Intensive Therapy Page 18

  “So?”

  “Melinda is hard. She’s very hard to mother. You know that’s true.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s not like you to quit.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “That’s exactly what I think. The you I know doesn’t give up. You hated that in your father; then he fought for his life. He battled for his sobriety, like you battled for your sanity in college. We faced it together.”

  “That was then.”

  “Think about Melinda, Victoria. Is she that different from you at her age? Angry with the world. Self-absorbed. You needed help.”

  “It’s not the same. I wanted help, but I had to do it on my own. My parents never understood how sick I was. Like they cared.”

  “You’re not that kind of parent. You do care. When you came to me for help, you were ill; you weren’t bad. You weren’t a freak, even though you felt like one in some of your dreams.”

  “You remember that?”

  “I told you I remember everything. Remember when you climbed the swing set? You were fortunate you didn’t fall off.”

  “What if I had?”

  “You might have bashed your head in. Think about a world without Gregory.”

  That got Victoria’s attention. “So what’s your point?” she said. “This isn’t about you, Victoria; it’s about Melinda. And even though he’s fighting for his life, it’s not about Gregory, either. It’s come down to this—your daughter’s fate rests in your hands.”

  “I don’t want the responsibility.”

  “It’s yours whether you want it or not. It goes with being a parent. She didn’t ask to be born, and she didn’t ask to be ill.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Well, you were, and you got help. Right now, Melinda is ill, and she’s terrified, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s holding on for dear life, just like you were when you came to me. There had to have been moments when you held her and loved her.”

  “You don’t understand, Jonas. She was so hard to love. I gave her the best I had, and she still wound up hating me.”

  Jonas looked at his watch, the second hand pulsating like a heartbeat. He took two deep breaths. “Victoria,” Jonas said, straining to keep his voice under control. “Believe me, I understand. I remember a mother and daughter I saw for therapy. The woman was one of the most conscientious mothers I ever met, but both she and her daughter had mood disorders. One day right in front of me, the daughter emotionally eviscerated the mother mercilessly, told her she was a selfish bitch; told her that everyone in the family made fun of her behind her back. Every time the daughter stuck the knife in, I saw the mother bleed more. But the mother stayed strong, and a year later, they were friends again. They got help and turned their relationship around. The same can happen with Melinda and you, but she has to survive the night.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “You’re asking the wrong question.”

  “Goddammit, Jonas. Just tell me what to do.”

  “You have to find your love for her, even though right now you’re ready to kill her. That’s what parents do for their children. Just like a long time ago, you needed me to tell you who I was and what I felt about you.”

  “The last day.”

  “You said, ‘Do your job.’ Remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “And I did it. I did it, because that’s what you needed.”

  “I remember.”

  Jonas said, “Do it, Victoria. She didn’t ask to be born this way. Do your job. Find your love and compassion for her. It’s her only chance.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes, I do. It is her only chance. Please, Victoria, it’s up to you.”

  Exhausted, Jonas recalled seeing his son Gil for the first time at the adoption agency. He had longed for a son ever since his father died. When Jennie couldn’t conceive, Jonas was devastated. He’d always dreamed of being in the delivery room when his wife gave birth, cutting the umbilical cord as fathers had done for generations.

  Victoria was Melinda’s lifeline. He was Victoria’s. “You can do it. I know you can,” Jonas said.

  “How much time do we have?”

  “I don’t know. Every second counts. I brought you some boots. Can you put them on with your good hand?”

  “I’ll figure it out. Let’s go. We’ll talk on the way.”

  41

  As Jonas drove to Fairmont Park, Victoria rehearsed what she wanted to say to Melinda. Jonas’s presence felt inhibiting, so she muttered to herself, trying to commit the words to memory like she did during trial preparation.

  “You’re talking to yourself,” Jonas said.

  “I’m trying to stay focused. I want to believe this whole business with Melinda is only a nightmare. I’m trying to remember the good things.”

