Charisma: A Novel

by Barbara Hall

  He does and she puts her head against the glass and after a few minutes she’s quiet and he stares at the dark road. He wonders why he didn’t, or doesn’t, call the hospital in Carmel himself and ask about Sarah’s condition and find out what happened. There is only one answer. He isn’t prepared to know yet.

  “Are you married?” Emily asks.

  The voice startles him. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you gay?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve just never wanted to get married.”

  “I’ve always wanted to in the abstract. Never in the specific.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I like the idea of it.”

  “But not the reality.”

  “I always imagined that getting married requires a kind of compulsion. That it’s not a decision but a kind of dawning. Suddenly it’s clear and you move. But I think that’s a naïve concept.”

  “It’s not naïve. It’s romantic. Are you a romantic, Dr. Sutton?”

  “Not at all. I would have thought.”

  He remembers Heather Hensen asking him the same thing and it makes him uncomfortable. He remembers how she unsettled him and he pushes the memory away.

  “Except about marriage,” Emily says.

  “I just wanted something to take it out of my hands.”

  “Like God?”

  “Like chemistry.”

  “You want a chemical marriage?”

  “I want to feel compelled. I want to be moved.”

  “And you’re not a romantic.”

  “I don’t think passion is a romantic concept. I think it has something to do with the neurotransmitters. With the evolution of the species. In fact, what we call passion is probably more like physics.”

  “Physics?”

  “Electromagnetism.”

  “Wow. Hard to believe no one has snapped you up.”

  He laughs.

  “It laughs,” she says.

  “What’s your perspective on it?” he asks. “Were you caught up? Or it was a logical decision?”

  “It was both. He was going away to art school and we were caught up.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was twenty, he was twenty.”

  “You couldn’t have just moved to art school with him?”

  “It was in North Carolina. I had this idea that people wouldn’t appreciate a cohabitating couple down there. And I was sure, so why not?”

  “Was he sure?”

  “He was after I got through with him.”

  He laughs again.

  There is a moment of silence where he lets his next question form. And she seems to be waiting for it.

  “Were you ever worried…?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “That you…”

  “Wanted it more than he did?”

  “I wouldn’t have phrased it that way.”

  “Give me your version.”

  “That you persuaded him.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I was talking about timing, not an imbalance in the relationship.”

  “We’ll never know,” she says quietly.

  He doesn’t jump to fill the silence, though he wants to. He wants to reassure her though he has no idea why.

  “The thing is,” she says, “we had a deal. He would be the artist and I would work to support him. He wouldn’t have to teach or wait tables or anything. He could just concentrate on his work. And I believed he would make it. I always believed that. It was just a matter of time.”

  “What was his medium?” David asks, hating the stiffness of the question and its past tense but not knowing how else to phrase it.

  “Everything. But mixed media in particular. He did this series of shadow boxes that were full of antiquated science equations and equipment. They were on display at MOCA for a while. He got a grant after that. Then a couple of celebrities found him and he was getting commissions.”

  “When was that?”

  “A couple of years ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “Crazy. Crazy happened.”

  “Do you think it was related to his success?”

  “No, I think it was a mind-boggling coincidence.”

  He says nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “It’s all right.”

  “Here’s the thing. Do you want to know the thing?”

  “If you want to tell me,” he says.

  “Do you ever turn off the shrink thing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, here’s the thing. Because I made all the money for so long, I managed the bank accounts and I took care of the rent and the cars and insurance and appliances and you name it. I took care of the details. And one day Willie wasn’t a young guy anymore. He was a guy approaching forty who didn’t know how to make a plane reservation. And it scared him. But it didn’t scare me. Because now it didn’t matter who wanted it more. He couldn’t leave. I did that to him.”

  David says nothing.

  “I shackled him,” she says.

  She begins to cry quietly. He wants to reassure her again but still he doesn’t and he lets the sound of her weeping fill up the car like a different kind of music.

  Chapter 31

  I have a TV in my room. I haven’t watched one in a focused way in a very long time. I flip the channels and I can’t help marveling. What is this? Is this what people like? There’s a lot of shouting. There are hundreds of shows about dead people and how they got that way. The rest are about rich people and pretty people and how they got that way. It’s hard to look away from it. I see why people get addicted. But I also feel it infecting me. It starts to feel like a window and you start to believe these people are the norm and are everywhere and this little box of a world is all there is. It helps you forget. I want to forget right now. I’m too ashamed to do anything else.

  A nurse comes in and says, “Someone is here to see you.”

  “Who would come to see me? I don’t have anyone.”

  “Your doctor.”

  “I just saw the doctor this morning.”

