The Book of Matthew (The Alex Chronicles Book 1) (22 page)

Dr. Cramer caught a corner of my sleeve between his fingers, preventing me from walking away. “I hope I haven’t upset you,” he said. “I’m only trying to help.”

I ripped free from his grasp. “Funny, that’s exactly what my mother says all the time. You must really have her brainwashed.”

“Your mother is a patient of mine, so whether you like it or not, your mother’s issues, as they pertain to you, are my business.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Whatever. That doesn’t mean I have to listen to you or do what you say. You’re not my father.”

“Of course I’m not,” he said. “But you know he’s the reason for all of this. Sooner or later you’re going to have to come terms with that. Your mother didn’t do anything to cause his infidelity. Sometimes men just cheat.”

I stared at the deep lines that were carved on his face. The old man deserved every one of them.

“No shit! You think I don’t know that?” I yelled. My voice traveled out among the bodies of blue and white.

From the corner of my eyes I saw heads turning to look at us and I felt their eyes on me. I lowered my voice to a whisper.

“I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna stand here and let you ruin this day for me. Leave my mother alone, understand? Stop filling her head with bullshit and lies.”

Dr. Cramer remained calm. “I wish I could leave your mother alone,” he said. “That would mean that her problems are solved and she wouldn’t need me anymore. But as long as there are issues I will be there to treat them.”

“You and your issues,” I said.

“Because of patient confidentiality rules, I’m unable to discuss this any further with you. I’ve probably already said too much. But if you’d like to make an appointment with me—”

“Are you kidding me?” I interrupted.

Dr. Cramer remained calm, thought a moment, and then picked up where he’d left off as if the interruption hadn’t even occurred.

“If you’d like to make an appointment with me, I’d be more than willing to talk with you. Maybe you and your mother can come together.”

“I’ve resolved all the anger I had towards my father so I don’t need any help.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dr. Cramer asked. “It seems to me—and your mother agrees—that you’ve been misdirecting all your anger onto her.”

I was silent.

“Don’t you want a relationship with her?” Dr. Cramer continued. “Don’t you want it all to be fixed?”

From somewhere deep inside me a voice rose up. It scurried past my lungs and pushed for freedom as it made its way up my throat and out of my mouth.

“Of course I do!” I yelled at him, the tears starting to flow. “I love her! Do you think I like things being this way? I can’t help what I say sometimes. It just comes out. It’s like some days I don’t know who I am anymore. I just want everything to be normal again!”

It all came vomiting out of me. I had binged for so long on denial until my body could no longer stomach it. Then, forcibly, in the middle of the gymnasium floor on graduation day, the truth inside my body made me wretch it all back up.

Dr. Cramer should have wanted to slap me in the face for my bratty behavior, for yelling at him, for my blatant subordination. Instead, he smiled.

A female teacher rushed up to us, clipboard in hand, and addressed Dr. Cramer. “Jim, is everything okay here?”

Jim? I always took Dr. Cramer to be an Edward, or a Richard, or some other name that conjures up images of snobbish self-importance. But Jim? That name was so common, so average, so…normal.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and cheeks and lowered my head so the teacher wouldn’t see me crying.

“Hi, Judy,” Dr. Cramer said to the teacher. “Everything’s fine. Alex here just has graduation day jitters.”

She addressed me. “Alex?”

I continued to stare at the gymnasium floor. “I’m fine,” I mumbled.

“Okay, good,” she said. “Jim, we’ll need you and the other chaperones outside in ten minutes.”

“Okay, no problem,” Dr. Cramer said.

The teacher walked away, and so, too, did Dr. Cramer. As he left he said to me, “Take care of yourself. And your mother.”

Whether I liked it or not, I had just had my second ever therapy session with Dr. Crazy. Whatever anger I had left for Dr. Jim Cramer suddenly—finally—choked and died.

“Dr. Cramer?” I called after him.

He stopped, turned, and walked back over to me. “Yes?”

I pulled the diamond bracelet from my pants pocket. “Can you help me put this on?” I rolled up my right sleeve.

“Certainly.” He took the bracelet and latched it around my wrist. I twisted my hand from side to side to make it sparkle. It shone brilliantly under the bright lights of the gymnasium.