  “Maybe this will help,” Jonas said. “How did you feel when you were pregnant? Did you know you were having a girl?”

  “We found out at the first ultrasound.”

  “What was it like when you first saw her heartbeat?”

  “I felt detached, like I was in hygiene class.”

  “And when she was born? When you saw her? What did you think?”

  “Honestly? I thought, ‘God that hurt. I’m glad it’s over with.’”

  “You didn’t bond with her?”

  “You have no idea what the delivery was like. The pain was unbearable. It felt like she clawed my insides into shreds with her fingernails on the way out. I felt so violated.”

  “You never bonded with her?”

  “I tried so hard. The more ferociously I mothered, the more disconnected I felt from her.”

  “Okay, then. Think of this as your second chance to bond with her.”

  “A second chance? Really? I never thought of that.”

  “People don’t get many second chances in life,” Jonas said. “This is yours and Melinda’s.”

  As Jonas turned onto Lancaster Avenue, one of his rear wheels skidded, and the car fishtailed.

  Victoria started. “What was that?”

  “It’s the ice. I’m going as fast as I can,” Jonas said. “That postpartum reaction you had after Melinda was born—it screws up the brain-bonding chemical system.”

  “I want to do it all over. I know my feelings about Lorraine must be mixed up in this, too. After I learned I was having a girl, I let my mother back into my life. She told me not to take any painkillers during the delivery, that all I needed was natural childbirth classes. After Melinda was born, she bombarded me with advice. ‘The baby needs this, the baby needs that.’ I didn’t know what the hell Melinda needed, but I was sure she wasn’t getting it from me. I started doubting myself again.”

  “Of course. You doubted you could mother a daughter. If I’d been in your life, I would have shaken you by the neck until you realized what was happening.”

  Victoria swallowed hard. “I was afraid you’d be mad at me for screwing up the hard work we did by letting Lorraine back into my head. That’s the real reason I didn’t call. It wasn’t just the medicine thing.”

  “I figured there was something else. Upset or not, we would have dealt with it. Either way, we’re in it together now.” Jonas glanced out the window, craning his neck to see the cross-street signs, which were caked over with ice. “Stay on the lookout,” he said. “The directions were to take Lancaster Avenue until Forty-fourth Street, and turn right.”

  “Okay.”

  “What was it about mothering that you doubted?”

  “I didn’t want the pregnancy to end. I knew I wasn’t ready to give birth. I just wanted to keep Melinda inside me until I figured things out. By the time I was writhing in pain on the delivery table, it was too late for an epidural. I blamed Martin for not keeping Lorraine out of my head. Everything was screwed up. Melinda and I never recovered.”

  “That had to affect your relationship with Martin, too.”

  �
��That’s a whole other story—for another time,” Victoria deflected Jonas’s observation. “How long until we’re there?”

  “It depends. We’re supposed to make a right on Monument Avenue.”

  “All I want now is to hold her.” Victoria began crying. “That’s all I ever wanted to do, but Lorraine said too much holding would spoil her, that she’d never learn to comfort herself.”

  The streetlights disappeared once Jonas and Victoria entered Fairmont Park, the view turning into one contiguous blur of ice and snow. Drooping tree branches turned the road into a maze of crypt-like passageways, sword-like icicles attacking Jonas’s windshield as if he were plowing through a medieval armory. With the headlights no longer reflecting off objects as usual, the contours of the road all but vanished. Jonas slowed to a crawl.

  “We must be getting near the bridge,” he said. “I see blue and red flashing lights in the distance.”

  He eased to a stop where two police cruisers had blocked the roadway leading to the Strawberry Mansion Bridge. As he lowered his window, a blast of frigid air pummeled him and Victoria while an officer blinded them with a flashlight.

  “This road is closed,” the officer announced.

  Victoria said, “It’s my daughter out there. Her name is Melinda. Please let us through.”

  The officer said something into his walkie-talkie; the reply sounded unintelligible. He said, “The doctor thinks it would be better if you approached on foot.”

