It is the first time she’s truly considered that being sent to Greenhaven might have hurt Colin as well as herself.
“Did you take time off work to be home with Mariah, so that you could keep watch over her for safety’s sake?” Joan asks.
“Briefly–but it scared the hell out of me.
I was afraid that if I turned my back for a second, I’d lose her.”
“Did you ask her mother, living in Arizona at the time, to come stay with Mariah?”
“No,” Colin admits. “I knew Millie would think the worst. I didn’t want her to believe that Mariah wasn’t improving.”
“So instead you got a court order, and you had Mariah institutionalized against her will?”
“She didn’t know what she wanted at the time.
She couldn’t drag herself out of bed to go to the bathroom, much less tell me how to help her.
I did what I did for her own safety. I listened to the doctors when they said that round-the-clock supervision was best.” His troubled gaze meets Mariah’s. “I am guilty of many things, including stupidity and na@ivet`e. But not of malicious behavior.” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t know what else to do.”
“Hmm,” Joan says. “Let’s come back to the present now. Seven years have passed, and your wife catches you in the act again.”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.”
“After Mariah discovered you were having another affair,” Joan says smoothly, “you were worried that she might become depressed again. So rather than taking the time to talk it over, you just ran off?”
“It wasn’t like that. I’m not proud of what I did, but I really needed to get myself together before I took on anyone else’s responsibilties.”
“You weren’t worried that Mariah might be a little upset finding you in bed with another woman, just like seven years ago?”
“Of course I was.”
“Did you make an effort to get Mariah psychiatric help?”
“No.”
“Even though the last time this happened, she became severely depressed?”
“I told you, I just wasn’t thinking past myself at that point.”
“Yet you left your daughter with her,” Joan says.
“I honestly didn’t think Mariah was going to hurt her. I mean, for God’s sake–she’s her mother. I assumed she’d be okay.”
“You assumed Mariah would be emotionally stable in spite of your behavior.”
“Yes.”
“And you assumed Faith would be fine in your wife’s custody.”
“Yes.”
“You asked no one to come to the house to double-check; you called no doctor, no social services, not even a neighbor.”
“No. It was a mistake that I deeply regret, and I’m ready to atone for my wrongs.”
Joan briskly moves past the witness stand.
“We’re all glad, I’m sure, that you’re ready. Now, let me see if I get this straight. By your own admission, you assumed incorrectly that Faith would be better off with your ex-wife. Just like you assumed incorrectly that you needed to get yourself settled before you could even think about your daughter’s welfare. Just like you assumed incorrectly that your wife would be better off in a mental institution than with a different form of treatment for depression. Just like you assume incorrectly today that you’re the better parent here.”
Before Colin can answer, Joan turns her back on him. “Nothing further,” she says.
Dr. Newton Orlitz loves the feel of a witness stand. Something about the smooth wood beneath his hands and the smell of furniture polish that always lingers in a courtroom makes him blissfully happy with his longtime job as a forensic psychiatrist. He knows that most of the time his opinion as a doctor appointed by the court is repudiated by a private psychiatrist being paid a hell of a lot of money to say something contradictory, but it doesn’t take away from his pleasure. He not only believes in the justice system, he is humbled to know he has a place in it.
He likes to play games with himself on the stand,
too. Sometimes he watches the attorneys and diagnoses them in his mind. As he sees Malcolm Metz approach him for his testimony, he thinks: megalomania,
clearly. Maybe even a God complex. He imagines Metz dressed in a white robe,
sporting a long, ethereal beard, and he chuckles to himself.
“Glad you’re happy to be here, Dr.
Orlitz,” Metz says. “Did you interview Colin White?”
“Yes,” Orlitz says, consulting his small salt-and-pepper notebook, in which he’s recorded his observations for this particular case.
“I found him emotionally stable and perfectly capable of providing a good, solid home for a young child.”
Metz smiles broadly, as well he should.
Orlitz knows not all attorneys get to hear what they want when the court psychiatrist gives his evaluation. “Did you also have the opportunity to interview Mariah White?”
“I did.”
“Could you tell us a little bit about her psychiatric history?”
Orlitz thumbs through his notes. “She was institutionalized at Greenhaven for four months,
for suicidal depression. While there, she received psychotherapy and antidepressant medication. As I’m sure you know, though, Mr.
Metz,” he says, smiling blandly, “her behaviors were a response to an extremely stressful situation. This is how her mind happened to cope with it. She thought she’d lost her husband,
and her marriage.”
“In your expert opinion, Doctor, do you think Mariah White might go through that sort of psychological crisis again?”
Orlitz shrugs. “It’s possible. She’s vulnerable to that type of reaction.”
“I see. Is Mariah taking medication now,
Doctor?”
Orlitz runs his finger down the side of a page. “Yes,” he says, when he finds the notation. “She’s been taking twenty milligrams of Prozac daily, for the past four months.”
Metz raises his brows. “When was this prescribed?”
“August eleventh, initially. By a Dr.
Johansen.”