Dr. Cramer leaned in closer to look at it. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Graduation present?”

I smiled. “Yeah. From my mom.”

“It matches your earrings.”

I touched the diamond studs in my ears. “My dad bought me those.”

“You’re a lucky girl,” Dr. Cramer said. He paused. “Well, I best be going.”

“Wait! Can I…um, make an appointment with you sometime?”

“Absolutely,” he said. He reached into his pocket and produced a business card. “Call me anytime.”

“Okay, thanks.” I hiked up my gown and stuffed the card in the back pocket of my pants. “Tell Danny I said hello.”

“I sure will,” he said.

And then he was gone.

I kept my right sleeve rolled up as I marched out onto the football field—my diamond bracelet and matching earrings sparkling in the noonday sun—and graduated from high school.

The brown leather of the armchair stuck to the back of my bare legs.

My mother warned me that would happen because the air conditioner was on the fritz. She said Dr. Cramer’s air conditioner was always on the fritz and his office was always hot.

I squirmed in my seat.

Dr. Cramer turned to me. “Are you okay, Alex?”

I looked up at him. He was fanning himself with a folded up piece of paper. “Yes, I’m fine,” I said.

“So I hear you got your license,” he said.

I flashed a look at my mother. “Yes, finally.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I drove here today.”

My mother smiled. “She’s still a little nervous, but getting better and more confident every day.”

“That’s great,” the doctor said. He cleared his throat. “Now then…Claudia, you wanted to say something to Alex?”

My mother looked at me. “I want to apologize for reading your diary. I didn’t do it on purpose. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“Do you accept my apology?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you forgive your poor, old mother?”

I smiled at her devilishly. “I don’t know…”

Dr. Cramer folded his hands in his lap. “Alex, be serious.”

“You two need to lighten up,” I said. “Yes, mom, I forgive you.”

She patted my hand. “Good. I’m glad.”

I shook my head. “Jeez—old people. No sense of humor.”

Dr. Cramer looked at me. “Okay, your turn,” he said.

A week after graduating high school, I called Dr. Cramer to schedule an appointment for counseling. During our brief phone conversation, he ran through some of the topics he wanted to discuss when my mother and I came in to see him. They would prove difficult to talk about, but at least I was prepared.

“Thank you for the bracelet, Mom. It’s beautiful and I love it,” I said.

“And?” Dr. Cramer said.

“I’m sorry dad fucked up—”

“Alexandra,” my mother interrupted. “Language…”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry dad messed up your life with his infidelity and lies. It hurt me too and I’m willing to work through it with you.”

“And?” Dr. Cramer said.

I sighed. “Thank you for being a wonderful mother and always trying to be involved in my life.”

“And?”

“What? That’s everything!” I said.

“Alex?”

“Oh, yeah. Dr Cramer, you need to get your damned air conditioner fixed.”

My mother and Dr. Cramer laughed.

“If you finish saying what it is you wanted to say, I will,” Dr. Cramer said.

“Fine,” I said. “Mom, I promise to communicate better. Share my feelings and all that mushy shit…I mean,
stuff
.”

“Anything else?” Dr. Cramer asked.

“Uh, I love you, mom?”

“Very good,” Dr. Cramer said. “Claudia, what do you have to say to that?”

There were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, dear. I needed that.”

I eyed Dr. Cramer. “So that’s it, right? We can go?”

My mother smiled and shook her head at me.

“Not so fast,” Dr. Cramer said. “We have some time left. Shouldn’t we talk about Kilmore University?”

“What about it?” I asked.

“Your mother indicated to me that you have some fears about attending college. Let’s discuss them,” he said.

I groaned.

“What are some of your fears?” he asked.

“That college will suck.”

“Care to be more specific?” he asked.

“Okay,” I said. “I fear I’ll get lost on campus.”

“Anything else?”

I smirked at my mother. “Yeah, I fear there won’t be any decent parties to get wasted at.”

“Alex!” my mother said.

“Kidding!”

“Let’s try this another way,” Dr. Cramer said, attempting to keep focus. “What’s your
biggest
fear about going to college?”

