Tuesday Night Miracles

by Kris Radish

  “Oh, Phyllis, thank you.” Olivia drops her head so that her chin is touching her chest, lets her arms fall, and closes her eyes so that she can even out her own breathing.

  She needs to get a grip. She desperately needs to slow down. She needs to clear her head and think rationally. She should have retired when she had the chance and addressed her own damn fears about moving, finally acknowledged her love in a public manner, and, once and for all, set herself free.

  Before she drinks two glasses of water, Olivia fills up Phyllis’s water bowl. She wishes she could give Phyllis a beer or something. Good Lord! She’s been running around the table for close to an hour!

  Then Olivia manages to slow down her own pulse by doing a bit of deep breathing. She has got to get herself under control. And if she can get herself together she will maybe even be able to salvage part of her day off.

  Day off! What a joke. The morning started out fine enough, with an entire pot of her favorite French roast coffee, a stack of unread newspapers, cinnamon-raisin toast, and an inside view of the first snow of November.

  Phyllis liked that part of the day. They stayed in bed a long time. Olivia kept on her bathrobe most of the morning and then broke her rule about sharing food and Phyllis got the sweet crunchy crust from the toast. It was going to be a banner day for sure, even if it snowed three inches and the wind continued to howl.

  But just after Olivia dressed, and the snow started to slow so that they could go on their weekend drive and hike, Olivia’s cellphone destroyed the morning silence and everything changed.

  The first call was from Kit, and it was by far the easiest.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about my life and mistakes and blaming others,” Kit explained, haltingly, as if she wasn’t really certain she should even be calling. “I wish I could go back, erase some of the things I’ve said and done, some of the people I’ve hurt.”

  “We all wish for that, dear,” Olivia responded gently. “The important thing is to move forward and not to make the same mistakes.”

  “I understand that more than ever, thanks to you,” Kit said. “There’s another issue, something I should probably talk through with a professional. Could that be you?”

  One part of Olivia was absolutely elated that Kit had stepped up and realized that she might have deeper issues that needed to be addressed. And in a different time Olivia would surely have loved to take her on in private therapy. Actually, it was a fabulous idea, but Dr. Bayer was trying, or so she thought, to slow down, to make a huge life change herself, and how could she do that and help Kit?

  Olivia all but froze on the phone. Her clinical heart so wanted to work with Kit, who, given her past history and present life situation, was making remarkable progress. It was clear that Kit liked her, trusted her, and was willing to open up even more. That wasn’t an easy thing for anyone to do.

  So now what? Olivia was hoping against hope that she could release these women before Thanksgiving. She was getting better at letting go herself, and sometimes at night, when she dreamed, she was by the ocean, holding hands with her lover while Phyllis romped through the bushes looking for the multitude of bugs, insects, reptiles, and spiders that live in Florida.

  She ended up telling Kit that she would have to check her schedule. Kit was clearly deflated and Olivia was torn.

  Then, swear to God, fifteen minutes later the phone rang again, and this time it was Grace.

  Grace wanted to go to confession, and she was also asking for more help. Dr. Bayer sat with her head in her left hand as Grace talked.

  It seems as if she has breached a huge ethical barrier. She read Jane’s files at the hospital and discovered things about Jane that she clearly had no right to know. Things that revealed the ugly truth about who Jane really is and the lie she’s living.

  “I was angry,” Grace admits. “We had a disagreement that night during class, the night Jane was attacked, and even before that I had gotten into her file. I mean, I have a right to do that because I work there, but it wasn’t right.”

  “And you’re telling me this now because …?”

  Dr. Bayer’s open-ended question was for both their sakes. What in the name of God was she supposed to do about this?

  “I feel bad and I’m trying to clean my slate here and be honest and put some of these things behind me, and frankly, I don’t know what to do,” Grace admitted. “Last week’s class changed me. I see things now that I should have done differently. I’m embarrassed and I need to know if I can stay in the class, if there is anything I should or could do to make this up to Jane.”

  “Does Jane know?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Bayer is thinking it’s a miracle Jane hasn’t tried to kill Grace. Maybe this class is more effective than she could ever have imagined.

  “I also have some other issues, as you know,” Grace continued. “My daughter is gay and I’m having a hard time with that.”

  Well, that was news. Sweet hell! Is there any issue, problem, or psychological hang-up these women don’t have?

  “And, of course, there’s Evan.”

  Of course.

  Dr. Bayer thought that if she drove to the airport immediately she might be able to catch a flight out of Chicago for Tampa within the hour.

  Instead, she put everyone on hold. She told Grace, just like she told Kit, that she needed to think and check her schedule and that Grace should continue to stay positive, not say a word about the documents she had read, and continue to work on everything else having to do with the Tuesday-night class. Dr. Bayer told Grace that she needed to process everything and that it had been a good thing, a good step forward, for her to pick up the phone and call.

  Then she started running around the table.

  Years ago, when her own life was spinning out of control, and until she tied it down and moved forward, Olivia calmed herself by writing down the pros and cons of every decision. She would take a lovely, fresh, lined notebook and spend a few minutes writing down her wild thoughts. Then she would organize them so that there was a question at the top of the page and then a plus or minus column.