  “Your other doctor,” she says and there is a hint of something like embarrassment in her voice.

  Dr. David Sutton walks in. He is wearing jeans and a tweed jacket and a button-down shirt. This must be his traveling look. It makes me smile. My smile, I can see, unsettles him.

  He pulls up a chair and sits next to me.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “Well, I’m pretty damn crazy, wouldn’t you say?”

  He doesn’t laugh.

  “How do you feel?”

  “My throat hurts. My head hurts. I’m tired. I feel like someone tried to kill me. Why are you here?”

  “I came with Emily. I brought her here.”

  “Willie’s wife.”

  “Yes.”

  “And where are they?”

  “He’s in jail. She’s bailing him out.”

  “What’s he charged with?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing will be official until the arraignment.”

  “I don’t want him charged with anything.”

  “That won’t be up to you.”

  “Really? Even though I’m the one who nearly died?”

  Dr. Sutton sighs and shifts in his chair and is very annoyed with me. I don’t need any help to understand that.

  “Are they going to arrest me, too?” I ask.

  “What for?”

  “Stealing the truck.”

  “No. Oceanside is not going to pursue that.”

  “And I kidnapped a patient.”

  “Everything’s under control. You’re going back there and I’m going to continue treating you.”

  “Wow. People just cut a wide path for the crazy, don’t they?”

  “Please stop referring to yourself that way.”

  “I’m on your side. I’m ready to
admit it.”

  “Do you want to talk to me about what happened?”

  “Why I kidnapped Willie?”

  “Yes, we can start with that.”

  “Can I have a drink first?”

  “They don’t have alcohol here.”

  “You really have lost your sense of humor.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Okay, Dr. Sutton. It went like this. I decided Willie was dying in there. I decided he was a great artist and he needed to answer that calling and the drugs and the shock treatments were interfering and if I could just get him away I could cure him. I thought I was divinely inspired.”

  “Did the guides tell you to do that?”

  “No. That’s the problem.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “I stopped listening to them and went into business for myself. Or maybe they just stopped talking and I tried to fill the void. See, the way it is with Heaven, you either do their business or your business. But you don’t interpret what they want. You don’t get creative. You don’t anticipate. You can’t get ahead of Heaven. That’s what I did.”

  “I see.”

  I take a deep breath. I’m ready to say this. I know when I say it, it will be permanent.

  “And now I’m like you.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “I’m normal. I don’t hear the voices anymore.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I left. Oceanside. No, a little before.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I snapped out of it. Maybe it can happen like that. Crazy can just one day be over like a virus.”

  He smiles but I can see he doesn’t believe me. Of course he doesn’t. I’ve been yammering to him about spirit guides for…how long now? I still can’t do math. But that’s who I am to him.

  He says, “Sarah, maybe we can take this moment to make a connection.”

  He has called me Sarah. Even he doesn’t seem to hear this. But I do.

  “Sure. I’ve always felt connected to you,” I say.

  “Not between you and me. Between what happened back then and what happened a few days ago.”

  I have a moment of no earthly idea what he’s talking about. Then I recall the moment of clarity I had when Willie was trying to choke me. Twice in one life. Probably not a coincidence. This is what Dr. Sutton is struggling to say.

  “Oh,” I say. “I hear you.”

  “We don’t have to go deeply into it now.”

  “But you’re wondering why I keep trying to get myself killed in the same way?”

  He scratches his chin and doesn’t answer. He looks away from me and toward the window where the afternoon light is fighting its way through the blinds.

  I can tell something is different about him, though. His body language, the way he has trouble looking at me, the way he fidgets with his keys.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “What is what?”

  “You’re acting strangely.”

  “I’ve been through an ordeal.”

  “My ordeal?”

  “Yes. I’m in it with you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I’m your doctor.”

  “You guys don’t get emotionally involved, do you?”

  “We compartmentalize. It’s not the same as not caring.”

  “Dr. Sutton, are you a little in love with me?”

  The question throws him off. He can’t look at me.

  “It’s okay if you are,” I say.

  “No, I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s bigger than that.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t. I’m not sure I understand it.”

  His cell phone goes off. His ring is some kind of classical music. He ignores it.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “My phone.” He reaches into his pocket for it.

  “No, the music.”

  “It’s Mozart. Eine kleine Nachtmusik. I’m sorry, I’ll just turn it off.”

  “Don’t you need to answer it? It’s all right.”

  He looks at the screen. “I should answer it.”

  “It’s all right.”

  He walks across the room and lowers his voice as if I won’t be able to hear him. “Hello? Yes, I’m here. I’m all right. I was going to call. I had to see her first. She’s fine. I mean, she’s not fine but she’s going to be all right, physically.”

