Until I Saw Your Smile

by J. J. Murray

  “I’ll try,” Angela said.

  “Thanks for calling, Matthew,” his father said. “I hope to see you both this summer. Good-bye.”

  Matthew closed his phone. “What do you think of my mother?”

  “You take after your daddy for the most part,” Angela said. “But why did you include me in your visit? You know I can’t leave the store.”

  “Even for a few days?” Matthew asked.

  “No.”

  Matthew nibbled at her neck. “Not even for one day?”

  “Stop.” She leaned away from his lips. “Maybe one day.” She rubbed her neck. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but how mean is your mother?”

  “She’s not mean,” Matthew said. “At least I don’t think she means to be mean. She has never approved of unmarried people living together. It’s the main reason she hated Joy.”

  “Ah,” Angela said. “So it wasn’t because Joy had the brains of a pigeon?”

  “I’m sure that played a part,” Matthew said.

  “So it’s best we don’t live together, for her sake.” She wrinkled up her lips.

  What about my sake? Or Angela’s sake? “When my lease is up at the end of March, I was hoping I could move in here with you.”

  Angela blinked. “You were?”

  “I am.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It will help us both financially, right?”

  “Right.” Angela stretched her arms over her head and ran her fingers through his hair. “But I want your mother to like me. If you move in . . .”

  “She’ll like you,” Matthew said. “And if we talk marriage and children, she’ll love you.”

  Angela smiled. “Marriage and children.”

  “Joy avoided that subject at all costs,” Matthew said. “She once told me she was allergic to marriage.” She also told me she was allergic to babies. Who could be allergic to a baby? “What do you say to marriage?”

  “With whom?” Angela asked, her eyes wide.

  “With me,” Matthew said.

  “Well, I guess I like the idea,” Angela said.

  “You don’t sound too enthusiastic, Miss Smith.”

  Angela pulled his face to hers and kissed him firmly. “Okay, I love the idea, Matthew.” Her eyes drifted toward the bedroom.

  Matthew didn’t notice.

  “Hey, man, I’m making some bedroom eyes over here,” she said.

  “Oh.” Matthew slid from behind her and stood. “And I will carry you and your bedroom eyes to the bedroom.”

  Angela stood on the couch with her arms around his neck. “Don’t drop me.”

  “I won’t.”

  He scooped her up and walked deliberately though the kitchen and into the bedroom. He set her on the bed, where she stood bouncing, her hands on the ceiling.

  “I want to try something different tonight,” she said.

  Matthew stripped down to his boxers. “I’m all for something different.”

  She stripped down to her underwear, pulled back the covers, and lay on her side. “I want you to sleep behind me.”

  “You sure?” Matthew asked.

  “No,” she said in a small voice.

  Matthew slid in behind her, careful not to put any pressure on her booty.

  Angela pulled his left arm over her. “Just like this, okay? I need to get used to the idea slowly.”

  “So do I,” Matthew whispered. “You feel extremely soft, firm, and round.”

  “You don’t,” Angela said. “You feel extremely hard.”

  “It’s because you feel extremely soft, firm, and round.”

  She sighed and held his arm tightly. “Did you really mean what you said about marriage?”

  “Yes.”

  She wiggled her booty against him. “I am going to have great dreams tonight.”

  Angela slept through the night without a single nightmare.

  But in the morning, she became Matthew’s blanket again.

  It’s a start.

  I do believe she’s getting better.

  Chapter 28

  Matthew spent Monday morning wondering how he could help Timothy—and, by extension, Angela.

  How can I prove Timothy has flashbacks and nightmares? They have tests to determine when someone is dreaming, but those tests can’t testify to the quality of the dream.

  He had walked up and down Driggs with his laptop until he found animalcrack69, checked his e-mail, and downloaded Dr. Penn’s assessment. As he read the assessment in his office booth, however, he couldn’t come up with any solutions.

  “Happy Polar Bear Day,” Angela said, pouring him his first cup of coffee.

