Intensive Therapy Part 30

"What did she look like?"

"She was pretty; she had blonde hair and blue eyes. I remember her sweaters because the colors always matched her eyes. But outside of the practice room it was like she had no use for me. It was the weirdest thing. She hung around with a different crowd and never once introduced me to any of her friends. So in that way she made me feel bad."

"Whenever we have to pair off in cla.s.s," Gil said, "the same girl always picks me."

"Do you like working with her?"

"I enjoy it. It's fun for both of is. I can tell she likes it, too."

"That's good. So she likes being around you. At least in cla.s.s."

"Are you sure?"

"You betcha. You can't pretend to have fun ... unless she's a professional actress, which I'm a.s.suming she's not."

Gil a.s.sented, smiling.

"Do you know her outside of drama cla.s.s?"

"Not really. But she smiles when she sees me in the hallway."

"Then she most definitely likes you. Cheryl never smiled at me anywhere! Do you like it when she smiles at you?"

Gil's face relaxed into a glowing grin that couldn't be faked.

"Can I ask her name?"

"Brandy."

"That's a nice name. Do you smile back when you see her?"

"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to. She's a senior."

"Ah. An older woman. I like her already. She has good taste. Well if you want her to know your better, you can always ask in drama cla.s.s if she wants to work one-on-one with you some time."

"I could do that."

"I bet she'll say yes."

"And then what'll I do?"

"Be yourself and go with it. If what happens between you and Brandy makes you feel bad, then stop doing it. You'll know if it stops being fun. If you're not sure about how you're feeling, I'm always here to talk about it."

"Supper's ready," Jennie called from the kitchen.

"We'll be there in a minute," shouted Jonas, reconsidering his beach reading. "Brandy aside, Gil, how about this? I'll read the play before vacation. Then, we can practice together: You play whoever you want; I'll read the other parts."

Gil's face brightened. "That'd be great, Dad. Really great."

"I'll enjoy it, too. We'll have fun."

55.

As the three of them sat down to dinner, Jonas's twelve-year-old daughter Grace burst through the door and flung her backpack to the ground. Peeking into the kitchen, she said curtly, "Hi Mom. Hi Dad," then disappeared into her room.

"Dinner's on, Gracie," Jennie said.

"I'll be there in a minute," Gracie yelled back. A minute turned into two, then three, then five. Jonas looked at Jennie, then Gil, then Jennie again. Jennie's mushroom sauce had begun to solidify.

"Shall we wait for her or not?" Jennie wondered aloud. Jennie looked at Jonas liked like she expected him to do something.

Jonas, who felt hungry enough to eat gruel, said, "Let's eat. She'll be along soon enough."

"Someone knock on her door and tell her we're waiting," Jennie said.

Gil said, "She probably ate already, but I'll tell her if you want, Mom."

"Your father will get her," Jennie said peevishly.

Jonas said, "Let Gil do it. She'll listen to him."

"Dad will take care of it," Jennie resolved stridently while looking at Jonas. Jennie rarely argued in front of the family, but she shot him the same confrontational look from earlier.

As he rose from the table, Jonas said in exasperation, "Get started with dinner while it's hot. This may take a while."

When the telephone rang, Jennie bristled. "Who's calling in the middle of dinner?"

Jonas saw that the telephone cradle was empty. "Where's the receiver?"

"How should I know? Look for yourself."

Gil looked at his mother with an expression that said, "What gives?"

Jonas said to Jennie, "I'd like to speak with you. Alone," he added when she had barely moved. Jonas headed into the den, Jennie trailing behind slowly. "What's going on with you?" he said.

"It's time for you to get involved with her, too. Everything can't just be left to me. It's not right."

"What's been left to you?"

"It wasn't this way in my family. We all had to pitch in."

"What? I thought your mother wanted you to be her clone."

"You're off saving the world and forging new frontiers in psychiatry and psychoa.n.a.lysis. I'm the one who has to deal with her issues."

"Okay, Jen. Enough! I'm starving. I had a good talk with Gil. I want to do the same with Gracie, but I need to eat first and clear my head. There's no way I'm going in there hungry and tired. Nothing good will come of it.

"I suppose," Jennie said dubiously.

Gil was easy, Jonas thought. Gracie will be harder ... much harder. Jonas saw the parallel between his and Victoria's children.

56.

