Brain Damage

by Freida McFadden

“This does not reassure me,” I say. “You know that having a gun in the house puts members of the household at higher risk for being shot themselves, right?”

“You really think you’d stand a chance during a break-in with a knife?”

“What about Kitty?” Clark stares at me. “Are you saying you think your cat is going to open your desk drawer, take the gun out, and accidentally shoot us?”

If I were a man, it would be so easy. They all just have these little jugs that they pee in.

They’ve got him. After all this time, they’ve got the bastard that shot me. And with that realization, I throw up all over the detective’s photo album.

“Well,” she says, “the only thing we have time for is to do a transfer, considering you’re forty-five minutes late to our session.” I feel my cheeks get hot. “I am?” “Not you,” Valerie says. She’s looking at Clark.

“Couldn’t we just leave her in the gown?” “Sure,” Valerie replied. “I mean, why bother ever changing her clothes at all? It’s not like she’s going anywhere important.” “Exactly,” Clark says. Even I realized she was being sarcastic that time. I’m pretty sure Clark completely missed it though.

“Yes, she’s doing great,” Clark says in this overly enthusiastic voice. The kind of voice you’d use to tell a five year old that their fingerpainting was a masterpiece.

“I just explained to you…” “Yeah, for exercise, right.” Clark shakes his head. “So let me get this straight. I’m going to be getting her out of bed in the morning, bathing her, dressing her, helping her to the bathroom, making her food, giving her medication. And on top of that, you expect me to try to basically drag her across the room so she gets some ‘exercise’?”

smh

It does seem a little ridiculous though that I am feeding my anger for the most important conversation of my life by sipping pinot noir.

Clark gives me this pitying look that makes my stomach turn. “In public, I’ll pretend. I know that’s really important to you. I’ll act like we’re just a normal couple. Like I’m still really devoted to you since you got hurt.”

No. No. I don’t want this. I don’t want my husband’s girlfriend having any part in my care. And I certainly don’t want her sleeping in my bedroom.

Angela shakes her head in disgust. “I’m still not entirely sure that the husband is innocent.”

What happens next happens so quickly that if I turned away for a minute, I would’ve missed it. Jamie is right next to his chair, but instead of sitting down, he lays the ball of his hand against Clark’s chest and shoves him. Hard. Hard enough that Clark stumbles backwards, trips on a mat, and falls to the floor. Right on his butt. For a moment, Clark just sits there on the floor, looking completely stunned. I look over at Jamie, who has a small, satisfied smile on his lips. And I have to admit, I feel a little bit pleased myself.

Lately, it seems like I haven’t had one conversation with Clark where he hasn’t reminded me of how physically undesirable I am. I bite my lip.

“The truth is, Kyle couldn’t care less that we got divorced. He was happy to be done with me, in fact. He only cared that he got half my money.” “Half your money?” “My father owned a successful business,” she explains. “He left me a fair amount of money in his will. I wouldn’t have believed it at the time, but now I suspect that the only reason Kyle married me at all was for financial reasons. He… has a bit of a gambling problem.”

“The thing is, Dr. McKenna,” she says, “I know Clark.”

“Clark was my neighbor. He lived in the apartment down the hall from me and Kyle for several years.” The throbbing in my head intensifies sharply. “What?” “Clark and I were neighbors,” Regina repeats. I shake my head at the phone. “You must be mistaken. Maybe it’s a different Clark.” “I doubt that,” Regina snorts. “Clark Douglas—crazy good-looking with those ridiculously blue eyes. Sort of hard to forget. Clark and Kyle were, like, best friends for a while…” No. That’s not possible.

The throbbing in my head is making it hard to focus. Clark couldn’t have been neighbors with Kyle Barry. It doesn’t make any sense. After all, the only reason I gave Clark a chance for a second date was that Kyle Barry was threatening me, and Clark heroically stepped in and… Oh. Oh God.

“I can’t believe it,” Clark mutters. “I can’t believe he shot you in the head and you’re still fucking alive.”

“No,” Clark says quietly. “I’m not going to call 911. Not until I’m ready.” He stares down at me with his beautiful blue eyes. “Not until you’re dead.”

Clark shakes his head. “Your cat.” “My cat?” I have no idea what he’s talking about. “What cat?” “Christ, you don’t remember your cat?” Clark rolls his eyes. “That black stray that strutted around like she owned the place?” A black cat… Oh my God, Kitty! How could I have forgotten her?

Goodbye, Jamie. Thank you for being my friend when I didn’t even know who I was. Thank you for turning my tray around during meals. Thank you for making me feel attractive again, even if it was just for a short time. Thank you for saving my goddamn life, whatever it’s worth.

But here’s the deal: it occurs to me that, like me, Jamie has an entire life to put back together. He needs to focus on his career and his child. As much as I want him, it would be selfish to keep him from what he needs to do. I would be a distraction. This will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Well, after recovering from a brain injury.

“Bridget has been wanting to visit you for a long time. Clark has been calling her and telling her that you were refusing to see anyone.”

“Well, sort of. I mean, I was the one who told you to find the private investigator and get hard evidence that he was cheating. And I was the one who convinced you to hide your assets in those overseas accounts so that Clark wouldn’t be able to get to them in a divorce. But seriously, who knew he was such a sociopath?”

Let me tell you something about walking with a cane: people stare. You don’t even realize how rude people can be until you’ve given them something to stare at.

Whenever I’m having a bad day, whenever my muscles are feeling tight or my balance is off, or I’m just generally feeling sorry for myself, I think about Clark’s sentencing. And I feel a little bit better. Like maybe there’s some justice in the world.