  “Fitting,” Matthew said. “That pile of snow out there seems to be getting larger, not smaller, and until we get Wi-Fi, I’m going to be a polar bear.”

  She slid in next to him. “We’ll get it one day, okay? But just for us.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s also No Brainer Day,” she said.

  “So I should be doing only simple tasks today,” Matthew said.

  “What’s wrong?” Angela asked.

  “I’m having lawyer’s block,” Matthew said.

  She pointed at the screen. “Is that Dr. Penn’s report?”

  “Yes, and it’s very thorough,” Matthew said. “It should be enough to change anyone’s mind, but I need something more.”

  “Hey, I have an idea,” Angela said. “It’s a real no-brainer. Call Dr. Penn, Mr. Polar Bear.” She stood and greeted a few seated customers.

  Call the doctor. Duh. He dialed the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Dr. Penn, it’s Matthew McConnell. Your assessment is fantastic, but I’m worried about one thing. How can I prove that Timothy has flashbacks and nightmares?”

  “Put him in a similar situation,” Dr. Penn said.

  That doesn’t seem possible. “Literally?”

  “If you can,” Dr. Penn said.

  “So I should take him to an operating room,” Matthew said.

  “Or a reasonable facsimile,” Dr. Penn said. “Take him as best you can to the place of his original trauma. I’ve taken a few patients to the Towers site. The Towers may be gone, but they’re still there in the minds of many people.”

  “That must be a rough trip,” Matthew said.

  “It was, is, and will probably be for many years to come,” Dr. Penn said, “but it’s worth it for many people.”

  Hmm. That sounds logical. “Does it work?”

  “For some, it worked very well,” Dr. Penn said. “They relived that horrifying day at the very spot it happened and got past that day. Oh, not without weeping and a great deal of cursing.”

  “You said ‘for some,’ ” Matthew said. “So others don’t respond.”

  “Some don’t,” Dr. Penn said, “and they may never respond.”

  “How dangerous is recreating the original trauma?” Matthew asked. “That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Penn said. “Under the right conditions, and with the right questions, it’s fairly safe.”

  I don’t know about that. “Could it be done, say, in a doctor’s office?”

  “It could be done anywhere,” Dr. Penn said.

  “Well, I can’t very well fly Timothy back to Landstuhl.” As if the army would let me do that. “So I simply present the original trauma as best as I can and watch him fight his way out of it.”

  “Something like that,” Dr. Penn said. “And it will be a fight.”

  “Do I really want to put him through it?” Matthew asked.

  “He’s tougher than he looks,” Dr. Penn said.

  “But we don’t want him to be tough,” Matthew said. “We want him to fall apart, don’t we?”

  “No,” Dr. Penn said. “We want him to get better. It’s possible that reliving what happened will help him to live again. The use of virtual reality simulations, though they are early in their development, have helped people get to and get through their
memories. There’s an old school of thought that says the best way out is always through, the idea that confronting is much better than avoiding. I’ve read about soldiers returning from Iraq and playing video games like Call of Duty to help them cope with what’s holding them back.”

  “They don’t have a simulation for what happened to Angela, do they?” Matthew asked.

  Dr. Penn didn’t respond immediately. “I think so. I remember reading about one a few months ago.”

  “That’s creepy.” Matthew shuddered.

  “To you and me, it’s absolutely abhorrent,” Dr. Penn said. “But you and I did not go through an attack of this magnitude. To people who have survived attacks and cannot lead a normal life and face reality because of them, a trip into virtual reality might be exactly what they need.”

  Matthew sighed. “I wish there were some guarantees.”

  “The only guarantee I can give you is that Timothy will not get better if nothing is done,” Dr. Penn said.

  I have to ask this. “Is it the same with Angela?”

  “Everyone is different because everyone is wired differently,” Dr. Penn said. “Angela has learned to cope in her own way. She has rewired the way her brain processes the world. To you and me, the way she’s coping might seem a little crazy. To her psyche, it makes perfect sense. She has put up a great deal of armor to protect herself, and it will take time for her to remove that armor so she can be her old self again.”

