The Love Sucks Club (13 page)

“
Rox
and I were on the front side of the
house. We wouldn’t have heard the vehicle.”

“Susannah was right about one thing; it was pretty ballsy.”

Roxanne holds the phone away from her mouth. “Not really. I don’t
think she much cared if Dana came out while she was setting up. She’s acting
like a very desperate woman.”

“Desperately psychotic,” Sam
quips.

Laying food out on plates, I drop one in front of Sam and another
in front of Roxanne. Eating directly from the pot, I shovel stir fry into my
mouth. Roxanne eats with one hand, holding the phone with the other.

“Don’t waste your time, Roxy,” Sam says around a mouthful of food.
“Even if you get them, they aren’t coming.”

“It’s an effort in hope,” she says.

“It’s an effort in futility.”

“Speaking of futility,” I say. “I need to go pretty soon.” Giving
Sam a pointed look, I look up at the clock on the microwave.

“Yeah, we better head out.”

“Where are you going?”

I decide to level with her. “I’m going to the doctor to find out
if my head problem is physical.”

She nods.
“Probably a good idea to rule it out.
Though, I don’t think your visions are the symptoms of an illness.”

“Sam does.”

“I just said that they might be!” Sam is indignant.

“At any rate, we need to go.
Rox
, we’ll
drop you off at your place first.”

“You go on. I’ll stay here and talk to
Ja
...”

“No!” Sam and I both yell.

“She-who-shall-not-be-named!”
I continue.

Sam falls back against her chair, gripping her head.
“My ears!
My ears!”

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Roxanne scoffs. “Am I dealing with teenagers
here?”

“Totally,” Sam grins.

“And I don’t want you to stay here and talk to her,” I add. “She’s
dangerous.”

“Fine.”
Roxanne hangs up my phone and
tosses it to me. After checking to make sure that all of my doors and windows
are locked, we all pile into Sam’s truck and ride the short distance over to
Roxanne’s.

“Call me as soon as you’re done,” she says, getting out of the
truck. “I don’t want you dealing with all of this on your own.”

“What am I?” Sam says. “Chopped liver?”

“More like spam,” I reply.

Roxanne shakes her head. “We need to stick together over this.
Besides, someone has to be the voice of reason for you two.”

Sam nods. “Good point.”
 

We wait until Roxanne gets into her house before taking off. When
Sam backs out of Roxanne’s driveway, I direct her back to my house.

“Let’s get her shit and go drop it off at her work.”

Back at my house, we quickly gather the packed gear and toss it
into the back of Sam’s truck. When we get to the store where my ex said she was
working, I scan the parking lot for her odd vehicle.

“There it is,” I call.

Sam pulls up behind it. The vehicle is a strange kind of Jeep/SUV
hybrid and it looks as if the back window has been broken out of it. Lifting
the plastic that is glued around the back opening, I motion to Sam to start
passing me the stuff. When the back is full, we both put our hands on the pile
and give it a huge shove. Some of it crushes into the front seat, leaving us
room to wedge in the last few bits. We high-five each other and jump back into
the truck. After laughing for several minutes over our brilliance, Sam falls
quiet. Fiddling with the radio, I let her stew in silence for a while. When we
pull into the parking lot of Dr. B’s, I turn to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I guess I’m just worried about what the doc is going to say.”

“She’s going to say that I’m a nutcase and I should be locked up
for life.”

“Well, that part is obvious.”

Laughing, she slaps my arm. “You’re fine.” She looks out the
window at a woman walking into the doctor’s office. “You’re totally fine.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Come
on,
let’s go spend a couple of
hours sitting around a waiting room.”

“Dr. B is pretty good, from what I’ve heard.”

“Whatever. They’re all the same.”

We walk into the waiting room and Sam plops down into a chair. The
woman at the front desk gives me a sheaf of papers about the size of a
manuscript and tells me to fill everything out.

“Jesus,” Sam says when I sit down next to her. “Do they want your
life story?”

“I guess. It’s medical history.”

“I thought you’d been here before.”

“No. I just know Dr. B socially.”

“Me too,” Sam says with a wink. “If you know what I mean.”

“No, I definitely don’t know what you mean.”

She laughs. “Okay, not really. But she was totally flirting with
me last time she was at the resort.”

“I’m sure.”

She takes out her phone and starts checking Facebook while I fill
out the forms. The woman sitting to the left of me is fidgeting. The heel of
her shoe strikes the wood of the chair leg every time she jiggles her foot. The
noise is sending little jabs into my brain and the longer the noise goes on,
the more irritated I become. The woman next to me, staring into space, is oblivious
to my irritation. Glancing around, I notice that a couple of the other patients
are glaring at the woman as well. Ignoring all of us, she continues to slam her
heel against the wood.

Trying to put it out of my mind, I return to my papers. Flipping
through the pages, I can feel the muscles in my neck getting tighter with every
slap of heel against wood. Every time I read a question, the heel strikes
again. Finishing the papers, I sign my name with a flourish and jump up to turn
them into the woman behind the desk. With my back to the room, I miss what
happens next, but a man’s voice makes me jump.

“God dammit, shut up!”

Turning around, I see the whole room staring at a red-faced
elderly man with a cane. Struggling to his feet, he points the cane at the
woman with the high heels. “Shut up!”

“Fuck you,” she responds, snapping her gum and returning her gaze
to the wall.

