“Mark, how is that anger affecting your day to day life?” She inquired.
“Day to day life? What day to day life? All day every day I’m just thinking about my daughter. I can barely eat, I can’t sleep, and lately, work has been a joke. I can’t take off anymore unless it’s an unavoidable necessity, like today when my baby girl wanted to see me,” he smiled at Clara who returned in kind.
“And we’ve been arguing more often.” Melanie broke in. “I mean, it’s not bad or anything, but it’s…it’s just not us.” She seemed sincere.
“We just want things back to the way they were.” Mark said putting his arm around his wife.
Clara saw this tender moment between mourning mother and father and felt the weight of it all times ten. She was the root of all of this anger, frustration, jealousy, sadness, and marital tension. She chastised herself for screwing this up. She always felt like a screw up, but now there were three people sitting in front of her with their lives turned upside down because of her and her stupid brain. The weight broke her.
“Aunt Karen,” she paused, then said, “Mom? Dad?” I’m so sorry I’ve caused all this pain, and I promise you, I’m doing everything I can to make things right, I really am,” she said guiltily. “When I meet with Dr. L, we talk, she helps me.” Clara looked Dr. Lindenhurtz directly in the eye and tried to force a jovial tone, “It’s not like we sit out here chasing rabbits.”
Melanie laughed nervously, “We know, honey. And we are so proud of you. Thank you for all that you are doing. I know it can’t be easy. We just love you.” Melanie reached for Clara’s hand, and this time, knowing she would be rescued momentarily, she allowed it to happen.
Lydia checked her phone. “Well, ladies and gentleman, I think our time here is up. I need to get Clara back to her room to finish up our session privately.” Lydia was professional and assertive. She didn’t wait for protest. She stood and shook each of their hands as she said, “It’s been nice meeting with all of you together in one place. I will be in touch, and please, wait to be invited back. Remember, we cannot chance moving too quickly.”
Lydia smiled and ushered her patient back inside. Mark and Melanie retreated to their car, along with Karen whom they had purposely parked beside.
“That went well, I think,” Karen said with a sigh of relief.
“As well as can be expected, given the…unique conditions.” Mark replied. Melanie remained silent, exhausted by the previous exchange.
Chapter Fourteen
The rest of May and all of June were a blur of sessions, and medications, and Clara getting to know her parents. Sessions were now mostly taking place in Lydia’s office. Clara showed marked success in her treatment sessions with Dr. L and was even accepting her parents for who they were, her parents. Dr. L had observed the bond between mother and daughter growing with each visit. She had noticed Clara was adapting to her role as their daughter, though Lydia was suspicious about its authenticity.
“I think she’s faking it,” Lydia confided in Dylan one evening in mid-August.
Dylan, only half listening, replied, “Lydia, why on earth would she be faking it? That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know, Dylan. Something in my gut is telling me she’s pretending.”
“But what does she get out of pretending, Lydia?”
“She gets to check out of Breemont sooner. In fact, we are meeting about it on Friday.”
“So what? Good. Let the kid go home.” Dylan didn’t care one way or another. He didn’t know what kid. He didn’t know where home was. He only knew a few general details as per HIPPA laws, therefore he was not invested and not interested. Truth be told, he would have not been invested or interested regardless. It didn’t affect him, so he couldn’t care less.
“It’s just fishy. The whole thing seems fishy. I can’t put my finger on it. And I don’t trust that aunt at all.” Lydia continued.
“Not this again, Lydia,” Dylan grumbled. “You told me about the Bedford thing. That didn’t turn out so hot for ya, now did it?”
Lydia cringed. He was right. Young patient. Psychotic break. Lydia began to believe him, and then he murdered his entire family. To say that didn’t turn out so hot was the understatement of a lifetime, but still, she had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. She discontinued her conversation with Dylan, and he didn’t seem to mind. Without a word, she left the apartment and crossed the hall to Ollie’s.
She knocked and when she did, the door eeked open. He must have forgotten to close it again. As paranoid as that sweet man was, Lydia thought he’d be more careful about locking his door.
