No shit. Really?
“He’s trying to kill me!” Ivy yelled.
“Lady, you don’t understand. My wife is mentally ill. She locked herself in there, and I’m trying to get her out.”
Before she could respond, store security came in and began dragging me out of the room.
I protested, “Someone needs to open that door and get her out of there.”
“Take him away. He’s trying to hurt me!” she screamed from behind the door.
“Why should I believe you over her?” said the burly man still holding my arm.
This could not be happening to me.
“Look, just give me a minute to call her case worker. I’ll let you talk to her. She’ll explain.”
Gina’s number was on my speed dial. She picked up. Thank God.
“Gina, I’m at Macy’s with Ivy, and she’s having an episode. She’s telling people I’m trying to hurt her. I need you to vouch for me and talk to the security people here, so they can help me get her home.”
The man spent about three minutes on the phone with Gina while the attendant unlocked the dressing room door. Ivy was huddled in the corner of the fitting room and wouldn’t move.
When the security guard got off the phone, he turned to the female employee. “Keep the dressing room closed to the public until he can talk her out.” Then, he looked at me with a sympathetic expression. “I’ll let you handle this. Let us know if you need any help.”
My voice was low. “Thank you.”
Ivy stayed still in the same corner and was no longer saying anything. Experience told me she needed some time to come down from one of these freak outs.
After several minutes, I bent down slowly and reached my hand out even slower. “Baby girl, we need to get you home. Please.”
She had tears in her eyes as she looked up at me. “Jake?”
“Yeah. It’s me.” I smiled. “You’re okay.”
Ivy took my hand and let me lift her up. I grabbed the two sweaters that were strewn on the floor and hung them up.
She caught me off guard when she wrapped her arms around my neck. “I’m scared.”
The only thing worse than Ivy’s delusions were the fleeting moments when she’d become aware of her illness. I couldn’t begin to imagine the confusion and terror trapped inside her mind. It broke my heart when she’d look at me, her eyes pleading for help, because there was really nothing I could do to take the pain away.
“Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded.
I held her tighter. “I won’t. I always see you, Ivy. I know who you are. Don’t worry.”
She began to cry harder onto my shoulders, and my own eyes started to sting. This would never get easier. I had no problem assuring her that I would always be there, though. How anyone with a conscience could abandon someone in her situation was incomprehensible to me. Everyone has a cross. Ivy’s and mine were one and the same. I was somehow chosen to help her carry it in this life. I’d always believed that.
We took the Orange Line train back to the group home. It was a quiet and uneventful ride. I stayed with her until about ten o’clock when I left to head home to my sister’s house. Allison, her husband Cedric and their twin girls, Holly and Hannah, lived in the Brookline suburb of Boston, about thirty minutes from Ivy. They offered me their spare bedroom for my weekend stays.
Before I got to their door, I turned around, deciding to head to the neighborhood bar around the corner for a quick drink to clear my head. After the day I’d had, it would have to be something strong.
Beacon’s Tavern was dimly-lit with a few televisions playing different cable sports channels. It was surprisingly empty and quiet aside from a couple of guys with strong Boston accents arguing over one of the games.
“Vodka straight, please, Lenny.”
The bartender poured my drink and placed it in front of me on the counter. “Haven’t seen you here in a while, Jake.”
“Just trying to stay out of trouble, I guess,” I said before throwing back the liquid courage. The vodka burned my throat as I downed half of it in one gulp.
Avoiding the bar had actually been quite intentional lately. My days with Ivy were always long ones. Because of my weeklong absences, I tried to make the most of my time with her. After leaving the group home on Saturdays, I usually went back to my sister’s for a late dinner of leftovers then slept. But occasionally, I’d hit the bar, and it usually ended up with my drinking too much. Waking up with a hangover on Sunday mornings when I had to return to Ivy’s was not ideal.
Lenny placed a second vodka in front of me even though I hadn’t asked for one. “A lot of guys would be just fine with your kind of trouble, pretty boy.”