twenty- three
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.”
This was exactly what he needed to hear. Finally he had an ally. “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.”