  Later, she would learn that this was called force-field analysis, and as a problem-solving tool it has never let her down. If this were any other group, she’d also get on the phone and call her supervisor. She can just imagine what that conversation would be like. A kind of hilarious revelation of partial failure.

  But what’s the worst thing that could happen? She would get fired for being experimental? Lose her pension? Be blackballed from the annual clinical-psychology conference? Lose face with her fellow colleagues and all the clients who might hear about what a mess she had made of this wild women’s anger group?

  Hardly, she told herself, almost believing it. She could recite worse actions and activities by people in her field without blinking. Sleeping with clients. Stealing from clients. Using clients to gain professionally or personally. Sharing information without observing proper protocols.

  Well, the list could actually be endless, Olivia realized, feeling better for a moment. She has always believed that good intentions outweigh botched-up actions. She examines her own heart on such a regular basis that she would feel absolutely fine if she had to have her head or intentions dissected by her boss or anyone else in her profession.

  And there has always been this narrow passageway inside of her work and business world that allows for some transgressions. Clients who need a place to sleep for a few nights. Clients who need fifty bucks for a bus ticket. Clients who need you to mail a package to the children they’re no longer allowed to see.

  Olivia has friends who do not hesitate to tell her about the mistakes she has made in her personal life. In fact, three of them are so upset with her right now because she didn’t retire at the end of summer that they sent her email messages to let her know they’re already drinking her holiday whiskey!

  The thought of what she should have done, where she could be right this second, awakens an ache
that shoots through the back of her head and travels down both arms. She could do without any of these recent problems—these brassy, demanding, angry women, the flipping snowstorm, and the three inches of white stuff that now needs to be shoveled off the front steps and the sidewalk.

  But wishing be damned. Dr. Olivia Bayer is not the kind of woman who wallows too long. Phyllis and Buffy would never let her get away with it, and Olivia knows that she would feel like a hypocrite and be totally unable to look Leah, Kit, Grace, and Jane in the eye next Tuesday.

  Tuesday. Three days away. And now these decisions to make on top of everything else the women have yet to do.

  Olivia lets Phyllis outside for a few moments, then, apologizing for the delay in their Saturday drive, hands off a treat to appease her patient dog and settles in at the kitchen table.

  Phyllis is happy for a moment about the treat, but she was expecting to get in the car. If Olivia thinks she’s starting to forget about routines just because the bones in her legs are stiff, well, she had better think again.

  Barking is absolutely out of the question. Phyllis can tell that Olivia is into something. She’s sitting at the table, of all places, and not in her big chair. For a few seconds Phyllis looks at the soft bed next to the chair. Then she looks at the floor under the table. Then she looks back at the bed.

  Finally she raises her head and sees Olivia rubbing the back of her neck, and the decision is made. She curls under the table and rests her paws on top of Olivia’s feet. After the crazy morning, Phyllis senses that she had better stay close to Olivia. She lets out a huge sigh and snuggles around the black socks Olivia has on. Maybe if she takes a little nap things will change.

  Olivia loves it when Phyllis helps keep her feet warm, although she suspects that Phyllis is using her feet for warmth, too. Phyllis must think she has gone off the deep end. Maybe she has, but in her mind there’s still time to swim to shore.

  Before she even starts to write, she realizes that part of her decision is really a no-brainer. There are plenty of great people who can work with Kit. Kit is smart and apparently more eager than ever to move forward. If she can control herself, Olivia believes that she could see Kit for an initial session and then hand her off to someone she knows.

  If is a crucial word here, and instead of leaping into her force-field analysis Olivia writes the word if down on the first sheet of paper. Then she starts drawing circles around it over and over again. Dr. Bayer may as well be running around the table.

  She knows what she needs to do is draw a line under the word. This is where she stops. This is as far as you go, Dr. Bayer. This is also where Kit stops and moves in a new direction.

  Olivia realizes that she has already made the decision. Six months ago, she would not have hesitated when someone like Kit called and asked her for private counseling. She would have scheduled her quickly and she’d already be at the park by now, walking through the snow with a very frisky Phyllis.

  Victory! She sees her lost hesitation as one of the most powerful signs that she is ready to move on and to entangle herself in some new activities. Kit will be fine. Olivia’s already thinking that Dr. Pierce, a lively young woman who recently joined the staff and has a private practice, would be perfect for Kit. She doesn’t take crapola from anyone, and Kit will be hard-pressed to get away with anything.

  Remember, she reminds herself, this is about anger management. Kit’s other issues may be tied into that but you’re dealing with the anger. Kit is close to being where she needs to be in the class, but there are still some miles to hike. This class does have a final exam, and Olivia knows that she still has her work cut out for her.

  She is suddenly so relieved that the pain in her neck and arms disappears and she feels like whistling. She bends down and rubs Phyllis behind the ears for a few minutes while she celebrates. Then she writes “Refer Kit to Dr. Pierce” under the word if. Then it’s time to figure out what to do with Grace.

