Under the Influence,
Third chapter
Don Mackenzie, the clinic's Director, was one of the few friends from College that I still talked to. He lived at the Clinic, which allowed him to be there every time a new patient arrived. He was always busy, but as a personal favor he had promised to talk as soon as Sara's admission was processed.
He was reading Sara's admission forms when I came in.
"Hey, Gil." He greeted and continued reading. After a moment, he lifted his gaze from the sheets of paper "Did she resist coming here?"
"Well… yes, at first. Actually, what pissed her off the most was the list of the things she had to pack." And I smiled, remembering the look on her face when she read it.
"…Tennis shoes… sandals…a dress?" she was indignant, "They want me to pack a dress? What for?" she morosely continued reading it. When she finished she demanded, "What's the name of this place, Grissom? Do they have a website? I'm not going there unless I know more about them…"
That sounded so much like the Sara I knew, that I gave her the name of the place and its founder, Donald Mackenzie. By the time I left, she was hurrying to finish her salad, eager to investigate this spa. But she was still protesting about the dress-
"…and according to you, she kept all the bottles?" Don asked, stopping my musing.
"Apparently. Some were really dusty, as if they had been there for weeks."
"Uh, huh. That might mean that she wasn't in denial. Some people hide all evidence of their binges and start each day as if nothing out of the ordinary happened."
"She's not in denial." I confirmed, "I think she's ashamed."
"Ashamed of what she did or ashamed that she got caught?"
"Both, I guess." Don continued reading and after a moment, I spoke again. "Don, about the cost…I'd like to pay half."
"Why?" he asked neutrally. "You're not her father nor her husband."
"Look, she's still paying student loans. I don't want her to feel burdened by debts on top of everything else."
"Gil… Part of any treatment and recovery is the ability to accept responsibility for one's actions, and to deal with the consequences." He explained, "She's already in a position of disadvantage towards you, since you went against regulations to save her job." He lifted a hand to stop me from interrupting him. "That's bad enough. Having to owe you money will be another burden-" He narrowed his eyes, "Unless you want to keep it a secret?"
"Well… as a matter of fact, yes…"
He took off his reading glasses and leant back on his chair.
"Gil, did you tell me everything about your relationship with this woman or not?"
Actually, I had given him a small version of what I knew of Sara –including Hank- and a part of what our relationship had been like, up to the time when she asked me out.
"Gil? Do you love her?"
"I…" I hesitated, "I guess…"
"Don't 'I guess' me. If you love her, fine, if you don't, fine. Just be honest with me." He waited for me to say something and then he added, "I'll take that as a 'yes'. That means you haven't been honest with her." He sighed. "Gil, I want to make this clear: Sara is my patient now. I'll defend her right to get well against anything and anybody who interferes."
"Don, I'll do anything to help." I insisted, "Truly"
"Well, that's good, Gil. You can start by not paying for her treatment. If you do, she'll feel like she's doing this for your sake. She needs to do it because her life depends on it. Understand? You can loan her the money, as long as you do it formally. As for any feelings you have for her…" he said slowly, "If it turns out that they are part of her problem, I'll involve you. And even if they are not, please remember that her life will change after this. She might leave her job if it's a negative factor in her life and you'll have to accept that."
"Absolutely." I said firmly, "Whatever she does, it'll be fine with me."
"Really? You'd give her up that easily? That's very noble of you, Gil." He said appraisingly, "As her therapist I would approve. Perhaps. But as your friend…" he looked at me in the eye, "As your friend, I have to ask: What do YOU want?"
"I want her to get well." I frowned.
"And nothing else?"
"No." I insisted and he nodded and looked at me thoughtfully and silently, like all therapists do when they want to make you talk. I stared back, unwilling to cooperate. I knew he was too busy to keep this up.
"Oh, well." He said finally, "That's for you and your own therapist to figure out, I guess. Although knowing you, you'll just bury yourself in work." He shook his head, reprovingly.
"Look, just do your part, will you?" I interrupted. morosely, "And don't charge her as if she were a movie star."
