My Doppelgangers

(I)

Lionel and Christine took some time off from their teaching jobs in Paris and set off on a trip around the world. It was one of the deals where the airline offered unlimited travel for 30 days, so if you wanted to see a lot of cities in the world, and you were willing to take a lot of flights, you could. They traveled cheap and light. Paris to London, London to New York then New York to Los Angeles. They stopped to spend a few days at my place while preparing for the next leg of their trip, through Central America and South America. Later, they would go across Asia and Africa.

I was working a few of the days they were here, but I managed to take them to the beach and for a drive through the canyons. We played some tennis and went out for dinner. Lionel bought me a T.C. Boyle novel to thank me for my hospitality and I took them to the airport where they caught a flight to Mexico City, then a bus to the coast, then a boat to Belize.

After the boat docked they walked across town to their hotel. Along the way, they were approached by locals.

“Why don’t you come stay with us?” a guy asked them.

“Because we’ve got a room at a hotel,” Lionel answered.

“Come on, come stay with us,” he urged.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

The locals got exasperated, or maybe insulted.

“What are you afraid of?” another guy asked. Then he hissed an insult: “You’re going to be afraid all your life.”

Lionel and Christine went on to Bolivia, then Peru. They were taking a flight out of Lima bound for Buenos Aires. That was about 10 days after they’d seen me. So they knew what I looked like recently. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen me for a year or two.
But there I was at the airport in Lima. Of course, I wasn’t. It was another guy who looked just like me.

“Eh ben, dis-donc, qu’est-ce que tu fais ici?” Lionel asked the guy. (“Wow, what are you doing here?”)

The guy was an American and spoke French, so he understood, But he stared at Lionel and Christine blankly while explaining that he didn’t know them.

I have a pretty distinctive voice, it’s kind of high and nasally. The guy also had my voice.

So Lionel and Christine were convinced it was me. And that I was playing with their heads. Maybe the stress of the travel, the plane flights, the weird world of Latin America had gotten to them. Anyway, they weren’t happy I was teasing them. They started getting angry.

“Stop playing with us,” Lionel said to the guy. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

The guy insisted he didn’t know them.

“We just stayed at your place for a week in Los Angeles!” Christine screamed at him. “You can’t do this to us. We know it’s you! Stop this! It’s madness.”

The guy insisted.

“Sorry. It’s not me,” he said.

Lionel raised his voice.

Arrete de te foutre de nos gueles!

And then he said he hit me – well, what he thought was me. He wouldn’t have hit this guy. Unless he was absolutely convinced it was me. Which he was. It was probably more like a push, though, I imagine. Not a real punch. I hope.

At that point the guy figured the only way to get these crazy French people off his case was to show him his passport and business card and drivers license, which he did – much to their astonishment. They had really thought it was me.

Lionel called me when they got back to Paris a few weeks later to tell me the story. He said the guy was our age – a young businessman from San Francisco. And he had my voice and he looked just like me and he had the same haircut, kind of on the long side, almost shoulder length. And the same hair color and the same voice and the same mannerisms and even wore the same kind of clothes.

“Did you get his name and number?” I asked. “Did you get his business card?”

He didn’t.

“Oh, man,” I whined. “Did you remember that I was adopted? Didn’t you think this guy could be my twin brother?

“I forgot about that,” Lionel said. “But I told him your name. And where you worked. So he might call you.”

If I had his name, I could use it on a fake ID, then fly to another city, rent a car and use it to rob a bank. I’d throw out the dye-pack they put in the money bag, drive away and the FBI would arrest him.

But he knows who I am. So he is in San Francisco, planning to use my name on a fake ID, fly to another city, rent a car and use it to rob a bank. He’ll throw out the dye-pack they put in the money bag, drive away and the FBI will arrest me.

“What are you afraid of? You’re going to be afraid all your life.”

(II)

It was my birthday. Brigitte was leaving her teaching job to pick me up and take me out to dinner. She said goodbye to one of her students, Elisabeth, who asked her where she was going all dressed up like that. She told her it was my birthday.

“Oh, that’s funny, it’s my mom’s birthday, too,” Elisabeth.

Elisabeth’s mom, Mrs. B., came to see Brigitte after school a few days later.

“Happy birthday,” Brigitte said.