She listened and didn’t hear him, beginning to wonder if he was even home. Ollie was apt to disappear for days—sometimes weeks—at a time without so much as a word of warning. He had no pets to feed, no plants to water, and there was nothing at home to tie him down. Usually, when he would return, he’d have some story of chasing down a theory or traveling to talk to some person who had been abducted by aliens, or been unlawfully accused of a crime, or who claimed to have seen Jesus burnt onto a piece of toast. She pushed the door open farther and peered cautiously inside. She saw no movement which made Lydia think he may be off chasing tales, but finally she heard his characteristic shuffling sounds from behind the door to his office and she was happy to know that he was home. She needed someone to talk to, to really talk to.
She called to him, and he opened the office door. He saw his friend and welcomed her inside: “Oh, Lydia, dear. Come in, come in. It’s so nice to see you. It’s been a while.”
“Yes. It has. I’ve been busy, and you’ve been, well, you’ve been gone.”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes. I’ve been working Lydia. I’m onto something big this time.”
Lydia smiled and nodded in an “oh-that’s-nice” fashion, and then felt guilty knowing she was doing to Ollie what Dylan always did to her. “What is it Ollie?”
“Oh, no, dear. We can’t talk about it here. You know that. They’re listening. They always are.”
“I always forget, Ollie. I’m sorry.” Ollie’s paranoia had graduated from the lobby and the hallways, and he now thought he was being listened to and watched everywhere, even in his own apartment.
“It’s quite alright, Lydia. Quite alright. We’ll just need to talk elsewhere. Without asking her if she’d like to join him, he slipped on his shoes, donned his tweed longshoreman cap and opened the door, stepping aside so Lydia could exit. “Ladies first,” he instructed cheerily.
Lydia obliged before she realized what she was doing. Ollie always had that effect on her. He was like an old friend she had known all her life, she sometimes even thought of him as a father figure. Her own father had been long gone, and she yearned for that bond in her life. This relationship eased some of the pain and loss she felt.
The pair was silent in the elevator and through the outdated lobby. They exited the building into the summer night. They walked side by side along the sidewalk for quite some time until finally, Ollie spoke.
“Lydia, this is big. Big-big. I’m about the blow the cover off of something so huge, it’ll make your pretty little head spin.” If anyone else had said “pretty little head” when referring to Lydia, she’d have been offended, but Ollie did it so sweetly that it lacked any condescension it would have otherwise possessed from another mouth.
“What is it, Ollie?” Lydia asked, genuinely intrigued.
“I can’t say much. Not yet, anyway. But I can tell you that the government is creating a new weapon. Something diabolical.”
“For what?”
“War.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t say. And to be honest, I’m not entirely sure yet. There’s still more research to be done.”
Lydia wondered if Ollie was just chasing rabbits again. Most of Ollie’s grand discoveries were completely unfounded or simply explained. Surely, he wasn’t about to break some top secret military something-or-other.
Ollie sensed her unwillingness to believe. “Lydia, you have to believe me on this one. It’s the real deal.”
“Okay, Ollie. But give me something to go on at least. You haven’t really said much about it at all.”
“Here’s what I know for a fact. No sense in passing along “hare-brained theories that have no basis”.”
Lydia shrunk. He was quoting a disagreement they’d had weeks ago. Ollie insisted that the Chinese delivery boy had been creeping about the apartment building spying on tenants. Lydia had had a long and stressful day at work with Karen and Clara’s parents and couldn’t deal with any of Ollie’s usually charming ramblings.
“That’s just plain ridiculous,” she had spat. “I’m tired of all of these hare-brained theories, Ollie. You have absolutely no basis.”
He’d been hurt, she could tell, and she quickly apologized. He had excused her behavior, but remained slightly embarrassed for the remainder of the evening. Maybe he was a little crazy.
Back in the elevator, when Lydia was brave enough to look at Ollie, she was relieved to see that he was smiling. She smiled back realizing he had been teasing her. Just like Dad would have done, she thought and smiled wider.
