“She’s putting on a few pounds?”
“No, she’s the same as ever. But you’d never tell with how she dresses now. She hardly even looks like a woman.”
Zuniga spoke slower, obviously narrating the remarks she was adding to Natalie’s file. “Still. Appears to be. Confidence. And image. Issues.” She raised her pen. “Got it. Anything else?”
Robert had to think a moment before responding. “Well, she seems to have a little more patience with Simon. That’s positive, I guess.”
This time, he must’ve done a better job in not revealing that there was more to the story, since the psychiatrist smiled and opened her laptop.
“That’s very good, yes. If you don’t mind, Robert, just give me a minute to enter these updates into the database.”
As she typed, Robert’s thoughts drifted to the unabridged events that made him question the validity of Natalie’s newfound tolerance with Simon.
Where before their son had been so clingy, now he was relaxed. Every night when Robert had come home from work, he’d found Simon asleep on the couch. He’d wake and eat, only to go right back to sleep, and his moments of consciousness were usually spent half-lidded.
“Why’ve you been so sleepy lately, big guy?” Robert had tucked him in the night before. “You and your mom been having all kinds of adventures?”
“No.” He yawned. “We went to the medicine place the other day.”
“Yeah, you told me about that one. But what did you two do today?”
“Nothin’. Had strawberry smoothies. Watched TV.”
And the boy was gone. Robert kissed his forehead and left the door open a crack.
He’d walked down the short hall and into the kitchen. The dish drainer beside the sink was full of clean dishes. It was Natalie’s job to put them away, but it wasn’t worth waking her. She was on the couch asleep and the length of time it took for her to move past the grogginess and become useful verged on the ridiculous.
Robert stretched his arms above his head, popping both his shoulders, and took a handful of forks from the drainer. He’d pulled open the silverware drawer and noticed a pill bottle sitting in the organizer.
Again with this? That evening he’d found a toothbrush in the closet, a stick of butter on top of the television, and a pillowcase over her vanity mirror.
He removed the bottle.
Benadryl. A niggling suspicion in the back of his mind. Strawberry smoothies.
Robert had opened the child-proof cap and looked inside. There were only ten pink tablets left.
The small kitchen was joined to the living room, only separated by a counter bar with three stools. He looked over at Natalie sleeping on the couch.
Are you drugging our child to avoid dealing with him? To shut him up?
He considered his options. Should he wake her up and confront her? There was always the possibility it wasn’t true. He didn’t ration Benadryl. Maybe there’d been only ten tablets for a long time.
I could prove it for sure. Toss these in the sink and see if she buys a new bottle tomorrow. But no, that won’t prove anything. What if she needs it tomorrow? Of course she’ll buy a new bottle.
He was almost certain, and that was good enough.
Technically, this isn’t that bad. She’s not poisoning him. Benadryl is harmless, and maybe if he does calm down, she’ll love him again. He can be overwhelming, and she’s still adjusting. Remember what Dr. Zuniga said about how good you are that you’re so understanding.
But still, his son was being drugged. He couldn’t allow it to continue.
Robert waited for the psychiatrist to finish typing before he spoke.
“I was thinking though, with regard to Simon. Even if Natalie has been more patient lately, maybe she needs to be alone first, right?”
“I apologize, Robert. Can you elaborate?”
“I don’t know if you’re a mother, but it really is a full-time job. And it’s like she just ‘came back to work’ after being away for more than a year. I thought it might help if I gave her a break. Start her at part-time and work from there.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Dr. Zuniga picked up her pen.
“Nothing. There is no suggestion because I’ve already done it.” He cleared his throat. “I’m having Simon stay at my mother’s house for a while. Unless you think that’s a bad idea.”
Usually Robert preferred when the doctor agreed with him, but in this instance he hoped she might not.
It’d been difficult to explain to Simon and hard to see him go away. He hadn’t confronted Natalie about the drugging or consulted her in his decision. He’d packed Simon’s bag and drove him over while she was asleep.
I want my son back. He locked his jaw and ground his teeth to keep back the tears. Tell me it’s a shit idea. I’ll pick him up tonight and find some other way to solve this drugging business. I want my family to be complete. I—
“I think that’s an excellent plan.” The psychiatrist gave him her usual warm smile. “Limiting her stressors will help her focus on effectively acclimating to the situation. And you’re so selfless in putting Natalie’s needs before your own happiness.”
Yes, I am. He nodded at her, still not trusting himself to speak. Nothing is more important than Natalie, and once she has the wife part down, Simon can come home. It’s only a slight delay. Better than her being dead or at the Center.
“I guarantee, Robert, you’ve made the absolute best decision for your family. And it may be painful right now, but you won’t regret it when everything falls into place.”
After a few more seconds he relaxed enough to swallow and speak. “Thank you.”
Between the two of us we can’t be wrong.
*
Proof of Robert’s wise decision making had come only days after Simon was gone and before his next medication management appointment:
“Robert, Shelly invited me to go to dinner with her. Can I go?”
