Dan was stunned. For an instant he looked like someone had just set off a flashbulb in his face. Then he started to laugh. Abby thought it was the most broken sound she had ever heard. She wasn't surprise to see that he was kind of crying at the same time. By the time he'd caught his breath, he'd smeared tears all over his face. His nose was runny. Damn, Dan thought, I'm dissolving.
"I'm not…I, God, look, I love Case, Abby. I'd do anything in the world for him, but I'm not in love with him," He could see that she didn't get the distinction. "It's like…Casey is in love with Dana. He was in love with Lisa. He just plain loves Charlie. You, you love Bethany," he shifted the little dish of paper clips. Abby remembered he'd spent a whole session asking about the items on her desk instead of talking about his freshman year at Dartmouth. "But you're not in love with her. Understand?"
Abby understood. She believed him. She believed that he considered his feelings for Casey completely platonic. And she believed Dan had created a categorical hierarchy of love the way a non-native speaker might create a list of irregular verbs: to make the unfamiliar a little more comprehensible. "So, who are you in love with?"
"I'm—I can't…I don't think I do it right," Dan said simply, offering a shattered little smile. "I think that there's a division—maybe it's the second day, the separation of the waters." He shrugged. "I'm in the group that just…can't get it together where love is concerned." There were no tears now, just a calm matter-of-factness.
The logic clicked for Abby, at last. She wasn't guessing anymore; it was like she'd been shown a cosmology of the layers and levels of Dan's bruised mind. "So," she said slowly, "this is why people like Lisa and Steve Sisco are loved and you are not...even though they've proven that they don't appreciate the people in their lives? This is why Rebecca is bypassing you to practically throw herself at her husband? Why them and not you? Because you are incapable of being loved—sorry, of being in love? It's everybody else in one group, and you in the other?"
"They're…they're such good people, Abby," Dan said suddenly. "Rebecca and Casey, both, and they're just throwing it away. I can't stand how they're treated; I hate that they put up with it. When I would give anything to…It just—God, it hurts to watch them!"
"You're a good person, too, Danny."
He sighed. "Yeah, I—"
"Don't blow me off, here, Dan. Don't tell me that you know; just listen when I tell you that I know. I know you're thoughtful and compassionate and generous. I know that you're cheerful and honest. You make your fans smile and you're a true comfort to your friends. If you don't believe me, ask them. Ask them tonight." Dan wouldn't look at her. Abby put her hands over his, to keep him from bolting, to make him focus on her words. "And I know that you have a huge capacity for love. You're a loveable person. You would be even if you were much less than the man you are. Love is not zero-sum: no matter how many Steves and Lisas there are gobbling it up, there will always be enough for you. So don't be afraid to ask for it."
Abby could feel Dan's hand start to tremble under her own but she didn't move her eyes from his face. "There is no division between who can be loved and who can't. Like you said: it's just water, all one thing. If a separation does exist, then we should do what God didn't: come right out and say it is not good."
He was looking at her like a charmed snake. Abby only hoped some of what she was saying would stick. "I think that's what you're here for, Danny. I think right now, one of the things you're meant to do is remind people of just how much they deserve to be loved, of how little credence they should give to those who don't respect that. And I think that's why people like Casey and Rebecca are so…lucky, lucky, lucky to have you around to love and to love them. What do you think, Dan?"
Dan shook his head. His hands were nearly jumping off the table. "I, uhm, I think, Abby, I…have--" He choked and shot out of her office, heading for the restroom in the waiting area, knocking over the paper clips as he went. Abby sighed and stood up from the desk. Lucky? 22 years of school and my whole psychiatric vocabulary just deserts me when I need it most. Abby shook her head; she couldn't beat herself up about it. Casey and Rebecca were lucky. She was pretty sure Dan had just lost whatever it was that Jack had let him smuggle out for his lunch. She bent over to pick up the paper clips. Maybe it was time to reconsider these dinner appointments.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…is anything broken?" Dan was back in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, looking pale and embarrassed with several scrubbed spots on his shirt.
"No, nothing broken; everything's fine. Right?"
