Burying Ben (12 page)

“I’ve heard good things about you.
E
ven w
e
nt to the library to read your book.
W
i
sh I’d had that book twenty years ago. They should give it to all the newbies and their wives.” She sips her coffee. “Mind if I ask you so
m
ething?
It’s probably none of
m
y business, but it’s been on
m
y
m
i
nd. You know Eddie Ri
m
b
a
uer
?
” She doesn
’
t wait for an answer. “I’ve known Eddie since
he was a skinny kid who d
e
livered newspapers to my door hoping I’d in
v
ite
h
im in for
m
ilk and cookies. He’s still eating
m
y food, only now he’s so big I tell him
he should sit on
the c
r
ooks because he’s too fat to c
h
ase the
m
.”

She laughs so hard coffee splashes out of her cup. She leans over the counter for a rag and then refills our cups. The s
m
ell of sweat and bacon grease hovers around her.

“He was a lonely kid. Pathetic really. His parents drank and fought, drank and fought. I
’
d see him wandering around the neighborhood, late at night. He was just a baby,
m
i
nd you, too young to be out after dark. As soon as he
was old enough, he joined the police cadets. Spent all his
ti
m
e at the pol
i
ce station. That was his real
fa
m
i
ly. Them
and
m
e.” She sticks a cube of sugar on a spoon, im
m
erses it in her coffee, watches it turn brown and dissolve.
“
T
hat boy has changed. In more ways than getting fat.”

“Police work changes
p
eople.”

“Not everyone. My B.G. was as sweet a guy when he died as he was when he started. He used to tell
m
e how lucky we were. He saw so
m
a
ny awful things it
m
ade him grateful for our good fortune. He had a big heart, always felt
bad he couldn’t do
m
ore for people, especially kids.”

“So what changed Eddie
?
”

There is a l
o
ud crash in the kitc
h
en followed by a howl. A man appears in the doorway, gesturing frantically for Fran. “Not
m
y
fault. Tony burned hi
m
self. Not
m
y
f
ault.”

Fran gets to her feet. “Tony
’
s not supposed
to go near the sto
v
e,” she shouts back. “So
m
e days this place is like a sheltered workshop. Nice to meet you, Doc. Sorry to bend your ear. I’m a worry wart. Or a busybody. Depends on who you ask.”

Chapter Thirteen

I put the Styrofo
a
m
box
e
s full of leftovers from
Fran’s into my refrigerator and root around for so
m
e antacids. The light on
m
y ans
w
ering
m
achine is blinking. I push the play button. It
’
s Gary’s contractor friend, Frank.

“Gary gave
m
e your phone nu
m
ber. He said
you said to wait until
the du
s
t settles. I’m
in construction.
W
e
m
ake a lot of dust,
doesn’t bother
m
e at all. Maybe I can help. Call when you can.”

I go upstairs to the bedroo
m
. I am
too full to sleep and
m
y pants feel tight. I change into a pair of old p
a
ja
m
as with a stretchy elastic waistband and turn on the TV. The local
ni
ghtti
m
e talk show is on. The topic f
o
r the e
v
eni
n
g is “Police Suicide: Epide
m
ic in Blue
?
”

My very own ex
-
husband, the well known police psychologist, Dr. Mark Edison, is the featured guest. This does not
m
ake
m
y
st
o
m
ach
f
eel bett
e
r. I
s
it
o
n the bed. Mark looks extraordinarily well, healthy and relaxed. There was a ti
m
e when I thought he was the
m
o
s
t beautiful man I had ever
m
et and treasured the very sight of hi
m
.

“Is this an epide
m
ic
?
”
T
he bony blonde
host with i
m
possibly long legs asks. “Should the public be alar
m
ed
?
”

“An epidemic of one
?
” I talk back to the television. I’ve b
e
en doing this
a lot lat
e
ly.

Mark responds. “Policing is a high stress occupation.
W
ithout special assistance, police officers are at risk
for a host of p
r
oble
m
s – divorce, suicide and alcoholis
m
.”

“
W
hat can be done to help
?
” The
host looks stricken with concern. Mark holds up a copy of a paperback
book. For a nanosecond I think it’s my book
Beside the Badge
. I have a rush of gratitude. Mark
does care that he’s hurt
m
e so badly. He’s trying to
m
ake it up
by pro
m
oting
m
y book.

“My wife, Melinda Edison, and I have just published a new book. The topic is very ti
m
ely. It’s titled
B
ullet Proof
Y
our Mind: A
Survival Guide for Law Enforcement Offic
e
rs and
their Families
.” The host looks awed.

“Tells us about the book.
W
here can we order it?”

“You can order directly from
our w
e
bsite, markedisonassociates.com. That’s one word, markedisonassociates.”