“And happy birthday to Steve,” Mrs. B. said. “That’s why I came to see you. Would you mind if I asked you a couple of personal questions about that?”

“Uh, well, I suppose …”

“Tell me, was Steve born in 1957?”

“Yes, he was.”

“Oh!” Mrs. B. said with heightened interest. She had cleared the first hurdle. “Do you know where he was born? Was he was born in New York?”

“Yes, yes, he was, in fact.”

“And do you know, on the off-chance: Was he adopted?”

“Uh, yes, he was.”

This was getting a little intense. Mrs. B. paused.

“Do you mind if I ask: Is he Jewish?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if he was adopted through a Jewish agency? Do you know if the birth parents were Jewish?”

“Yes, that’s what happened,” Brigitte answered.

Mrs. B. paused for a moment before explaining.

“Because I was born on Oct. 13, 1957 in New York. And I was adopted through a Jewish agency. And I was told I had a twin brother.”

I went to my mom’s apartment that weekend and told her about Brigitte's conversation with Mrs. B.

“Could this woman be my twin?” I asked my mom.

“No!” my mom insisted. “I wanted two! I asked for two! I wanted a brother and a sister or twins or older, younger, it didn’t matter! If there were two, I would’ve got them! I would’ve got her two!”

I thought about it for a while and took my mom’s word.

I had dinner with Mrs. B. a few nights later. We were studying each other’s faces for any clues. They say fraternal twins don’t resemble each other, but we had to look. How could you not look? I told her what my mom said.

“That doesn’t matter,” Mrs. B. answered. “I’ve been investigating. They had a policy to separate brothers and sisters. They didn’t place them together.”

I didn’t know if I should believe Mrs. B. or not. That sounded inhuman. That sounded insane. Why would adoption agencies have that policy?

In any case, there was another reason my mom would know I wasn’t Mrs. B.’s twin.

After my mother died, I sorted through all her photos. I found out what I had long suspected: My birthday was changed so that if my biological parents tried to track me down they wouldn’t be able to find me. Mom’s photo album of my baby pictures had the original date of Oct. 27 scratched out and replaced with Oct. 13.

I had suspected this for some time. When I was 19, I filed the application for my passport and I needed a copy of my birth certificate. The date on it was the 27th, not the 13th.

“Hey dad,” I said. “Why does it have this date?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Is it just the filing date, and not my birth date?” I suggested.

“Yeah, that’s it,” my dad said.

I’d always wondered about my birth date. My mom gave me hers. We had the same birthday. What are the odds of that? Three-hundred and sixty-five to one.

“You were my birthday present,” my mom used to tell me when I’d ask.

The day I asked her about Mrs. B, I also asked her about the birthday. I thought it was ancient history by then. Maybe she’d tell the truth.

“Mom, did you change my birthday?”

“No.”

“You can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

“No.”

“Swear?”

“I swear.”

Maybe she’d been telling the lie so long it had been absorbed into her psyche as the truth.

So I couldn’t be Mrs. B.’s twin. Unless her adoptive parents had done the same thing and chosen the same fake date. That’s possible, isn’t it?

Was I upset that I had been celebrating a fake birthday my whole life? Yes. Was I upset that I’d thought I was a Libra but was really a Scorpio? Yes. But then I realized: I have two birthdays. I am the man with two birthdays! My birthdays are Oct. 13 and Oct. 27.

I am a Libra and I am a Scorpio. I am my own double.

Plus, everybody knows: Scorpios are hot.

Flight 59 to JFK (Part I)

“My pretties!” Christopher shrieked when he saw his tomato plants hadn’t been watered properly in his absence. “Rood, how could you neglect them like that?”

“It rained the other day. I thought that would take care of them.”

Christopher rushed to his potting table and scooped a dose of Miracle Gro out of the box and into his watering can. He filled the can from a hose on the patio of his Brooklyn Garden and began sprinkling water on the thirsty vines.

“Well it didn’t. Look, they're as dry as an old lady’s insides.”

“How was your trip?” Rood asked as Christopher continued watering.

“You know. Horseshoes with the good ole boys. They always enjoy having the family’s token queer at the reunion.”

“What’s that about?”

“You should come next time. I think they accept the idea of my being gay, but if the reality of my big black stud were shoved in their shitkicker faces, that might be a different thing.”

