oxford shoes were the one thing they hadn’t replaced at Wal-Mart, and he was weirdly glad to see her wearing them again. “But I’m not sure it’s enough. I want to be brave and help my brother, but I’m so afraid of having another attack.”
He was thinking about what to do for her as he went into the bathroom to change his shirt, and then it hit him. He called her to the door and opened the medicine cabinet and took out a bottle ofpills. He told her if she took one of these, she would most likely not have an attack, no matter how difficult it got.
“It sounds like a miracle,” she said. “I wonder why no one has suggested this before.”
The doctor in Stephen realized he should ask a few questions before he just handed her a prescription drug. He already knew she’d been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder; she’d told him yesterday. She’d also said that they’d never been able to find any heart trouble or disease.
He said, “Do they have any theory about what causes your anxiety attacks?”
“Theory!” she said, grinning. She crossed her arms. “The doctor doesn’t know. Father and Grandma told me I’ve had them since I was two. Essentially my whole life.”
Stephen knew it was very rare for a child under five to have an anxiety disorder, and he briefly wondered what could have caused it. “It’s one of the lighter anti-anxiety meds,” he said. “It can’t hurt.” As he twisted off the cap, he was sure she noticed that his own name was written on the label. The prescription was nearly two years old, but he assumed they were still potent. He handed her a paper cup from a stack on the sink. She filled it with water and took the medicine.
Even though he’d told her the pill couldn’t hurt, Stephen kept a close eye on her for the next half hour or so. They were in the Checker cab, the only car Stephen owned after he’d given Ellen’s Toyota to his parents, asking them to do whatever they wanted with it, as long as he didn’t have to see it again. He’d felt the same way about the house. Since he’d moved to his furnished apartment, he’d never been back to the St. Charles neighborhood where he and Ellen and Lizzie had lived. The real estate company had sold it and his mother had packed up the rest of his family’s things. He had no idea what she’d done with them.
When Dorothea started talking more freely, Stephen knew the pill was working. He’d seen enough patients on benzodiazepines to know that they loosened people up, and God knows, he thought,Dorothea could use a little of that. All that trying had to be wearing her out, not to mention that she’d gone to bed at two o’clock and gotten up at sunrise, whatever time that was.
Most of her talk was about the buildings and cars and houses they passed. She was as fascinated as Lizzie had been by things he’d seen all his life, and he found himself relaxing as he listened to her. Later, he realized he was more relaxed during that drive than he’d been since the accident. Even the intersections didn’t stress him out the way they usually did.
Obviously, Dorothea was a lot more relaxed as well. She kept smiling at the people trying to flag down the cab. “It must be very pleasant,” she said, “having people wave at you all the time.” He shook his head, but he laughed quietly.
But maybe she was too relaxed, he thought—and found himself feeling a little guilty for giving her that pill—when, not even halfway to the hospital, she suddenly announced that he was the “handsomest” man she’d ever seen.
His face grew warm, and even warmer when he realized she was staring right at him.
“Because you haven’t seen many men,” he said, as lightly as he could manage.
“I have seen hundreds of pictures in our encyclopedias.”
It struck him as funny, but he was too nervous to smile. He mumbled that people who end up in encyclopedias aren’t exactly a good sample.
“It might surprise you to hear that there are plenty
He was thinking about what to do for her as he went into the bathroom to change his shirt, and then it hit him. He called her to the door and opened the medicine cabinet and took out a bottle ofpills. He told her if she took one of these, she would most likely not have an attack, no matter how difficult it got.
“It sounds like a miracle,” she said. “I wonder why no one has suggested this before.”
The doctor in Stephen realized he should ask a few questions before he just handed her a prescription drug. He already knew she’d been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder; she’d told him yesterday. She’d also said that they’d never been able to find any heart trouble or disease.
He said, “Do they have any theory about what causes your anxiety attacks?”
“Theory!” she said, grinning. She crossed her arms. “The doctor doesn’t know. Father and Grandma told me I’ve had them since I was two. Essentially my whole life.”
Stephen knew it was very rare for a child under five to have an anxiety disorder, and he briefly wondered what could have caused it. “It’s one of the lighter anti-anxiety meds,” he said. “It can’t hurt.” As he twisted off the cap, he was sure she noticed that his own name was written on the label. The prescription was nearly two years old, but he assumed they were still potent. He handed her a paper cup from a stack on the sink. She filled it with water and took the medicine.
Even though he’d told her the pill couldn’t hurt, Stephen kept a close eye on her for the next half hour or so. They were in the Checker cab, the only car Stephen owned after he’d given Ellen’s Toyota to his parents, asking them to do whatever they wanted with it, as long as he didn’t have to see it again. He’d felt the same way about the house. Since he’d moved to his furnished apartment, he’d never been back to the St. Charles neighborhood where he and Ellen and Lizzie had lived. The real estate company had sold it and his mother had packed up the rest of his family’s things. He had no idea what she’d done with them.
When Dorothea started talking more freely, Stephen knew the pill was working. He’d seen enough patients on benzodiazepines to know that they loosened people up, and God knows, he thought,Dorothea could use a little of that. All that trying had to be wearing her out, not to mention that she’d gone to bed at two o’clock and gotten up at sunrise, whatever time that was.
Most of her talk was about the buildings and cars and houses they passed. She was as fascinated as Lizzie had been by things he’d seen all his life, and he found himself relaxing as he listened to her. Later, he realized he was more relaxed during that drive than he’d been since the accident. Even the intersections didn’t stress him out the way they usually did.
Obviously, Dorothea was a lot more relaxed as well. She kept smiling at the people trying to flag down the cab. “It must be very pleasant,” she said, “having people wave at you all the time.” He shook his head, but he laughed quietly.
But maybe she was too relaxed, he thought—and found himself feeling a little guilty for giving her that pill—when, not even halfway to the hospital, she suddenly announced that he was the “handsomest” man she’d ever seen.
His face grew warm, and even warmer when he realized she was staring right at him.
“Because you haven’t seen many men,” he said, as lightly as he could manage.
“I have seen hundreds of pictures in our encyclopedias.”
It struck him as funny, but he was too nervous to smile. He mumbled that people who end up in encyclopedias aren’t exactly a good sample.
“It might surprise you to hear that there are plenty
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