"Uh, yeah. I—sorry. That. That hasn't happened in a long time. 'S what I get for eating on the run, huh?" Dan was a little cheered when Abby smiled back. He picked up his jacket, just to have something to fiddle with. "Anyway, thanks. For seeing me. I gotta get going. Let you get on with your evening. I didn't mean for it to take this long. You must be worn out, after all day, I mean, so I'll just…go."
"Yeah, long day," Abby said, "but I don't think I'll leave just yet. Come on, have a seat."
"Nah, really, I should clear out. My hour was up a while ago."
"Danny," Abby reached over and took the coat he was wringing out of his hands. It was a worn black duffle jacket and she could see a little name label inside, like the kind overprotective mothers sew in before their kids go off to college or summer camp. "Sit with me. Just for five minutes. We're not gonna talk. Just…sit."
So they sat down, Dan in an armchair, Abby on the sofa with the coat spread over her knees. Abby didn't say a word; she didn't even bother to tidy up her files. She'd do that tomorrow. Right now she would simply let this day drain out of her. Dan was right, she was worn out. But it was a good day, a good day's work. A solid start and enough catharsis to probably keep Dan on an even keel for a few more weeks. There would be other things to talk about, of course, like why the Casey/Lisa relationship had made such a powerful impression, whether he really believed that people were punished for not reciprocating love, how to carry on in the wake of Rebecca. And Sam, naturally: things always came back to Sam. Who was the Abel in that scenario, Abby wondered idly, who was the nothing son?
Dan cleared his throat and stood up. "Hey, Abby, really, I've got to head out."
Abby looked up at him. His color was back, his hands were steady, his breathing was normal. She could release him onto the streets of New York without defying the Hippocratic Oath. "Yeah," she said, "I guess you do."
"Who's David? On the label in your coat?" she asked as he wound his scarf around his neck.
He held the door open for her and waited in the hall while she locked up. "Oh, my brother—my older brother. It used to be his. I didn't have any warm stuff when I moved up from Texas, and he'd gone to grad school in New England, so he had nothing but winter gear. We held a little Rydell family swap meet."
"Mmmm…I remember now: David, the professor. How's he doing? You'll have to tell me more about him sometime. Next time, maybe." It wasn't really a question.
A shaky pause. Dan took a deep, testing breath. He wasn't going to scream, he wasn't going to start bawling. He actually felt…better. Clearer. Like he could briefly take his attention away from the job of not imploding and get on with other things.
"Yeah, ok." He said, "next time."
They didn't talk in the elevator. Abby remembered her appointment book just as the doors rolled open on the lobby of her building. For a second she seriously thought about leaving it, but no, she needed those phone numbers inside the front cover.
"Oh, damn..." She bit her tongue. Not professional to swear in front of clients. " I've got to run back up; my scheduling book is still sitting on my desk."
Dan raised his eyebrows and laughed at her guilty expression, "You really should get a secretary. D'you want me to…?"
"No, no, you go ahead; it'll just take me a minute, and you have a show to do!" She smiled and quashed the urge to tell him to take it easy tonight, to ask for what he needed. Television was his element; he'd be just fine. "Thank you for dinner."
"My God, dinner…such that it was! You're quite welcome." Dan put out his hand to keep the elevator doors from shutting. "Abby. Thank you for everything."
"You're quite welcome, Danny. Take care."
Abby didn't let the doors close until Dan had crossed the lobby and vanished toward the taxi stand. Then she took the elevator back up, mentally listing the pros and cons of hiring a secretary. The calendar, naturally, was right on her desk where she'd left it after her 4:00 appointment. Next to it was the origami flower that Danny had made out of the butcher's paper from her sandwich. Abby plucked it out of the surrounding file folders. Flimsy paper to begin with, and now it was crumpled and damp. Still, you could still tell it was meant to be a rose, even in its bedraggled state, even though Dan had given it too many petals. Before going home for the night, Abby pitched out a stack of old AAPP journal articles and made space for it on the shelf behind her desk.
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"And when I talk about therapy, I know what people think
That it only makes you crazy and in love with your shrink
But, oh, how I loved everybody else
When I finally got to talk so much about myself."