“Here are the facts: 1.) There are training facilities located in this country. I’m not sure how many, but I know there is more than one. 2.) They are training soldiers to use new, never seen before weapons. And 3.) The recruitment process is lengthy and complicated.”
Lydia was once again intrigued. “What kind of weapons? Who do they recruit? What’s the point?”
“I don’t have those answers, not solid answers, anyway.” Ollie explained. He realized some of his ideas over the years were not exactly viable, and since his disagreement with Lydia, he vowed to himself that he would be as credible as possible in the future, and that meant not saying something until he knew it to be true.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Lydia asked flopping back and forth between disbelief and supporting her dear friend.
“I need to track down these facilities. Find people with whom I can speak, from whom I can get the information I need.”
“What’s the point, though? Why interfere?” Lydia asked. She figured if the government was protecting the country, what business was it of hers. Or Ollie’s.
“Ethics, Lydia, ethics. That’s all I can say until I know more.”
“But Ollie, do you think you know more? Do you have an idea? What kind of unethical treatment? What do you think is happening.”
“Tsk, tsk, Lyd. I can’t reveal any more until I know for sure. A good friend suggested I have evidence to back up my claims,” Ollie explained and smiled again.
“But Ollie!”
He cut her off, “Chocolate or vanilla?”
“What?” Lydia asked, confused. She had been so involved in the conversation that she hadn’t realized they’d strolled into the center of town and now stood in front of an ice cream cart. “Oh, uhm, do you have strawberry?” She asked the vendor whose heavy black mustache and matching crewcut contrasted with his white shirt and apron. Strawberry had been her father’s favorite, and she was feeling a bit nostalgic.
“Si, senorita,” He responded. “One scoop? Or dos?” he asked as he held up two fingers.
“Just one…in a waffle cone, por favor.” She grinned.
“And for the senor?”
“Dos chocolate scoops. In a cup, please.”
The vendor handed over the ice cream as Ollie insisted, “My treat,” to Lydia who was digging in her pockets, having forgotten her purse. He paid for the ice cream and they continued their neighborhood stroll.
With a mouthful of ice cream, Lydia asked one last time, “Ollie, are you sure…” she swallowed and spoke more clearly, “are you sure there’s nothing else you can tell me about this super-secret mission?”
“No. Except that it’s too close for comfort.”
Lydia didn’t know what that meant, but she knew she couldn’t press him any further. He had resoluteness about himself that he hadn’t had in the past. As if he could read her mind, he said, “Lydia, I’ll tell you everything when I’m sure. It won’t be long, I promise.”
They turned and headed toward home finishing their ice cream in comfortable silence. They said goodnight in the dimly lit hallway between their apartments and when Lydia entered, Dylan said, “Oh, Lyd, I didn’t know you were gone. Where’d ya go?”
“Out for ice cream with Ollie.”
“Ugh, that guy again? You know I don’t like him. Why do you hang around him, anyway? He’s a weirdo and he’s like two times your age.”
“I like him. And he’s not a weirdo.” Lydia defended, though she knew Ollie most assuredly was a weirdo, but he was the kindest, gentlest, most charming weirdo she’d ever met. “I wish you wouldn’t say mean things about him. Besides, Dylan, what’d he ever do to you?” Lydia accused.
“Nothing, I just don’t like the guy, that’s all. And I think it’s weird that his only friend is a woman thirty years his junior. He’s a creep.”
“He is not a creep, Dylan. He’s just lonely and different. He’s better company than you’ll ever be!”
Dylan began to argue, but Lydia was already behind her closed bedroom door. He trailed off. He didn’t really care that much anyway. Lydia tossed and turned for a while thinking about what Ollie had said, but she was still asleep long before Dylan came to home.
After she had finally drifted off, Lydia was awakened by the sound of Dylan rummaging in the kitchen. It was 2:47 a.m., and her alarm would be going off in less than three hours. She rolled over and tried to muffle the sound with her pillow, but Dylan continued to clank in the next room. She whipped the covers off and stormed into the kitchen, fed up with his behavior and still fuming at Dylan for insulting Ollie the way he had.