“Thanks for the invite, but I think I’ll pass. I’ve provided enough shock value to rednecks over the years.”

Rood sat on one of the patio chairs.

“You would not believe what happened to me at the airport, though,” Christopher said.

“What?”

“I was waiting at the gate for the boarding call. A tall, strong man sat down next to me.”

“You were checking him out? You slut.”

“No I wasn’t checking him out. It’s just that he sat down next to me. I noticed him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He might’ve fallen asleep.”

“You were checking him out.”

“I don’t think he was gay. I’m not sure he was straight, either though. Something about him was strange. He was pale. He looked, I don’t know, broken. He slept, or just had his eyes closed, for a while. The plane was delayed. We were both sitting there.”

Christopher set down the watering can and sat cross-legged on the ground near Rood’s feet.

“That’s when things got strange.”

“How?”

“A girl walked up. Well, a woman. Kinda pretty. Little bitty thang. Bangs. Nice legs.”

“What did she do?”

“She stood right in front of the guy. The guy had his eyes closed. I think she saw I was gonna nudge him. She motioned with her hand for me not to. She wanted him to open his eyes on his own, maybe sense her presence, and then see her. I thought maybe they’d gone to school together, or worked together, or maybe dated, or maybe they were related. I had no idea what was about to happen.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I think that he did sense her presence and he opened his eyes.”

“And?”

“Well it was the damnedest thing I ever saw. You’d think he thought he was still dreaming. He looked at her. He closed his eyes. He shook his head. He turned and looked at me. He turned back to look at her. His jaw dropped and he turned pale. He was realizing she was really there.”

“So, he was like, freaked out?”

“Oh, no. He didn’t know if it was real or not. He was not quite ready to be freaked out yet.”

“What was she doing?”

“Just standing there, watching him react.”

“Didn’t they say anything to each other?”

“Oh, yeah. But not at first. They looked at each other for the longest time. I thought for sure they were gonna call our flight and she was gonna walk away and I was never gonna know what it was all about. Then he said:

“ ‘I said I was sorry. I said I was sorry. I said I was sorry.’ Three times, like that. Like a magical chant to make her go away. Like Dorothy clicking her heels.”

“What did she do?”

“She just stood there. And then he started talking.”

“What did he say?”

“I’ll tell you. Let me get a beer, though. I’m getting’ as thirsty as my pretty tomatoes were.”

Christopher got up and went through the back door into the kitchen and came out with a Pilsner Urquell. He took a swig and continued.

“He said: ‘I thought I had the green light. I told you. I never would’ve done it. I thought I had the green light. I’ve paid. I said I was sorry. I paid and paid and paid. My brother’s dead. My mom had a stroke. I went to prison. You know that. I said I was sorry. I said I was sorry.’ Then he started crying. Sobbing. Hands over his face. My Lord, I said to myself.”

“And what about the lady?”

“She let him cry for a while. Then she talked.”

Charlie sipped his beer and stood up, imitating the woman’s cool demeanor.

“”She said: ‘I know. You said all that in court. I know. I know what happened. That’s not why I came over when I saw. I know your brother and mother were victims, too.’ ”

“Then he looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was saying it. His eyes got all wide. He didn’t say anything. Then she started talking again.” She said: ‘I know it’s your fault. But I was in it, too. I played a role, too. I was your victim. But I was involved, too. Maybe I shouldn’t have ever gotten in your truck with you. Maybe I shouldn’t have reported it. I ask myself that, too. I know your brother’s dead and your mom’s paralyzed. It’s a small town. Everybody knows what happened. I’ve felt guilty about it since that day. I told the truth about what happened. You know that. But I know what happened because I told the truth. That’s why I’m standing here. I need you to forgive me, too.’ ”

“Wow,” Rood said.

“Then she reached out her hand to him. He looked at it. He started crying again. He shook her hand. Tears were flowing down his face. He was blubbering. ‘I forgive you,’ he said. Then it was too much for him, I guess. He got up and ran away. I mean ran. Like a deer. He ran across the terminal and down a hallway. The lady walked away. But I saw her on the plane later. You know me. I’m the worst godawful gossip between here and Pensacola. I had to know what happened. So I walked down the aisle and asked her after the seatbelt sign came off.”

“What did you say?”

