Rise: How a House Built a Family(36)

I waited. Even though I knew it was mean, it was hard for me to want any connection to him after he had scared me so many times. After he had forced me to be the one to decide if he woke up from the latest suicide attempt or not. I was angry. It was impossible to direct anything but sympathy at the ill Adam, but I was plenty angry at the good Adam for abandoning me when I needed him. Sophie knew I didn’t want him to come back to my house. She knew I didn’t want him around my kids. She knew how scared I was. She knew I had a right to be. But she also knew how I had loved him.

“I thought it might help if you come by and talk to Dr. Christe. He changed the diagnosis.” She exhaled loudly through her nose, twice. “Mother says Christe is wrong, that he’s a kook and doesn’t know her boy, but he isn’t wrong, Cara.” That exhale again. Three times.

Time enough for me to wonder if her anger might turn into a twin of her brother’s anger, or his madness.

“It’s schizophrenia,” she said in a rush. “Dr. Christe said schizoaffective, actually, but that just means schizophrenia and bipolar both. I would have supported Mother that the doctor was a kook if I hadn’t seen him myself. I mean, he was always a bit different, you know? But in a charming way, like an eccentric genius, not someone scary. Or that’s what we all thought. Everyone but you, I imagine. You knew more of the truth than any of us. Didn’t you?”

I should say something. I knew I should. But I was caught between an unexpected desire to weep and a need to cheer over the news that other people finally knew there was something really, really, seriously wrong with Adam. In some bizarre way the news validated a hope that this also meant less was wrong with me. But underneath my celebration was a growing realization that this grave news was only the beginning of terrible days ahead. Schizophrenia was a big deal. Adam wasn’t one step away from slap-ass nuts; he was all the way there. Still, I had no words for Sophie. I felt irrationally angry at her, as though she should have known enough to whisper these truths to me before I had promised my life to him.

“I know you aren’t planning to stay with him, that you don’t want to have contact, but Dr. Christe thinks you should know what to expect. He thought it might help you explain it to the kids, and—” She squeaked out a tiny sob. Sniffed. And then cried full-out.

I felt like a real bitch for being mad at her. She didn’t deserve to have this in her life any more than I did. And unlike me she didn’t have the option to wash her hands of the responsibility. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I really, really am. I knew it was bad, and that it had been getting a lot worse over the past couple of years.” My turn to take the deep breaths. “But I had no idea it was that. I didn’t. Maybe I could have done something different to help him if I had known. Maybe I could have convinced him to see the doctor again, to take some medication.” I didn’t need her to tell me I couldn’t have, and she didn’t. Maybe she was mad at me, too. Maybe she thought I should have whispered it to her at some point along the way. We had both been too hopeful, too optimistic, too afraid to see the truth, let alone tell it. Adam and I had been married for two years, and small signs began four months in.

“The main thing is to keep the kids safe. Dr. Christe thinks he can give you enough information to help. Maybe not to predict, but to have a better idea what you’re dealing with. You know, for the long term.”

I didn’t want him to be any part of my long term. I wanted him out of my life for good. Away from my kids. I was all the way done. If this doctor could help me understand how to keep him away, then it would be worth it. But there I was, lying again. The real reason I was agreeing was because Sophie was crying softly on the other end of the line and I felt guilty abandoning her with what still felt like it should be partly my responsibility. “Okay,” I said. “When should I go?”

“I’ll be there first thing tomorrow morning. Come before noon.” Her tears cleared up so quickly I had the uncharitable thought they had been fake. “Don’t bring them with you. The kids. Don’t bring them to the hospital.”

I hadn’t considered even telling them I was going, let alone taking them with me. Jada was only a toddler and the older kids would be at school. But it said a lot that she didn’t want them to hear. It might be useful news, but it wasn’t going to be good news coming from the esteemed mouth of Dr. Christe. “Where,” I asked. “Where do I go?”

“I’ll e-mail you the address.” Silence. We had nothing personal to say to each other, maybe we never had. It was all business these days—very bad business. “Thank you, Cara. It makes me feel better that we’re trying everything we can.”

We hung up without saying good-bye, and I was standing in the doorway of my bedroom, with no idea when I had walked there. I looked at my phone, surprised to see that it was past midnight—officially April Fool’s Day and I officially felt like a fool for agreeing to meet Sophie. I climbed into bed and stared at the black flower of the ceiling fan, wondering what Sophie had meant by “trying everything we can.” To keep me and the kids alive? That must be what she meant. Because what else might we try for? Schizophrenia had no cure. I had read enough about it for a minor character in one of my many unfinished novels to know that much. Only pills to quiet the moods and voices.

Did he hear voices? He’d never said he did, but I didn’t have to think back far to know that he had been listening to shadows for a long time. He was outrageously paranoid, which I had attributed to the drinking, and the pills he sometimes swallowed with vodka. But no, he had been paranoid even when he was sober, and I had been hiding too deep to see it. Many of the times I’d guessed him to be drinking, he had probably been stone-cold sober.