"Hey, those movie stars are the ones who keep this place open, so don't use that tone." He protested but he was smiling, "I'll work out something with her, don't worry. Gil, I'm optimistic about her. From what you've told me and simply by reading what she wrote here, I gather she's a strong woman,."
"She is…" I started, "…that's what makes all this so hard to understand."
"Oh." He took a deep breath, "Gil, you work with the PD. You know how stressing that work is; not everybody knows how to deal with pressure. It's the kind of job you can't casually talk about during dinner with your loved ones, is it? And it's hard on single people too. Some people are comfortable with silence and solitude, like yourself. Others can't bear to be alone with their thoughts, and go out for a drink and some company… and that's how it starts."
"I should have seen the signals." I lamented, "I mean, how can a smart woman like her-"
"She's a human being, Grissom." He interrupted, "Stop thinking of her as a perfect machine who can't do wrong. She isn't. And you're not, either." He glanced at the papers on his desk, "Anyway, tomorrow is a big day for her. Physical exams from seven to eleven… Then our first session at 4:00 in the afternoon."
"You'll see her until then?"
"I like to see them at their worst; after spending long hours in a bedroom by themselves…" he looked up, "Hey, don't worry, it won't be like that after our chat. She'll get plenty of exercise, she'll eat healthy food, she'll have some occupational therapy, and she'll have work to do."
"Work?"
"Oh, yes. You see, some people come here to rest between binges. We know that and they know that. All I can do is assure them that I'll be there if they want to stop. But someone like Sara… it's hard work, Gil. Not only physical."
**
She had given me the keys to her place. She'd asked me to go now and then if I had the time. Of course I'd go. I'd rather be in her tiny living room/kitchen/dining area than at the lab or at my own place.
I entered and immediately saw it. A white card resting against her PC.
'Could you please take care of my orchid?' the note said, followed by some instructions, ending with a stern, 'please don't move the pot' that was underlined twice.
She was forcing me to come to her place to take care of her little plant.
I smiled gratefully. Of course I would come. It would be my own Occupational Therapy.
"All right, Sara." I said aloud, "I'll take care of our baby."
**
As per Don's instructions, I didn't visit until two days later.
That first visit was brief and disastrous.
I sat in an open area surrounded by a garden and tall walls. I had chosen a table under a big umbrella and waited for her for a long time. At last a glass door opened and a nurse came out, followed by her. Sara nodded at something the nurse said and walked down the narrow path towards my table. I was taken aback to see her looking worse than the day she had come; she was paler and thinner and she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open.
"Honey, are you sure you're-"
"Don't 'honey' me" she interrupted brusquely, "that's your compassionate word and I hate it."
What could I say after that? We had barely exchanged a couple of phrases before she admitted that she was tired.
"I can't sleep at night," she explained briefly, and then she asked if I knew my way back. I nodded and she left. Her steps were hesitant as she walked down the path that lead to the housing area.
Seeing her like this made me wonder if bringing her here had been such a good idea. I talked to Don but he was unmoved by my anger. He calmly told me that yes, she looked bad; no, she wasn't sleeping well: no, she wasn't eating well. Finally he said that no, he couldn't tell me anything else; her parents were coming tomorrow and he would talk to them.
He tried to be friendly, though. He asked me what I wanted. Again. And just like the last time he'd asked that, I answered that I wanted her to get well.
He just shook his head.
**
My fourth visit went better.
She was already waiting for me at the same table we'd used before, the one with the big umbrella. I mused that if one ignored the tall walls that surrounded the garden, it felt as if we were at some fancy resort. I told her that and she nodded vigorously. She told me then that certain aspects of the treatment made her uncomfortable.
"I feel like some pampered wife-" she said and then she blushed, and talked about the massages and the work outs, and the unnecessary luxury. She touched the sleeve of her t-shirt, the one they used as a sort of uniform.
"See this? It's silk" she rolled her eyes, "Not cotton, Grissom. Silk. Oh, and those nightgowns-" she suddenly blushed.
"What about them?" I asked neutrally.
"Oh. You know." She was evasive now, "Lacy, complicated, things."
