The Venus Fix

Wednesday Sixteen days remaining
Sixteen

Bob was early for his second appointment of the week, but Allison kept him waiting as per my instructions. When she finally let him in, he just stood glaring at me.

“It’s worse. Everything is worse,” he barked.

“I think you should sit down.”

“What difference does it make? Sitting? Lying? It won’t change anything. My wife doesn’t talk to me anymore, and when I’m out, she’s in my office snooping around. I found papers on my desk out of order, a framed photograph broken on the floor.”

“What was it a photograph of?”

He looked at me as if I were speaking in tongues. “Of her. On some trip.”

“What trip?”

He thought for a moment. Frowned. “Our honeymoon.”

I nodded.

“Have you talked to her about being in your office?”

“I’ve tried. But she just shakes her head and leaves whatever room we’re in.”

He walked to the French doors that led to my tiny balcony and stood there with his back to me. Beyond him, the solid gray sky was unrelenting. Bob opened one of the doors and a fresh blast of freezing air, mixed with some snow, flew in.

“Bob, can you close the door?” I got up, ready to rush over, ready for anything, but Bob shut it himself and started to talk to me.

“There is a story in the newspaper this morning about a young woman who was found dead in her apartment. She’d been there for days before anyone found her.”

He turned and faced me.

I nodded. He was talking about the case Noah had been brought in on. Noah had called me the night before and told me about it, though not much detail; he was still at work and was only taking a short break to fill me in.

“The young woman…” Bob hesitated. “There was a picture of her…”

In silence, he returned to the couch, sat down, clasped his hands together and leaned forward. The lines in his forehead looked as if a sculptor had deepened them over the weekend.

“According to the newspaper, her name was Debra. I knew her as Penny. Do you understand?”

Bob had a habit of doing this to me, trying to get me to do the hard work for him. “No, I’m not sure I do.”

“She was someone I watched, Dr. Snow. On her Web cam. I can’t even count how many times I saw her. And now…” He was speaking softly, and I had to lean forward to catch every word.

“There were people watching her on the night she died, the article said. Men who actually saw her getting sick online-” He broke off again. Shook his head. Closed his eyes.

“Were you watching her?”

Thirty seconds went by. Forty. Sixty. Then: “There were people actually sitting there, online, watching her, not even realizing that she was dying.” Bob didn’t sound upset so much as astonished.

“What bothers you about that?”

He shook his head.

“Have you ever seen your wife ill like that?”

“Of course.”

“What did you do for her?”

“I took her to the doctor. I gave her medicine. Food. Whatever.”

“How did you know what she needed?”

“What do you mean? It’s what anyone who’s sick would need. What I would need.”

“How does it feel when you’re sick and your wife brings you what you need?”

“I don’t get sick.”

“Never? No flu? No cold?”

“Sure, but that’s not serious.”

“Okay, but still. Tell me. How did it make you feel, the last time you were under the weather and your wife brought you soup, or tissues?”

“I wouldn’t let her stay home from work to wait on me. I’m a grown man.”

“What about at night, when she came home?”

He thought about this.

“Didn’t she bring you anything? Not even a glass of water? Cough medicine?”

“She has enough to do. I don’t need her ministering to me like some hausfrau. I’m not needy like that.”

“But it’s part of a relationship. Part of being intimate.”

He shook his head. “It’s unnecessary. I’m fine on my own.”

“That must be lonely.”

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Not to need her, not to be able to lean on her.”

Because of his tinted glasses, I didn’t realize that his eyes had filled with tears until he reached up and wiped one away. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat, as if he hadn’t had an emotional reaction at all. “Of course I can lean on her.”

We both knew he was lying. To himself as much as to me.

And then, as if it was too much for him to bear, as if the lie chased him away, Bob stood up, and walked out of my office. Without a word of explanation. With so many questions still unanswered.