The Unlikely Hero of Room 13B (11 page)

Before Adam could even nod, Wolverine, with a greasy flourish, opened the damn door for Robyn. “After you.” He smiled.

Robyn looked at her feet. “Thank you, Wolverine.”

Adam watched them file out. Shame and raw anger competed for dominance.

Thor was the last one out. “New pants, kid.” And with that the massive bronze doors shut, taking away most of the light.

“You bet, Thor,” he whispered. His eyes burned as he began what was now an unbearable exit ritual.

Even though nobody saw.

Adam moved backwards thirty-three precise paces, then forward thirty-one, then back twenty-nine … hating himself more with every single humiliating step.

Adam didn’t look at Chuck, couldn’t. Eye contact made him twitchy. He knew he was messing up. He hated knowing it. He didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, but there he was in the passive-aggressive hall of fame.

He kept his eyes trained on the bookshelf right behind the therapist. None of the titles, he realized with a mixture of interest and alarm, were learned volumes from the psychiatric field. They were works of fiction. And they appeared to be ordered but not in a pattern he could discern, certainly not alphabetically by either author or title. There was Mark Helprin’s
Winter’s Tale
and David Mitchell’s
Cloud Atlas
. It looked like he had everything by Don DeLillo, Richard Ford and William Makepeace Thackeray. Chuck had
Animal Dreams
by Barbara Kingsolver,
The Secret History
by Donna Tartt,
Bel Canto
by someone whose
name was obscured, two copies of
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
, three books by Philip Roth and lots and lots of skinny poetry collections. And that was just the top shelf. Adam had never heard of any of them. There was no Dickens or Steinbeck or Melville or anybody that he was forced to read at school. And there was no nonfiction.

Chuck lowered his aviators and turned around to face his bookshelf. “Don’t worry, I get all I need professionally from the online sites the hospital subscribes to. Can we continue?”

Adam must have nodded, because they did.

They talked about how it went at church with Group, a bit about the door thing, about maybe trying out for track in the spring, about how amazing Robyn was and about how he hadn’t been able to get to any of the lessons in the OCD manual. “No, none, sorry.”

“Have you been keeping up with your breathing exercises?”

“Yes,” he lied, while eyeing Jerzy Kosinski’s
The Painted Bird
. Maybe he could borrow that one.

They did not talk about what a dick he was. Adam knew he was being a dick. But he didn’t know why and he didn’t care to find out. He still hadn’t touched the manual and he’d had it for months. He also knew he was supposed to ask Chuck about something but he couldn’t remember what. It was okay, didn’t matter. Forty-seven minutes in. He was squirming on the inside.

“You okay?” Chuck almost frowned. “You look a bit fidgety, my man.”

Maybe on the outside too.

“No, sir, I’m cool,” he lied. Again.

“Is there anything that’s ramped up the stress or anxiety, Adam? Your mom? Anything at all?”

The letters, the letters, the letters
. Adam still hadn’t pieced together the one in his jeans pocket. That’s how much of a dick he was.

And she had received another one on Friday.

Carmella had taken a bottle of Chardonnay to her room that night. She had never done that before.

“No, sir,” Adam said. There were also books by Ian McEwan. He’d heard of Ian McEwan. Maybe. “No, there’s nothing.”

Chuck nodded and glanced at his watch. “Okay, so the List?”

“Uh, yeah.” Adam pulled a sheet out of his jacket pocket. “I didn’t have time to finish it, sorry.” That was because he had just started it in the waiting room. “Look, I’m … I’ll do better next month, I promise, sir.”
Dick
.

“I know you will, and don’t call me sir.” Chuck said it in such a way that they both believed it was possible. “Hey, you didn’t even
do
one last month, so this is a step up.” He unfolded the paper.

Not much of one
, thought Adam.

“How about I read it out loud this time?”

Adam flinched.

“But we don’t have to discuss it. Fair?”

“I guess.”
One, three, five, seven
 … At least he didn’t have to tap in order to count anymore.

Chuck cleared his throat.

Chuck looked back up. “Are the meds okay, the levels? Should we raise the Anafranil? Maybe it’s time to switch over from Ativan to clonazepam?”

“No!” Adam was hit with a physical flashback of all the nightmare side effects, the roller-coaster nausea, the itching, the thick-tongued numbness he’d felt with all the drugs before they’d finally settled in on the Anafranil/Ativan combo. “It’s cool, really. I’m good.” He edged forward to the end of his chair, ready to leap.
Five more minutes
.

Chuck returned to the crumpled piece of paper.

Chuck looked up again.

“I ran out of time.”
Thirty-three, thirty-five … One, three, five …

“Do you want to—”

“No. I don’t, if it’s okay.” Adam had screwed up by mentioning the letter the last time. That was a mistake. He would have scribbled out number five but Chuck had opened the door to call him in, so he couldn’t fix it.

Chuck turned the paper over as if the rest of the List would magically appear on the other side. “Adam, when we get into exposure response and prevention therapy we’re going to need your mother’s support. She’ll have to come in and at least—”

“Not gonna happen, Chuck. You know it and I know it. We’re on our own here. Hey, look: five-thirty! Time’s up. I know there’s some other wing nut out there that’s desperate to get in here.”

