Healed heart, p.6
Healed Heart, page 6
Fuck.
“I understand. I’ll be in touch.” I end the call, my mind a whirling storm of thoughts.
Angie’s words echo in my head.
We’ll find out, Jason. I promise.
It’s a promise she had no business making, but I don’t begrudge her for it. She was trying to help. Is trying to help.
But the whole thing has so many variables. And more people have their fingers in this pie than I ever imagined.
I pace around my home office. Then I remember. I grabbed Lindsay’s senior yearbook when I was at her parents’ place. I quickly open it and locate the section with the graduating students’ headshots.
I look at names, not bothering to check the faces. After all, I don’t know these people from Adam. No Ronny Burgundy. Clearly he was too obsessed with Lindsay to bother turning in a senior photo. But there was a Rebecca in Lindsay’s class.
Rebecca Tate. Now that I see it printed, I recognize the last name. Lindsay brought her up every so often. She’s the only person my wife ever mentioned from her past other than Ronny Burgundy, and she rarely mentioned him. Preferred never to talk about him and the hell he put her through. She had moved on completely—he was a non-entity as far as she was concerned.
I stop pacing, lean against the window, and stare blankly outside.
My mind wanders to the dusting of snow on the ground, the way it softens everything. It clings to rooftops and tree limbs, quiet and cold, untouched by the chaos.
I walk out of the office and into my living room. The photo of Lindsay and Julia on the mantel stares at me. Her smile is bright, her eyes shining with happiness and love.
Damn.
I truly thought she and I would be together forever with Julia and eventually another child. That I’d be one of the greatest surgeons in the country.
That…
Yeah, I thought a lot of things.
Life can change in an instant.
R. Lyon.
I doubt that it stands for Rebecca. Lindsay didn’t mention that Rebecca might have been a lesbian. Of course, it’s possible Lindsay didn’t know. Or she didn’t mention it. Being gay isn’t that big a deal anymore, and it was a rare occurrence for her to talk about her past anyway.
The R from the Facebook post has to be Ronny Burgundy. The old boyfriend who was so obsessed with Lindsay that her entire family made a move from New Jersey to Colorado when she left for college.
Odd, though.
Ronny never contacted her after that.
Unless he did… And Lindsay didn’t tell me.
An internet search does me no good. While there are many Ron and Ronald Burgundys online, some of them in New Jersey, not one of them stands out as the one who might be Lindsay’s Ronny. Besides, most of what I find are Anchorman gifs.
A search of court documents yields few results as well. If Ronny was still underage when all this happened—and since they were in high school, he could very well still have been seventeen—records wouldn’t be available anyway.
How is this even happening?
Just when I fall in love again. Just when I have the chance to regain function in my right hand so I may be able to perform surgery again.
As soon as I decide to move on… The past comes back to haunt me.
It’s eight o’clock, and I don’t have classes scheduled today.
No more emails from HR, thank God. Unless they hear from the anonymous source again, they’ll consider this a closed case.
I head to Facebook to look at Lindsay’s memorial page on my desktop computer—
Everything cuts. Screen black. Silence.
An instant later, my computer restarts. A simple electricity blip.
Then the annoying beep of my motion security system. I rise, head to the kitchen where the keypad is, and reset it.
I sigh.
Maybe Angie is home.
If I were a better man, I’d leave her out of this. I’d let her go about her life, finish medical school. Go into psychiatry. Help make the world a better place, because if anyone can, she can.
My phone buzzes.
“Hello?” I say without bothering to look at who it is.
“Hello. Is this Dr. Jason Lansing?” The voice is male and accented.
“You found him.”
“Dr. Lansing, hello. My name is Dr. Carlos Engel. I believe we met last year at the Dean’s Ball.”
Carlos Engel.
Right, Professor of psychiatry. And the therapist Dr. Steel thought would be a good fit for me.
“What can I do for you, Dr. Engel?”
“I believe it’s what I can do for you, Dr. Lansing.”
“And what’s that?” I say, my words coming out clipped.
“Our mutual colleague, Dr. Melanie Steel, has been in touch with me. She felt I might be a good fit for you for a few sessions regarding an experimental surgery.”
“Do you even see patients anymore?”
“Only on a referral basis,” Dr. Engel says. “Much like Dr. Steel, I’m retired except for the few classes I teach. But I come out of retirement for special projects.”
“I see. Dr. Steel told you I was a special project?”
“She explained the situation to me.”
“So HIPAA be damned.”
He chuckles. “It doesn’t apply, as I’m sure you’re aware. Dr. Steel was consulting with me.”
He’s right, of course. I should’ve left out the HIPAA comment. But psychiatry still grates on me.
Except…
If Lindsay didn’t kill herself…
If she was murdered…
It’s not the first time I’ve had this thought.
Maybe psychiatry could have helped her. Maybe it was helping her.
Maybe we just didn’t wait long enough to find out.
And maybe this Dr. Engel can help me with that.
“Can you see me today?” I ask.