I was beginning to picture her in a lacy, complicated thing and had to force myself to stop.
"So. What else you do here?" I asked.
"Well… I have Occupational Therapy, a therapy session with Dr. Mackenzie or Dr. Sheen, an hour at the Gym… Oh, and I'm working in the kitchen now." She chuckled when she saw my expression, "Yeah, I know. I didn't like it at first until I thought, 'what the hell; this is better than cleaning up rest rooms along the highway', which is what I should be doing. I mean, if Fromanski hadn't been on call that day."
Her tone was slightly bitter and I quickly asked her something else.
"Are you taking any medication?"
"Yes. I had the beginnings of an ulcer," she explained matter-of-factly, "and my vomiting was starting to damage my esophagus."
"You were vomiting much?"
"Yes. My body had been rejecting the alcohol for some time." She looked down, "It seems that my body's smarter than my brain."
She was silent for a moment. I told her that her coworkers were fine and missing her, and that things were ok at her home, but soon we both were silent again and it was uncomfortable. We glanced at each other, both wanting to talk, probably, but afraid of saying the wrong thing. For instance, I wanted to ask her why she had started to drink and if she still wanted to do it… but Don had asked me not to pressure her. If I wanted to keep coming, I had to wait for her to tell me anything. If she wanted to.
Finally she took a deep breath.
"Grissom, I'd like to…to…"
She closed her eyes in exasperation.
"I've been composing this speech for days and now I don't know how to begin." She smiled sheepishly. "There's something I wanted to tell you and never found the right words. It's just that… when we were at my place…I'm… I'm afraid I gave you the impression that I was angry with you?" she barely gave me a chance to answer when she rushed on, "I wasn't, all right? I was ashamed. So much that I couldn't bear to be in the same room with you. Frankly, all I wanted was to scream at you."
"Why?" I frowned.
"For being so nice to me. For doing things that I knew I didn't deserve-"
"Oh, God, Sara, you deserve-" I tried to reassure her but she interrupted.
"I failed you and the lab, and you put your job on the line for me." She covered her face with both hands for a moment. Her words were muffled. "And you were cleaning up after me! God, that was so horrible-" she lowered her hands "I kept wishing that you'd stop being nice and start yelling or-"
"Sara, I did want to yell at you. Believe me, I wanted to shake you and scream at you for putting your life at risk. But I also wanted to do nice things, since I seldom do anything for you. If you think you've failed me, then… I have to apologize for failing you, Sara. You're my friend. I should have been there for you."
"You have enough problems." She said, looking away. She took a deep breath. "Hum. About what happened that morning… It was the first time I ever drank away from home. I'm afraid I was trying to recreate the last time I felt good after having a drink."
"When was that?"
"After I discovered that Hank was engaged." she blushed. "You see, Catherine took me to a bar and we had some drinks and we talked for hours and…it felt good. I even laughed at myself for crying over him. It's only now that I realize that it wasn't the drinks that made me feel good. It was her company and the chance to talk." She closed her eyes
"You were drinking since that day?" I asked and winced. It was one of the questions I had promised not to ask.
"No." she said quietly. "No, I didn't. It was more recently that I…" she shrugged and remained silent for a while. Then she seemed angry, "God, what a mess. I'm a mess."
"Sara… give yourself some credit. You could have resisted coming here but you didn't. And you're sticking to the program, right? That takes guts."
"Oh." She smiled shyly. "I guess. But I'm…I'm ambivalent about this place, you know? Sometimes I think it's stupid to be here. And sometimes I can't bear to think that I'll have to leave." There was a touch of fear in her voice.
That worried me.
"Sara, do you think this place is helping?"
She nodded.
"Yes. It is." She said quietly.
Then she explained that she had to go back to finish her macramé bag ("Yes, Grissom, it's macramé; don't laugh,"), and she hurried down the same path she'd crossed the other times. The nurse opened the door and let her in.
After that door was closed, I walked down the path that led to an opposite door.
It was like a prison.
It wasn't until I was at a crime scene that I realized she had not mentioned her parents.
TBC
