second-guessing myself. It takes some effort."
Sarah kissed her again and came around to join her. Adrienne set aside the rainstick, listened to its final trickling.
"Are you ready to talk to me?"
Here again was that breach of ethics, that forbidden sharing of privileged information. She had often compared her profession with religious vocations and their inevitable crises: priests who doubted, nuns who lusted, vice versa. Encouraged to seek guidance only from others in the same fold, they would get such a narrow perspective in return, wouldn't they? Such myopia had never made sense to her. Sometimes you needed a confessor from beyond your own circle, if only to remember there was another world out there, with other ways of thinking.
So she told: Clay and the test, the results and his reaction. Feeling no better, but less alone, and less alone can be a lot.
"You had an obligation to tell him," Sarah said. "There's no way around that."
"I know that" — Adrienne was gesturing more emphatically than she realized — "but it's the timing, I thought he was strong enough to deal with it, I really did. I completely misjudged it, the chance he'd revert back to an earlier state where he'd try mutilating himself."
"But look at the kind of news it was. Do you think there's a good time to hit somebody with something like that?"
Point well made. Perhaps the true measure of her progress with Clay would be how well he acclimatized himself to the test results over the next several days — not his immediate devastation.
"And consider this: You'd have to tell him eventually. If you told him it came back normal and then admitted you'd been lying, no matter how well-intentioned the reason, how do you think he'd feel then?"
"Betrayed. Maybe manipulated."
"You're damn right he would. I would."
You would, wouldn't you? And you'd be furious about it, too. A part of Sarah was like Clay, on some rudimentary level. Odd how it had never occurred to Adrienne before. Impulsive, a bit untamed, now and again given to fanciful rumination, Clay was like Sarah would be with all the restraints chipped away, leaving only a core of desperation, confused hungers, and panic-stricken rage.
"So isn't all you can do, really," Sarah said, "is help him come to terms with that news?"
"It doesn't seem enough."
"Sure it is. People can deal with some ungodly stressful situations, as long as they know what they are. It's when they don't know what they're up against that they start to break down." Sarah scooted close enough to drop both hands onto Adrienne's thigh. "That's why there's myth, to help people deal with those unknowns that are just too threatening to leave unknown."
"But Sarah, that's the problem here: an entire huge unknown area just opened up and swallowed us both. I had to tell him because his condition might be significant to his problems … and because it's going to attract a lot of attention to him that I don't think he's going to want at all."
"And that's what you're most afraid of. You know that, don't you?"
Adrienne frowned at her. What?
"Losing control. Having him taken away from you."
Objections rose: He's my patient; I just want what's best for him. But of course it was true: She felt she was most qualified to make those judgments. Was this why doctors could squabble so over patients as if they were territories instead of people? With flags of conquest and discovery speared into their bodies? To surrender to someone else’s authority, then, was weakness and retreat.
"That doesn't make me selfish, does it?" Adrienne said.
"We're all selfish, it's what motivates us."
As if to prove it, Sarah braced her hands on Adrienne's knees and leaned forward to kiss her, hungry greedy mouth at her own and bright eyes continuing to stare as she held the kiss. Wide mouth breaking into a broad smile then, wanton, just before she drew Adrienne's lower lip in and bit. Neither hard nor soft, bordering on that delicious threshold of tender
Sarah kissed her again and came around to join her. Adrienne set aside the rainstick, listened to its final trickling.
"Are you ready to talk to me?"
Here again was that breach of ethics, that forbidden sharing of privileged information. She had often compared her profession with religious vocations and their inevitable crises: priests who doubted, nuns who lusted, vice versa. Encouraged to seek guidance only from others in the same fold, they would get such a narrow perspective in return, wouldn't they? Such myopia had never made sense to her. Sometimes you needed a confessor from beyond your own circle, if only to remember there was another world out there, with other ways of thinking.
So she told: Clay and the test, the results and his reaction. Feeling no better, but less alone, and less alone can be a lot.
"You had an obligation to tell him," Sarah said. "There's no way around that."
"I know that" — Adrienne was gesturing more emphatically than she realized — "but it's the timing, I thought he was strong enough to deal with it, I really did. I completely misjudged it, the chance he'd revert back to an earlier state where he'd try mutilating himself."
"But look at the kind of news it was. Do you think there's a good time to hit somebody with something like that?"
Point well made. Perhaps the true measure of her progress with Clay would be how well he acclimatized himself to the test results over the next several days — not his immediate devastation.
"And consider this: You'd have to tell him eventually. If you told him it came back normal and then admitted you'd been lying, no matter how well-intentioned the reason, how do you think he'd feel then?"
"Betrayed. Maybe manipulated."
"You're damn right he would. I would."
You would, wouldn't you? And you'd be furious about it, too. A part of Sarah was like Clay, on some rudimentary level. Odd how it had never occurred to Adrienne before. Impulsive, a bit untamed, now and again given to fanciful rumination, Clay was like Sarah would be with all the restraints chipped away, leaving only a core of desperation, confused hungers, and panic-stricken rage.
"So isn't all you can do, really," Sarah said, "is help him come to terms with that news?"
"It doesn't seem enough."
"Sure it is. People can deal with some ungodly stressful situations, as long as they know what they are. It's when they don't know what they're up against that they start to break down." Sarah scooted close enough to drop both hands onto Adrienne's thigh. "That's why there's myth, to help people deal with those unknowns that are just too threatening to leave unknown."
"But Sarah, that's the problem here: an entire huge unknown area just opened up and swallowed us both. I had to tell him because his condition might be significant to his problems … and because it's going to attract a lot of attention to him that I don't think he's going to want at all."
"And that's what you're most afraid of. You know that, don't you?"
Adrienne frowned at her. What?
"Losing control. Having him taken away from you."
Objections rose: He's my patient; I just want what's best for him. But of course it was true: She felt she was most qualified to make those judgments. Was this why doctors could squabble so over patients as if they were territories instead of people? With flags of conquest and discovery speared into their bodies? To surrender to someone else’s authority, then, was weakness and retreat.
"That doesn't make me selfish, does it?" Adrienne said.
"We're all selfish, it's what motivates us."
As if to prove it, Sarah braced her hands on Adrienne's knees and leaned forward to kiss her, hungry greedy mouth at her own and bright eyes continuing to stare as she held the kiss. Wide mouth breaking into a broad smile then, wanton, just before she drew Adrienne's lower lip in and bit. Neither hard nor soft, bordering on that delicious threshold of tender
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