The Missing Year

by Belinda Frisch

  “No one else was there.”

  “Except for the voices.”

  Arlene nodded.

  “Can you describe for me what you heard?” Ross said.

  “A woman’s voice in my head kept telling me I had to hide it.”

  “It? You mean the baby?”

  Arlene nodded, her eyes welling up with tears. “I couldn’t help myself. It was like, I wanted not to listen, but I had to.”

  “And the voices were inside your head?”

  Arlene nodded.

  What she had no way of knowing without substantial research is that most schizophrenics hear voices from outside their heads, and rarely, if ever, do those voices command the patient to do anything violent. It was the first of many signs that had alerted Ross to the fact that Arlene was faking.

  “How about now?”

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “Have you heard anything from these voices since you’ve been here?”

  Arlene shook her head. “No. The medication is helping.”

  Strike two. Ross, after stabilizing the acute panic attack that had Arlene irate when she was admitted, had administered an M-FAST test. The Miller Forensic Assessment of Symptoms Test, a twenty-five question quiz, blended fake symptoms with real ones. Arlene had failed miserably. Between her over-acting, the M-FAST results, and the fact that her ever-changing stories didn’t add up, Ross had taken a gamble, substituting B-12 for what Arlene thought was psychiatric medication.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, keeping that last piece of information to himself. “Arlene, why don’t you tell me about Toby?” It was time for Ross to play his hunch.

  Arlene resumed chewing the hangnail. “What about him?”

  “I spoke to him earlier today. Do you want to tell me what happened there?”

  “How’d you even know about him anyway?”

  “I went to talk to your mother. He was with her.”

  Arlene rolled her eyes. “Figures.”

  “Do you want to talk about what he told me?”

  “He didn’t tell you nothing.”

  “He was sleeping in your room, Arlene.” Ross acted on her teenage emotions. “He misses you.”

  “Then he shouldn’t have gone back to her, now should he?”

  “Her? Your mother?”

  Arlene pressed her lips together, like she had already said too much.

  “Why didn’t you let him be a father, Arlene?”

  “It wasn’t what he wanted, all right?” Arlene started to cry.

  Ross pulled a wad of tissues from the box next to him and handed them across the table. “I’m your doctor, Arlene. Not the police. You can tell me the truth.”

  “Toby and my mom, they fought all the time.” Arlene dabbed at the stream of tears rolling down her red cheek. “My mother, she called me ‘fat,’ ‘useless,’ and ‘ugly’. She said no one would ever love me, but Toby did. I know it. My mom knew it, too. When I told Toby I was pregnant, he panicked. He’d been to jail twice already and my mom, she would’ve pressed charges.”

  “But you’re seventeen, the age of consent in New York State.”

  “Barely, and I was sixteen when I found out I was pregnant.”

  “I see.”

  The consent laws also allowed for a four year discrepancy in age between partners, but Toby was much older than that. With his prior record, he could have easily been looking at four or more years in lock-up.

  “Toby loved me, Dr. Reeves, but he wasn’t willing to go back to jail for me.”

  It wasn’t Ross’s place to pass judgment, he knew that, but the fact that a love triangle had left an infant dead made it hard for him to hold his tongue.

  “Why not give the baby up? Safe Haven Laws exist for a reason, Arlene. You could have left her at the hospital, a police station, the fire department, hell, you could’ve left her at the college security office and been off the hook. Why did you throw her away?”

  Arlene crumbled, burying her face in her hands. “Because I loved Toby too much. Even if my mother didn’t press charges—and she would have—she’d have never let us be together.” Arlene was sobbing so hard her words bordered on unintelligible. “I shouldn’t have done what I did, Dr. Reeves, but that baby was mine and Toby’s. She wasn’t for anyone else to have and I couldn’t look at her without thinking of him, without being reminded—”

  “Then you did know what you were doing when you threw her away?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, a relieved expression accompanying her admission.

  Ross hadn’t expected the confession to come so easily.

  There was something to be said for unburdening one’s soul.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ross fell into his chair with a sigh and slapped Arlene Pope’s chart on the desktop. He hadn’t believed for a minute she was schizophrenic, but he didn’t know how to handle the fact that she had killed her infant in cold blood.

  “Dr. Reeves?” Kallie, the psychiatry unit’s Head Nurse interrupted his thinking. She tucked her bobbed blond hair behind her ears and pushed the partly closed door open.

  “What is it, Kallie?”

  “Dr. Long has been looking for you.”

  Dr. Daniel Long chaired Southeast Memorial’s Psychiatry Department, where Ross had worked for over a decade.

  “He hasn’t looked too hard. I’m in my office.”

  “He said he started there. You must’ve missed each other.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  Kallie clenched and unclenched her hands. “He wouldn’t tell me exactly, but ….”

  “But what, Kallie? I have a report to write. If Dan wants me, he’ll find me sooner or later.”

  “He said he needs to talk to you about Arlene. Dr. Reeves, he knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  “About the pills. He knows I’m not giving her the medication that was ordered.”

  “We’ve been over this. I changed the orders. What did you write in her chart?”

