Deliver Me (17 page)

“Yes, she just went
up. You can go ahead to her office.”

“Thanks.”

Amanda mentally
sulked as she pressed the button for the elevator. This no stair climbing
business caused more drama in her life than Dr. Holmes probably realized when
he handed her his guidelines. Amanda turned right after getting off the
elevator. Dr. Berkenshire was waiting at her door, the always calm, serene
smile pasted on her face.

She could not be
human. Real people were not so at peace with themselves all the time.

“You’ve grown since
the last time I saw you,” the doctor said by way of greeting, pointing to
Amanda’s stomach. “How is the pregnancy coming along?”

Amanda sat on one of
the soft leather chairs in a set up that looked more like the cozy corner of a
coffee shop than a psychiatrist’s office. There were books lining the wall to
her right and an antique self-standing globe to the left. A smooth,
instrumental piece played softly from a sleek CD player.

“Do you mind the
music,” Dr. Berkenshire asked. “It’s usually how I unwind on the weekends.”

“Not at all,” Amanda
answered. She needed something to help her relax. She didn’t want to be here.
But, then, she was the one who’d asked for this session. Not that she needed an
official “session.” She just had a few things she needed to work out, and she
figured running them by the doctor would be a good idea.

And just who are you trying to convince
?

“So,” Dr.
Berkenshire said, interrupting Amanda’s internal debate. “How are you? Any
complications with the pregnancy?”

“Well, technically,
I’m on bed rest. I have a bad case of anemia.”

“Ah,” the doctor
nodded. “I had the same with my pregnancy.” She waited a beat, then said
smoothly. “And how is everything else?”

Amanda took a heavy breath. Sometimes she really hated the
way these shrink types tried to con you into talking about your problems, as if
it was just a regular conversation between two friends meeting in the grocery
store. Although Amanda had to admit, Dr. Berkenshire’s technique was more
comfortable than what she’d first expected. That stereotypical scene of a
patient lying on an uncomfortable couch while an old, stuffy white man in a
tweed jacket probed her mind had been etched in her brain. She vastly preferred
sitting with a cup of tea and chatting with the petite, soft-spoken Dr.
Berkenshire.

“I’m dealing with
it,” Amanda answered the indirect question. “But it’s been more difficult these
past few days.”

“Why is that?”

“I moved back in
with my husband,” she replied in a noncommittal murmur.

The doctor’s brows
rose. “And how are you dealing with that?”

Amanda looked over
at the wall clock, the pendulum almost hypnotic in its steady sway. “It hasn’t
been easy,” she finally admitted. “Some days are better than others, but there
are just so many things going through my mind when I’m there.”

“Like what?”

“Everything! Having
to quit school. Having to quit my job. Even though it paid next to nothing,
that doesn’t mean I didn’t need it. Then there’s Jeffrey.”

“What about him?”
Dr. Berkenshire asked.

“I don’t know. I
just have all these feelings coming back. Memories of when we were happy, when
I
was happy.”

“Are you starting to
question the divorce?”

Amanda shook her
head. “No. The divorce is for the best.”

“How are you so sure?
Have you talked with your husband, Amanda?”

“No. I told you, I
can’t—”

Why was it so hard
for this woman to understand that she could never tell Jeffrey about this?

“I’ve told you this
before,” Amanda lamented. “Jeffrey saw the type of family I came from, and he
said early on that he could never endure what my father went through with my
crazy mother.”

What would Jeffrey
do if he ever found out she’d inherited her mother’s bipolar disorder? Would he
fear her illness would drive him to drink, the way it had done with her father?
Would he believe Amanda would take her own life, the way her mother had?

Amanda had vowed
never to have Jeffrey plagued by those questions.

“There is a distinct
difference between you and your mother, Amanda. You are being medically treated
for your illness.”

“But you told me
yourself that my meds may not work the same after I have the baby.”

Dr. Berkenshire sat
back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “It is not a guarantee that
your hormone levels will return to their pre-pregnancy state, so yes, there is
a possibility that your medication will not have the same effect.”

“What then?” Amanda
asked. “What happens when the pills don’t work? I’ve spent the past eleven
years hiding this from Jeffrey. If he finds out I’m bipolar…” She brought her
trembling fingers to her lips. “You just don’t understand,” she whispered.

Amanda took a moment
to collect herself. “I wasn’t always like this, you know?” she said, toying
with the hem of her maternity top. “I used to laugh.”

“And you don’t
anymore?”

She shook her head. “Not
as much as I would like to.”

They sat in silence.
Then Dr. Berkenshire’s eyes took on that knowing, probing look that always
raised Amanda’s defenses.

“You can be happy
again. That’s what the medication is for. We’ve already gone over this. The
potential risks to a developing fetus are so marginal they are hardly worth
mentioning.”

“You said that the
last time.”

“Your meds did not
cause your previous miscarriage, Amanda.”

“You can’t be sure
of that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Amanda stopped the doctor before she could
reply. “I am not putting my child in danger. I don’t care how miniscule the
risks.”

“And if the
delusions return?”

Amanda willed
herself to remain under control. “I’m handling them,” she gritted between
clenched teeth.

“So they have
returned,” the doctor accurately assumed.

Amanda closed her
eyes in frustration. “I know they’re not true, okay. I understand that.”

“But?”

“But it doesn’t
matter,” she answered with a sigh. “Even as I’m telling myself Jeffrey isn’t
cheating, I can’t help but believe it. Why did I have to turn out crazy like
her?”

Dr. Berkenshire
scooted to the edge of her chair and took Amanda’s hands in hers, giving them a
strength-infusing squeeze.