  “Which doctor?” Jonas asked.

  “There’s a Dr. Milroy in the car with the girl’s father and grandfather.”

  Victoria said, “Officer, pass me the radio. I need to speak to Dr. Milroy.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t do that. I need to keep in touch with Inspector Pale and headquarters. You’ll have to call on your cell phone.”

  “How far away is she?” Victoria asked the officer.

  “She’s in the middle of the bridge, about two hundred feet from here. She’s sitting on top of an observation post, facing the water.”

  Victoria told Jonas, “Call Dr. Milroy on your phone and put it on speaker.”

  Milroy answered on the first ring.

  “Rob. It’s Jonas. Victoria and I are at the bridge on western side of the river. Where are you?”

  “Exactly opposite you.” Dr. Milroy’s voice sounded strained.

  “Martin?” Victoria said. “Martin, are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Did you talk with her?”

  “When Charles and I got within twenty feet, she told us not to come any closer. I begged her to come to talk things out. She’s convinced the police are after her for killing Gregory and that you’ll hate her for the rest of her life. She said she’d rather be dead.”

  Martin continued, “I told her we love her, that Gregory is still alive and that the doctors were operating on him. But Melinda wouldn’t hear it. She insisted he was dead; that she saw him lying on the sidewalk. She believes you want her to be tried for murder and that it’ll be all over the Internet that Melinda Braun killed her brother.”

  “Give me the phone, Mr. Braun.” Victoria recognized Dr. Milroy’s voice.

  “That’s her grandiosity speaking,” Dr. Milroy said. “She thinks the whole world is as caught up in this as she is. When you talk to her, avoid saying ‘we’ and ‘all of us,’ which she could misinterpret. Say ‘I’ or ‘your father and me.’ And tell the truth about Gregory; she’ll know if you’re lying.”

  “Okay,” Victoria said. “I’m getting out of the car now.”

  Jonas said, “Be careful on the ice. Take short steps with your feet apart. Here,” he handed her a stocking cap. “Cover the fingers of your right hand with this. It should fit over the end of your cast.”

  Victoria proceeded slowly. Once she reached the bridge proper, sepia-toned floodlights styled to look like gas lamps illuminated the roadway every thirty feet. Bitter winds swirled off the rampaging Schuylkill River below. She gripped the handrail tightly with her good hand and fought to keep her balance.

  Advancing, Victoria discerned the hazy outline of a dark figure swaying back and forth, feet dangling over the ledge of the bridge’s central observation post.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Melinda said, her voice weak and raspy.

  Victoria crept forward.

  “I said, ‘Don’t come any closer.’ I mean it.”

  Victoria shouted something, but the wind swallowed her words. She kept moving. “Melinda, please, please listen to me,” she tried again.

  “Who is it? What do you want?”

  “It’s me, Melinda. Your mother.”

  “Mother? What are you doing here?”

  “Don’t do anything until you listen to me. You have to listen to me. Gregory’s still alive.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I just came from the hospital. The doctors are operating on him now.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “It’s critical, but they’ve seen children in Gregory’s condition recover.”

  “I know how you feel about him. You love him sooo much more than me. Why couldn’t you love me like him?”

  “I want that more than anything in the world. Please believe me.” Victoria’s tears froze on her cheeks. “Give me another chance. I’ll make it better. I understand what’s been happening to you. We can help make it better if you let us help you.”

  “What if Gregowy dies?” Melinda lisped.

  Melinda never lisped. It had to be the cold. “The three of us will deal with it together. Please let us help you.”

  “I’m sawey,” Melinda wailed. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. No matter what happens, you have to bewieve that.”

  As Victoria progressed to within ten feet, her eyes leveled with Melinda’s back. Melinda sat facing away on a slightly elevated cement slab that overlooked the river, her feet dangling over the ledge. A blast of wind sent her sliding toward the precipice; her body lurched forward within inches of perpendicular. Victoria gasped. “I know you’re sorry.”