  “I wrote ‘medication as ordered’ like you told me to,” Kallie said. “But that’s not right. I need to chart times and dosages. I don’t want to lose my job.”

  “And you won’t. When it comes to it, I’ll tell Dan you were acting on my orders.” Ross had second-guessed using Kallie to substitute the meds from the beginning, but he couldn’t dole out meds only to Arlene. That was a nurse’s job. He had used Kallie to avoid suspicion.

  “But—”

  Ross’s phone rang, interrupting Kallie’s objection. “Excuse me, please.”

  “Dr. Reeves, I really don’t feel right about this.”

  The phone rang again.

  “Kallie, I really need to take this.” Ross pointed to the door and answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Hey, am I interrupting something?” Mattie said.

  Mattie Jensen was as close to a girlfriend as Ross had managed to have since losing his wife to colon cancer five years earlier.

  “I, uh—no. Nothing.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Maybe. What’s up?”

  “Are you busy tonight?”

  Ross thought of the paperwork he needed to complete, the notes on Arlene Pope that needed to be dictated, and the calls he had to make, including to the Public Defender’s office. “Sort of.”

  “Too busy for a quiet dinner at my place?”

  There wasn’t an easy answer.

  “Maybe.”

  “Ross, it’s been two weeks. I miss you.”

  He didn’t return the sentiment.

  Their relationship had hit a road block, where Mattie had been telling him she loved and missed him and he said nothing back. Mattie persisted, but Ross wasn’t sure that he could keep up the façade of normalcy.

  Their dating had been the result of need, and in hindsight might have been the most selfish thing Ross had ever done.

  Mattie had worked as a registered nurse at Carebridge Nursing Home, where Ross’s mother had be
en a resident until her death, almost two years earlier. Mattie had been there when Ross needed someone and he’d taken advantage ever since. The rest had been an awkward dance that, as ridiculous as it seemed, had him feeling like he was cheating on his deceased wife.

  “Did you hear me?” Mattie said. “I miss you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s this case.” Work served as a convenient and oft-used excuse, a way of avoiding Mattie when he needed to.

  “Dinner. A couple of hours. Please? I won’t even ask you to spend the night.”

  Already she was bargaining. Overnights were one of the many intimacy issues between them.

  “It’s not that, Mattie. I need time.”

  “Time for what?”

  He had made a decision he hadn’t told her about, and was bumping up against his self-imposed deadline. “Time to think about us,” he said, the words out of his mouth before he had thought to stop them.

  “Oh?”

  “Mattie, look, I can’t talk about this at work. I’ll call you later.”

  “If you’re thinking of ending our relationship, Ross, it isn’t the kind of thing you do over the phone. If you want to talk, dinner at my place. Six o’clock.”

  “I—”

  “It’s too easy for you otherwise. I’ve spent two years on this relationship. I know things are hard for you and I’m here for you one hundred percent, but not if you’re backing away again because you’re scared.”

  “Mattie—”

  “I’m not giving up. Six o’clock.”

  “I can’t. Not tonight.”

  “Then whatever you have to say to me will have to wait.”

  Ross wasn’t sure it could. By his account, it had waited too long already.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Mattie Jensen lived in a rented one bedroom flat far smaller than Ross’s home, but nice and the one place he could be himself with her without being reminded of Sarah.

  Ross sat at his laptop, working on the final forensic psychiatric analysis of Arlene Pope, misguided teen and intentional murderer.

  There was no way Arlene was schizophrenic.

  He had hoped, for her sake, that wasn’t the case.

  “Rough day?” Mattie stirred a pot of sauce and dipped her finger in to taste it.

  “You could say that.” Ross sipped from a glass of Cabernet, pretending not to notice the low-cut dress, the thigh highs, or the breakneck kitten heels Mattie was wearing. Her auburn hair hung in loose curls over her shoulders and cascaded down her bare back, the dress open to just above her waist.

  A dozen candles lit the small space.

  Mattie was as subtle as a Mack truck.

  “Still working on that case, what’s her name, Pope?”

  “Yeah. Arlene Pope.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  Talking to Mattie about Arlene and her newborn would undoubtedly come around to a discussion about their future, and an inevitable fight.

  “Want to not talk about it?” Mattie flashed him a flirty half-smile.

  Sex was the last thing on Ross’s mind.

  He ignored the innuendo and kept typing.

  “What made you change your mind about dinner?” Mattie checked the steaks under the broiler.

  From the minute Ross walked through the door, he had been asking himself the same thing. He had said he needed to make a decision about Mattie, but seeing her, there was no way he was ready for that. Over the phone he could have backed away, could have ended things whether he meant it or not, and Mattie knew it. She didn’t press him about their earlier conversation and he was too preoccupied to bring their relationship back up. The Pope case had him thinking about his late wife, Sarah, about children the two of them would never have, and about the things people do for love.

  “I wanted to end the day on a high note,” Ross finally answered, sounding a bit cheesy. “But, I feel a bit under-dressed.”

  Mattie tugged at her hemline. “I overdid it, right?”

  She was stunning and she knew it.

  “You look beautiful.”