  Now, there’s a woman with a gaggle of issues. The boyfriend. The daughter. The inappropriate behavior at work. In some ways Grace surprises Dr. Bayer, and that’s not really an easy thing to do. You’d think that as a nurse, someone who is exposed to every imaginable lifestyle, tons of tragedies, and a working environment that requires a mess of flexibility, Grace wouldn’t be bothered by much of anything.

  For the love of God, it seems as if every other man and woman these days is gay or a lesbian. It’s not like it was when Olivia was growing up and men and women who were gay had to live a lie lest they be stoned on the street corner. There is an amazement of programs and support groups, not to mention the increasingly open hearts of mothers and fathers everywhere.

  The boyfriend doesn’t make sense, either. He seemed absolutely caring, but if Grace’s first marriage was a mess that might explain her reluctance to become involved with him. Surely it can’t be because he’s a man of color.

  Olivia wonders for a few moments how someone like Grace was raised. Beyond Kit, who just lost her mother, she really doesn’t know much about any of the women’s parents. But it’s been her experience that parental expectations, no matter how old a person is, can carry the weight of the world.

  She has seen perfectly healthy and successful men and women turn into sobbing babies when they talk about how they were raised and how they feel as if they’ve never been able to measure up. On a personal level, Olivia could write a book about her own family. But she prefers not to give them the time of day, one single thought, or the satisfaction of knowing that she even considered such an idea.

  There’s no way to know what prompted Grace to read Jane’s files, which brings her to yet another thought. What in the world could be in those files that made Grace sit up and take notice?

  Olivia can only wonder. Jane totally surprised her last Tuesday. She was kind and courteous and, unless she was lying, she was also very sincere. Olivia knows she could drive herself crazy wondering about the files Grace read at the hospital. Perhaps it’s best to let it go. If Jane doesn’t bring it up, report Grace to hospital authorities, or attack Grace during or out of class, maybe the entire issue will simply evaporate.

  Dr. Bayer has always thought there was something secretive about Jane. She is surely the wild card in the Tuesday-night group. She’s aggressive, has an attitude that reeks of ego and superiority, and usually a speck of dust sets her off. There’s also something familiar about her. Olivia has been driving herself crazy trying to remember if she’s met her somewhere before, but she’s been unable to track where that might have been.

  After the last class, where Jane seemed genuine, was a good listener, and behaved appropriately, it seemed as if her inner weight had also shifted. When she dashed out of Kit’s house, Olivia was certain it was because she had been truly affected by Leah’s story, by the openness and sharing that followed, by the simple joy of sharing what was inside her own heart.

  Self-deceit is a painful load to carry. Olivia knows this all too well and has struggled with certain aspects of it her entire life—even now, as she lingers in her Chicago world. Jane has obviously been bathing in self-deceit. Her marriage is in trouble, her professional life is a shambles, she’s carrying around some kind of medical secret, and until the last meeting she’s been unable to see the commonality of her emotions.

  If anyone needs private counseling it’s Jane, but some people can never go there. Some people take years to walk five inches.

  And Grace was amazing when she opened her heart before Leah spoke. Sharing so deeply like that, with true sincerity, means that Grace is actually galloping into the sunset already.

  Olivia has the pen in her hand and she hasn’t written down one word. She’s staring at the piece of paper and looks away and notices that it’s stopped snowing. That’s some kind of good sign. The roads will be cleared off soon and Saturday life in the suburbs will begin surging forward.

  Forward.

  Olivia writes that word down and then sets her pen on the table. This is absolute
ly no time to stop, look, and listen. After the energy and risk she has already put into this anger group, she knows that she’d be letting these women and herself down if she backed off now.

  She decides to let Grace’s confession ride. She’s not under any legal obligation to notify anyone. Technically, Grace is a client and Olivia doesn’t have to reveal anything to anyone. Jane hasn’t filed any kind of objection. All of the women left Tuesday’s meeting as if they had been shocked into normalcy. As far as Olivia’s own supervisor is concerned, all he really needs to know is who passed the class and not how they passed the class.

  Olivia feels a tiny weight slipping off her shoulders. She can also refer Grace to Dr. Pierce, who needs the clients. Could it really be this simple and easy? Could she have made her life this light all these past years by not holding on so tightly, not just to her clients but to everything?

  Psychologist, heal thyself. Olivia stifles a chuckle when that phrase wanders through her mind. She knows so many screwed-up counselors, therapists, and shrinks that they could all fill up an entire hospital psychiatric unit.

  When Olivia stands up rather abruptly, Phyllis jerks awake, forgetting for a few moments that she is lying under the table. What’s going on? Where are we? Is it time to eat? Olivia’s feet are missing, and Phyllis stands up, shakes off her dream, and walks out from under the table.

  “I believe it’s time to get on with things, dear girl,” Olivia announces, moving for the leash that signals all things joyful.

  Some people say dogs smile. Olivia knows for certain that Phyllis smiles. She’s smiling right now, the corners of her mouth turned up so that her front teeth are barely visible. She’s also hopping around from one foot to the other with such excitement that Olivia hopes she doesn’t dribble before she can get on her coat, hat, and driving gloves.