“I was going to suggest tomorrow,” Dr. Engel says. “But I could move a few things around. Maybe two this afternoon? At my office at the medical school?”
“Done. I don’t have any classes today, so I’m free. I’ll see you at two o’clock.”
“Excellent. See you then.”
He thinks he’s going to talk to me about the surgery.
And sure, we can talk a little bit about that.
But what I really want is to understand the practice of psychiatry. I want to know if it could’ve helped Lindsay.
Because I’m slowly believing that something took Lindsay from me.
And it wasn’t psychiatry.
Chapter Eleven
Angie
After I’m done with the morning’s classes, Tabitha grabs me.
“Did you hear about Ralph?” she says.
My heart jerks at the name. “No. What about him?”
“He’s in the hospital,” she replies, her eyes wide. “Someone beat him up pretty badly.”
I gasp. “What happened?”
“No one knows for sure,” she says. “Just that he was found unconscious in his studio early this morning.”
“Who found him?” I ask. “He lives alone.”
“Eli did. He dropped by Ralph’s place this morning.”
“What for?”
“He had to return a book he borrowed on the way to school. He said it was the weirdest thing. Ralph’s door was unlocked. When he didn’t answer, Eli tried the door and decided to go in and leave the book. He found Ralph.”
Chills skitter through me. “Is he…?”
“He’s stable,” Tabitha says. “But someone worked him over pretty good.”
“Where’s Eli?”
“He’s at the hospital with Ralph,” Tabitha says. “Apparently Ralph doesn’t have any family, so Eli felt he should stay.”
“We should go to the hospital.”
“What for?” Tabitha asks. “I thought you hated Ralph. Said he was a dick.”
I sigh. “First of all, I don’t hate anyone. And second, yeah, he’s a dick, but he’s a classmate, and if he doesn’t have any family…”
My words come out jumbled.
Jason walked me home last night, but then he went back to his place. All I can think about is whether he had something to do with this.
But why would he?
Why would Ralph be involved at all? So he saw Jason and me kissing. So he emailed HR. If he really wanted to make trouble for Jason or for me, he wouldn’t have stayed anonymous.
Then again, people do strange things all the time for inexplicable reasons. I learned this in my psychology classes. The human mind is a complex maze of emotions and thought processes that even the individual themselves might not understand, let alone an outsider.
Tabitha’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just thinking.” I give her a faint smile.
She doesn’t look convinced. “You’re not holding yourself responsible for this, are you?”
I cock my head. “Why would I?”
“Because you’re Angie,” she says. “You always try to shoulder everyone’s problems.”
I look at her. She’s right, but how would Tabitha know that? She and I have been lab partners for all of two weeks.
“How do you know me so well already?” I ask.
Tabitha shrugs, a small grin playing on her lips. “I’m just observant. And a bit intuitive. Combination of the two. It’s part of being a good scientist, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” I reply, my thoughts still racing.
“Look, Angie,” she continues, her voice taking a more serious tone. “I know you want to go into psychiatry and help people. And that’s admirable, really. But you can’t save everyone. You can’t fix everything.”
I swallow, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.
The only person I really want to save right now is Jason.
“Let’s go to the hospital,” I say finally. “Ralph might be a pain in the ass, but he’s still our classmate.”
The hospital is only a block away from the medical school, since the school is technically part of the whole complex.
As soon as we reach the hospital, a nurse directs us to Ralph’s room. We peek inside the room and see Eli watching over an unconscious Ralph. Eli doesn’t notice us at first, but when he does, he leaps up from his chair, a look of relief washing over his face.
“Angie, Tabitha… I’m glad you’re here,” he says, pulling us into the room. “The police were here asking questions earlier. I didn’t know what to tell them.”
“What did they ask?” I glance at Ralph on the hospital bed.
“They wanted to know if he had any enemies or if anyone would want to harm him.”
“And what did you tell them?” Tabitha asks.
He shrugs. “I told them that Ralph was a bit of a jerk sometimes but generally harmless. I don’t think he pissed anybody off enough to get this kind of beating.”
I share a glance with Tabitha before turning back to Eli. “That’s probably the best answer you could have given.”
Eli runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “He’s going to be okay, right?”
“Let’s hope so.” I take a seat next to Ralph’s bed.
He’s lying motionless in the stark white hospital bed, his face a swollen mess of bruises and dried blood. One eye is sealed shut, the other barely open beneath a purpling lid. His chest rises shallowly.
We sit in silence for a while. The only sound is the soft chirp of the heart monitor and the occasional shuffle of a nurse passing by outside the room.
I jerk when Ralph stirs. His eyelids flutter open to reveal bloodshot eyes. He looks around dazedly before his gaze lands on me.
His eyes widen. “You,” he says.
“Hey, Ralph,” I say.
He narrows his eyes as much as his swelling allows. “Your boyfriend is going to rot in hell for this.”
Chapter Twelve
Jason
Dr. Carlos Engel’s office is nothing like I expected. I thought psychiatrists’ offices were supposed to be stuffy, filled with leatherbound books and old-fashioned furniture. But this place is different. It’s modern, minimalistic even, with a sleek glass desk, white leather chairs, and walls adorned with abstract paintings. On the desk sits a small Buddha statue and a bonsai tree. Interesting.
