“Morning, Dr. Baxter.”
“Good morning, Brianna. How are you?”
“I could be worse.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Brianna didn’t bother hiding her irritation. She didn’t mind Dr. Baxter calling. After all, he was her doctor, but calling this soon after she had hung up with Dr. WonderBra could only mean one thing.
“Let me guess. Dr. Shepherd called you?”
“Yes, she wants to make sure that you are being taken care of.”
“I was going to call you. I assumed you were at work at this time of the day.”
“I am. Well, I was. I am taking a personal day.”
Brianna was relieved but also alarmed to hear that. Seemed like everybody was in the trenches. “Oh, is everything okay?”
“I’m fine, but I thought maybe you and I could talk?”
Brianna still was not totally at ease discussing her personal life with Dr. Baxter, but he was the only person that knew of this latest development. She needed to discuss that with someone. “I would like that. Can you come get me?”
“Sure, I’ll be there shortly.”
“Sounds good.”
Brianna rolled off her daybed, making sure she had everything she needed together before Dr. Baxter made it to get her. She hated making anyone wait if it was something she could have prevented. She was about as dressed up as she was accustomed to being these days—a comfortable pair of blue jeans, T-shirt, and flats. The only other thing she consistently traveled with was her cell phone, so she was prepared.
She was straightening up a few more things in her room when she heard her phone ringing again.
Tell the truth/Tell the truth/Tell the truth/Everyone has a closet/In the night, they wear disguises.
“Dr. Baxter?” Brianna couldn’t squeeze the shock out of her tone. Neither his practice nor the hospital was remotely close to her. She was not sure how he arrived so fast.
“I’m here, Brianna. Are you ready?”
“Uh, sure. Let me lock up and I’ll be right there.” Brianna surveyed the room once more. She was proud. Her room must not have been as bad as she thought. She had not been cleaning for very long, but she was confident that the result would have satisfied Michelle’s OCD. She closed her door and walked out the front door, securing it behind her, walking toward where Dr. Baxter was waiting.
Brianna lit up when she saw him, carefully opening the door and sliding into the custom leather seats. “Is this a vintage 1962 Shelby Cobra?”
Dr. Baxter smiled, mildly impressed with her knowledge. “Indeed it is. I collect vintage cars, and I felt like taking her out for a spin today.”
“She is beautiful. The black suits her.” Brianna didn’t tell him outright, but she had a fascination with vintage cars as well.
“I didn’t think you would know anything about that.”
“I don’t collect or anything, but I can appreciate the beauty in just about anything.”
Dr. Baxter nodded in agreement. “That makes perfect sense to me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m not sure, honestly. I guess I didn’t really think this through,” Dr. Baxter admitted, laughing. “I didn’t think you’d agree to speak with me.”
Dr. Baxter flashed her a look that made her uncomfortable. He had an angle, and Brianna started to get that uneasy feeling again. She just hoped that he wouldn’t say anything inappropriate, because she would hate for the ride to end. She was truly enjoying the car.
“Well, what if we just ride a bit until you think of something better?”
“Plenty of gas. Let’s do it.”
Chapter 33
Dr. Baxter eased onto the 67N, presumably headed toward Dallas. Traffic was light around this time of day. Parents were still at work, and schools were still in session out in Cedar Hill, where they were in a ghost town compared to other parts of the city.
“What did you want to speak with me about?”
Dr. Baxter glanced at her before countering with his own question. “What did you want to speak with me about?”
“Simple question with a complicated answer.” Brianna reclined the seat, enjoying the breeze as it kissed her face. The sun shone brightly, but the day was cool with a high of 70 degrees.
“Un complicate it,” he said.
“Ha, I wish it were as simple as that.”
“Think it over. I’ll go first, and maybe it’ll help you as well.”
“Please.”
“Pregnancy,” he said.
Brianna rubbed her hand across her forehead. “Figured.”
“Suffering from a mild case of PTSD, maybe a little Stockholm syndrome. Support system is questionable. I’m worried.”
Brianna was worried, too. How did he know all those things about her? They were details that she was certain fell under the patient/doctor privacy umbrella.
“Haven’t been to your apartment, driven your car. Those things should not be dismissed as trivial. I think they are important things to consider.”
The more he talked, the more convinced Brianna was that Dr. WonderBra had been running her mouth to her #mancrush. That woman had it so bad for him that Brianna wouldn’t have been surprised to find that she provided him a transcript of their sessions.
“I see Dr. Shepherd does not care much about patient/ doctor confidentiality.”
“Cliff notes only.” Dr. Baxter chortled.
Brianna did not find the situation funny.
“I may have taken advantage of a particular fondness she has for me to get more information than I should have, but I did it for you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“That does not help as much as you’d think.”
“I promise we didn’t violate your privacy.”
“Seems like you did, Dr. B. How do you know those things?”
“She only shared very basic information. These things are typical for someone that has been through something traumatic as you have,” Dr. Baxter tried to reason.