“August eleventh. Do you happen to know what day Colin White left?”
“I understand that it was August tenth.”
“In your opinion, Dr. Orlitz, did Mariah White obtain this medication because she could not handle the stress of the current situation without it?”
“Most likely, but you should ask her private psychiatrist.”
Metz gives him a dirty look.
“Doctor, did you have an opportunity to interview Faith?”
“I did.”
“Did she appear to be a normal little girl?”
“Normal,” the doctor says, laughing, “is a very relative term. Especially when you’re defining a child who’s suffered through a traumatic divorce.”
“Does Faith seem to seek the approval of her mother?”
“Yes, but that’s a very common response after a divorce. A child is so afraid the remaining parent might leave, too, that she will do anything necessary to keep her interest.”
“Perhaps even imitate behavior?”
“Absolutely,” Orlitz says. “A parent might be consciously or unconsciously enforcing the behavior, playing the child off the other parent by pushing her to act a certain way –so that the child, in effect, becomes a pawn. Some experts refer to this post-divorce pattern as “parental alienation syndrome.”"
“Enforcing the child’s behavior,” Metz repeats.
“Interesting. I have nothing further.”
Joan stands and buttons the front of her suit jacket. She knows Metz well enough to realize that he’s laid the foundation for a future witness. “Why don’t we start with this issue of enforced behavior?” she says. “Did Faith’s interview suggest to you that her, shall we say, more extraordinary behavior of late was directly motivated by her mother?”
“No.”
“Thank you. Now, Doctor, you had a c
hance to interview both of Faith’s parents. And you said that you found Colin White to be emotionally stable and capable of providing a good home for a child. Did you find Mariah White to be emotionally stable?”
“Yes, she’s functioning well right now.”
“Did you find her to currently be a good parent?”
“Yes. Faith is very attached to her.”
“Let’s shift gears again, Doctor. How many people in America, would you say, are on prescription antidepressant medication?”
“I believe,” Dr. Orlitz says,
“close to seventeen million.”
“In what percentage of the cases do the drugs work?”
“Well, if the patients stay on them for a certain period of time and are in therapy, they’re effective in approximately eighty percent of the cases.”
“Does Prozac affect normal day-to-day functioning?”
“No.”
“Would it interfere with parenting capabilities?”
“No.”
“Dr. Orlitz, did you speak to Faith about the afternoon her father left?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did it affect her in any way?”
“She didn’t understand the dynamics of the adult relationships–which is a blessing, actually–but because of that, she felt her father’s subsequent absence might have been her fault. She’s going to need therapy regarding that issue.”
“How unfortunate,” Joan says.
“So even though, in your opinion, Colin White is a capable parent now, he did do something once that hurt Faith.”
“Yes.”
“Did you find proof of anything Mariah has ever done that in some way has hurt Faith?”
“No. She’s been a stable, continuous thread for Faith to cling to during a crisis.”
“Thank you,” Joan says, and turns to sit down beside her client.
Judge Rothbottam announces there will be a short break, and the reporters run out of the courtroom to call their affiliates with updates.
Metz shepherds Colin out, and they disappear in a crush of bodies. Mariah does not move from her seat, but instead rests her head in her hands.
Joan touches her on the shoulder. “The reason we’re called the defense,” she says, “is because we fight when they’re finished. It doesn’t matter what they say, Mariah, truly.
We’re going to give it back in spades.”
“I know,” Mariah says, rubbing her temples. “How long do we have?”
Joan smiles gently. “About long enough for a bathroom break.”
Mariah is out of her chair in a heartbeat;
anything to get away. She walks out of the courtroom and sees a sea of faces. Her gaze slides to Ian, who sits in the lobby awaiting his turn as a witness, pretending he does not know her.
It has to be like this; they have discussed it. But right now, with her mother at Faith’s bedside, Mariah could have used a strong and solid ally.
She forces her eyes to move past Ian. It takes all her self-control to walk past him without glancing back, just to see if he’s watching her go.
Dr. DeSantis is a small, compact woman with a cloud of black hair that bounces when she speaks. She recites her impressive background to the court, and then smiles at Malcolm Metz. “Dr. DeSantis,” he says, “did you have a chance to interview Colin White?”
“I certainly did. Mr. White is a wonderful, caring, perfectly stable man who very much wants his daughter to be in his life.”
“Did you interview Mariah White?”
“No,” the psychiatrist says. “She declined the opportunity.”
“I see. Did you have a chance to review Dr.
Johansen’s findings on Mariah White?”
“Yes.”
“What can you tell us about her psychological health?”
“This woman has a history of severe depression. Such a history places her at high risk for future major episodes of instability, and nobody can predict what will trigger another one.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Metz nods at Joan. “Your witness.”
Joan stands up, but doesn’t bother to move forward. “Dr. DeSantis, are you Colin White’s therapist?”
Beneath the cloud of hair, the psychiatrist pinkens with indignation. “I was called in to consult on his case.”