Dr. Engel greets me with a warm smile and firm handshake when I enter. “Dr. Lansing, welcome. Take a seat.” He gestures toward one of the chairs opposite his desk.
“Thanks for seeing me today.” I sink into the soft leather.
He nods warmly. “Don’t mention it. I’m happy to help. Dr. Steel spoke highly of you.”
“Did she?” I raise an eyebrow. “She hardly knows me.”
“Melanie Steel can get to know more about a person in five minutes than most can in a lifetime,” he says. “She’s that good.”
I frown. “What did she say about me?”
“She said you were highly intelligent…and highly skeptical about psychiatry.”
I can’t help a chuckle. “That’d be me.”
“So that’s an accurate representation?” Dr. Engel asks.
I think that’s what I just said. God, already he’s trying to analyze me.
“I would,” I say, admitting the obvious. “I’ve always been more on the side of logic and reason.”
Dr. Engel chuckles. “And you believe psychiatry lacks those attributes?”
“I wouldn’t say it lacks them,” I reply. “More like it’s not as concrete or precise as the other medical fields. The human mind is a complex thing.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Dr. Engel says. “The brain is the most complex supercomputer ever created. Even after centuries of study, we’re still finding out new things about it every day. We’re going to get things wrong from time to time. But then again”—he lifts his eyebrows—“so do physicians in all fields.”
He’s got me there. It’s a speech I have memorized for every new batch of medical students I teach. I gave it most recently to Angie’s class.
When I became a general surgery attending years ago, I had made many mistakes. All young surgeons have by the time they complete their residency. You will take a life. You won’t do it on purpose, of course, but one day, a mistake you make will take the life of another human being. You will have to live with that. You will have to learn from that.
When I don’t respond after a minute, Dr. Engel continues, “Now, let’s start with this surgery. I understand the board is concerned about your mental state due to the trauma of loss you’ve experienced.”
I cross my legs, sit back in the chair. “That’s what they say.”
He leans toward me, his expression unreadable. “But you’re not concerned.”
“Not really.”
“Dr. Steel also mentioned that you don’t have an adequate support system.”
“I believe she’s wrong about that.”
Except she’s not wrong. I’m an only child, my parents are both deceased, and I let all my friendships go after Julia and Lindsay died. It was easier that way. I couldn’t stand the pitiful glances.
“And you believe that’s why you’re here?” Dr. Engel asks, tilting his head slightly to one side.
“I believe I’m here because the board thinks I need help.” I meet his gaze squarely. “Maybe they’re right, and maybe they’re not. I guess that’s for you to decide.”
Dr. Engel doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he leans back in his chair. “Well, Dr. Lansing,” he says after a moment, “I think we can both agree that the human mind is indeed a complicated thing. And dealing with loss… Well, that’s one of the hardest things any human being can experience. Especially the loss of a spouse or a child.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you saying that I’m not dealing with it?”
“Not at all,” he replies. “What I’m saying is that it’s okay to need help, even if you don’t think you do.”
The room falls silent again. I look away from Dr. Engel, my thoughts spinning with the possibility of what he’s trying to say.
“Maybe,” I begin, “but I’ve been coping just fine.”
“Have you?” Dr. Engel asks.
“I’m still here,” I say simply.
“Yes,” he says, “you are still here. But survival isn’t the same as living, Dr. Lansing. You could be surviving just fine while not really living your life.”
I blink at him. His words resonate with me, stirring up thoughts and feelings I’ve carefully kept buried.
“We’re getting off track,” I say briskly, eager to steer the conversation away from my personal life and maybe toward Lindsay. “The point of this session is for you to make sure I have adequate support and coping techniques to deal with a possible negative outcome of the surgery.”
“Indeed,” Dr. Engel replies, shifting his position. “But in order to assess that, we need to have a clear understanding of your current state of mind and overall well-being.”
Fuck.
I should have known he wouldn’t let me off the hook so easily.
I sigh, lean back into the plush leather chair, and cross my arms. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
He pulls out a notebook and pen. “Let’s start with your mood. How would you describe it?”
“Good,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t contradict me. “And how about your sleep? Any disturbances or nightmares?”
“No,” I say quickly, averting my gaze. It’s not true, though…
Or maybe it is.
I haven’t had nearly as many sweaty nightmares since I began seeing Angie.
“Any loss of appetite or changes in weight?”
“No,” I reply, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. My patience is beginning to wear thin, but I’m careful not to let it show.
Dr. Engel nods, scribbling some notes. After a moment, he looks up again. “Have you been experiencing feelings of hopelessness or guilt recently?”
Hopelessness?
No.
Guilt?
Fuck…
I hesitate before answering. “Guilt, sometimes,” I admit, staring at his sleek glass desk.
“Hmm.” Dr. Engel taps his pen against the notebook. “And how often do you find yourself thinking about the accident?”