“Delusions are
pervasive, Amanda. It’s not as simple as telling yourself you don’t believe
them. If you went back on your medication, all of this would go away. Why would
you do this to yourself if you don’t have to?”

Amanda pulled her
hands free and placed them on her stomach. “I’ve waited my entire life for this
baby. I will carry it full term. I refuse to take any chances.”

Dr. Berkenshire sat
back in her chair, a slight, resigned smile on her lips. “As always, it is your
choice. You haven’t done anything to endanger yourself or your baby, so I
cannot force you to go back on medication, but I do urge you to try some form
of psychotherapy. Why don’t you come to one of our group therapy sessions? You
don’t have to share the first time. You can just listen. Both sufferers and
their
families
attend.” The doctor
emphasized the word families.

“If I come, it will
be alone. I am not bringing Jeffrey.”

She shrugged, the
tranquil, composed façade returning. “It’s your decision. I can’t make you do
anything you’re uncomfortable doing. So, will I see you on Tuesday night?”

Amanda thought about
returning to the house and all its memories. She thought about how difficult
the past few days had been and how there was no end in sight, at least for the
next few months. If she had even the smallest chance of surviving the upcoming
months, she would have to do something.

“I’ll see,” Amanda
finally said, although in her mind, she was already trying to conjure an excuse
for having to leave the house on Tuesday.
 

***

Elijah pulled in front of a shotgun-style house that looked to be the
norm around most of the New Orleans neighborhoods Monica had visited. Cars were
lined up and down the street. Monica could see the tip of a red and blue
Spacewalk peeking over the back fence.

“Smells like Alex broke out the grill,” Eli said as he helped her out of
the SUV.

“I thought you said this would be a
small
get-together.”

“This is small,” he answered. “Believe me, you’ll know the difference
when we do something big.”

Monica followed him up a
graveled path along the side of the house. He opened the gate and she walked in
ahead of him. The backyard was packed. There were at least fifty people, and
they all seemed to stop when she and Eli walked in. Unease, instant and
nerve-wracking, rippled down Monica’s spine.

A short, small-framed woman with pretty eyes and flawless skin came from
around the food-laden picnic table, wiping her hands on a towel, which she
threw over one shoulder.

“You made it,” she said to Eli, although her eyes were on Monica. Eli
gave her a kiss on her proffered cheek. Her gaze remained on Monica the entire
time. “And who might this be?” the woman asked.

“Mama, this is Dr. Monica Gardner. She just moved here from St. Louis.
She replaced Dr. Millgram in the ER. Monica, this is my mother, Margo Holmes.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Holmes.” Monica extended her hand and felt
instantly at ease as Margo returned the gesture with a warm smile.

“Same to you, Dr. Gardner.”

“Monica.”

“Then you must call me Margo,” she insisted with Southern charm.

“Uncle Eli!” A little girl, whom Monica recognized from the picture in
Eli’s office, ran up to them and threw her arms around his knees.

“What’s up, Rosebud?”

“My name is Jasmine,” she answered. She held out her hand. “Where’s my
present?”

“Jasmine Sophia, you know better than to ask for gifts,” Margo chastised.

“But it’s my birthday.” Even pouting, the little girl was too cute for
words.

“That doesn’t matter,” Eli’s mother explained, taking Jasmine by the hand
and giving her butt a pat. “Now you go back to the Spacewalk and Uncle Eli will
give you your gift after you have blown out your candles.” With a resigned
smile creasing her face, Margo shook her head as her granddaughter ran toward
the Spacewalk. “That little girl.”

“Did Alex hide the bicycle in the old tool shed?” Eli asked.

“It’s in there, though I’m not so sure she deserves such an expensive
present. Her mouth is getting sassier by the minute.”

“That’s because she’s a princess, and she knows it.”

“It’s because she’s spoiled rotten.” Margo turned curious eyes to Monica.
“So, are you looking to make New Orleans your permanent home, or is this just a
trial period?”

Monica’s antenna instantly perked up as Eli’s warning rang through her
head. “My contract with the hospital is for two years, so I guess I’ll
reevaluate at the end of that time period. I love the city so far, though. The
resilience of the people here is inspiring.”

Margo’s eyes brightened. “Wonderful,” she said. “Elijah, why don’t you
see if Alex needs help at the grill and I’ll introduce Monica to the rest of
the guests?”

“Okay.” Turning to Monica, he asked, “Is that all right with you?”

Well, if it wasn’t all right with her it was a little too late. Monica
caught the sly gleam in Eli’s eyes and realized she’d just been snowballed.

“Sure,” she said, sending him a look that said she knew exactly what he
was doing. Eli’s smile widened. The man was slick as mud on wet cement.

“Wonderful,” Margo said again. “Oh, how exactly should I introduce you?
Coworkers? Friends?”

Oh, that was subtle. Monica realized she wasn’t dealing with your regular
run-of-the-mill matchmaker. Margo Holmes was a pro.

“As I told you on the phone the other day, Mama, Dr. Gardner is more than
just a coworker,” Eli answered.

Monica didn’t think Margo’s eyebrows could perk up any higher, but she
had just been proven wrong. “Well, we didn’t have much time to talk, Elijah. I
wasn’t sure how serious things were.”

Monica decided to step in since it was obvious Eli was having too much
fun making his mother eek out every detail.

“Eli and I have been seeing each other pretty regularly.” Not a total
lie; she did see him nearly everyday at the hospital.

It was as if a ton of fireworks had detonated behind Margo’s eyes. “I
didn’t realize you two were dating. My son used to share such news with me,” Margo
said in a mock whisper.

“I thought I used the word ‘girlfriend’,” Eli said.

“You did not. I would have distinctly remembered if you had.”