  “Something’s wong with me, I … I … I …”

  “Your father and I love you. You must be so cold, honey. So cold.” Closing in, Victoria saw streaks of clotted blood on Melinda’s cheek.

  “I’m afwaid, Mutha. Pwease help me, Pwease. Gwegowy, Gwegowy. Pwease fuhgive me.”

  When the next blast of air knocked Melinda off balance, she pitched forward toward the river.

  Ignoring her cast and sling, Victoria reached up from behind and hooked both hands and arms under Melinda’s armpits just as Melinda slid past the point of no return. Victoria alone had hold of Melinda. Victoria held on for their lives. She was pulled forward, her feet lodging against a crossbeam at the foot of the observation post. Victoria pulled Melinda back, the pain reminding her of expelling her daughter from the womb. Melinda was still pivoting over the edge when Victoria pulled one last time with all her might. Melinda tumbled backward into her arms. They hit the ground together, in a heap.

  “I’m here, honey,” Victoria said. “You need someone to hold you. I’m here to take care of my girl.”

  After thrashing about violently, Melinda stopped moving. They were still too far from the end of the bridge for the police to see or hear them. Knowing she couldn’t leave and run for help, Victoria reached for her phone. “Shit,” she said, realizing she had left it in the car.

  Victoria removed her hat and pulled it over Melinda’s head and neck, then double-plied the hat from her cast over it, too. She tugged on one of Melinda’s feet until her body began sliding along the ice-caked walkway. Victoria pulled her to safety, foot by foot.

  Along the way, Victoria felt faint and almost collapsed. After what seemed like miles of dragging, a policewoman jumped out of a cruiser and ran to them. Within seconds, a crew of police and EMTs lifted Melinda’s half-frozen body onto a gurney, then into the ambulance standing by.

  The ambulance door closed, and for the second time in le
ss than twenty-four hours, Victoria accompanied an unconscious child to the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.

  42

  The treacherous drive from the Strawberry Mansion Bridge into town afforded Jonas little release in tension. His energy drained by hours behind the wheel and the drama leading to Melinda’s rescue, he thought about Jennie and his children. The car bore the faint scent of Victoria’s perfume, which felt like it didn’t belong, like a violation of his and Jennie’s privacy. Jonas felt guilty about how compelling Gregory and Melinda’s fates had become to him. That he’d been sitting contentedly at the Bodenheims’ dinner table earlier that evening seemed utterly incomprehensible.

  Victoria’s description of her pregnancy and her difficulty bonding with Melinda preoccupied him, as did the memory of the packed emergency room full of parents and children traveling in pairs like they were on their way to Noah’s Ark.

  He said to himself, “It doesn’t matter whether Willy Speller is dead or alive; I will always be his son. Is Gil really my son? Do I even know what that means?”

  Victoria called to say that she and Melinda had made it safely to the hospital. Jonas drove by the Brauns’ town house. Yellow tape cordoned off the area, which the authorities must have designated a crime scene. The nauseating vision of Gil tumbling down the steps headfirst went through his mind.

  Jonas parked in view of the Rittenhouse Square gazebo, which the ice storm had turned into a giant snow cone. He tried to quiet his mind. Instead, he recalled a warm July day after he and Jennie moved to New York. By then, Jonas had joined the faculty at Mount Sinai Medical School and was starting his private practice.

  Jennie had called, leaving a terse message: “Come home now.” The intensity in her voice made his blood ran cold. He rushed home with his heart pounding.

  “There’s a lump in my breast,” Jennie told him the minute he walked in. “I can feel it. I had a mammogram and the radiologist sent me immediately to a breast surgeon who said the lesion looked malignant but most likely curable by mastectomy. He wants to operate right away, followed by radiation and chemotherapy. Do you understand what this means?” Jennie had begun to cry. “No one will ever prescribe fertility drugs for me again. The surgeon said flat out not to get pregnant because estrogen and progesterone could make the cancer come back.” She stared out their picture window overlooking Roosevelt Island. “What are we going to do?” she said.