  “I don’t know if I want to remove any of her armor, Doc,” Matthew said. “It seems to be part of her personality, and I love her personality. She’s tough, kind, sweet, sarcastic, organized, suddenly passionate, and frequently shy.”

  Dr. Penn laughed. “You like the challenges she presents to you.”

  “Yes.” But every day shouldn’t have to be a challenge.

  “Angela has many layers,” Dr. Penn said. “Many, many layers.”

  “I think I find new ones every day,” Matthew said. “But I can’t begin to fathom Angela reliving her attack or facing her attacker.”

  “Matthew, Angela has to go through to get out,” Dr. Penn said. “She may have to relive her attack and face her attacker in order to achieve a greater measure of peace and happiness in her life.”

  “I like to think I’m providing her a measure of both,” Matthew said.

  “Oh, you most certainly are,” Dr. Penn said. “And if she gets the opportunity to either relive her attack or confront her attacker, it will not be easy, and it may actually be more painful than the original attack. Her mind has used the last four years to build up that one awful moment to the nth degree, to a severity that may be a hundred times worse than the original moment.”

  I’ve already seen this in action. “So what do I do?”

  “Be patient with her,” Dr. Penn said. “Remember that she has to break through. It’s not up to you to break through her defenses.”

  “I feel so helpless sometimes.” Like now.

  “Simply love her, Matthew,” Dr. Penn said.

  “Love is the best therapy, right?” Matthew asked.

  “You’re learning,” Dr. Penn said. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “I won’t.” Matthew closed his phone.

  First things first. I need to speak to Dr. Wick. His defenses are pretty stout. I can’t call his secretary anymore. She’d never put me through.

  I have to be sneaky again. He smiled. Dr. Wick is about to have a virtual fender bender.

  Matthew called Paul Kiser, an old friend from his high school days at Most Holy Trinity. Paul worked at the DMV over on Atlantic Avenue.

  “Haven’t heard from you in years, Matt,” Paul said. “Do you need to have another accident?”

  He still remembers the scam. “Yes. I need to have a minor fender bender this time. I need to hit someone named Dr. William Wick. He might be listed as Major William Wick.”

  “Hold on a sec,” Paul said. “Got any cross references?”

  “He works at the VA,” Matthew said, “and he may have a Manhattan address.”

  Paul hummed under his breath. “Computer’s slow. Monday, you know. Uh . . . black oh-nine Chrysler Three Hundred, physician’s plates. Here’s the number.”

  Matthew wrote it down. “Thanks, Paul.”

  “You know where to send the tickets,” Paul said. “I’ll need two.”

  “Which game?” Matthew asked.

  “The next time the Miami Heat are in town, man,” Paul said. “Who else?”

  This is going to be an expensive favor to pay for. “I’ll try. That’s a tough ticket, Paulie. What if I can’t find any?”

  “The Wizards, then,” Paul said. “At least I might see the Knicks win that one.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Good luck,” Paul said.

  Matthew called the VA hospital switchboard.

  “How may I direct your call?” the operator asked.

  “Hi, I’m trying to locate the owner of a black oh-nine Chrysler Three Hundred,” Matthew said. “I had a fender bender this morning in your parking lot, and I was in a hurry so I didn’t leave a note. I feel real bad about it. It was a really nice car. It might have been a doctor’s car.” Lure her in . . .

  “What makes you think that vehicle is still here, sir?” the operator asked. “It may have been a patient’s car.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it was a doctor’s car,” Matthew said. “It was parked where all the doctors park. It had a VA sticker on it and a physician’s license plate. Is there any way you could check who the owner is? I only need a name. Maybe security can give me a name. I can use the phone book to find more information once I have a name.” Call security, please.

  “One moment.”

  Matthew sipped some coffee.

  “Sir?” the operator said.

  “Yes?” It’s nice to be called “sir.”

  “I’ve explained the situation to security,” she said. “I’m transferring you now.”