“Fuck me? Fuck me?” The old man rocks back on his feet, his face
turning a deep shade of purple. I step quickly over to him and put my hands on
his shoulders.

“Hey, buddy,” I say in a soft voice. “It’s bothering me, too.”

A nurse steps into the waiting room from the office area. “Mr.
James,” she says, soothingly. “It’s time for you to come in.”

Mr. James takes a deep breath and starts to walk toward the door
to the office. The nurse guides him into the back with one hand on his arm.

When I return to my seat, Sam is laughing quietly. “I thought he
was going to beat her with that cane,” she whispers.

“I wish she had gone back instead. I’m about ready to beat her
with her own shoe.” The woman has resumed her foot tapping and without
paperwork to distract me, I’m aware that I won’t last long before I have to say
something to her.

Another woman beats me to it.
“Hey, lady.”

The shoe-tapper looks up. “What?”

“Stop tapping your foot. It’s pissing me off.”

The tapper stands up.
“Oh yeah.
Well,
your ugly face is pissing me off.”

The other woman stands, as well. Sam grins. “Chick
fight
.
Yeah.”

Sighing, I stand up as well.
“Ladies,
seriously.”

The tapper barely glances my way. “Fuck you.”

The nurse steps out of the office again. “Ms. Lowry? You’re next.”

The tapper stalks toward the nurse and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The other woman goes back to her seat. Sam is shaking her head and laughing.
“The locals say when two women have a fist fight in the waiting room it’s going
to be a bad hurricane season.”

“Oh, very droll.”

With the tapper out of the way, the tension has gone out of the
room. I still feel on edge, though. Picking up a magazine, I flip through it
until the nurse comes for me.

After weighing me and taking my blood pressure, she leaves me in
an examination room. I barely have time to get impatient before Dr. B taps on
the door. She comes in, smiling.

“Dana, how are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“If you’re fine, then why are you here?”

I look at her face for a few moments, wondering how much to tell
her. Dr. B has a genuine smile and a warm, open face. When I first met her, I
guessed her in her forties, but up close, I’d say she is probably in her fifties.
The lines around her eyes and mouth suggest a lot of laughing and smiling. Her
hair is a lovely shade of light brown and today, it is pulled back in a
professional looking bun. She sits patiently through my assessment. After a few
moments, I decide to tell her everything.

“There once was a little girl who used to have dreams about
death.”

Dr. B smiles.
“And?”

I launch into the whole story. This is going to take forever and I
know she has other patients, but once I start talking, I can’t seem to stop. “And
then Fran came into my life and the visions came back.”

“Tell me more about the visions. Does your vision change before
they occur? Do you see spots?
Headaches?”

“They feel like the beginning of a panic attack. It’s worth noting
that I have those as well, but whether they are caused by the visions or
something entirely different, I don’t know.”

She nods and I continue. Telling her about the arrival of
Esmé
on the island and how things have gotten worse since
then. I even tell her about Voldemort’s tent in my yard and tripping over a
chicken. I feel as if I’m half out of myself, watching me tell the story from a
distance. I’m disconnected from this entire scene.

Dr. Brawley listens quietly until I have talked myself hoarse.
When I finish, she says, “I think I’d like to order some tests to rule out any
physical ailments. I can schedule an MRI and...”

“Wait. I honestly don’t think there’s something physically wrong
with me. I only came here because Sam was going to have a breakdown if I
didn’t.”

“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to rule out the possibility of
neurological disorders or epilepsy.”

“Or schizophrenia?”

“I think we should start with sending you to a neurologist.”

Shaking my head, I lean back on the table and close my eyes.
“Modern science always assumes those who fall outside of the laws of physics
are psychotic.”

“Dana, I don’t think you’re psychotic. I just want to make sure
you aren’t in danger. Brain trauma can be very serious. I don’t want you to die
of something I could have prevented if only I convinced you to get some tests.”

“Are you even willing to entertain the idea that there isn’t
something wrong with me?”

She smiles.
“Absolutely.
Like Agent
Mulder, I want to believe. I have an open mind. I am well aware that there are
things out there in the universe that I can’t possibly explain. Just let me
rule out the ones I can explain and we’ll work on the other options.”

“But if I’ve been having visions since I was a kid...”

“You’ve only been getting dizzy and passing out over the past
couple of weeks. That’s what has me worried.”

After poking and prodding me and asking more questions, Dr. B
pronounces me free to go.

“Did you find anything out by fondling me or did you just want to
make it look like you did something?”

Laughing, she opens the door and waves my file folder at me. “I’ll
drop this off at the front desk and they’ll help you schedule your other
appointments and tests. We’ll do a follow up when you’re done with all of
that.”

“Thanks for listening, Dr. B.”

“Anytime, Dana.”

She leaves the room and I sit for a minute, staring at the wall. I
have to admit that I probably should go see the neurologist and get these other
tests. It’s just that I don’t think there is anything wrong with me. Long ago,
when I had my first panic attack, I went to the emergency room. I was convinced
I was having a heart attack. After countless expensive tests, they determined
that there was nothing wrong with me.
Nothing.
Apparently, I was just having massive chest pain that radiated up my left arm,
irregular heartbeats, and an inability to breathe for no reason. It was only
through my own research that I chalked it up to panic attacks and since I’ve
diagnosed myself, I’ve been able to control them pretty well. It’s only been
since the arrival of
Esmé
that things have gotten so
much worse. The
dreams of Fran, the fainting spells
,
the nightmares, and the panic attacks. There has to be a connection.