Chapter 26

There was no escaping going to the psychologist/shrink/skull jockey. My mom insisted on driving me to the appointment. I kept telling myself that, other than wasting my time, there was no reason not to see a shrink, but I couldn’t shake the feeling he would take one look at me and declare me officially crazy.

“Dr. Mike comes very highly recommended.” This was at least the one billionth time my mom had pointed this out. I think she wanted to assure me that even though she was forcing me to see a shrink, at least she’d picked a good one. Neither of us mentioned that Dr. Mike was the only one on the island.

“Why does he call himself Dr. Mike? Who does he think he is? Cher? Madonna? Dr. Phil?”

“I think he prefers the approachability of having patients call him by his first name.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want us to have his last name in case we start stalking him.”

Mom pulled up to a house. It was a Victorian house painted a light purple. The gables and arches were painted yellow and red. Clearly, Dr. Mike was not afraid of color.

“Is this his house?”

“His office is there on the side,” my mom said, pointing to a small sign outside.

“His business can’t be doing very good if he has to work out of his home. Plus this totally blows his first-name-only antistalking plan.”

“Don’t start, Isobel.” My mom unbuckled her seat belt and opened her door. I grabbed her arm before she could get out.

“I don’t need you to come in with me. I can do this by myself.” It seemed to be a bad plan to have her there talking about my family history and recent tendency to have nightmares. I preferred to pace the rate of information Dr. Mike was going to get.

“All right. Call me if you want a ride home.”

“It’s okay, I’m going to the library after this.” I opened my door and climbed out. I was just about to shut the door when my mom called out again.

“I’m sorry this move has been so hard for you.” Her hands were clenched on the steering wheel, and she wouldn’t look me in the face.

I shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m getting used to things.”

“Things with Richard just happened out of the blue, and then he wanted to marry right away. He wouldn’t even imagine living anywhere else. I was afraid …” Her voice trailed off. “It sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? I was afraid if I didn’t say yes right there and then that he might just disappear. I would have missed my chance.”

I felt myself flush in embarrassment for her. “Nah. He was the one who was lucky to get a chance with you.”

She gave me a small smile. “Maybe. I hope you know, I never would have done anything if I thought it would make you sick.” She picked at her thumbnail.

If she hadn’t been in the car, I would have hugged her. “I know, Mom. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

She took a deep breath and seemed to pull herself together. “I want you to know I’m proud of you for coming. We can’t tackle what we won’t face.”

I shut the door. She and Dick hadn’t even been married two months and she was already starting to sound like him. I watched her drive away before slowly climbing the steps to the office. I’d convinced her I was okay. Now I just had to convince a professional.

Dr. Mike opened the door and smiled, offering me his hand to shake. “You must be Isobel.”

“That’s one of my personalities,” I said amiably. “You can meet the other twelve once we get started.” He got credit for not freaking out at my lame attempt at humor. His lips sort of tensed a bit, but that was it. He stepped aside so I could walk into his office.

His office had once been a porch. He had added walls and winterized it, but you could still tell. The office ran the length of the house, with one wall being floor-to-ceiling bookcases. There were a couple of comfortable-looking chairs and his desk.

“Where’s the couch?” I asked, looking around.

“No couch.”

“Where am I supposed to lie down and tell you all about my childhood?”

“This isn’t psychotherapy.”

“Oh.” I wandered along the bookshelves. You can tell a lot about a person by what kinds of books and things he keeps around. There was a whole shelf of signed baseballs imprisoned in clear Lucite boxes. I picked one up and looked inside. I couldn’t make out whose signature it was. “You must like baseball, huh?”

“I do. How about you? Mariners fan?”

“Not really. All that running around in circles. Seems sort of pointless.” I looked over, hoping I hadn’t offended him. This was the guy who could get me locked up. “Not that there’s anything wrong with baseball. National pastime and all.”

My finger ran down the shelf. Then I saw it. I picked up the picture frame and held it close to my face so I could be sure. No doubt about it. I turned around to face him and held out the frame.

“You must know Nicole. You look about her age. She’s my daughter,” he said.

Oh no. What were the odds that my new shrink would have spawned Nicole? Add this to the list of reasons why I hate living in a small town. If I had to see a shrink in Seattle, there would have been buckets to choose from, and none of them would be related to anyone I knew.

“Let me assure you, everything you say here is confidential.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” I moved closer to the door. I could picture the entire Percy family sitting down to a wholesome meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with a bowl of lumpy gravy and Dr. Mike saying, “You’ll never guess who was in the office today.” The last thing I needed was for Nicole to have a big, juicy secret of mine.