“Isn’t it true, Dr. DeSantis, that the first and last time you met with Colin White was October twenty-ninth, just two days after the initial hearing on his motion to change custody?”
“I suppose so.”
“Ah. Doctor, how many trials have you testified in?”
“Over fifty,” the psychiatrist says proudly.
“How many of those fifty trials has attorney Metz asked you to testify in?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Joan nods thoughtfully. “In any of those twenty-seven trials, Doctor, have you ever found his client to be mentally deficient?”
“No,” Dr. DeSantis says.
“So, just to recap, then: Mr. Metz has hired you yet again, and–correct me if I’m wrong, Dr. DeSantis–in your expert opinion, you found his client to be perfectly stable, and my client to be an emotional basket case.”
“I wouldn’t use those terms–“
“Yes or no, Doctor?”
“I found Mr. Metz’s client to be more stable than yours, yes.”
“Well,” Joan says dryly. “What a surprise.”
The hospital chapel is a sad little room that used to be a broom closet. There are six pews, three on each side of a small podium with a cross hanging overhead. The chapel is nondenominational, but somehow this symbol of Christian culture escaped notice. Father MacReady is on his knees, his lips moving silently in a paternoster while his heart sinks lower and lower in his chest.
He tries to ignore the sound of the door opening, but the creaking is phenomenally loud, and as a man of the cloth, he feels duty-bound to offer support to a grieving soul, if need be. He gets to his feet, wipes off the knees of his jeans, and turns around.
To his surprise, Rabbi Solomon is staring at the cross as if it were a rattlesnake poised to strike. “Interfaith, my foot.”
“Rabbi,” Father MacReady says.
They size each other up, never having met but aware through the grapevine that they are both here in support of Faith White.
Rabbi Solomon nods.
“Have you heard anything?”
“I went up to Pediatrics. They wouldn’t let me into the room. Something’s going on.”
“Something good?”
The rabbi shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
The two men stand in silence. “Don’t Jews need a minimum number of people to pray?”
MacReady asks after a moment.
Solomon grins. “It’s not a minimum,
really. It’s a minyan, ten men. It’s the smallest group you can have if you want to say some particular prayers.”
“Strength in numbers, eh?”
“Exactly,” the rabbi says. And without saying another word, the rabbi and priest sit down side by side in the pew, and silently begin to pray together.
“This is the situation,” a smooth-faced young doctor says to Millie. “Her renal system’s gone into failure. If we don’t put her on dialysis, she’s likely to poison her whole bloodstream.”
Millie stares at this man for a moment,
uncomprehending. How can this boy, younger than Mariah even, be telling her what they have to do? For the past half hour Faith’s room has been buzzing with nurses and doctors and aides ferrying in equipment that gleams bright and unfamiliar, setting hooks and tubes and masks on her granddaughter until she resembles nothing more than an astronaut preparing to journey to an unknown world.
Not for the first time, Millie wishes that it were her mind, and not her heart, that had been cleared and resurrected. She stares at Faith, willing her to open her eyes, to smile, to tell them it wasn’t as serious as they all thought. Where, she wonders, is your God now?
&nb
sp; Just an hour ago, Mariah had called from the courthouse, and Millie had been able to say that everything was just the way it had been when she left.
How could so much have gone wrong so quickly? “I’m not the one you should be asking,” Millie hedges. “Her mother …”
“Is not here. If you don’t sign the consent form, this little girl will die.”
Millie swipes her hand over her eyes, then picks up the pen that he extends like a peace pipe, and gives her permission.
Ian steps into the witness box, and there is a moment of levity when the clerk of the court approaches with the customary Bible. He laughs,
then good-naturedly looks up at the ceiling.
“Okay, y’all. Get ready for lightning to strike.”
Metz swaggers toward his witness. “Please state your name and address for the record.”
“Ian Fletcher, Brentwood,
California.”
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Fletcher?”
“As I do sincerely hope everyone knows,
I’m a professional atheist. I currently coproduce and star in a television show that features my views. In addition, I’m the author of three New York Times nonfiction bestsellers. Come to think of it, I had a cameo in a film once, too.”
“Can you explain to the court what your television show is like, for those who may not be familiar with it?”
“Well, my show’s been described as the anti-Billy Graham. I have a TV pulpit, but I use it to prove God doesn’t exist, through theory and scientific inquiry.”
“Do you believe in God, Mr.
Fletcher?”
“Kind of hard to when you’re an atheist.” There are snickers from the gallery.
“For the past two months, what alleged religious miracles have you been examining?”
Ian crosses one leg over the other. “A bleeding statue over in Massachusetts, a tree in Maine–and most lately, Faith White.”
“Why were you following that particular case?”
Ian shrugs. “She supposedly was seeing God and performing miracles and exhibiting stigmata. I intended to prove she was a hoax.”
Metz moves in for his kill. “Mr.
Fletcher, can you tell us what you found?”
For a moment Ian looks at the attorney,
replaying in his mind the testimony he’d practiced with Metz as recently as yesterday.
A long, slow smile transforms his face.
Keeping Faith Page 40