One thing is for sure, he and Meredith would never be sitting beside each other on a therapist’s coach. Misery beyond anything they’ve ever contemplated must come through Cartwright’s door on a near constant basis. Perhaps to offset this reality, the doctor’s office is big and airy, with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that look west, toward the UCLA campus and the Santa Monica mountains. The decor is tasteful, decidedly therapist-neutral. The paintings on the wall are modern but in no way disquieting, mostly neutral colors thickly applied in broad swaths. The furniture, too, is modern, but comfortable, the beige couch they are sitting on adorned with two small patterned decorative pillows at each end. Kleenex boxes have been placed discreetly on small glass tables on either side.
Dr. Cartwright says, “I thought it was best to discuss the evaluation of Mrs. Rivera Hollis in person, and then you can let me know if you want me to memorialize it.”
Will and Abby exchange a glance, then nod their heads at the same time. They all know the game here. Any written report may have to be turned over to the government even if they decide not to use it, so best not to have one in the first place unless they are sure.
A favorable written report will carry great weight. Dr. Cartwright’s curriculum vitae—her words—had made Will’s eyes glaze over. Scholarly papers and published studies about the many experiments she had conducted over four decades, gathering data so granular and scrupulously validated as to make her conclusions seem unassailable. One of the foremost experts on battered women’s syndrome in California. That reputation had buttressed and finally won Abby’s argument to Paul that she was worth the money: $2,000 just to conduct the initial evaluation of Luz, which is what they are here to discuss, another $4,000 for her written report, and $350 an hour for her testimony. All of those fees at a highly discounted rate, as Dr. Cartwright had reminded them more than once.
Dr. Cartwright picks up a notebook from the side table at her left and puts on her reading glasses, which are hanging from a thin chain around her neck. “You asked me to interview and evaluate Mrs. Rivera Hollis in order to form an opinion as to whether she was suffering from battered woman’s syndrome such that it affected her state of mind when she killed her husband, Travis Hollis. In addition to a two-hour clinical interview, I also administered a number of psychological tests, including the MMPI-2, the MCMI-III, the Rorschach Psycho-diagnostic Inventory, and the Structured Interview of Reported Symptoms. Additionally, I used the Spousal Assault Violent Acts Scale to determine the severity of the abuse Mrs. Rivera Hollis reported experiencing during the marriage.”
Will nods again, trying to look interested. Come on, lady.
But instead of continuing, Dr. Cartwright pauses for a moment. “I should start by saying that your client was reticent to an unusual degree. Bordering at times on uncooperative.”
Even though he knows it’s inappropriate, Will feels a smile spreading across his face. He is heartened, almost happy, to learn that Luz is no different with a renowned psychologist than she is with him. “Yes,” he says eagerly, “yes, she is. I—” he looks at Abby “—I mean, we have been trying to get her to talk to us for weeks now and it’s just been—” he looks at Abby, hoping for confirmation “—well, difficult.”
Abby gives him a dirty look, like he’s talking out of school, and Will stops abruptly.
“We started with the basics, questions about her family and growing up,” Dr. Cartwright continues, filling the awkward pause. “That seemed to help her open up a bit. As did my asking her pointed, direct questions. Even then, she tended to give short answers and never elaborated on anything I asked her.”
“Why should she?” Abby says. “Talk to any of us, I mean? To her we are a bunch of white people in positions of authority who think we know better.”
Dr. Cartwright nods. “I think it is fair to say that she hasn’t had great experiences with, as you say, the patriarchy.”
Will considers pointing out that Abby had said no such thing: she was talking about race, not gender. But Abby is nodding her head in agreement. “There is so much mistrust,” she says to Dr. Cartwright, “and rightly so.”
Dr. Cartwright returns to her notebook. “Mrs. Rivera Hollis told me that she is an only child, brought up by her grandmother, Maria Elena Rivera, with whom she currently resides. The family is originally from a rural part of Mexico called Guerrero. Maria Elena and her husband, Felipe, now deceased, came to southern California to work in the strawberry fields sometime in the late 1960s. They were granted amnesty through a bill signed by President Reagan in 1986.
“Mrs. Rivera Hollis’s own parents never married. Her father, a construction worker, left the household shortly after she was born. Mrs. Rivera Hollis has not seen him since that time; apparently, he resides in Modesto, with what she calls his ‘new family.’ After her father left, Mrs. Rivera Hollis’s mother, Marisela, became severely depressed. They moved in with Maria Elena when Mrs. Rivera Hollis was two; when she was six, Marisela committed suicide.”
Abby and Will exchange glances. Luz had told them none of this.
Dr. Crawford turns a page of her notebook. “Mrs. Rivera Hollis told me, ‘I was angry with my mother because she left me. When you have a child, you make a promise to raise that child. My mother broke that promise. I would never do to Cristina what my mother did to me. Because if I did, my daughter would always know that she wasn’t enough to make me want to live.’”
Dr. Cartwright peers at them over her reading glasses. “I can’t emphasize enough the importance not only of the suicide, but the fact that Mrs. Rivera Hollis was abandoned by both of her parents.
