“Right,” said Rebecca. “Right. So can I just go back to my room and try
this again next month?”
“Visit with your mom,” Zack suggested. “Here in my office”—where he
could watch them—“or out in the reception area.”
Rebecca’s look of confusion changed into a sour grimace of self-disgust.
“No. I screwed up. I don’t deserve to be with my mommy. I should go to my
E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a
1 9 7
room. Sorry, Mommy. I’ll do better next time.” She wanted to punish her
mother as well as herself. Zack decided not to fight her decision.
She stood up, kissed her mother on a tear-glazed cheek, and departed.
Mrs. Mays watched her go, then turned to Zack. “She’s like this only when
she’s unhappy. She’d be happy if she were back home.”
Zack put on his toughest, most concerned look. “Mrs. Mays? You don’t
really believe that. This is not unhappiness, this is illness. You need to think
about it as a chronic condition, like MS or cancer. We might be able to con-
trol it eventually, but even that will take time.”
Zack laid out the best possible future for Rebecca, emphasizing the im-
portance of altering her habitual use of anger and getting her into the routine
of taking medication. She needed to learn to be content while medicated, a
state that most bipolars found boring, so they went off their meds, with dire
results for all concerned. He said nothing about the likelihood of Rebecca’s
condition worsening.
Mrs. Mays finally gave in. “Another month,” she agreed. “But I want her
home. Soon. She’s all I have in the world.” She gazed at Zack with her ghost
gray eyes. “The house is too quiet. I miss her. I don’t miss her screaming or
throwing things or sometimes hitting me. But I miss her good days. Because she
is very good company on her good days.” She tried to smile. “I’m not going to
be around much longer, Dr. Knowles. I’d like to have her home before I go.”
Of course, thought Zack. The woman was in her seventies. She did not
have much time. No wonder it was so hard for her to admit her daughter was
ill. There was no happy ending here, only difficulty for Mrs. Mays until she
died, then difficulty for Rebecca afterward. Because what would become of
Rebecca without her mother? She could end up on the street or a permanent
resident of the hospital; she’d be at greater risk for suicide during her depres-
sion episodes.
“I understand,” said Zack. “We’ll see what we can do.”
When he stood up to open the door for Mrs. Mays, his body experi-
enced a sorrow as physical as vertigo. He felt both heartsick and stupid.
You do what you can and it’s never enough. The families of the chronically
mentally ill, and the mentally ill themselves, can be so terribly, painfully
human.
1 9 8
C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m
“We’ll see what we can do,” he repeated, touched her birdlike shoulder
goodbye, closed the door, and returned to his desk.
There are far worse things in life than an extramarital affair, he thought.
He could not begrudge Daniel his little sex drama, especially now, when it
was winding down.
So why was it still at the back of his mind this morning, in the presence of
real catastrophes? Zack often forgot about home at the hospital and the hos-
pital at home, although he knew his unconscious freely mixed the two. Yet
last night’s argument still hung behind his thoughts, unfinished, unresolved.
There was nothing for him to do except ignore it and get on with his work.
But it was still there, wasn’t it?
f 2
The bulk of the afternoon was wasted in an emergency staff meeting where
Roy Chadha struggled to make peace between the nurses and the orderlies—
they were at war again over the division of duties. Zack didn’t get home until
three. He found a car parked out front, a secondhand Saab, the Rohanis’ car.
Of course. Today was Monday, Elena’s laundry day. Zack was surprised by
how glad he was that Elena was here. He always enjoyed seeing her, but today
was different, his happiness stronger. It took him a moment to remember that
they had news to share, notes to compare.
He opened the back door and caught a fresh aroma of baked, clean
clothes. Jocko guiltily looked up from his spot on the rec room sofa, hopefully
beating his tail against a cushion, wanting Zack to be pleased he’d “caught” a
guest for them to play with.
Zack patted Jocko and called out, “Elena?”
“In here!”
He found her around the corner at the laundry room table, solemnly fold-
ing clothes. “Sorry,” she said. “I am almost done. I was hoping to be gone.”