Joanna Rakoff - A Fortunate Age

“Yes,” she said, amazed, relieved. How did he know? “That’s exactly how I feel!”

“And I also think that you may have lost a bit of perspective on certain things. Spending a few days—or maybe a week—here can help you figure out how to put things back in order. And regain that perspective.”

This was starting to sound a bit like something out of a manual or maybe the clinic’s promotional brochure, and Lil’s mouth twitched with disappointment. Josh was not, as she’d thought for a fleeting moment, brilliant. He was boring, safe, conventional, perhaps not even all that smart, just like her parents, her family, wondering why, oh, Lillian, why would you want to marry that man or move to that apartment or wear that dress or raise your voice at dinner? He was, Josh was , advocating for her to stay in the hospital, just as her father would do in the same situation. She could hear him now, the words he said a thousand times a day, to patients unhappy with their noses or ears or chins, “If there’s a problem, you may as well fix it.” Everything, in her parents’ world, could be remedied by this drug or that procedure. And everything that wasn’t perfect needed remedying.

“You’re talking about Tuck, right?” she said sullenly. Josh nodded. “You think I should leave him.”

“I don’t know,” he said, and she could see he was being truthful. “But I think you’ll benefit from being away from him for a few days. In a neutral place.”

“But couldn’t I just go to the Bahamas by myself?”

“Yes,” he said, “but you’re here. And Aetna doesn’t pay for trips to the Bahamas.”

She nodded. “And I guess that would be running away from things, rather than confronting them,” she said, supposing that was what he was going to say next.

“Depends,” he answered. “But that’s beside the point.”

The truth was, she liked the idea of a few days, even a week away from the endless cycle of work, dinner, laundry, shower, errands, away from the pressure of having to talk to Tuck, from the arguments, sparked by who knew what (an appreciation of the dinner salad, a refusal to pick up the phone), from the awful creep of his hands on her, which she craved and dreaded. In the hospital, she could lie in bed and read novels all day, like she did when she was a kid, and watch movies on television, and write in her journal, if Tuck would bring it, that is, if she was willing to ask him to bring it, running the risk of him reading it. She could talk to the doctors about all the things that were bothering her—Tuck’s lethargy, his inflated ego, his inability to finish rewriting his book, his strangely chauvinistic ways (why did she have to cook dinner and do the dishes every night?), at odds with his liberal persona. It would be like a vacation.

What she didn’t like was the idea of Josh trying to convince her to stay—which did indeed seem to be the case, and which made her wonder if he was keeping something from her, if he thought she was worse off than he was letting on. “If I said I wanted to leave now,” she asked tentatively, “would you let me go?” Josh cocked his head to the side, apparently gathering his thoughts, and Lil’s stomach dropped. Her suspicions had been correct. “Because you said that you thought I was fine, right?” she said, to fill the silence.

“Yes,” he replied, “and yes, if you want to go home, you can go home, but it might take a day or two. You’ll need to be evaluated by Dr. Goldstein and a couple of others. They need to make sure that you’re stable. Because if they release you and something happens, they could be held accountable. You get that, right?”

“But isn’t it obvious that I’m stable?” she asked, mostly because she wanted Josh to say “Yes, of course.”

Again, he took too long to answer. “Honestly? In psychiatry, you learn to never take anything for granted. The obvious answer is not always the right answer. The person who seems perfectly well-adjusted could jump off a roof tomorrow.”

“ I’m not going to jump off a roof! ” Lil cried. “My God .”

“Okay,” said Josh, nonplussed, which only served to further Lil’s annoyance.

“I don’t need a fucking lecture on psychiatry,” she said before she thought better of it. “Why don’t you just tell me? Just tell me what you think. Obviously , you’re thinking things about me, things that you’re not saying. Just tell me.” Even as these words were forming in her mouth, she knew she’d taken the wrong tack; she was pushing him away, literally, for now he was unfolding himself from the ugly vinyl chair and walking over to the window, his back, in its white coat, facing her. It was a nice back, broad and tapering, and for a brief, mad moment, she thought she might get up and put her arms around his waist, breathe in his clean, doctor scent, of orange antibacterial soap and powdered latex gloves and bay rum and Pepto-Bismol tablets, and he would turn in her arms and tell her she was the one he really loved, the one he wanted, and kiss her and grab her hair with his clean fingers, and tell her that he would take care of her, as he had taken care of Emily, and Tuck would just disappear, as if he’d never existed. And then he turned, a sharp movement, and gave her a look of such blank pity that she thought she would scream. “ Tell me,” she shrieked. “Stop treating me like a child. Just tell me.”

“I will not,” he told her, hitting each word, the way she’d been taught to do in acting class, “be bullied into saying things I don’t want to say or don’t think you’re ready to hear.”

“Bullied,” screamed Lil. “ Bullied . I’m not bullying you—”

“ Yes , you are,” he said. “Now, listen. I’m in a strange position here. I’m trying to talk to you as a doctor, but also as a friend. You want me to talk to you just as a friend? Okay, well, then I’ll give you some advice. You’re in a destructive relationship and you should get out of it. You’re extremely bright and I can’t imagine how or why you can’t see it. But clearly your husband is doing you no good.” Lil stared at him, shocked. “But,” she said, her voice still, she knew, too loud, “but you hardly know Tuck.”

Josh waved his hand dismissively. “I know him well enough.” With the formal air of a man waiting for a train, he held his wrist up, checked the time, and walked back over to her bed. “I need to get going. If you want to leave, talk to Dr. Goldstein and he’ll, I’m sure, get the release process going. If you have any problems, just tell Emily and I’ll intervene. Tuck should be by with clothes for you. You can eat dinner in the cafeteria tonight, with the other patients. If Tuck doesn’t come, Emily and I can go over and grab some stuff for you. She still has your extra key, right?”

“Yes,” said Lil, sullenly avoiding his gaze.

“Okay,” he said, more gently now. Why had she yelled at him? He had been her ally and she had alienated him. She was left alone, as usual. “Okay, Dr. Goldstein should be in soon.” He paused by the door. “And try to get some food down. You’ll feel much better. Really.”

When the door clicked shut, she took a quick look at her lunch, now thoroughly chilled, and found her appetite gone. The nurse had not come by with magazines and Emily had not returned with her book. There was no clock in the room and Lil had no watch, but she guessed it was midafternoon. How would she pass the time until dinner? A twinge of despair passed through her. More than anything, Lil feared boredom. She slunk down in the bed, wrapped the covers tight around her, and pressed her hands to her eyes, sending bright sparks across her lids. It would be nice to sleep, she thought, but she knew sleep wouldn’t come, not now. She could no longer ignore the brightness of the room or the nasty truths crashing around inside her head. Had Tuck always been such a cold creature? To leave her alone in the recovery room? To leave her alone on Friday, as she bled and bled? To have advocated for her staying on at the hospital? So he wouldn’t have to take care of her? To see her suffering? Would the man she’d married have done such things? No, she didn’t think so. But then would she, four years earlier, have held scissors to him, just so that he mightn’t touch her? No, no. Tears arrived in her eyes with a sting. On the wall in front of her, just then, she noticed tiny spots of light, striped red, yellow, green, blue. She sat up to look more closely—where were they coming from?—and they disappeared. When she slunk down again, they reappeared. Maybe she was crazy. But then she saw their source: her ring, her engagement ring reflecting the late afternoon sun. How stupid , she thought, stupid, stupid simple irony. Like something from a Julia Roberts movie.