Self-Defence

12

I told her who Lucy's father was, and she reached for her Jell-O without registering much reaction.

"I was a math major, never much for fiction," she said. "Then you get into med school and your whole world really narrows… So the pain of abandonment would be that much worse. He's available to the whole world but not to her… and now that dream, that's pretty darn Freudian. This is starting to sound like old-fashioned psychiatry. I don't get much of that."

"What do you do mostly? Medication?"

"Almost totally. I attend at six different ER's and I rarely get to do any follow-up. So yes, if Lucretia's willing to see me, I'd be very interested. She's an interesting woman."

"Where's your office?"

"Tarzana. I rent space from another psychiatrist." She gave me her card. "Where are you?"

"Malibu."

"Not too shabby. I would like you to stay closely in touch. We need to make sure she doesn't see you as yet another man who's walked out on her."

"I was planning to visit her while she's in. When would you like me to start?"

"Any time you're ready. I'll leave your name with the charge nurse."

She ate some more Jell-O and finished her milk, wiping away the white mustache. "While you're there, though, I'd keep it casual. Especially in terms of your gay friend. I'd just as soon hold off on any more surprises until I have a better feel for what's going on with her. Make sense?"

"Yes, but once she's out, she's likely to seek him out. She views him as a protector."

I described how Lucy and Milo had connected at the trial.

"Well," she said, "for now I'd tell him to keep a low profile. What she needs is protection from her own impulses."

I drove home thinking Wendy Embrey might be very good for Lucy. But I wondered how Lucy would react to a change in therapists.

I had conflicts of my own about the transition: relieved at the chance to get out of a mess, but more than a bit guilty at how good that freedom sounded. And I still wanted to know what had happened that summer. For her sake or mine? The answers weren't comforting.

I put on some music and drove like a robot. When I got home, surfers' vans were parked all along the turnoff to the public beach.

When I opened the door, the phone was ringing.

My service with a long-distance call from Ken Lowell.

"Hi, doctor. Anything new on Lucy?"

"She seems to be holding her own."

"I spoke to Dr. Embrey and she sounded pretty sharp, but I'm a little confused. Who's going to be Lucy's doctor?"

"As long as Lucy's in the hospital, Dr. Embrey's in charge."

"Unfortunately, I can't seem to reach Dr. Embrey now. Are you going to be speaking to her? If you are, I'd like to pass something along. I think she should know."

"Sure."

"I got a call from my brother early this morning, explaining why he hadn't shown up for dinner. Some sort of business emergency. In Taos, New Mexico, of all places. I told him what had happened to Lucy and he really went ballistic. But then he said he couldn't come back because he was tied up."

"He said the same thing to Dr. Embrey. Must have called her right after he spoke to you."

"But it doesn't make any sense. Because when we met last week he wasn't involved in any business- told me he'd been unemployed for a long time. So what was so urgent?"

"I really don't know, Ken."

"No, no reason for you to… I have to tell you, doctor, he sounded very edgy. I can't help thinking he's in some kind of trouble. I was just wondering if Lucy said anything to you that you could divulge without breaking confidentiality."

"She really didn't, Ken."

"All right. Thanks. I'll be back and forth to L.A. for the next few weeks. Would visiting Lucy be appropriate?"

"I'd talk to Dr. Embrey about that."

"Yes, of course. I have to tell you, doctor, this is strange."

"What is?"

"Instant family."

At 4:10 Robin called to let me know she'd been invited to attend a showcase that night at the Whiskey, a band of thrash-metal heroes brandishing guitars she'd built.

"Would you mind if I passed?" I said.

"If I had a good excuse, I'd pass too. Zero showed up at the site and invited me personally."

"What time do you think it'll be over?"

"Late."

"How about if I come by before and we grab some dinner."

"What about Spike?"

"I can bring takeout."

"That would be great."

"When should I get there?"

"Soon as possible."

I picked up earplugs at a pharmacy in Point Dume and sandwiches and drinks at a deli nearby. It took forty minutes to get to the jobsite. Several trucks were pulling away, and Robin was conferring with a bare-chested man with a tobacco-stained walrus mustache. Nearly bald except for some yellow back fringe and a ponytail, he was concentrating hard as she spoke.

She saw me and waved and continued to talk to him, waving a roll of blueprints. Spike was on the rear bed of her truck, and he stuck his frog face above the tailgate and barked. I went over and lifted him out. He licked my face and waved his forelegs in the air, and when I put him down, he stood up, hugged my knees, and rubbed his head against my leg.

"What a handsome guy you are," I said. "Handsome" was his favorite word, after "meat loaf." He started panting; then his nose went after the bag in my hand.