“Never mind. It’s not headline-worthy I guess.” Brianna really didn’t care so much about Dr. Shepherd sharing her clinical observations. They were both her doctors, and she considered them colleagues. The more important part of all this for her was why. Why did he feel so obligated to help her?
“Why do you care?”
Dr. Baxter exhaled audibly. “I know your mother,” he blurted.
Brianna adjusted her seat into an upright position. Perhaps she had heard him incorrectly. The wind could have distorted the words or something. “What did you say?”
“It’s true. I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to think I was using you to get to her, but I know her.”
Something was not adding up. “If you know her, why would you need me to get to her?”
“I haven’t been in touch with her for years. When I saw you at Javan’s that night . . . it felt like fate. You looked so much like her. I just knew you had to be her daughter.”
“So, you were using me?”
Raising his shoulders and shaking his head slightly to the left then to the right, Dr. Baxter responded honestly. “Yes, I was, but in my defense . . . believing that you belonged to her did create a genuine desire for me to make sure you were all right.”
Brianna could tell that he still cared a great deal about her mom. Even though he wasn’t smiling, she could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke of her.
“How long had it been?” she asked.
“Over twenty years.”
The open air kept the vibration free. The conversation was serious, but being so close to the vast blue sky kept everything in perspective. Highway 67 turned into Interstate 35, and as they rounded the curve passing the Dallas Zoo, downtown trickled into view.
“And you still wanted to see her? That is a long time to hold a torch.”
“I didn’t spend all of those years alone, but your mother was . . .” He glanced at Brianna. “. . . is very special. So,
you are very special to me also.”
That explained his creepy behavior. He wasn’t trying to sleep with her, but trying to get in good with her mom. Brianna could not remember the last time she had been so wrong about someone. Oh, wait. As her mind flashed back to Javan, maybe she could. Something was still missing from the narrative. If his main goal was to reconnect with Sophie, why hadn’t he asked anything about her?
“Have you contacted her?”
“Contacted who?”
Brianna scoffed. “You know who.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“And I believe that is something to discuss with your mother.”
Blowing her cheeks up like a puffer fish, Brianna considered pushing him for answers but decided against it. “Maybe I will.”
“Back to your child. Have you told her?”
Fear sent her voice up a few octaves. “No, of course not. I have not said anything to anyone.”
Dr. Baxter activated his turn signal and exited the freeway. Brianna had not really been paying much attention to where they were going. She was immersed in the peace of the ride, but after the exit, her curiosity grew.
“No Cliff Notes?” Brianna asked, laughing at her quip.
Dr. Baxter laughed, too. “No, I promise. I would not do that. It isn’t my place.”
“That’s a relief.”
“How are you feeling?”
Brianna allowed herself to be distracted by the hustle and bustle of downtown Dallas for a moment. That part of the city was allergic to quiet—bumper to bumper traffic regardless of the time of day or night. Construction was a constant part of the scene, even more prevalent then the buildings themselves.
“Brianna?”
“I am an emotional mess. Feeling everything all at once. Guilt. Pain. Hurt. Happiness. Fear. It’s overwhelming.”
“I can imagine. I never had . . . a child, but it can’t be easy.” Dr. Baxter empathized.
“Where are we going?” Brianna inquired as they rolled to a stoplight.
“There is a renowned photographer, resident of Dallas, Richard Andrew Sharum. He’s doing an exhibition called Observe Dallas 2015. He selected eight photographs, each several stories tall, and essentially turned downtown Dallas into his personal art gallery.”
“I had no idea. That sounds like an enormous undertaking.”
“I’m sure it was. I haven’t gotten an opportunity to see his work in person, but I thought, since you ‘appreciate the beauty in just about in anything,’ that you would enjoy it as well.”
“Touché. Where is the first print?”
“The first print is at 211 South Ervay, but the one I have been wanting to see is around the corner from here at 500 South Ervay,” Dr. Baxter stated, rounding the corner onto South Ervay. Spotting an available parking meter, he pulled over and parked. “It’s just up here.”
“I can tell that something is hanging there.” Brianna got out of the car and waited while Dr. Baxter fed the meter. Looking around the square, she realized that she knew the area. “Isn’t that City Hall over there?”
“Yes, it is. Sharum insisted that this and the photo that will eventually replace this one be hung here to protest homelessness.”
“Why?” Brianna asked as they crossed the street onto City Hall Plaza. They walked for a few minutes before turning to view the print. Muted initially by the sheer size of the photograph, Brianna stood speechless. It was truly breathtaking. She had never seen anything like it.
“This is amazing. He was able to capture the brilliance of humanity in his lens. That is remarkable.”
Dr. Baxter shared her sentiment, standing at her side, beaming with pride as if he had taken the picture himself. “His hope for Ronnie and for the others is that people will empathize and celebrate the ordinary.”
Brianna could not help but feel encouraged by that. It spoke to her on so many levels that she could not possibly explain them all. She just felt it in her soul, moving her spirit. Celebrating the ordinary was exactly what she needed to do.
“This is the piece you looked forward to seeing the most?”