  Mattie, who wanted more of a relationship from Ross than he was willing to give, always tried too hard and deserved better than he’d ever given her. She pulled the wheeled office chair back on the mat and stood in front of him.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she said.

  “I’m not sure about anything right now.”

  “What can I do to help?” Mattie kissed him, her soft lips tasting like salt and wine.

  “Mattie, I don’t—”

  She kissed him again. “You don’t what?” Each word was punctuated by the smacking of their lips.

  She knew how to get him going.

  Ross, who was caught between mourning and moving on, was constantly sending mixed signals. He hadn’t been in the mood when he arrived, but something had changed when Mattie kissed him. “I’m … not … sure …”

  “I am.” Mattie took his hand.

  Ross cradled the back of her head and peppered her neck with kisses. Instinct took over, emptying his mind of the misgivings that had him holding back. He needed an escape, and Mattie was giving it to him.

  She peeled off her dress, discarded it onto the floor, and stepped back only enough to allow Ross a better look at her. She was stunning in her purple lace panties and black thigh highs.

  “I want you,” she whispered, unbuttoning his shirt and easing it over his shoulders.

  Ross shoved his laptop back and lifted Mattie onto the desk. She locked her legs around his waist and nibbled at his earlobe.

  He took off his t-shirt, adding to the clothing pile with a groan. Mattie had asked why he had changed his mind about dinner. There were convenient excuses, but truthfully he not only wanted her, he needed her.

  Mattie pressed her hot hands flat against his chest and traced a slow line to his pants, unbuttoning them in a single fluid motion. She teased him through the boxers he quickly pulled down and stepped out of.

  Her breath was hot against his skin.

  Ross felt high. Floating in a daze where nothing else mattered.

  “I love you,” Mattie whispered.

  “I love you too, Sarah.”

  Mattie’s brown eyes narrowed as she shoved him away. “What did you say?”

  Ross froze, standing back from the desk, naked—exposed on every level—with his heart hammering in his chest.

  “I ….” He had never once told Mattie he loved her.

  “You what?” Mattie picked up her dress off the floor and covered herself with it. Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re not even going to bother denying it?”

  “Sarah” sounded nothing like “Mattie.”

  What would be the point?

  “I’m sorry,” Ross said. He could have explained to Mattie that he got caught up in the moment and that his wandering mind was not clear on matters of the heart, but that would have only made things worse. He had hurt her enough, which was never his intention. Instead he said, “I have to go.” He got dressed, packed up his laptop, and left Mattie sobbing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Grief wasn’t a linear process.

  Five years had passed in the blink of an eye and every time Ross thought he was ready to deal with life after Sarah’s death, something pulled him back.

  He cared about Mattie, but he was still very much in love with his wife.

  Ross collapsed on the bed and rolled onto his side, remembering Sarah’s nearly bald head on the pillow, her body so thin he could make out the lump of her colostomy before the curve of her once sexy legs. She’d died weighing seventy pounds, a skeleton compared with the hundred and ten she once determinedly maintained.

  “At least now I can have dessert,” she had joked, the pounds falling visibly away.

  Ross had made sure she had her fill of favorite sweets every night until she could no longer eat them.

  He reached for their wedding photo on the nightstand and smoothed his thumb over
the image of Sarah’s smiling face. Sarah beamed, standing with her arms around Camille, her stunning best friend and maid of honor. Delicate white flowers sharply contrasted Sarah’s dark hair, tied up in an elegant twist. Ross stood next to his best man, Jeff, who pursed his lips in Sarah’s direction, blowing her a kiss.

  “You sure you want to settle down with this one?” Jeff had said. “You could run away with me right now, and only everyone would know.”

  “Sorry, Jeff,” she had said. “I found the love of my life.”

  Sarah had been head-turningly beautiful, always the prettiest girl in the room. In Ross’s eyes, even when the cancer took her.

  Jeff’s advances had been in jest, though Ross suspected he did in fact have a longstanding crush on Sarah.

  He didn’t blame him.

  Sarah was almost too easy to fall in love with.

  Ross held Sarah’s pillow to his face and inhaled, her scent long ago faded. With each passing day, he lost another memory. Fine details, but something he once knew well. He couldn’t recall the pattern of the freckles on her nose, or the feeling of her soft hair first thing in the morning. He couldn’t remember her exact voice, or the way it sounded when she sang in the car. He’d forgotten too much and held on to what he could, making their home a museum to their life that he shamefully hid.

  Medical equipment filled their bedroom and bathroom: a walker, a shower seat, and the commode Sarah used before being fitted with a catheter. The “his” and “hers” closet remained undisturbed, Sarah’s clothes hanging on the left, a memory associated with most every outfit. Her jean leggings and sweaters reminded him of cuddling in front of the fireplace on a snowy winter night. Her sundresses brought back walks on the beach, and her wedding dress, sealed in a clear plastic bag, reminded him of the most perfect day of his life.

  He took his wedding band from its place in Sarah’s jewelry box and put it on, as he did most nights. The ring settled into the fading indent on his finger.

  For someone who specialized in helping others overcome grief, he had no idea how to deal with his own.

  He closed his eyes and was startled by the sound of his ringtone.