DR. WAGNER called my mother on a Saturday to make an appointment for Monday morning. She had never called us directly before. Her assistant usually handled appointments, and we always booked the next one before we left the office.
I surrounded myself with comforting things by wearing the high-waisted shorts I’d liberated from Jessa’s closet during the cleanout, one of Ricky’s graphic T-shirts, and a bracelet Kate had made me. Something from all of them touching my skin. I paced the waiting room when we made it to the office half an hour early. I could tell something was wrong. With the trial rapidly approaching and exams starting at the end of the week, I was already a raw nerve, sensitive to the slightest friction. I didn’t need any more stressors.
“Corey.” I was surprised by Dr. Wagner’s voice rather than her assistant. She beckoned us into her office, where my mother tentatively chose an overstuffed armchair and I the other. She had never been back here before, always waiting in the front room.
“I’m sorry to have called you in so unexpectedly,” she said as she settled herself behind her desk. The bookcase grinned crookedly at me.
“What seems to be the issue? You made it sound urgent over the phone,” my mother said, impatient as ever. Dad called her brusque, but it really was just impatience and arrogance. Her time was valuable. These weren’t billable hours.
“I wanted you to hear it from me, so there would be no misunderstanding.” Dr. Wagner folded her hands on her desk and looked at me apologetically. My heart was racing. “I’m being called to testify at the trial of Dustin Adams.” She paused. “By the defense.”
Somewhere a clock was ticking. A bead of sweat rolled down my neck and settled in my collarbone. My mother’s hands gripped the soft arms of the chair, her knuckles turning white.
“For what purpose?” my mother asked, breaking the tense silence.
“I’ve been asked to make up a psychological profile of the defendant. Although I own a private practice, I do, from time to time, testify in criminal cases. I’ve been an expert witness in other cases. I’ll be asked to interview him over the next few weeks and make a report of my findings.” She still looked so apologetic.
“This is despicable.” My mother was practically muttering, cursing under her breath. “The defense must be looking in on us, trying to find our weak spots… those assholes….” I was the weak spot. My panic attacks, my anxiety. That was their endgame.
“They’re going to ask you about me,” I said. I wasn’t even angry. I felt numb and betrayed. Not by Dr. Wagner, but by God or the universe or whatever controls fate. I was constantly drawing short straws. “They’ve picked you because I’m your patient.”
“Nothing you’ve said here is admissible in court,” she was quick to assure me. “Doctor-patient confidentiality is still in effect, even in a criminal case. You’re not the one on trial, Corey. They can’t ask me what you’ve said here, or if I’ve diagnosed you with anything. They can’t even ask if you’re my patient.”
“But they will.” My palms were sweating, and I wiped them on my bare knees. “They’re going to use you as a character reference for me to bring doubt to my testimony. Suggesting I’m your patient, even if they can’t get you to say it, could put the idea in the jury’s head that I’m unstable. That I’m mistaken or brainwashed or manipulated. That my testimony shouldn’t count. And the prosecution’s case hinges on my testimony.”
“You don’t have any say in the matter? Isn’t it a conflict of interest for you to testify for the defense?” my mother demanded. Her cheeks were flushed. Five Feet of Fury, my father sometimes calls her, the redheaded spitfire in killer high heels.
“It’s only a conflict of interest if I admit that Corinna is my patient and has revealed information pertinent to the case, which breaks confidentiality laws. My hands are tied.” Dr. Wagner unfolded her hands and held them up defensively, universal code for “I come in peace.”
“Will you consider consulting with the prosecution? Obviously the defense is going to try to force your hand in giving a statement that corroborates their story, but—”
“My report will be honest and complete,” Dr. Wagner said, and my mother’s jaw snapped shut with a soft click! “And it will be made available to the prosecution before the trial, at the same time it is given to the defense. My testimony will reflect the findings in my report, nothing more nor less. It’s entirely possible that the defense could drop me before the trial if my statement isn’t to their liking. I might never make it to the witness stand.”
“If they drop you as a witness, can the prosecution call on you? Can we use your findings if they help make our case?” I asked. “Because calling you to testify after the defense has dropped you as a witness could be very powerful. It would look to a jury as though the defense were trying to cover something up.”
I glanced at my mother, hoping for an answer. She looked proud. The fondness in her eyes made me stop for a second, appreciating the kind of glance I used to long for as a child when I came home with a macaroni masterpiece or an A on a spelling test. I so rarely got it, I’d nearly forgotten what it looked like. When Dr. Wagner began her answer, I forced myself to look away.
“Either side can interview potential experts, get reports made up, have opinions given, without having them put officially on the docket. I doubt that without my findings the defense has officially declared me. Usually, the prosecution wouldn’t know who’s been approached by the defense until after I’ve been entered as a witness. So it would be up to the judge whether a report intended for the defense can be used by the prosecution.”
“So it’s a definite maybe,” I said, cracking a halfhearted smile. Dr. Wagner smiled at me sadly.
“It’s a definite maybe,” she agreed.
“Thank you for informing us of this,” my mother said, standing up. “We’ll factor this development into our plans if we can.” She offered Dr. Wagner her hand for a shake, which Dr. Wagner returned delicately.
My mother sometimes forgot that she wasn’t the lawyer on the case and spoke as if she were.
“I didn’t want there to be any nasty surprises. Your health and well-being is the most important thing to me, Corey. I didn’t want you to think of this as a betrayal.”
I nodded and smiled before we left the office, but I couldn’t help but think, If this isn’t a betrayal, how come it feels so much like one?