Dr. Frolich raised an unpruned eyebrow. “Classic passive-aggressive behavior. You’re clearly being punished.”
“That’s what I think. Even worse, she served everything out of the plastic deli containers. It was horrific.”
“You said it was good for a while. What changed?”
“She said she missed me but the separation has been good for her.”
Dr. Frolich scrawled a few notes but didn’t say anything. Psychiatrists were very much like cops, allowing lags in the conversation that would hopefully become so awkward, the subject would be compelled to babble on to fill the uncomfortable silence. Just like he’d done with Melody this morning while pressing her about Ryan. Maybe he was learning some unexpected life skills in therapy.
“Yuki’s feeling guilty. About the separation.”
“That was a very difficult decision for both of you. Do you think her absence has been helpful to you in any way?”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But?”
“But today I realized that with her gone, I wasn’t feeling guilty anymore about putting her through my hell. So we swapped—she left and took my guilt with her. But then I started to feel guilty again because she feels guilty. Funny how that works.”
“Do you remember when we talked about guilt being a kind of drug? A coping mechanism?”
“A destructive, negative coping mechanism. A way of life, if you succumb to it.”
“You’re a good patient with a good memory.”
“Only for psychiatric sessions and baseball trivia. I don’t remember where I got my Auto World coffee mug, and stuff like that drives me nuts.”
“Baseball? You’ve never talked about that.”
“I played in college. USC. My true skills were bench warming and random, odd facts about the game.”
She gave him a challenging smile. “No-hitter, Yanks versus Cleveland, 1993.”
“September fourth, Jim Abbott pitching. Born without a right hand, but he still had a ten-season career.”
“I am duly impressed.”
“You never talked about baseball either, Doc.”
“That’s because it’s my job to listen. But I guess my secret’s out now—baseball is a minor passion of mine. Sam, you’re dealing with things better than you know. I don’t often see a sense of irony or a sense of humor come through these doors. Certainly not self-effacement. And none of those things come without intelligence and strength. You’re going to get through this.”
“That’s my plan. Is Jim Abbott supposed to be an allegory? Overcoming hardship and all that?”
“I was actually just testing you on your baseball trivia. It’s a diagnostic tool. For instance, if I had a patient who tells me he’s a physicist and says e equals mc squared represents the dimensions of his living room, I have a baseline for treatment.”
“That’s pretty specific. You had a patient like that, didn’t you?”
She gave him a demure look. “It was a purely hypothetical example.”
“I’m not as crazy as your hypothetical example. That should make you happy.”
“It does. And you’re not crazy.”
She might change her opinion if he told her about his obsession with the black Jeep or the episode that had culminated with him standing on the front porch with his gun. They smacked of paranoia and impending psychosis, so he decided to add them to his growing list of secrets. Pretty soon he’d have to start writing it all down—who knew what, who didn’t.
“Is there anything else about Yukiko’s visit you’d like to talk about?”
He focused on the vase of lilies, and words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Yuki took a job in Seattle. She leaves next month. We fucked like bunnies, then she told me. If you’re interested, I don’t feel anything. Just numb.”
Dr. Frolich leaned back in her chair. She was gifted in the fine art of the impassive expression, but this news seemed to take her by surprise. “You must be in shock.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Are you angry?”
“I don’t have the energy to be angry. And why should I be? I’m the reason she left. I’m the reason she’s moving to Seattle.”
She closed her notebook and placed it on her lap. “The things that have happened to you, the things happening now, none of it is your fault, Sam. It’s important to understand that.”
“Then who should I blame?”
“Nobody. There’s a difference between being a victim and having a victim mentality. Victims move on and improve their situation. People with a victim mentality never do. It’s the easy way out, blaming somebody or something else for your misfortune, nothing but mental gymnastics that exonerate you from taking personal responsibility and doing something to rectify your situation. Life isn’t fair, and it never has been. The expectation that it should be, without any effort, is the very definition of insanity in my opinion.”
Sam thought about Melody and the harsh words he’d said to her about being a victim. She used to be one, but she didn’t blame anybody, and she’d climbed out of her hole on her own. “That’s a good point.”
“You’ve had a lot of devastating losses in your life.”
“And now I have one more to add to the list.”
“Did Yuki say she wanted to end the marriage?”
“She didn’t have to.”
“If she didn’t specifically mention it, I’d like to encourage you not to get ahead of things. Just because she took a job in Seattle doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the end.”
“I think it is. I know it is.”
“Is that a husband’s intuition or fatalism?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, because neither of those things is grounded in reality. They’re merely projections. Right now, you’re not seeing anything but a single path to a bad outcome.”
“I don’t see any other paths.”
“That’s because you’ve already finished the journey in your mind.” She folded her hands together and leaned forward. “This is a fresh wound. Give yourself some time to process everything. And keep an open mind to other possibilities, a new perspective.”
Sam shrugged, suddenly feeling exhausted. “So don’t jump straight to divorce court, is that what you’re saying?”
“Something like that. Let’s take a short break, I’ll get us something to drink. Coffee or water today?”
“Water, thanks.”
The break ended the first half hour of talk therapy and commenced the second, which was usually devoted to pharmacological discussion. It gave him time to regroup after walking the hot coals of psychotherapy, and he appreciated it.
* * *
“I’d like to ask you about the new drug, Sam. You’ve been on it long enough to be seeing some results if it’s something that will work for you.”
“I think I am. I didn’t have a dream for three nights in a row. That seems like progress.”
“It is progress. Have you noticed any side effects?”
If you read the two pages of disclaimer notes included in the pharmacy bag when you filled any given prescription, you would be tempted to throw the pills away and live out your natural life as God intended. If you actually started the medication, you would become fixated on the endless roster of potential discomforts and life-threatening maladies, anything from dizziness to nausea, headaches, blurred vision, and organ failure—and of course the worst, which was sudden death. Most everything he had was preexisting, so he couldn’t blame the new drug. But he did have something to say on the matter.