I shut off the TV. This is not an interview, it’s an info
m
ercial. I wonder if he had to screw blondie to get this
m
uch airti
m
e.
I feel like throwing up. Not only am
I the biggest fool who ever lived,
I’ll bet anything that
Mark and his parasitic wife have plagiarized my research. My so-called scho
l
arly ex-husband would stop at nothing in the interests of advancing his career. Years ago he started passing out stressometers instead of busi
n
ess car
d
s. Press your
t
h
u
m
b against the card for ten seconds and it changes colors. Black equals high stress and blue/green a state of cal
m
. It was schlock science. The colors react to te
m
perature, not
stress. I could have a hot flash in the
m
i
ddle of a
m
assage and the card would turn black.
He thought it was a great way to pro
m
ote our practice.

On the other hand, who am I to feel m
o
rally superior? I gave a suicidal
m
an breat
h
ing e
x
erci
s
es and a lear
n
ing st
y
le inv
e
ntory when I knew he wasn
’
t sleeping or eating, classic suicidal sy
m
p
to
m
s. I gave him
handouts on a
c
tive listening and problem solving s
k
ills and told
h
im and his wife to take a vacation when he
m
ust have been drowning in hopelessness. I never asked him
if
he was thinking about killing hi
m
self. I told him
to call
m
e if he was feeling bad, when I should have called him. I didn’t e
m
pathize enough with how trapped and utterly without options he felt.

S
m
all pulses of pain gather behind
m
y
e
yes. I swing my feet over the edge of the bed. How nice it would be to have so
m
eone around to bring
m
e an
aspirin, rub
m
y feet, and reassure
m
e that, despite everything, I am
still worth loving.

In the
m
orning
m
y headache is gone. Thanks to Fran, I
m
i
ght actually eat a proper dinner at ho
m
e tonight. I take a coffee out to
m
y t
i
ny patio and sit at the wrought iron table.
T
he sun is just starting to warm the air, and the sky is a clear, silky blue. Tendrils of white clouds drift slowly in the wind.

I wonder what Fran was sta
r
ting to tell
m
e about Eddie. No surprise that he had a lousy childhood and
that one or both of his parents were heavy drinkers. After years of scree
n
ing officers, I
’
ve co
m
e to
e
xpect that kind of history. So
m
any cops sta
r
t policing their own
f
a
m
ilies when they
’
re kids, prote
c
ting Mom
f
rom
Dad, looking after their younger siblings. No one
e
m
erges unscathed from
that kind of childhood. It’s too late for
m
e to help Ben, but if I can get Eddie to acknowledge his pain, stop nu
m
bing himself out with alcohol and food, then there are treat
m
ents that can alle
v
iate his
m
isery, even after all these years.

Chapter Fo
u
rteen

The
office gardener has been at work spruc
i
ng up the lawn and weeding the flower beds in front of the building. Lobelia and i
m
patiens bloom
along the walk and cascade over the pla
n
ter
b
oxes. The l
o
a
m
y s
m
ell of
m
oist d
i
rt transports me to the garden behind our house where
m
y mother grew vegetables
and I, thrilled to have grown-up responsibilities, pushed seeds i
n
to the earth. Best of all were the
m
o
ments sitting on the back stoop, a
m
etal colander in
m
y lap, shelling the green peas I had just picked. The
m
e
mory
m
a
kes
m
e
feel al
m
ost cheerful.

There is a large
m
anila envelope from the California Board of Psychology in
m
y
m
ailbox, stuck between catalogs of continu
i
ng
education
se
m
i
nars and a copy of the A
m
erican Psychologist. Inside is a letter inf
o
r
m
ing
m
e that a
c
o
m
plaint h
a
s been
f
iled against
m
e by April Patcher Go
m
ez. There a
r
e three charges: 1) that the respondent, Dot Meyerhoff, Ph.D., has violated client confi
d
entiality, 2) that the respondent has been neglige
n
t in asses
s
ing Benja
m
in Gomez’s e
m
o
ti
o
nal stability to per
f
orm
the job of
police officer, and 3) that the respondent had
b
een negligent in her treat
m
ent, failing to recognize the signs and sy
m
pto
m
s of a suicidal depression.
A
ttached is a request for the release of all records
p
ertaining to Benja
m
in Gomez, signed by his wife.

There are several pages of info
r
m
a
tion concerning the proceedings to follow, including
m
y rights. I am
warned not to co
n
tact the co
m
p
l
ainant.
Sho
u
ld the Board
pursue the
c
o
m
plaint t
he
re are five possible outcomes, three of them
entail losing
m
y license to practice.