“We were Ronnie. My father and I were homeless for a few weeks. There aren’t many shelters for single fathers, so he did what he could. I still remember the stares. There is nothing more painful than to witness someone looking through you.”
Brianna stuck her hands in pockets, continuing to admire Sharum’s brave accusation, thinking of the statements she was making in her own life.
“Nothing has been the same for me. I couldn’t figure out how to get back to where I was before. She feels like a stranger. I am surrounded by these people that knew her, and I feel strange because I don’t feel like I do.”
“Families are not trained to deal with victims, and sometimes that ignorance leads to inappropriate interaction with the victim. I advise the families of victims who have survived a difficult pregnancy or labor to seek counseling along with my patients. Oftentimes our support systems need support, too. The victim needs help, but the wrong kind can have devastating consequences. We tend to overlook the fact that when someone close to us is hurt in some way, we are hurt as well. We all suffer.”
“Victim. I don’t even know how to be a victim. Am I supposed to be feeling a certain way? Am I supposed to look a certain way? Is there a manual for dummies somewhere I can read? I don’t look like the victims depicted in film and on television. I can’t mark off everything listed in the Diagnostic Manual. Where do I fit?”
“Healing is not about being able to fit perfectly into a category. Those things are not absolute. They are meant to serve as a spring board. Concentrate on just being present. Not in the future, not in the past, but right here.”
“I’m terrified,” she said.
“I know, but you can’t let a moment, or even a series of moments, in your life define the rest. Time exists in fractions—hours, minutes, seconds—and those spaces are opportunities for you to change your life. It does not have to be a Broadway production.”
Brianna remained silent while she pondered his words. This was the best she had felt in weeks, and it had all started with her saying yes to his offer to talk. There was some truth to his words. Dr. Shepherd had been correct; his advice was spot on.
Rubbing her belly, Brianna came to a decision. She did not know how to go about repairing her relationship with Michelle, but there was something she wanted to do that she was certain Dr. Baxter could help her with.
“Are you sure you are willing to help me through this?” she asked.
“I am positive. Whatever you need.”
Brianna knew her request would sound odd considering everything that had happened, but it was what she wanted. Being present, for her, meant facing the past.
“Help me find Javan.”
Chapter 34
“Ms. Vida, you know I love you, but I am not eating anything off that tray,” Micah stated. His discharge papers, crumpled and torn, rested at the base of the sink. He sat, slouching in the wheelchair, a despairing look chiseled into the soft lines of his face. He was finally being released from the hospital, but the moment arrived minus the pleasantries he had expected.
“Micah, you have not eaten today, and you will do so immediately.”
Micah’s appetite had abandoned him hours before. For two weeks, his bat signal had failed to beckon Brianna to the door of his hospital room, and her elusiveness plagued him. Even after considering every solecism he had made with her, he believed not one warranted this iceberg-sized shoulder she forced him to contend with. Compounding the problem, thoughts of Rachel impeded his mind. His leaving reinforced the reality that she never would. Call it a moment of rectitude or a splash of regret; either way, Micah found himself trapped in a serious case of survivor’s remorse with no visible path to freedom.
“I am not hungry. Besides, the only edible thing on there is the Jell-O.”
Ms. Vida stood, casting her shadow over him, preparing his tray for the last time
. “Yes, you are. This is the ne plus ultra of hospital cuisine, and you will eat.”
Micah looked up at Ms. Vida, meeting her unwavering stare, and doubled over in laughter. “Those glasses, Ms. Vida. I cannot take you seriously with the magnifiers on.”
“At least you came out of your gloom for a moment.” Ms. Vida pushed the tray to the other side of where he sat in the wheelchair. After parking it between him and the counter, she sat down on the bed and lightly tapped his knee. “I cannot absolve you of the guilt you feel, not with any substantial degree of certainty.”
Sighing, Micah dropped his gaze. Lifting his chin with the tip of her finger, Ms. Vida locked eyes with him. “This guilt you are exhibiting seems like the morally responsible thing to do. I know that it feels right to you to behave this way. You were speeding, off of your meds, and to that extent you are responsible, but I have news for you, young man.”
Micah held eye contact with Ms. Vida, awaiting whatever wisdom she had to share with him. He hoped that it would be more endearing than what had been stated thus far.
“Being remorseful because you have an opportunity to live your life is the quintessence of selfishness.”
Micah turned his head in disgust, unable to believe that something so profoundly ignorant could come from his beloved Ms. Vida. He was not even sure of how to respond. How could feeling guilty be selfish? That did not even make sense.
Pulling his face back to her, she continued. “Nothing you feel has any bearing on her or where she is at this time. Your feelings are about you, Micah, not her.” Ms. Vida released him but continued speaking, seeing that she again had his attention. “There is no way to determine, definitively, that your actions led directly to her death.”
Micah opened his mouth to speak but changed his mind. The look on Ms. Vida’s face let him know that interrupting her would be a bad idea.
“Stop mourning your miracle.”
“What are you talking about, Ms. Vida?” Micah inquired. His foot rattled the square piece of metal it rested on. His leg jumped around involuntarily as his annoyance started to best him.
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