“I said: ‘Ma’am, I saw you and that gentleman out there and I am sorry but I am a godawful gossip and I just have to ask what that was all about.’ ”

“Did she tell you?”

“No, she just closed her eyes and shook her head and made a little ‘no’ sign with her hand. So I guess I’ll never know.”

“Musta been a traffic accident, right? He thought he had the green light. His brother died. She was probably in the car, huh?”

“Yeah, I thought of that, but …”

“But what? Come inside. I’ve missed you. Let me give you a massage to take away your travel stress.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice!” Christopher went inside and stripped and stretched himself out on their bed, stomach down. Rood straddled him and began working his hands over Christopher’s shoulders.

“Unless …” Rood said.

“Unless what?”

“Maybe the green light was for sex. Maybe he was saying he thought she was OK with having sex, and it turned out she wasn’t. And she reported him.”

Christopher stiffened.

“Yes, that must be it!” Then he relaxed again. “No, the brother. And the mom. That doesn’t really fit, does it?”

“Could.”

“Guess we’ll never know.”

Under Rood’s exquisite touch, Christopher soon forgot about what he’d seen at the airport while he was waiting for the flight back from Florida.

Flight 59 to JFK (Part II)

“Good morning, Nelly.”

“Hello, Sally. Good to see you.”

Nelly Belcourt opened the door to the office of her counseling practice. Sally had been waiting outside. It was first thing Tuesday morning.

“So urgent?” Nelly asked.

“I really wanted to see you yesterday.”

“I couldn’t come in to the office. I had previous engagements. Sorry. I left you a message. I’m presuming you got it. You’re here.”

They walked into her office. Nelly turned on the lights. Sally sat down on the couch and her counselor took a seat near her and turned so they could speak face to face.

“So. What was so urgent?”

“I saw him.”

“Him?”

“Walt.”

Nelly wasn’t registering. So Sally explained.

“The guy who raped me. The one whose brother got arrested by mistake after I called the cops. And got killed in jail.”

The counselor nodded. She remembered Sally’s story.

“Where did you see him?”

“At the airport. I went home for the weekend. I was flying back to New York on Sunday afternoon. We were going to fly on the same plane. Only we didn’t. I talked to him for a minute. And he broke down and cried and ran away. I had to come talk to you. I can’t sleep. I can’t think about anything else. I’m nauseous. I’m afraid.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say anything at first. He was sleeping. I just stood there in front of him for a while. I didn’t know if I should talk to him. There was this gay guy sitting next to him. I thought they were together, but I guess they weren’t. For a second I thought maybe, in addition to everything else that happened, he went gay because of …”

“We’ve been over this. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I called the police. And he went to prison for five years. And his brother died. And his mom had a stroke.”

“He raped you.”

Sally was silent for a moment.

“Looking back, I can’t be sure.”

“We’ve been over this. It wasn’t a misunderstanding. He forced himself on you. You tried to stop him. He was twice your size. That’s rape. What did you say to him?”

“When he woke up, he looked at me as if he were having a nightmare.”

“Of course. Don’t you think he feels guilty?”

“Well, yeah. But so do I.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he was sorry. He said he’d told me he was sorry. He said his brother was dead and his mom had a stroke. He said he’d been to prison for five years. He wanted to know how much he was going to have to pay and for how long. He said he thought I wanted it.”

“That’s horrible. Is that really what he said?”

“No, not all that. He said he thought he had ‘the green light.’ ”

“What did you say?”

“I said I needed him to forgive me.”

“You shouldn’t look at it that way.”

“But I do. So I held my hand out to him. He touched my hand and then he ran away crying.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“I knew you were going to ask that.”

“So you can tell me.”

“I was confused. I didn’t know how to react. The gay guy saw me on the plane later and asked me what was going on, but I wouldn’t talk to him.”

“You were too upset.”

“I’m very upset.”

“What did you want from him?”

“From the gay guy?

“No, from Walt.”

“I don’t know. When I saw him I just thought I needed him to forgive me.”

“He raped you.”

“I knew his brother. We went to school together. Sean. He was a really nice guy. He was retarded.”

Sally started to cry.

“It wasn’t your fault. You’ve told me before. The deputy killed him in jail. They didn’t know he was retarded. He didn’t understand what the deputy was telling him, so he got beaten. The deputy was fired. It was the deputy’s fault. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t called the police …”

“He raped you.”