I’ve heard the horror stories, how the B
o
ard of Psychology is on a jihad to protect consu
m
ers against unscrupulous and inco
m
pete
n
t psychologists, pursuing their prey with a vehe
m
ence that borders on persecution.
W
ithout
m
y license, I’ll be out of work, unable to pay the
m
ortgage on my townhouse or
m
y law
y
er
’
s fees, forced to wait tables at
F
r
an’s café. The details of
m
y
c
ase will be splayed across the Board’s public website. My coll
e
agues will s
e
e it. My
f
riends
will s
e
e it. Mark will s
e
e it.

There is a couple waiting for
m
e. It is their second appoint
m
ent. I take a deep breath and greet them
w
i
th a s
m
ile as
t
hough I’m
not carrying the seeds of my own destruction in the envelope under
m
y
ar
m
. They are so young and handso
m
e. He has a mustache a
n
d buzz cut
h
air that
s
ta
n
ds up like
the bristles on a brush. She is very pretty, despite kabuki-like
m
ake up
m
ore
s
uited to a
for
m
al evening out than to jeans and a tank top. They sit stiffly on opposite
ends of the leather couch.

“Nothing has changed,” the wife says, look
i
ng at
m
e as if I had failed her for not fixing
m
on
t
hs of
m
i
sery in our one prior session. She turns to her husband. “I’m
sick of this.
W
hy do you always have to go out with the guys after shift?
W
hy c
a
n’t you just co
m
e ho
m
e?
Don’t you see enough of them
at work
?
”

They are Ben and April redux. This ti
m
e I need to do things right, pay attention, not
m
ini
m
ize things.
W
hat she sa
y
s is true. Poli
c
e work is a
g
reedy
m
istr
e
ss. Fa
m
ilies play second fiddle to the de
m
ands of the w
o
rk. Court appearances co
m
e before planned vacations, squad
m
ates
m
atter
m
ore than old
friends, and shift work disr
u
pts ever
y
t
hing. Cops have two
f
a
m
ilies, their work
f
a
m
ily
a
nd their
r
eal
f
a
m
ily. It’s both a bles
s
ing
a
nd a burden.

“These are my guys. We watch each other’s
backs.
W
here they go, I go. I’m
part of a tea
m
.”

“
W
hat about the baby and
m
e?
I
thought we were your tea
m
.”

“You are.”

“Then why don’t you co
m
e home more often
?
”

“
W
e
’
ve been over this, how
m
any godda
m
n t
i
m
e
s?
W
e need the
m
oney. You have the house you wanted, now I have to pay for
it. How do you think we’re going to do that if I don’t put in for overti
m
e
?
”

They go round and round in a repeat of
their last session. Despite
m
y resolve to pay attention, I fade out, lose focus, the
i
r angry voices dissolve into static. All I can think abo
u
t is the letter
fr
o
m
the Board and what
’
s happening to
m
e.

“Bullshit. You’re not doing this just
for the
m
on
e
y. You want
m
ore ti
m
e to play with your friends.
W
hen you
’
re ho
m
e
, all you do is sleep.”

“I’m
tired. Don
’
t you get it?
I’m
g
e
tting
h
am
m
e
red with overti
m
e.
W
hat the fuck do you want
m
e to do?
W
i
mp out? Run h
o
m
e to you when everyone else is pulling double shifts?”

They recoil at the intensity of
their
m
utual disappoint
m
ents and fall silent for a
m
o
m
ent.

“I thought we agreed that I’d
work so you could stay ho
m
e with the baby.” He is speaking softly now. “Do you want to change your
m
i
nd
?
”

“I’m
lonely. I’m
by my
s
elf with the
baby all day and night. I hate
m
y life. So
m
e days I wish we
’
d never had her.” She reac
h
es for the b
o
x of tissues on the coffee table in front of the couch.

So
m
ething inside
m
e snaps to
a
ttention.
“
W
hat do you
m
ean you hate your life
?
” The young wo
m
an is crying, streams of tears striping her
m
a
ke-up, giving her a feral look. Her husband is bent over, his elbows on his knees, one hand to his forehead obscuring
hi
s face. He is
shaking his head. ”I have to ask.
W
hen people feel tr
a
pped by a situation they can
’
t change, they can get des
p
erate. So
m
e
t
i
m
es they co
m
e up
w
ith so
m
e pretty radi
c
al ways
to esca
p
e t
h
e pain they’re feeling.”

Her eyes narrow. She looks at
m
e as though seeing
m
e for the first ti
m
e. “Are you asking
m
e if I’m
thinking of
killing mysel
f
?” S
h
e clasps
h
er hand over
h
er
m
outh. “Oh God, no. I wouldn’t do that.”

“You do sound depressed. Perhaps we should talk about getting you evaluated for post partum
depression. So
m
e
wo
m
e
n find anti-depressant medication very helpful.”

“I ca
n
’t take pills. I’m
nursing.”