“Word is, you’re good at what you do.”
“Well,” Martin said, reflecting, “even if what you’ve heard is true, it may not make a difference with someone like Jacques.”
“You mean, you may not be able to help him?”
“I don’t know. I’m a psychologist, not a dentist.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t pull teeth.”
Her face offered some appreciation of the levity. “So, what do we do?”
“We keep trying.”
She appeared pensive. She had known from the start that she was going to have to help bring Jacques around to face whatever it was that plagued him, only she had felt more confident that therapy would help matters along. And now, realizing she had been naive in her expectations, she felt like a fool.
“You’re disappointed in my response,” Martin said.
“I suppose. But it’s the truth.”
“You know, if I may, there’s an old joke that we psychologists like to tell.”
She looked at him with interest.
“It goes like this,” he said. “How many shrinks does it take to change a light bulb?”
She managed a smile, waiting for his answer.
“One,” he answered. “But the light bulb has to really want it.”
Her smile widened a touch, but only briefly. “And you don’t think Jacques wants it?”
“I’m not sure at this point what Jacques wants.”
“Neither am I.” She paused a moment. “Tell me, do you think he’ll try to kill himself again?”
“I honestly can’t say.”
“So my husband is an enigma to you?”
“At this point. And it seems he’s a bit of one to you as well.”
“Maybe even to himself,” she muttered.
“That, I don’t completely buy. People don’t try to kill themselves without a reason.”
She kept silent.
Martin shrugged.
“Well, doctor, I thank you for your time. And your honesty.”
Although the meeting had been short, Martin felt no reason to prolong it. “You’re quite welcome. I only wish I had more to offer.”
“Perhaps you will, in time.” She rose from her seat.
“I do hope so,” Martin said as he stood to shake her hand.
Noting the elegance with which she carried herself, he watched her depart and wondered about what she had said.
There has to be something else that drove him over the edge…
Not only were her suspicions regarding her husband’s motives consistent with his own, they also told him something about the relationship the Benoîts shared.
He tries to hide things from me…
Martin walked behind his desk, sat down in his chair, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He had never doubted that there was more going on here than Jacques Benoît had been presenting. And now, having met Martha, it was apparent that the deception was indeed deliberate.
He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind for a few minutes before his next patient.
chapter 13
M artin Rosen looked into his daughter’s eyes and found not even a hint of weariness. It was well past her bedtime, and still she appeared ready for a full day’s play. It hurt him to put her to sleep at moments like this. He never seemed to have enough time with her. But it was late, and he had somewhere to be.
“Will you be home soon?” she asked, touching his face.
“Not too late, but hopefully you’ll be fast asleep by then.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Jamilla’s downstairs. She’ll be up in a few minutes to check on you.”
She looked at him in silence.
“Okay, princess?” he asked.
“Okay, Daddy.”
He kissed her lips, her cheek, and her forehead. Kissing her was addictive. He then tucked in her blanket. “Snug enough?”
“Yes,” she answered, turning over on her side, a final sign of surrender to the inevitability of sleep.
It amazed him each time he saw the way she could transform herself so suddenly from fully charged to absolute fatigue. It was a common behavior in children, he knew, but watching it happen was something else. He smiled widely, leaned over and kissed her again. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Daddy,”
“Well,” Martin said, reflecting, “even if what you’ve heard is true, it may not make a difference with someone like Jacques.”
“You mean, you may not be able to help him?”
“I don’t know. I’m a psychologist, not a dentist.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t pull teeth.”
Her face offered some appreciation of the levity. “So, what do we do?”
“We keep trying.”
She appeared pensive. She had known from the start that she was going to have to help bring Jacques around to face whatever it was that plagued him, only she had felt more confident that therapy would help matters along. And now, realizing she had been naive in her expectations, she felt like a fool.
“You’re disappointed in my response,” Martin said.
“I suppose. But it’s the truth.”
“You know, if I may, there’s an old joke that we psychologists like to tell.”
She looked at him with interest.
“It goes like this,” he said. “How many shrinks does it take to change a light bulb?”
She managed a smile, waiting for his answer.
“One,” he answered. “But the light bulb has to really want it.”
Her smile widened a touch, but only briefly. “And you don’t think Jacques wants it?”
“I’m not sure at this point what Jacques wants.”
“Neither am I.” She paused a moment. “Tell me, do you think he’ll try to kill himself again?”
“I honestly can’t say.”
“So my husband is an enigma to you?”
“At this point. And it seems he’s a bit of one to you as well.”
“Maybe even to himself,” she muttered.
“That, I don’t completely buy. People don’t try to kill themselves without a reason.”
She kept silent.
Martin shrugged.
“Well, doctor, I thank you for your time. And your honesty.”
Although the meeting had been short, Martin felt no reason to prolong it. “You’re quite welcome. I only wish I had more to offer.”
“Perhaps you will, in time.” She rose from her seat.
“I do hope so,” Martin said as he stood to shake her hand.
Noting the elegance with which she carried herself, he watched her depart and wondered about what she had said.
There has to be something else that drove him over the edge…
Not only were her suspicions regarding her husband’s motives consistent with his own, they also told him something about the relationship the Benoîts shared.
He tries to hide things from me…
Martin walked behind his desk, sat down in his chair, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He had never doubted that there was more going on here than Jacques Benoît had been presenting. And now, having met Martha, it was apparent that the deception was indeed deliberate.
He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind for a few minutes before his next patient.
chapter 13
M artin Rosen looked into his daughter’s eyes and found not even a hint of weariness. It was well past her bedtime, and still she appeared ready for a full day’s play. It hurt him to put her to sleep at moments like this. He never seemed to have enough time with her. But it was late, and he had somewhere to be.
“Will you be home soon?” she asked, touching his face.
“Not too late, but hopefully you’ll be fast asleep by then.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Jamilla’s downstairs. She’ll be up in a few minutes to check on you.”
She looked at him in silence.
“Okay, princess?” he asked.
“Okay, Daddy.”
He kissed her lips, her cheek, and her forehead. Kissing her was addictive. He then tucked in her blanket. “Snug enough?”
“Yes,” she answered, turning over on her side, a final sign of surrender to the inevitability of sleep.
It amazed him each time he saw the way she could transform herself so suddenly from fully charged to absolute fatigue. It was a common behavior in children, he knew, but watching it happen was something else. He smiled widely, leaned over and kissed her again. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Daddy,”
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