Robin said, "Okay, Larry?" in a tone of voice that meant she was working at patience.

"Yes, ma'am."

"So let's try for inspection by next Monday. If there are any other problems, let me know right away." She shifted the blueprints to the other hand.

"Yes, ma'am. For sure." Larry looked at me.

"This is Dr. Delaware. He pays the bills."

"Sir," said Larry, "we're fixing up a nice new place for you, you bet."

"Great," I said.

He scratched his head, walked up toward the house, and began talking to another worker. The pond was empty and half filled with dirt. What had once been a garden was a muddy pit. The new house's roof points sliced the sky at sharp angles. The sun that showed through was platinum-white.

"What do you think?" she said.

"Very nice."

"Soon." She kissed my cheek.

I kept looking at the construction. The framing was complete and the walls had been papered and partially mudded. The mud was ridged with trowel marks and still wet in spots. The original house had been redwood walls and a cedar roof. "Kindling on a foundation," the fire marshal had called it. The new building would be stucco and tile. I'd get used to it.

Robin put her arm around me and we walked to the truck. "Sorry about tonight."

"Hey, everyone has their emergencies. Here's something for your sanity."

I gave her the earplugs and she laughed. Pulling down the tailgate, she spread an army blanket and we set out the food. We ate listening to the sounds of hammer guns and saws, feeding Spike bits of sandwich and watching birds circle overhead. Soon, I felt pretty good.

I brought Spike home, fed him dinner, took him for a jog on the beach, and settled him in front of the tube. Then I showered, changed into fresh clothes, and headed for Woodbridge Hospital, making it to the parking lot by seven.

The Psychiatric Unit was on the third floor, behind swinging doors labeled LOCKED. I pressed a buzzer, gave my name, and heard the tumblers click. Pushing, I entered a long well-lit hallway.

The chocolate carpet was freshly vacuumed, the walls a pleasant brownish-white. Ten closed doors on each side, the nursing station at the end. One nurse sat there. Soft conversation came from somewhere, along with television dialogue, radio music, and an occasional ringing phone.

When I got to the station, the nurse said, "Dr. Delaware… yes, here it is. Lucretia's in 14, that's back there on the left side." She was very young and had yellow cornrowed hair studded with tiny blue ribbons, and beautiful teeth.

I retraced my steps. Before I got to 14, the door to 18 opened and a small, sweet-faced woman around fifty looked out at me. She wore a pink dress, pearls, and pink pumps. The back wall of her room was covered with family photos, and the aroma of chocolate chip cookies poured out.

"Have a nice day," she said, smiling.

I smiled back, trying not to look at the bandages around her wrists.

Her door closed and I knocked on Lucy's.

"Come in."

The room was eight by eight, painted that same brownish-white, with a bed, a fake-wood nightstand, a tiny doorless closet, and a desk and chair that looked child-sized. The TV was mounted high on the wall, the remote control bolted to the nightstand. Next to it was a stack of paperbacks. The top one was entitled Grievous Sin.

No bathroom. A single immovable window, embedded with metal mesh, offered a view of the parking lot and the supermarket that was the hospital's neighbor.

Lucy sat on the bed, on top of the covers, dressed in jeans and a white button-down shirt. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow, her hair was pinned up, and her feet were bare. An open magazine rested in her lap. She could have been a college girl relaxing in a dorm room.

"Hi." She put the magazine aside. Good Homemaking. The cover promised "Holiday Snacks Your Family Will Love You For."

"How's it going?" I said, sitting in the chair.

"I'll be glad to get out of here."

"They treating you okay?"

"Fine, but it's still prison."

"I spoke to Dr. Embrey. She seems nice."

"Nice enough." Flat voice.

I waited.

"Nothing against her," she said, "but I'm not going to have anything to do with her when I get out."

"Why's that?"

"Because she's too young. How much experience could she have?"

"Did she do or say something to weaken your confidence?"

"No, she's smart enough. It's just her age. And the fact that she's the one who's keeping me in- a jailor's a jailor. Once I'm out, I'm finished with this place and anyone associated with it. Do you think that's foolish?"

"I think you need someone to talk to."

"What about you?"

I smiled and touched the gray at my temple. "So I'm old enough for you."

"You're experienced, Dr. Delaware. And we've already got a relationship, why start from scratch?"

I nodded.

"You don't agree," she said.

"I'll never abandon you, Lucy."

"But you think I should see Embrey." Her voice had tightened.

"I think ultimately you make the choice. I don't want you to feel abandoned, but I also don't want to sabotage Dr. Embrey. She seems very capable, and she's interested in you."