“He was caressing my leg. I didn’t stop him. He kissed me. I didn’t stop him.”

“You were 15. You didn’t know what to do.”

“He was only 17. He didn’t know what he was doing, either.”

“He was twice your size. You know all this. We’ve talked about this.”

“When his mother went to identify Sean’s body, she had a stroke. She’s been paralyzed ever since.”

“Not your fault.”

“Whose fault is it?”

“He raped you.”

“His brother didn’t rape me. His mother didn’t rape me.”

“What happened to his brother and his mother wasn’t your fault.”

“Easy to say. I can tell myself that. Harder to believe. What if I hadn’t reported it?”

“You reported it. You were raped. You had to report it. You did your civic duty. It would’ve been irresponsible of you not to report a rape.”

“I told you I came. I had an orgasm. It was my first time.”

“I know.”

“It was awful at first. I was scared. I thought he was going to hurt me. That’s why I didn’t scratch his face or hit him hard. He was twice my size. I thought I’d make him mad and he’d hurt me. But then when he calmed down, the sex got … good. It felt good. I came.”

“Doesn’t matter. He forced himself on you.”

“His brother’s dead. And his mother’s paralyzed. And I got off.”

“Don’t do this to yourself. You need to stop thinking about this. Go swimming. Go to the gym. Get a good workout.”

“I got into his car. I was wearing my summer dress. He asked if I’d smoke a joint with him. I said no. He asked if would go down to the orange grove with him while he smoked. I said yes.”

“You’ve told me all this before. Don’t keep reliving it. Put it behind you. You can’t keep reliving this. Close your eyes.”

Sally did.

“Picture it as something inside you. A black thing in your gut. Now imagine it’s a balloon, a black balloon. Let it out and watch it float away.”

Sally sighed. She opened her eyes.

“I haven’t eaten since I saw him. I’m starving. Something good for brunch around here?

Sally knew Nelly was a foodie. They’d traded recipes over the years of her counseling.

“There’s a new tapas place down the street. I had lunch there the other day. But I don’t think it’s open yet.”

“Anything else?”

“The deli.”

“Wanna grab something with me?”

“Yeah, I’ll go along and have a coffee. You should get some chicken soup.”

Sally recognized the recommendation for comfort food.

“Chicken soup won’t help. I’m hungry. Maybe one of those big omelettes.”

They got up and Sally led the way out. Nelly turned off her office light and locked the door behind her.

Flight 59 to JFK (Part III)

Walt was running down the hall at the West Tampa Convalescent Care Center.

“Mom! Mom!” he shouted, panting, as he got to her room. “You won’t believe what happened. I was flying back to New York. I was waiting for the flight. I sat down next to a gay guy and I fell asleep. When I woke up Sally was standing in front of me. Sally, mom. The girl. She’s grown up. She’s a nice looking young woman now. She’s not a stupid teen-ager anymore. She looks fine. She’s fine. She’s OK. And you know what mom? She felt bad about what happened to you. She came to me to apologize. She asked me to forgive her. She asked for my forgiveness, mom. I thought she was gonna make me say I was sorry again. She feels guilty about you. She feels guilty about Sean.”

Walt’s mother may have winced when she heard the name of her dead son. But it was impossible to say for certain. In the years after her stroke, she could write short sentences on a pad of paper on the table under her right hand. But she had stopped writing at least a year before Walt got out of prison.

“So it’s all over, now, mom. It’s all over. Right, mom? It’s all over. She asked me to forgive her. I touched her hand. She let me touch her. To forgive her.”

His mother made a sound.

“Uuuuunh.”

It was impossible to tell what she was trying to say.

“So you heard what I said mom? You can still here. It’s over. I’m so sorry, mom. I’m so sorry it happened. But it’s over now. It started that day I asked her if she wanted a ride home. She was carrying those grocery bags. I put them in the back of the truck. I asked her to come down to the grove with me. She said yes. I touched her leg. I thought she liked it. I’m so sorry, mom. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. I thought I had the green light. I really did. I know I made a mistake. I didn’t know, mom. I’d never been with a girl before. I’d never even kissed a girl before.”

“UUUUUUNH.”

Lela Baldessari, his mother’s nurse walked in.