He could’ve applauded. Thank God, Natalie wanted to go out. This was a sign that it’d been a combination of the medication and pressure causing the odd behavior. Now she was turning around.
“You don’t need to ask me, Nat. Would you like me to drive you?”
“No, I’ll walk. I just wanted to make sure it’s okay.”
“I don’t mind you going out with Shell.”
Even if there hadn’t been an impact from their previous visit, Shelly was a positive influence on Natalie.
She’ll be a good mentor in getting back into the swing of things. She takes great care of the house, of the kids, of Clark. Yes, this is excellent. Very—
Natalie walked down the hall in the sweatshirt and jeans, her hair in a tangled ponytail.
“Don’t you want to wear something nicer for dinner? Fix your hair?”
“No, I like this.”
At least it was dark outside.
“Call me if you want a ride home, okay? Love you.”
“Okay.”
Robert had waited up for her, eager to see if Shelly had been able to work any magic. Especially since she’d been gone for hours. He’d hoped his wife would swing into the room – beautiful and happy, shopping bags in hand with exciting adventures to tell.
But Natalie came back tired and quiet. She wore the same shabby clothes and her hair was still a mess. Yet, she did walk through the door with a smile on her face.
I’ll take it, Shell. It’s something.
And he couldn’t wait to share this good news with Dr. Zuniga.
Chapter 17
Oz was many things, but patient wasn’t one of them. Though Natalie had said she’d return, the next gathering wasn’t for a couple weeks. She didn’t need her prescription filled for another two weeks either. So he faced a minimum of fourteen days until he saw her.
How could she expect me to wait that long?
He sat in his car outside her apartment building two days later. The building was within walking distance from his pharmacy, but he decided a skul
king pedestrian looked more suspicious.
The more he thought about Natalie, the more curious he’d become. And not only about the secret she was keeping. It could be no more horrible or shocking than what’d happened to Santino or Tinks. Or him. What bothered him was why he wanted to see her. Why did he think about her in the middle of the night? Even before the CryoLife procedure a woman had never enthralled him enough to prevent sleep.
Only one thing had that impact. We used to stay awake long, long into the night. He sighed and closed his eyes. But it’s better to pretend that it didn’t exist. It’s not like it will ever come back anyway.
Still, despite the effort to shove the idea aside, the parallel had occurred to him last night. Natalie had caused his midnight thinking sessions to return.
Oz had been lying awake thinking about her before he realized he was lying awake thinking about her. If that was possible. Which it must’ve been, since it’d happened. He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, his arms folded behind his head. And an image of Natalie flooded into his mind.
When Natalie had materialized at his side in the bar, the atmosphere in that familiar place changed. With the dark sweatshirt and jeans three sizes too large her silhouette looked like a brick turned on its end. That blond hair, pulled back with unruly strands struggling to escape. He knew her features were exactly as they had been. CryoLife didn’t make those kinds of mistakes. But something wasn’t the same about how she set her jaw. About how her face moved. Even if she’d been wearing the short skirt and low cut blouse, there was a rough quality to her.
And as he thought of her, he was shocked to find he felt the itch. Not for a woman, a man, or whatever androgynous thing she was trying to be, but he felt the itch in his fingers for a problem to solve. And unlike the snippets that came into his thoughts at regular intervals throughout the day, Natalie was a problem he knew he was capable of solving.
So last night, still lying in bed, he’d chewed his lower lip, and wondered about the location of his cigarette pack. He needed to chill out. The pot was downstairs and so was the gin. He’d laced his fingers together and stretched his palms to relieve the strain before turning and creeping his hand across the night stand until he found it. Cigarettes were his preference anyway.
What did I do before you, hmm? Oz took a deep drag and collapsed into his pillows. Maybe I could’ve solved it with you to help me think. That’s the only good thing about this fucked up mess. It brought us together.
As he relaxed, Natalie again came before his eyes.
And now there’s you …
He hadn’t felt this way about anything since before his death. This magic spark that danced around a problem. It gave every equation an aura meant to grab his attention. And though he hesitated to crack the door on contemplating a closer comparison, the darkness and nicotine made him bold.
Something needed to be understood, tamed, and made beautifully simple. What was behind the ratty hair, the baggy clothes, the dismal eyes? It was like a group of variables floated around her. What did they mean? What did she mean? If he dragged her into the abstract world to test her, to find a place where she’d fit, or make a new place for her to fit … What would he find? When the hidden meanings were solved out, what was left? What was the answer?
My new problem … Where would I start with you? How would I create a proof for you?
It’d sent a shiver down his spine, and he knew there was no turning back.
It wasn’t his fault that something about her had impacted him. So today he didn’t necessarily feel weird as he waited until after nine before getting out of his car and walking to her door. He wanted to know more about this hold she had on him. Because of her, he’d felt a flicker of who he used to be ten years ago. He’d seen the illusive flash and it must be understood.
He pressed the bell twice.
When Natalie opened the door, she didn’t appear happy to see him, but also not unhappy.