  Time to act scared. “Security? I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” the operator said. “They handle this sort of thing all the time. Hold for security.”

  Matthew took another sip. So far, so good.

  “Security Officer Wright.”

  Gruff male voice. Good. I need a no-nonsense kind of guy who feels the need to boss me around. “Did the operator explain my predicament? I feel so bad. I know I should have stopped.”

  “Yes, you should have,” Officer Wright said. “From the description you gave us, you roughed up a doctor’s car, mister. A retired major doctor’s car.”

  A retired major doctor’s car? Is there such a thing as a major doctor? “Oh no. I do hope you have his name for me. I feel terrible.”

  “His name is Dr. William Wick,” Officer Wright said.

  “Let me write that down.” Matthew counted to three. “Is he still there by chance? I don’t live far from the hospital and can meet him at his car.”

  “Let me check,” Officer Wright said.

  While he waited, Matthew marveled at the ease at which he had been able to get information over the years. People will believe anything, especially if a minor disaster is involved.

  “Yeah, he’s still here,” Officer Wright said. “Let me transfer you to his office.”

  No! “Could you transfer me directly to his phone? I assume he has a secretary, and I don’t want to get the runaround from his secretary and have to leave a message with her. I want to explain everything directly to Dr. Wick so there’s no misunderstanding about how stupid I’ve been.”

  “I can try,” Officer Wright said.

  “Oh, please do,” Matthew said. “You’ve been so helpful, Officer Wright.”

  “Drive more carefully from now on, okay?” Officer Wright said.

  “Oh, I will.” If I had a car, I would.

  “Transferring your call,” Officer Wright said.

  And now I must talk extremely fast.

  “This is
Dr. Wick.”

  Bingo. “Did you read Dr. Penn’s findings on Timothy Simmons?” Matthew asked.

  “Who is this?” Dr. Wick asked.

  “Matthew McConnell. Dr. Penn should have sent them to you in an e-mail a few days ago. Did you read it?”

  “How did you get through to my private line?” Dr. Wick asked.

  I dented your fender. “Did you read Dr. Penn’s assessment?”

  “I did,” Dr. Wick said.

  “And what is your assessment of his assessment?” That was redundant.

  “It’s interesting reading,” Dr. Wick said, “and I almost dismissed it until I read the last paragraph.”

  What was in the last paragraph? Matthew scrolled down the document on his laptop. Ah. Dr. Penn’s bio and service record. “Did you know Dr. Penn?”

  “When we were both in Vietnam, yes,” Dr. Wick said.

  “So do you think Dr. Penn’s findings have merit?” Matthew asked. This is the moment.

  “They do,” Dr. Wick said.

  Yes! “Will you reexamine Timothy?”

  Dr. Wick sighed. “I am very busy.”

  “Too busy for fifteen minutes?” Come on, come on . . .

  “Mr. McConnell,” Dr. Wick said, “I am so busy I have to come in on weekends to catch up with my work.”

  Because so many soldiers have come home from overseas recently and need help. “One more assessment, that’s all I’m asking, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

  “I doubt that,” Dr. Wick said.

  He got me. “You’re right, Dr. Wick. I won’t leave you alone. I believe in this, and I’m not doing this for the money.”

  “I doubt that, too.” Dr. Wick sighed again. “Let me check my schedule.”

  Yes!

  “I can squeeze Mr. Simmons in . . . tomorrow at seven-thirty AM,” Dr. Wick said. “After that, I don’t have an open date for two months. Don’t be late.”

  Yes! “We’ll be there. Thank you, Dr. Wick.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. McConnell.”

  Matthew turned off his phone. Yes!

  Angela drifted over from the counter. “I only caught bits and pieces, something about hitting a doctor’s car?”

  “I used a fender bender scam to get past his secretary.” He smiled. “Old habits die hard.”

  Angela nodded. “I guess.”

  “But we did it. Timothy has an appointment tomorrow morning with Dr. Wick. Isn’t that great?”