“You shouldn’t be here, Walt,” she said. “You’re upsetting her.”

“No!” he shouted at her. “You’ve got to understand. I just saw Sally. The girl. The one. She asked me to forgive her. So she knows. She understands. It wasn’t all my fault. I’ve got to tell my mom! You’ve got to let me tell my mom!”

Lela walked out.

“So everybody’s OK, mom. Even the deputy who killed Sean. Deputy West, that asshole. He got fired from the force, but they didn’t charge him? You remember: They couldn’t prove he knew Sean was disabled, so he was allowed to use force on him when Sean didn’t do what he said. That guy went into his dad’s real estate business. He’s developed all the groves around here, built tract homes on them. He’s made millions, mom. The asshole arrested Sean thinking he was me, and now look at him. He’s rich. Sally’s OK. Deputy West’s OK. It’s just you, me and Sean. I’m sorry, mom. But everybody else is OK. Sally wanted me to forgive her, mom. So it’s over, now, mom, except for you and me.”

“Paging Dr. Hudson.” It was Lela’s voice on the intercom. “Please come to the front desk. Security, please. Front desk.”

“I wanted to grow up and take care of Sean, mom. That was my plan. Like we always said. Like you always used to tell me: I’d have to take care of him when you were gone. I started a program for disabled teens in New York. That’s what I used the settlement money for, mom. I met a stockbroker in prison. He was in for embezzlement. He helped me set it up. His son’s disabled. He’s not gonna steal anymore. Don’t worry. The program’s named for Sean and his son. It’s called Sean and Rick’s Place. See? I’m making it all good again, mom. See how I’ve honored Sean? What do you think, mom?”

“UNNNNNNH. UNNNNNH.”

He pulled his checkbook out of his pocket and tore out a deposit slip. He turned it over and put it on the table under his mom’s hand. He put a pen in her hand.

“Walt?”

Dr. Hudson had walked in the room. Lela was standing next to him. Two orderlies were behind them.

“Dr. Hudson! She wanted me to forgive her. Sally! The girl!”

“Walt, you’ve got to go. You’re just upsetting her. Can’t you see that?”

His mother was moving her hand, slowly, scrawling something on the back of the deposit slip.

“Get him out of here,” Dr. Hudson said to the orderlies. They each took one of Whit’s arms.

“Wait! She’s writing! What’s she writing!” Walt shouted as they dragged him away.

“You’ve got to let me see what she’s writing.”

He struggled but the two orderlies dragged him out the front door and pushed him out into the parking lot. Dr. Hudson followed them out.

“You’ve got to go, Walt,” he said. “You can’t come here anymore. You have to leave this be. There’s a restraining order. I’ll enforce it. I don’t want to call the police. You’re on parole, aren’t you? Haven’t you had enough of this? Isn’t it time to move on?”

“I … I …” Walt started sobbing. “She asked me to forgive her. She knows it’s not all my fault. She knows it was a mistake. How long do I have to pay?”

“For the rest of your life, Walt. You’re going to pay until the day you die. Now get out of here before I have to call the police.”

Walt got into the rental car he picked up at the airport, started the engine and drove away, sobbing. Dr. Hudson watched the car turn out of the parking lot and disappear down the highway.

He walked back into the building. Lela was waiting for him.

“Did he leave?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Probably.”

“What should I do if he does?”

“I’ve known that family since I finished medical school. Their dad and I played golf together. He died young, sudden heart attack. Then, just months after that, the rape case. The deputy went to their house and arrested the wrong brother and killed him because he didn’t know he was retarded so he thought he was defying him instead of just not understanding what he was being told to do. Then the mom stroked out from the stress. He’s the only one left. You wonder what bad star rose over them.”

“So what should I do if he comes back.”

“I don’t know. Call the police. Or not. Sit down with him. Let him talk it out. Try to reason with him.”

“He doesn’t seem all that reasonable.”

“He’s not. But would you be? You’ve heard that expression: ‘Things have to get better.’ Well, what if things don’t get better? What if things get bad and then get worse, and worse and worse? You gotta wonder with some people. Where does it stop? How much can you take?”

Dr. Hudson walked down the hall back to his office and shut the door behind him. He poured himself a glass from the bottle of Old Granddad on his shelf and took a sip as he looked out the window at the colors of the setting sun.