nurse. No cameras, no crowds, no one who might keep a reporter on speed dial.”
I’d been convinced that she had changed, that she had gone into the army and come out a new person. And in so many ways, she had. But clearly, she hadn’t lost her ability to lie with a straight face, to tell a story completely out of step with reality and then all but dare me to call her on it.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll play along. He’s famous. He’s beyond famous. He’s the fucking king of England.”
“I hate it when you get like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know everything about everything.”
As we walked, the wheels in my brain were turning, producing a mental slide show of all the lies she had told in the past, big and small, years and years of lies. Heather and I had reached the cliffs. The Golden Gate Bridge, in the distance, was almost entirely obscured by fog, only the tops of the two orange towers visible. But the water directly below the cliffs was bathed in sunlight. We sat on a bench to rest, and for a couple of minutes we said nothing, just staring out at the view.
“So you’ve come back because you want me to talk you into something,” I said finally. “Or maybe talk you out of it. But you’ve got the wrong person. I can’t claim to be the voice of reason. I can’tclaim to be impartial. I’ll tell you straight up that I really hope you’ll have this baby. If you do, I’ll be there for you every step of the way. I’ll babysit whenever you need me. I’ll help you pay for child care if you want to go to work, and if you want to stay home with the baby for a while, that’s fine, too. I’d help you find a good place to live.”
I was practicing the same method with her that I use with my patients. Once a diagnosis is made, there are generally any number of variations on a course of treatment, multiple paths one might pursue. Sometimes the choice is so obvious, you need present only one scenario. Often, however, the case is less clear. As a physician, I have my preferences and prejudices, treatments that I believe, for reasons beyond mere scientific data, to be the wiser choice. In such instances, I may present more than one option, but I weigh my words in such a way as to make the decision, for the patient, seem almost clear-cut. It is a subtle deception practiced by every physician I know. Most of us rationalize these deceptions with the knowledge that our words are geared toward providing the best possible outcome: the ends justify the means. With Heather, though, my motives were far from pure. But she’d always been too good at reading me.
“I don’t get it. If you’re still so mad at me, why are you willing to help me?”
I could tell her that she was my sister, my responsibility. I could spin off some lie about how I was ready to put the past to rest. But that wasn’t it; she must have known it as well as I did.
“After we lost Ethan, I completely lost hope for a while. I worked nonstop and tried to push him out of my mind, but he was pretty much all I thought about. I told myself that I could move on, that I could really get past it, if only I could have a baby. The baby was going to be my answer, my magic potion. But I’ve faced the fact that I’m never going to have a baby; my body just won’t cooperate. Tom is dead set against adoption. After what happened—”
Heather looked away.
“For him, it has to be our biological child or no child. I’m never going to be a mother, but I’d make a damn good aunt.”
“Unlike me, you mean.”
Yes
, I thought viciously,
unlike you
.
Had I gone too far, said too much? She’d lived with her guilt for more than four years. It wasn’t something we talked about, but we both knew it was guilt that had driven her halfway across the world, to a war zone where people were dying horrible, violent deaths daily. Now a hope for reconciliation had driven her here, to me. And yet, instead of telling her that everything was even, instead
I’d been convinced that she had changed, that she had gone into the army and come out a new person. And in so many ways, she had. But clearly, she hadn’t lost her ability to lie with a straight face, to tell a story completely out of step with reality and then all but dare me to call her on it.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll play along. He’s famous. He’s beyond famous. He’s the fucking king of England.”
“I hate it when you get like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know everything about everything.”
As we walked, the wheels in my brain were turning, producing a mental slide show of all the lies she had told in the past, big and small, years and years of lies. Heather and I had reached the cliffs. The Golden Gate Bridge, in the distance, was almost entirely obscured by fog, only the tops of the two orange towers visible. But the water directly below the cliffs was bathed in sunlight. We sat on a bench to rest, and for a couple of minutes we said nothing, just staring out at the view.
“So you’ve come back because you want me to talk you into something,” I said finally. “Or maybe talk you out of it. But you’ve got the wrong person. I can’t claim to be the voice of reason. I can’tclaim to be impartial. I’ll tell you straight up that I really hope you’ll have this baby. If you do, I’ll be there for you every step of the way. I’ll babysit whenever you need me. I’ll help you pay for child care if you want to go to work, and if you want to stay home with the baby for a while, that’s fine, too. I’d help you find a good place to live.”
I was practicing the same method with her that I use with my patients. Once a diagnosis is made, there are generally any number of variations on a course of treatment, multiple paths one might pursue. Sometimes the choice is so obvious, you need present only one scenario. Often, however, the case is less clear. As a physician, I have my preferences and prejudices, treatments that I believe, for reasons beyond mere scientific data, to be the wiser choice. In such instances, I may present more than one option, but I weigh my words in such a way as to make the decision, for the patient, seem almost clear-cut. It is a subtle deception practiced by every physician I know. Most of us rationalize these deceptions with the knowledge that our words are geared toward providing the best possible outcome: the ends justify the means. With Heather, though, my motives were far from pure. But she’d always been too good at reading me.
“I don’t get it. If you’re still so mad at me, why are you willing to help me?”
I could tell her that she was my sister, my responsibility. I could spin off some lie about how I was ready to put the past to rest. But that wasn’t it; she must have known it as well as I did.
“After we lost Ethan, I completely lost hope for a while. I worked nonstop and tried to push him out of my mind, but he was pretty much all I thought about. I told myself that I could move on, that I could really get past it, if only I could have a baby. The baby was going to be my answer, my magic potion. But I’ve faced the fact that I’m never going to have a baby; my body just won’t cooperate. Tom is dead set against adoption. After what happened—”
Heather looked away.
“For him, it has to be our biological child or no child. I’m never going to be a mother, but I’d make a damn good aunt.”
“Unlike me, you mean.”
Yes
, I thought viciously,
unlike you
.
Had I gone too far, said too much? She’d lived with her guilt for more than four years. It wasn’t something we talked about, but we both knew it was guilt that had driven her halfway across the world, to a war zone where people were dying horrible, violent deaths daily. Now a hope for reconciliation had driven her here, to me. And yet, instead of telling her that everything was even, instead
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