“Adam.”

“I’ll do better, sir.”

They both stood up.

“Look. I
know
.” He finally met Chuck’s eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Chuck nodded. “See you Monday.”

“Yeah, you bet.” He made a beeline for the door. “That was awesome, thanks! See you at Group.”

He had to get out, couldn’t breathe.
Seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-three …

“Dad?” What the hell?

Adam, Robyn
and
Wolverine were exiting the clinic’s ground floor together when Adam saw him.

“Dad?” he repeated. He would have bet his Warhammer collection on the fact that his father didn’t know he even went to a support group, let alone where it was. No, that was a lie. His old man paid the bills.

Mr. Sebastian Jeffrey Ross was leaning against his blood-red Jaguar, arms crossed, one leg in front of the other. He straightened as soon as he caught sight of Adam. “Son.”

“Everything okay? It’s not Mom, is it? Sweetie? Brenda?”

Mr. Ross threw his hands in the air. “Hold up! Everything’s good. Well, you know, mainly. Going to introduce me to your friends?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Hi, how ya doing!” He extended his hand toward Robyn. “I’m Adam’s father.”

Robyn blushed and shook his hand. “Robyn Plummer, sir.”

“This the girl Wendell’s been talking about?” he asked Adam.

Impale me on a rusty sword and feed my entrails to buzzards!
“Dunno, maybe.” He was going to kill Sweetie, immediately and often.

“Hi, Mr. Ross,” said Wolverine. “I’m Peter Kolchak, Wolverine.”

Wow, his Christian name
, thought Adam. Not even Father Rick had got that out of him. Adam’s dad nodded at Wolverine but kept smiling at Robyn. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, young lady. Is that a Chapel High blazer? Good school.”

Robyn answered while Adam agonized.

What was this about?
He
needed
to go to the cemetery with Robyn. He needed to be with her, to see if … In the week since the church field trip, Adam had been replaying Wolverine smarming her, opening the door, brandishing his ten-dollar bill, being all smooth and tall. So he needed time alone with Robyn at their spot to see if she … well, to see if they still were … What
were
they exactly? What if she’d already gone out with Wolverine? There’d been a whole weekend in there. He was developing an ulcer as they stood there.

But then again.

Wolverine didn’t have that smug, I’ve-been-with-her-already look. Not that Adam was airtight sure that he’d
recognize that look, but he was pretty sure that Wolverine wasn’t sporting it. Did she like Wolverine? Of course she did. Even Adam liked Wolverine. The guy was older, cooler and, as of late, slightly less crazy. Speaking of which, Adam’s anxiety was erupting like silent farts all around him. His father snapped him back to the crisis at hand.

“Sorry, kid, you’re needed at home. Uh, I mean my home.”

Well,
that
was awkward.

“Which is
your
home too,
of course
.” His father cleared his throat. “Wendell”—his father would chew tinfoil before he called his younger son Sweetie—“Wendell’s a bit sick with strep and is inconsolable and that means no one will do but you, champ.”

Robyn stepped over to Adam. “It’s okay, we can walk over next week.”

Yes! This meant that she had intended to walk with him in the first place. They were good, they were tight, they were a
they
. Practically. Relief bubbled over him. “Yeah, next week for sure! Yeah. You bet, Robyn!” He’d tripped back into SpongeBob mode.

“Well, then, Robyn, how about the two of us walk together as far as the subway station?” Wolverine asked, all casual-like.

Before she could answer, Adam’s dad threw his arm around his son. “Yup, you would not believe how much this guy’s baby brother adores him. Worships him, in fact. And Adam steps up every single time, no matter what the inconvenience.” He slapped his son on the back. “Helluva thing!”

“That is so, so sweet, Batman!”

“Hey, that’s what Wendell calls him too! It’s a thing you guys do, right? Cool.”

This was crazy. It was as if his father knew exactly what to say and how to say it.
His
father. “Yup, as soon as I come in with old Batman here, Wendell will be right as rain! Happens every time!”

Robyn looked at Adam like he was a piece of chocolate.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Wolfman.” Adam’s dad turned back to Robyn. “Robyn, a
real
pleasure. But now we gotta go. A superhero’s gotta do what he’s gotta do, right?”

“Later, man.” Wolverine punched Adam in the arm.

Adam did
not
wince. “Yeah, man.”

“Bye, Adam,” said Robyn.

“Bye, Robyn. Catch you next week, okay?”

She turned. Wolverine turned. Adam and his dad got in the car. The blisters in his stomach came back.

“I’m sure she nodded,” said his dad.

“Huh?”

His father turned the ignition key. “When you said that about catching her later. I’m sure she nodded. You’ll definitely have to watch that wolf guy, though. Hey, she’s older, eh? Real cute too. Quite a find, I have to say—yes, sir! Now that’s my boy!”

“
Daaad
, you’re, like, creeping me out here.”

“Oh. Sorry, kid.” His father stared straight ahead as he drove.