Necessary Lives

It had been a long Tuesday for Dr. William Cooper. 5:25 in the dark, damp January evening. About five minutes left in the session. He looked out the window. Through the trees outside the parking lot, he sympathized with the weary stars dripping from the goo of a half-moon. They seemed to share the fatigue of lingering, bedraggled holiday lights. “I’m sorry I jump around so much,” she said. “I can’t put my feelings in some chronological order. That’s not the way they come. I carry them in one big lump.” Cooper’s eyes blurred on Mrs. Gladstone. He was staring past her at the wall. It was as if his eyes were receding back through his head. The wallpaper had a beige-on-beige squiggly design. The pattern seemed to writhe along the wall, bouncing to the rhythm of Mrs. Gladstone’s words. It reminded him of focusing, as if through a tunnel, at the black and white checkerboard bathroom tile in his childhood home. There he would sit on the commode, fixating on the tile groupings as his eyes rearranged the squares into wriggling trapezoids and rectangles. Mrs. Gladstone’s “lump” revealed how much better she was feeling. The medicine had lifted her depression. Her energy was restored. Still, when she talked about her marriage, her smile disappeared and she became tearful. Her husband was irritable and hypercritical. Why did she keep trying with him, Cooper wondered, when he made her feel so bad. Did she really love him, as she professed, or was his presence necessary for her perception of what was supposed to be? Maybe, with all the mixed feelings he had toward Tamar, this applied to his own marriage as well. Maybe it even applied to his treatment of Mrs. Gladstone. Was her life really better, or were they sharing the illusion that his treatment was helping? The phone buzzed. Susan, the office receptionist, understood not to interrupt an appointment. The only other time was fourteen years ago, when he had first joined the practice. “You ate Doctor Fox’s lunch,” she had shrieked at him. She never really apologized then, but she learned never to interrupt again. This time her voice was a lot softer than usual. “There are police here to see you.” Dr. Cooper felt justified to end the session a little early since he had gone over time with Mrs. Gladstone plenty of times before. He waited until she took a breath, then wrapped up by endorsing her previous statement, asked about other medicines, and then renewed her antidepressant. As he ushered her out the door, Mrs. Gladstone glanced at the two police officers in the hallway, who were cradling their hats nervously. Then she looked back at Cooper. When she turned to Susan’s desk, Cooper beckoned the officers with a head nod into his office. When police had come to the office once before, a patient was in legal trouble. What was it this time? After closing the door, Cooper sat and observed the officers who remained standing. Officer Wilkens was a tall, powerfully built Black man. He stared grimly at Cooper. Officer Haley was a white female, seemingly half his size. An attractive face was perched disagreeably atop a square, muscular body, her waist spilling over her belt. “Husky” was the word that came to Cooper’s mind as he looked away from Wilkens and at her. “Husky” was the area in the department store where his mother took him to shop for his pants. A demure way of saying, “fat little kid.” But Haley wouldn’t be described as fat, nor would Cooper anymore. “Mr. Cooper, regretfully, we are bringing you tragic news,” Wilkens said, maintaining his gaze. “What?…” “We’re very sorry, Dr. Cooper,” Haley took over. “Your wife was struck by a hit-and-run driver.” Cooper’s body went numb. “Oh My God! Is she okay? I mean, how bad? Is she in the hospital?” His thoughts scurried, then clicked into professional mode. I hope it’s Mercy, that’s closest to the office. I’ll have to get Susan to cancel the rest of the evening. Probably tomorrow too. I’ll need to bring things to the hospital for her. “I’m afraid she was killed at the scene,” Haley responded. “Killed?” Cooper could hardly speak. He had been absorbing it all cooly, objectively, like he did when his patients described traumatic experiences. But now his emotions were taking over. He couldn’t think. “We need you to come with us to identify her,” Wilkens said. Cooper squinted grimly at Susan as he accompanied the officers out of the office.