“What are you doing here, Oz?”
“I thought we could hang out.”
“I told you I’d come to the next thing.”
“But before then. You seem … lonely,” he ventured. “I thought you could use company. Are you going to invite me in?”
“No, I’m not alone.”
“Do you have a secret lover that slips in after the hubster leaves? Kids don’t bother me.”
“How do you know Robert’s gone? Have you been watching the apartment?” The prospect appeared to make her nervous. He saw the door quiver as if she were about to shut it.
“I have better things to do than watch your apartment. I pay attention, that’s all.”
No measure of relief crossed her face. Oz sighed and continued to explain.
“You only just started picking up your own meds. I checked my database of who’d been signing for them before, and Robert Keller has signed for pickup every time at approximately nine in the morning. So he must’ve been stopping on his way to work.” Was she impressed by his sleuthing? “We are creatures of habit. And why else would someone be awake at this ungodly hour, except if one had to work?”
“Did you close your pharmacy so you could bother me then?”
“I’m the proprietor. That doesn’t mean I work 24/7. And are you happy? I’m not stalking you, I notice patterns. It’s one of my old habits. Perceiving patterns. Putting them together.”
“Patterns that become apparent when you pull records from a confidential database.”
“Signing for medication pickup isn’t private. The contents of the medication are. But I won’t admit to reviewing that data. No matter how interesting the information may be.”
CryoLife wasn’t forthcoming about its mysterious blends. It was unique for every person, and the mix changed depending on the psychiatric sessions, routine medical tests, and taste of the particular owner. There was also the difficulty of explaining to someone they were being forced to ingest psychotropic drugs. If patients thought they were being given only immunosupressants to prevent organ rejection, it was easy to ensure they took the medication religiously, extra nuggets and all. But was Natalie intelligent enough to have guessed that she was being slipped other things? And having thrown out the tempting bait of how useful he could be, would—
“You know what’s in the medication?” Her hold on the door relaxed. If he wanted, he could’ve pushed his way in.
“I mix their witch’s brew in my backroom.”
They were both silent.
“Come on, it’s freezing out here.”
“It’s eighty degrees, Oz.”
“How do you know I don’t have brain damage to my hypothalamus? I could be going into hypothermia.”
Natalie opened the door.
“Thanks. It’s not like I’m going to rape you. Even your hubby isn’t my type.”
Oz stepped inside the apartment and made a show of rubbing his biceps as he looked around.
It could’ve been cozy – it was small and well furnished, but didn’t feel comfortable. He didn’t know if it was the way objects were placed, or the objects themselves. It also could’ve been the feelings radiating from Natalie that coated the place. It was as if the walls buzzed with stress. The apartment and every stick of furniture in it was nervous. There were even a couple frames draped in tan pillow cases on the walls – one by the door and one beside a family portrait. He wondered what the concealed pictures contained, or if the apartment had begun to hide from itself.
Against his inclination, he plopped back on the couch. He was too intrigued to let a vibrating apartment dissuade him. And he trusted his ability to make himself at home wherever he was.
“So this is where you live, huh?” Oz asked as she shut the door.
“For now.”
“Thinking of running away, are you?”
“No. But Robert wants to buy another house by the end of the year."
Natalie sat on the edge of a couch opposite him. Her back was straight and her shoulders prim. In stark contrast, af
ter lacing his fingers together to stretch the tension from his palms, he’d relaxed into the cushions and tucked his arms over the back of the couch. He’d been considering putting his feet up on the coffee table.
I’m more chill in your place than you are.
“He had to sell the old one for the deductible.”
Oz was pleasantly taken aback at the volunteering of this information. She hadn’t had to tell him. This knowledge added another level of understanding to how unhappy she was. Did her husband rub it in? Did the kids?
Exponentiation. Original guilt repeatedly multiplied by itself. Raised higher and higher to the power of all the fucked up assholes around you.
He guessed that Robert was like the other people who opted in to CryoLife – doing so without considering the liability clause. The company couldn’t get away with not disclosing that their procedure changed people. They downplayed it, but they admitted the risk. In a font the size of ant shit. But it was there.
And Natalie could partially blame herself for making the decision without looking into it more; however, with her out of the picture, it was the responsibility of Robert to claim the service “benefit” or not. The program hadn’t been established for people of modest means. With the changes in her, was her husband regretting his purchase?
“So, it’s indentured servitude then.”
She shrugged. It was so riveting, like how it’d been in the old world. Plugging things in and seeing how they reacted. What should he try next, since she appeared ready to play? Or too defeated to fight.
“But you said, ‘He had to sell the house.’ The key phrase is ‘had to,’ doll.” Oz leaned forward. “He didn’t ‘have to’ do anything. Nobody forced his hand. And you can’t be held accountable for his decisions. I mean, you were dead at the time.”
“He felt he had to.”
“Again, how can you be responsible for his feelings? He’s an adult person.”
“He loves me. Or loved.”
“What part of that is your fault?”
Assimilation Page 14