After wolfing down dinner, Jonas grabbed a mug of coffee and disappeared into his den. He gazed at the bridges spanning the East River. Due east, a jetliner descended steeply toward LaGuardia Airport, about to make the hairpin turn over Shea Stadium that always scared him to death when he shuttled to Boston or Was.h.i.+ngton to testify or give a lecture.

Jonas moved onto the couch, where words and sentences began forming. "Jennie is my wife. Stan is my father-in-law; sometimes I wonder if Gil and Gracie are even mine," he said as if he were with Dr. Frantz. "Ah. I see. This thing about Gil and Gracie is about belonging."

Jonas went to his bookshelf and picked out his copy of Moses Maimonides' Guide for the Perplexed. He hadn't touched it in nearly a quarter of a century. A familiar smell tickled his nose and called to mind the conversation he had with his father a month before he died.

"What do you want to do after medical school?" Jonas's father asked.

"I'm not sure. It really doesn't matter where I'm going, I just see myself driving a used Volkswagen Beetle."

w.i.l.l.y Speller said, "I hope you get where you want to go. That car may have to last longer than you think. When I got my first car, I had no idea I'd use it to drive my first child home from the hospital."

"You mean Eddie?"

"No, we were going to name him after the first man in our family who settled in America, Jacob Spielmann; Jake for short. But the baby died before the Brith. Crib death, they called it."

"You mean I had another brother? Eddie never told me."

"He doesn't know."

"'SIDS,' they call it now. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Some people think it runs in families. I'm sure to be asked about it when I have children."

"I didn't know you were considering it."

"I haven't gotten that far in my plans yet, Dad."

"You'll get there."

"Having children scares me. I don't know if I'll ever be ready," Jonas told his father.

"Don't worry. You'll make a great father when the time comes. I hope you'll be blessed to have children that give you as much pleasure as you and your brother have given me."

Jonas returned to the present and clapped his hands in glee. "I get it!"

"You get what?" Jennie said through the closed door.

"Later," Jonas replied.

For the first time, something made sense. Children giving their parents pleasure, like that was all there was to parenthood. Jonas cringed at his navete-at the times he had distanced himself from Gil and Gracie when they weren't such a pleasure. And the connection to Victoria's children. The crisis with her children forced him to realize how vulnerable all children are. That they may be gone at any moment-like Jacob, the brother he never knew. It was so much easier to focus on Melinda's and Gregory's vulnerability than to feel it about Gil and Grace.

His hesitation was about adoption, he realized, but not in the way he thought. The real fear was that if the birth parents reappeared to claim their offspring, Gil and Grace would desert him in a moment. He hadn't appreciated that they would become his over time, the way Victoria and Jonas had become parts of each other's lives by being involved with each other's conflicts. That's why he had had to be there for Victoria on Thanksgiving night; because he belonged. Being involved: such a simple phrase with such far-reaching consequences. Conflicts are important, Jonas acknowledged. Just because Dr. Fowler sucked at dealing with them doesn't mean I can ignore my own. Biological and psychological parenthood are far from the same, Jonas realized.

It was closing in on 10:00 PM. Jonas rose and left the room. Jennie was nestled comfortably on the living room couch.

"I'll explain later," he told her on the way to Gracie's room. Halfway down the hall he turned around. "You know, it's really late, Jen. What I have to say will keep until tomorrow. Besides, I want to sleep on it."

57.

At 4:00 PM the next afternoon, a new patient entered Jonas's office. Stewart Collier was a middle-aged, well-put-together man in an expensive business suit; he worked for a Wall Street investment bank.

After introducing himself, Jonas said, "So, Mr. Collier. What are you hoping we can do here?"

"I need something for depression," Mr. Collier said as if he were ordering lunch. "My divorce has been dragging on longer than I ever expected. I've tried everything, but nothing works for more than a few months."

"Who's been prescribing?" Jonas asked.

"Different doctors over the past few years. They all blend together in my mind. I have a psychopharmacologist, but my internist said you were good with medications. I guess you could call this a second opinion."

Mr. Collier produced two typewritten pages. Jonas perused the impressive list of antidepressants, antipsychotics, and mood-stabilizers.

"Did any of the medicines work better than others?"

"I liked Paxil the best."

"Why was that?"

"Because it took away the pain and the anxiety. And it worked fast."

"The pain?"

"I was really hurting after my wife served me with divorce papers. I never thought Sandra would go through with it."