“Hmmm…my biggest fear…” I thought for a moment. “That my roommate will be a total bitch,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Is that your most honest, serious answer?” Dr. Cramer asked.

I sensed he didn’t think what I said was valid. So I explained my rationale. “Think about it. If I don’t get along with my roommate for whatever reason, like if she has a boyfriend that won’t go away or she has wild parties in our room or whatever, I’m stuck with this chick for a whole year. All that stress could affect my grades.”

Dr. Cramer thought about my answer. “Very good point.”

My mother agreed too. She nodded her head.

“So let me tell you how to deal with it,” Dr. Cramer said. He sat back in his chair and resumed fanning himself. “Think of yourself as a soldier on a battlefield and the approaching enemy is your fear. Your main priority is to prepare yourself as best you can for battle so that you emerge victorious.”

“Okay,” I said.

Dr. Cramer continued. “If life, always know what your fears are and why they scare you. Anticipate that other fears you never knew you had might come marching in when you least expect them.” He paused.

“Interesting analogy,” I said.

“It’s your job to be brave when those fears—the enemy—are staring you in the face,” he said. “One by one, establish your authority over them, show the fears no mercy as you battle them head on, and then leave them for dead on the battlefield.”

“Bloody and violent analogy, too,” I said.

“But it’ll work,” he said.

I saw Dr. Cramer only that once during the summer after graduating high school. I hadn’t mentioned my disdain for the religion I thought had duped my father and stolen my first true love. By the time I met with Dr. Cramer, I had resolved the resentment I had for my father and Bobby. Although I didn’t agree with their religious practices, I was square with them as people. I thought I would always have issues with Catholicism, but I would never again have issues with either of those two practitioners.

Time slipped away from me that summer and by the end of it, Dr. Cramer was merely a ghost. But his military analogy of facing fear stuck with me. And he was right. It did work. It just took awhile for me to gain the courage to put it into use.

It came in handy for me as a freshman at Kilmore University. And as it turned

out, what happened to me as a freshman was only a primer to what happened to me as a sophomore.

Matthew Levine had only been target practice.

An excerpt from the forthcoming

Book Two in The Alex Chronicles

PROLOGUE

Mark Alexander was way too good for me. I knew it the moment I kissed him for the first time.

The urge crept up on me quickly, but I released it slowly as I stared at his lips and leaned in for the kill. My brain may’ve been compromised by alcohol, but I knew exactly what I was doing. Mark hadn’t consumed even a drop of alcohol, so if he’d objected to what I was about to do, his usually quick reflexes didn’t show it. He received me willingly, sensed it was coming, in fact, and closed his eyes.

His lips were soft, like cotton balls, and tasted of sweet cherry soda. It was what he’d been drinking at Peter’s frat party when we left. When
Mark
left, actually. Fled would be a better word. I had chugged the rest of my beer and chased after him. Now here we were in his dorm room, sitting on his bed, kissing for the first time.

I knew I had to make things right, to apologize, but all I wanted to do, all I could think to do, was kiss him.

It seemed at that moment his physical body left him—there was no resistance pushing back against me, nothing to keep my kiss from slipping away. But then he gently grabbed my arms as he moved his body closer to mine, his touch so light, more a tickle than a touch. It startled me and I flinched.

I felt warmth all around me. It was as if I was stepping inside his spirit and feeling the inside of his soul.

The moment lasted mere seconds. I leaned back and opened my eyes. His lips were still slightly parted, forming a smile, and his eyes were large and unblinking behind his glasses. He let go of my arms and said nothing, just looking at me.

I felt that all-too familiar tingle in my lower abdomen, that spark of attraction that made my belly burn. And I knew what it meant: I was falling. Hard. First Bobby Fraser. Then Matthew Levine. Now it was Mark Alexander.

It was soon supplanted by my own guilt. I liked Mark. I liked who he was. And I liked who I was when I was with him. He made me want to be like him. Not like me, the person who tries to trap love through sex. This time, I wanted to have sex for a different reason. So whatever it was inside him that made him so pure, so good, I had to have some of it. I thought the only way to get it was to take it with a kiss. And I felt guilt for wanting to steal away some of his purity with a kiss. It was something I surely didn’t come to deserve.