“I’m afraid there isn’t another counselor on the island. If you don’t feel comfortable, I can make a referral for someone on the mainland.”

Shit. I was stuck. I suspected Dick would skip the hassle of having to ferry me back and forth to talk to someone and instead convince my mom to toss me into a mental ward where I could stay out of his hair and he’d have her all to himself. I imagined myself wearing institutional pajamas and having to eat everything with a spoon because no one would trust me with a fork or knife. Most likely my roommate would be some freakish, giant-size woman who didn’t speak because she’d chewed off her own tongue.

“We might be able to make this work as long as you mean it about keeping things just between us.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “So what do we do?”

“Let’s start by sitting down.” Mike motioned to the chairs.

I plunked down next to him and pulled my sleeves over my hands. “I was joking about the multiple personality thing. You knew that, right?”

“I was pretty sure. Why don’t you tell me about what brings you here?”

“I’m guessing my mom already told you the whole story.”

“She mentioned a few things, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

I took a deep breath. “I guess it starts with my dad.”

I told Dr. Mike everything. How my dad had been the very model of a fine outstanding citizen until he started having all these paranoid thoughts. His whole world exploded, and my mom and I got left behind. I told him that my mom blamed my dad for how her life turned out and how I suspected she thought my dad did it on purpose somehow. I told him my mom was worried I was going crazy just like my dad.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you think you’re going to inherit the same difficulties as your dad?”

“Of course I worry about it. It’s not a difficulty; it’s a huge thing.”

“What if you did inherit your father’s mental illness?”

“So you think I have it?” My heart seemed to lock in place.

“That’s not what I said. I asked you to tell me what you think it would mean if you did. Sometimes it’s best to deal with things straight on. Tell me what it would mean if you were diagnosed with a mental illness.”

“It would mean my life is over.”

“Is your father’s life over?”

“No.” I slouched down in the seat, feeling grumpy for some reason.

“You told me your dad is reasonably successful as an artist. His condition is well managed and has been”—he looked down at his notes—“for at least thirteen years now. He has friends, I assume? A social life.”

“He’s not a hermit or anything.”

Dr. Mike didn’t say anything. He just looked at me with this annoying smile on his face. I looked out the window, trying to wait him out, but the guy was a professional. I buckled and broke the silence.

“Okay, my dad is doing all right, but you can’t possibly think that being crazy is a good thing.”

“I’m not trying to say that having a mental illness would be preferred, but I’m asking you to explore your statement about it being the end of your life.”

I leaned my head back so I was looking at the ceiling. “This conversation hurts my brain.”

“Then we’re making progress,” Dr. Mike said, sounding way too perky about it. “You say your mom is worried that you’re developing a mental illness, but what I want to tackle is if you are worried about it.”

I shrugged, my shoulders feeling tight. I swallowed to keep from bursting into tears. That was the issue. It didn’t matter what Dick or my mom thought. What really freaked me out was the idea that I thought I might be crazy.

“You don’t need to answer. We’ll take some small steps together. I’d like to encourage you to reach out to your dad as a place to start. You could write him a letter or give him a call. It would be good for you to talk.”

“About what?”

“That’s up to you.”

“I don’t really have anything to say to him.”

“Maybe it’s time you did. Ask him about his experiences, ask him how his life is going, how he copes with managing his illness. Now, let’s get down to your homework for our next meeting.”

“There’s homework?” I sat up straight. “I’m already under a lot of pressure at school. Are you sure you should be putting more on my shoulders? I could snap. I have to think that wouldn’t look good for you. Could you live with the guilt?”

“I’ll do the best I can. Don’t worry, this homework doesn’t require you to write a paper. One of the things I heard you say when you talked about your own health is that you feel out of control.”

“Well, yeah. How does someone beat genetics? It’s like wishing you had control over blue eyes. If I have this condition, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Research tells us that people who feel a sense of control over their lives express greater levels of happiness. I want you to identify an aspect of your life that currently feels like it is happening to you and turn it around so you’re in control. You’ve been dealing with a lot of changes recently; it’ll be good for you to tackle one of them and be in control of it.”

“Like what?”

“That’s up to you.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Can’t you just give me a test or something and tell me if I’m crazy? Maybe have me look at an inkblot and tell you what I see.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t that easy. I’m not going to make any snap judgments, and neither are you. We’re going to talk and discover things together. You’re not alone in this, Isobel.”

“Of course not, I’ve got all those other multiple personalities to keep me company.” I stared at him across the desk; he didn’t crack a smile. “That was a joke,” I clarified.

He smiled and made a note in my file.