “Even so, this is most irregular. It is not the way I operate my practice. Patients have to know that everything they say in my office is in the strictest confidence, no matter what forms they’ve signed. If they have to think twice about who might be offended by this feeling or that revelation, the entire treatment process is undermined.” She sighed heavily, tiring of the conversation. “I hope you can respect my position.”

She was seconds away from hanging up but Karl made a list-ditch attempt to talk her around. “Dr. Ramirez, I do respect your position. I’m sorry I’ve been so aggressive but it’s only because I’m concerned for my sister. See, I think something happened to her recently – like she was raped, or abused in some way. But she’s buried the trauma so deep she’s not even aware of how it’s affected her. Every day she seems to lose another part of herself. And to be honest, I’m scared as all hell.”

Dr. Ramirez was still on the line, listening. Karl pressed on. “One appointment, that’s all I ask. After that, I’ll never bother you again. Oh, and Doctor? Please don’t be too hard on Hugo. He was just looking out for a friend.”

Karl didn’t know if it was the not-so-subtle reminder he was Hugo’s friend or the suggestion of sexual abuse that ultimately persuaded her. But in the long pause that followed, he sensed Dr. Ramirez wilting. “Five fifteen, next Thursday,” she eventually said, hanging up before Karl had a chance to thank her.

Dr. Ramirez’s practice was in the heart of downtown, a block from the TriMet station. The newish, ten-story building seemed to function as a one-stop-shop for middle class health and well-being. The ground floor was taken up by a boutique fitness club – more cross-trainers than free weights – and the levels above were occupied by doctors, dentists, psychiatrists and optometrists, all boasting long lists of acronyms after their names. Karl thought it was the kind of place you walked out of a whole lot poorer.

Running his finger down the tenant directory, he saw Dr. Ramirez was a MA, Ph.D., and PSY10384, whatever the hell that meant. “I see she’s been to school,” Karl joked. “Always a good start.”

Stacey nodded blankly at his side. Since Christmas Day, she’d been a shadow of her former self rarely smiling, and never laughing. It was like spending time with a slouching, glassy-eyed child. Karl had done his best to hide from the outside world, keeping her under house arrest and telling friends she was visiting a sick aunt in Vancouver. He suspected it was already too late to save her job. Stacey’s unpaid leave ran out on Monday, and even if she managed to drag her feet into the office, she wasn’t going to sell much advertising in her current state. She could barely drum up the energy to speak let alone hustle for a sale.

They were kept waiting in the stark reception room for half an hour beyond their five-fifteen appointment. At the stroke of five-thirty, the receptionist donned her thick winter coat, switched off the heating vents, and said goodbye for the evening. The only other person waiting, a thin, elderly man with a permanent grimace, left a few minutes later, hurrying after a younger woman who ran out of the doctor’s office in tears.

After fifteen uneventful, teeth-chattering minutes, it was obvious Dr. Ramirez was sitting in her office alone. Karl resisted the urge to knock on her door. He knew she was probably regretting her decision to see them and would jump at the slightest excuse to turn them away. A quick glance at Stacey sitting next to him, staring into space like a zombie, was all the motivation he needed to keep his impatience in check.

When Dr. Ramirez finally materialized, she looked at him blankly. “Karl, is it?”

“That’s right,” he smiled, holding out his hand. “It’s been a long time.”

Dr. Ramirez shook his hand limply, giving no indication that she remembered him. Karl had done a lot of growing up and filling out over the past seven years, but Dr. Ramirez hadn’t changed much at all. It might have been the end of a long day, but she still looked beautiful in her tailored black suit and silk blouse, her dark hair pulled back with a silver clasp. She checked her watch, enormous on her slender wrist, and gave a puff of annoyance. “I’m sorry, I almost forgot you were coming.”

“Well, we appreciate you seeing us at such short notice,” Karl said, keeping the gratitude flowing. “You’re a real life saver.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she muttered, her eyes shifting to his right.

Sensing her cue, Stacey stood up and presented herself. Even though she towered over the diminutive doctor, Karl thought she looked like an awkward schoolgirl meeting her teacher for the first time. “I’m Stacey,” she said in a hesitant voice.

In the blink of an eye, Dr. Ramirez’s body language changed. Her shoulders opened up, her features softened, and her mouth stretched into the engaging smile Karl remembered from his childhood. She might have objected to being bullied into the last-minute appointment, but now that she was in front of a patient, she was a complete professional.

“A pleasure to meet you, Stacey, I’m Anita. I apologize for keeping you waiting, it’s been one of those days. Please, come into my office, it’s much warmer than out here. It used to be a dentist’s waiting room, can’t you tell? I’ve been meaning to decorate for so long.”

Stacey drifted through the door Dr. Ramirez had opened. Peering inside, Karl could see pleated fabric blinds, a colorful aquarium, rows of books, and a leather sofa set arranged around a low coffee table. “That’s right, just take a seat where you feel comfortable,” she said, following Stacey in. “I’m going to have a jasmine tea, but I have coffee if you prefer.”

The doctor gave Karl a reassuring nod before closing the door, leaving him alone in the sterile waiting room.

Karl picked up another old magazine and started flipping through the pages, snatching glimpses at the clock on the wall. Forty minutes turned into an hour, then an hour-twenty, at which point Karl thought it would be reasonable to knock on the door and ask if everything was okay. But Dr. Ramirez beat him to it, poking her head around the door to tell Karl the session was going well and they’d only be a little while longer.