“What do you think you’re doing!? Some people have real jobs and need some sleep!” She realized how hateful it was as she said it, but that didn’t stop her. She let her fury get the best of her, allowing the words she usually kept to herself to fly freely. “I’m so tired of this, Dylan! Jesus, go to bed!”
“Oh my God, you have got to be kidding me right now, Lydia! Are you serious?”
“Yes. I’m more than serious. I can’t handle this anymore. I’m trying to sleep, so I can go to my grown up job tomorrow. Someone has to pay the bills around here.”
“So now I can’t even find something to eat in my own kitchen in my own house? Really, Lydia.”
“Ha! Last time I checked that was my kitchen and my food. And you’re welcome to eat any of my food any time, as long as it’s not at three a.m.! Actually, I don’t even care if it is three a.m., as long as you don’t make a racket!”
“You’re unbelievable, Lydia! I damn sure don’t get paid enough to put up with this!” Dylan shouted as he entered the bedroom and flung his clothes into a bag.
“What are you even talking about, Dylan?” Lydia followed and inquired. “You got the job down at the lumber company to help me pay the bills, not put up with me.”
Dylan rubbed his forehead and sighed. He resumed packing and remained silent.
After stuffing his bag full, he looked up at Lydia and said, “I don’t get paid enough to put up with you,” emphasizing the last word.
“You’re not even making any sense right now.”
After another agitated sigh, “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“No. I guess I don’t. But now that you’re leaving, you know what I do get? I get the bed to myself. I get to come home to a clean apartment, I get to use my own money for my own life, instead of for supporting yours. I get my life back. I get my freedom. I get to be rid of you!”
Dylan retrieved a few items out of the bathroom, told Lydia he and Court would be back tomorrow to get the rest of his stuff, and headed out the door.
Lydia sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted and felt slightly sad. She had invested a lot of time and money in Dylan, though she never got much in retur
n. Good riddance, she decided.
“Don’t get paid enough for this,” she grumbled, What the hell did he mean by that?
It didn’t matter, she figured. She was finally relieved of her burden, and that was answer enough.
Lydia left for work the next morning around the usual time. When she passed by Ollie’s door, it was cracked open again. She assumed he had failed to latch it again last night after ice cream. She quietly pulled it closed. That’s what good neighbors do.
Chapter Fifteen
At work, Lydia shuffled papers and read research and case studies that related to her current patient load which had grown exponentially. She had eased back into the game with Clara, but since May, she had gained another twenty patients, give or take a few. She usually saw five patients per day. Each patient visit was one hour exactly, and she used the “off” hours of her day for research.
At the end of July, Clara, finally recognizing her parents, transitioned home, and had done so well that Lydia finally congratulated herself on a job well done. At Breemont’s and her parents’ insistence Clara was now coming into the office every day at two p.m. Most visits were just between Dr. Lindenhurtz and Clara, except Mondays. On Mondays they met as a family. Today would be Clara’s third week home. For the first two weeks, Clara’s parents waited anxiously in the waiting room while Clara completed her session, but this week, they decided to drop her off, run errands, and return to pick her up. Baby steps.
Clara arrived at two p.m. sharp. Lydia showed Clara in as usual, and closed the door behind them. Clara strode across the room and sat in the comfy corner chair that she had chosen upon her first visit. It had become her chair. It was bone white and oversized. It sat catty-cornered so that Clara could see out the window and watch the pedestrians and traffic on the street below, have a direct line of sight to Lydia’s desk, which the doctor sometimes sat behind, and sometimes sat in a chair just to the left leaving no barriers between herself and Clara, and also still be in full view of the door. During their first meetings after Clara was deemed well enough to visit Lydia’s office, she chose this seat, and Lydia deduced that this was in fact a defense mechanism. She needed to be aware of her surroundings at all times; she needed to feel in control in some small way. The seating arrangement mirrored where Clara had placed the chair in her room at Breemont. She could at least control what she could see.
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