  There’s a significant pause.

  “Listen to me,” he says. “Calm down. She’s a patient. You’re not being rational. No, I don’t have a savior complex, Jen. I’m a doctor. No, you’re not. Look, you haven’t really been yourself since the ordeal and I don’t think the medication is helping. What do you mean? I’m trained to make judgments like that. Don’t push me on this matter. Because I will say things I’ll regret.”

  Another pause.

  “No, not that. I’ll ask you to stop pretending that we are in the same profession. I had ten years of medical training before I hung a shingle and you read a book and took a test online. A long time, Jen. I’ve felt that way a very long time. I’ve always felt that way. But it’s not important. Because I don’t need to approve of your profession. I don’t need to like it. You need to like it but it seems you don’t anymore if you ever did. Can we please talk about this later? It sounds like you’ve been drinking. No, I’m not keeping score. My point is that we should discuss this at a more appropriate and less emotionally charged time. Yes, I am always a shrink because you know why? I’m a shrink. I have to go. Call a friend. Have someone come over. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  He ends the call and puts the phone back in his pocket. He keeps his back turned to me for a long moment. When he turns, I am flipping through a magazine and pretending to be engaged. I have no idea who anyone in the magazine is but the headlines seem to assume I do. It assumes that I care if the marriages of celebrities are on the rocks. It assumes I need to know where to buy the most flattering jeans and how to lose my belly fat in ten days. I put my hand on my belly to see if there is any fat. I can’t tell. It seems to move more than it used to.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “What for?”

  “Taking the call. She was worried. I told her I’d call when I got here.”

  “Jennifer.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you live together?”

  “No. But we were together when I left my house. She’s there now. She’s in a fragile state. I’m sorry, it’s very unprofessional to reveal all this.”

  “It’s okay. She’s jealous.”

  “No. Not in the traditional sense. Just of the idea that I rushed to your side and left her alone. There’s some professional jealousy going on. I guess that’s how I’d describe it.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t mean to share this with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m here for you. My life is suspended when I’m in session.”

  “We’re not in session.”

  “No. But I am here in a professional capacity.”

  “If you say so.”

  He sits back down in the chair and holds his spine straight and tries to breathe some professionalism back into it. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes and puts them back on, then interlaces his fingers in his lap and looks at me and waits.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Is there anything else you want to discuss right now?”

  “Not really.”

  “Any questions?”

  “When are they kicking me back to the crazy palace?”

  “Tomorrow. I will escort you back myself.”

  “All of us? In the same car?”

  “No. Emily will make other arrangements. We’re still not sure what they are going to do with Willie.”

  “Will he come back to Oceanside?”

  “No.”

  “I hope they treat him all right.”

  Dr. Sutton stares
at me. I’ve taken him aback but he’s struggling not to show it.

  “You do comprehend what occurred, don’t you?” he asks.

  “Besides him trying to kill me?”

  “No, just that.”

  “I didn’t take it personally.”

  He clears his throat. “All right, we will discuss this later. You need to rest.”

  “You need to rest, too. You look tired.”

  He ignores this. He stands and remains by my bed for a moment as if he’s not quite sure of the appropriate parting gesture. There’s something in his body language that suggests he wants to kiss me. Maybe just on the head or the cheek. But I can tell that’s what he wants to do and his intellect is battling against it.

  “Well, then,” he says.

  “Yes, well.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  He starts away.

  “I remembered my friends,” I say, knowing it will make him turn and he turns.

  “What?”

  “I have two friends. At least. Laurie and Samantha.”

  He lets this settle into his consciousness.

  “Do you want me to call them?”

  “No. I just wanted you to know that I have them. I remember them.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  “Also, I am an artist.”

  This seems to mean more to him.

  “Oh?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I think maybe it’s important. Maybe it’s what I came back for.”

  He nods, hands in his pockets, staring at the wall.

  Finally he looks at me. “Well, you don’t need to decide this tonight,” he says.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s just an idea I had.”

  “We’ll talk about it next session.”

  “Okay.”

  He smiles and starts to walk out.

  “A little night music,” I say to his back.

  He turns in the doorway. “Excuse me?”

  “Eine kleine Nachtmusik.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “That’s what calls to you? A little night music.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Well, it’s your ringtone. It calls you.”

  “It’s just a ringtone.”

  “You hear it, underneath everything, like a bit of distant music. And then the music gets louder and you like it so you turn it up louder until it’s all you can hear. That’s what it feels like.”

  “Like you’re a radio,” he says.

  “Yes. And the trick is to keep the volume low. But you can’t turn it off. No one can live that way.”