Midnight Valentine(88)

I pull into the driveway, shut off the car, and sit in the darkness, listening to the engine tick and Theo’s deep, even breathing.

How the hell did he get to Booger’s? There’s no way he could’ve managed to drive. Coop said Theo could leave Acadia at night and for weekends if he wanted to, but the staff must monitor the patients’ conditions. I can’t believe they’d let him float out the door like this, high as a kite!

Abruptly, I’m angry. Angry at the employees at Acadia, angry at the universe, angry at his stupid medication and its stupid side effects.

Most of all, angry at myself.

If I’d never moved to Seaside, Theo would’ve been all right. Maybe not stable, maybe not exactly sane, but all right. Surviving. Which is all any of us can reasonably expect in this shitty, fucked-up world. But now here he is, passed out in my lap, a lion reduced to a woozy lamb.

I fish around in his coat, not exactly sure what I’m looking for. Then I feel something in an inside pocket and pull it out. It’s a small white card on which Theo has written the words If found, please return home.

Underneath that, he’s written my name, address, and phone number.

My face crumples. Hot tears slide silently down my cheeks. I slip the card back into his pocket, then sit in the car for a long time, thinking, my mind a dark snarl that goes over and over every possible scenario for what needs to happen next. Ultimately, I decide that no matter what the truth is—whether I’m dealing with a miracle or just two people suffering from mental illness—Theo is now my home too. And there’s nothing in this world that could make me leave his side.

Crazy or not, we’re in this shit together.

That decision made, I get Theo inside, get him upstairs, and put him to bed.

Then I fire up my computer and google a contact number for Acadia.



* * *

I didn’t expect Theo’s doctor to be available. I didn’t expect anyone to be available except maybe a night receptionist, but when I tell the woman who answers the phone that I’m Theo Valentine’s wife, there’s a long pause, then she says, “Hold the line, please.”

The wait stretches so long, I have time to pour myself a whiskey, drink it, and refill my glass. Then a man with a brusque Boston accent and an attitude to match picks up the phone.

“This is Dr. Garner. Who’s this?”

“Megan Du—Valentine. Theo Valentine’s wife.”

It’s a ridiculous gamble. I have no reason to believe Theo might have listed me as a contact on his medical papers, and even less reason to think he might’ve listed me as his spouse. But the same magical thinking that had me stringing coincidences together like Christmas lights has me thinking there’s a chance that he did.

Sure enough, I’m right.

“Hello, Mrs. Valentine,” says Dr. Garner. “How can I help you?”

I’m so relieved, my legs give out. I slide down to the floor and sit there shaking, the phone clutched in one hand and my whiskey in the other. The only thing holding me up is the kitchen counter against my back. I clear my throat, then try to sound like a rational person and not the barking fruitcake I really am. “I want to talk to you about Theo’s treatment plan.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

“That’s very interesting, Dr. Garner, because the HIPAA Privacy Rule specifically allows a doctor to discuss a patient’s health status with his family.”

If he’s impressed by my knowledge of federal health privacy laws, he doesn’t let on. In a voice as dry as dust, he replies, “Yes. It allows for discussion. It doesn’t require it; disclosure is at the doctor’s discretion.”

Fuck. This guy is a brick wall. “I’d think you’d want to do anything you could to help Theo’s recovery.”

There’s a pause, then Dr. Garner says, “Forgive me for being blunt, Mrs. Valentine, but I could say the same thing about you.”

Like a hissing cat’s, my hackles go up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you aware of the nature of your husband’s hallucinations?”

I gulp, my defensiveness vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “He…he mentioned ghosts. Voices.”

“Schizophrenia is characterized by delusions—”

“Schizophrenia?”

My horrified shout cuts Dr. Garner short, then he continues in a sharper tone. “I don’t know how familiar you are with severe mental illnesses, Mrs. Valentine, but Theo needs care for the rest of his life to manage the symptoms of his disease. That means medication, therapy, and—most importantly—support from family and friends.”