"She's a kid."

I said nothing.

She scooted to the edge of the bed and sat there, legs dangling, toes brushing the carpet. "So that's it for my therapy with you."

"I'll always be here for you and I'll help you any way I can, Lucy. I just want you to do what's best for you."

She looked away.

"Who knows, maybe I don't even need a therapist." She turned back to me sharply. "Do you really think I tried to kill myself?"

"It looks that way, Lucy."

A painful smile flickered. "Well, at least you're honest. And at least you call me Lucy. They call me Lucretia. He gave me that name. After Lucretia Borgia-he hates women. Jo's full name was Jocasta. How's that for Oedipal?"

"What about your brothers?"

"No, the boys' names are okay. He let the boys be named by their mothers. He was only out to ruin the girls."

"Ruin, how?"

"Rotten names, for one. How can I have confidence in this place when they don't even respect me enough to call me what I want? I keep telling them Lucy, but each time a new nurse comes on shift, all they do is read the chart. Lucretia this, Lucretia that. "How are you, Lucretia?' "

She got up and looked out the window.

"I didn't put my head in that oven," she said. "I have no idea how I ended up there, but I didn't do it. Not sleepwalking or any other way."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I just know. Not that I'd ever tell Embrey that. She'd think I'm crazy."

"She doesn't," I said. "And neither do I. But I do think you might have done it while sleepwalking. It's unusual but not impossible."

"Maybe for someone else, but not me."

She turned around. She'd cried, and moisture streaked her cheeks.

"I know it sounds bizarre and paranoid, but someone's trying to kill me. I told Embrey I changed my mind about that because I didn't want her to lock me up forever. But there's something you should know about. Can I tell you in confidence, without your telling her?"

"That puts me in a bind, Lucy."

"Okay," she said. "I understand. I don't want to do that to you. But either way, she won't know. Not until I get out of here."

We didn't speak. She dried her eyes and smiled.

"Thanks for coming. Thanks for doing what you think is right… I didn't put my head in that oven. Why would I do that? I want to live."

She dried her cheeks. "Those phone calls. I thought they were nothing- maybe they were nothing. But I am… going to tell you, even though you'll probably think I'm nuts and I'll get locked up till who-knows-when."

She began to cry.

I put my hand on her shoulder and it made her cry harder. When she stopped, she said, "I so don't want to be locked up. I cherish my independence."

"I won't do anything to lock you up, if you promise not to hurt yourself."

"That's easy. I don't want to hurt myself. I promise, Dr. Delaware- I swear."

She sat quietly for several moments. "One time- right after I started seeing you- I came home and found some of my stuff moved."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Clothes… underwear. I'm no neat freak, but I do have places for everything. And my panties and bras had been moved- reversed in the drawer- as if someone had taken them out and put them back, folded a way I never fold them. And one pair of panties was missing."

"Why didn't you tell anyone about this?"

"I don't know. It only happened once, and I thought maybe I was imagining it. I'd just done a load of laundry the day before; I figured it was possible I'd left the panties in the machine and maybe I had put my stuff back differently- absentminded. I mean, I'm not the kind of person to imagine the worst. But now I realize someone must have been in my place."

She grabbed my arm. "Maybe that's why I started having the dream again. Because I felt threatened. I don't know; sometimes I think I am imagining everything. But I'm not crazy."

I patted her shoulder and she let go of my arm.

"Did Ken really save me?"

"Yes."

"What's he like?"

"He seems nice."

"Another thing I'm worried about is, where's Puck? Embrey's giving me some story about his calling her from New Mexico, but that makes no sense."

"He called Ken from there, too."

She took hold of my arm again, harder. "Then why hasn't he called me?"

I was silent.

"It doesn't make sense," she said.

"He told both Dr. Embrey and Ken that he was on some kind of business trip. He had a dinner date with Ken a couple of nights ago but didn't show up. That's how Ken came to save you. He was looking for Puck at your place because Puck told him you were close."

"We are… Puck never told me about any dinner date."

"It was a trial balloon the two of them had worked out, to see how they'd get along. If they did, they were going to get you involved."

"Protecting me? Typical." She stood up and yanked her hair loose. "Puck's always trying to protect me, even though- so why hasn't he called?"

"Even though what?"

Hesitation. "Even though he's not the toughest guy in the world himself."

"What does he do for a living?"

Another pause. "Different things, over the years."

She turned around, brown eyes hot. "Right now, he's not doing anything. He has three years of college with a major in history. Try to find something decent with that. Well, I'm sure he'll be back soon and we'll straighten it out. I've got lots of things to straighten out. Thank God I'm getting out soon."