The Lobotomist's Wife(34)

“No, not your father. Why would I want a call from the daft old man anyway?”

“Robert.” Ruth gave him a sharp, pleading look. She understood Robert’s disdain, but still, this was her father, her family.

“Sorry. The man I just spoke to is a contemporary of your father’s but, I dare say, he’s even more important than Mr. Bernard Emeraldine.” Ruth tilted her head quizzically and gave Robert a look somewhere between a grimace and a smile. Robert was so dramatic. “Joseph Kennedy,” Robert continued as he lifted his eyebrows, looking to Ruth to share his excitement.

“Joseph Kennedy? From Boston?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“What would he call you for?”

“Well, as it so happens, he has a very confidential assignment for Eddie and me. If I were inclined to sell stories to the papers, this would be a juicy one. Of course, I would never violate the confidentiality of a patient.”

“A patient? Joseph Kennedy is a patient?”

“No, no. He isn’t, but he . . .” Robert paused. “Before I tell you more, you must understand that this is truly top secret.”

“Robert! Have I ever been one to gossip? Anyway, if it’s a medical issue, I have an ethical responsibility to protect the information. So, what is it?”

“Well, you know that Joe Kennedy has a very large family, nine children?” Ruth nodded. Of course she did, the Kennedy clan was very well-known. “But I bet you didn’t know that one of his children is very ill.” Robert raised his eyebrows as if to underscore the significance of the confidential information. “Apparently, his eldest daughter, Rosemary, has always been mentally unstable. Difficult. The family has kept this private—in fact, even when she met the king of England, they managed to hide it.”

“How sad for her, and for them.”

“Yes, well, things have gotten very bad. She has been having periodic convulsions and violent outbursts; she is generally irritable and irrational, and has become impossible for the family to handle. Their doctor suggested she would be a strong candidate for our lobotomy.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. Joe called me himself because he wanted to explain the delicacy of the situation and the urgency of the matter. Afterward, I spoke to the family physician who recommended me, and he gave me more of the medical details of the case. Ruth, she would benefit so greatly from lobotomy, and they want me and Eddie to go to Boston as soon as possible and perform the procedure. Just think of the publicity for us!”

Ruth felt momentarily overcome. Here was a family much like hers, suffering as she and her parents had with Harry, but with the hope of a cure. This was really happening. Her greatest dreams realized. “The publicity isn’t the point,” she said, smiling, “but how wonderful for them. We’re really doing it, offering a new way to heal people. When will you leave?”

“I need to confirm it all with Eddie and clear my calendar, but if we can make the arrangements work, Joe would like us to be there Monday.”

“I am sure I can help shift your schedule here for something so important. This poor girl. This poor family. How marvelous if you can help them all.”

“Not if—that I can help them. And how about that vote of confidence for such a high-profile family to embrace lobotomy? Now remember, no one knows about Rosemary, and Joe doesn’t want anyone—even his wife—to know about the procedure until afterward; so we must keep this between us.”

Ruth was surprised. Why wouldn’t Joseph Kennedy want his wife to know? Surely, she would want to be there with her daughter? Still, it wasn’t her family, and it wasn’t her business. “Of course.”

Ruth had asked her cook, Liana, to prepare lobster thermidor as a celebratory dinner for Robert and Edward. She was planning for the best, even though she feared the worst. They had been in Boston for nearly two weeks—a week longer than planned—with no explanation beyond that Joe had required them to stay. Not every lobotomy was a success. She knew that. They had had some failures, even a few deaths. But, overall, most patients improved and only 5 percent died. She imagined if this had happened to Rosemary, Robert would have told her immediately. Still, she worried. Something must have gone wrong. She paced in the parlor, back and forth in front of the fire, anxiously waiting.

When the men finally walked through the door, she was taken aback at the gray pallor of their skin, their eyes ringed with black circles. They seemed much more exhausted than what she would have expected after a few hours in the car. She braced herself.

“Robert, Edward—what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Robert answered flatly as he ushered Edward into the parlor to sit down. “I need a stiff drink. Eddie?”

Edward nodded.

“I had planned on champagne but—”

“This is not a moment for champagne, I’m afraid,” Edward said wanly.

“Scotch then?”

Both men nodded. Ruth poured them all drinks and then sat beside Robert on the sofa across from Edward. “Please, tell me. What is it?” she asked as softly and gently as she could.

“It didn’t go well.” Robert looked at the floor and Ruth took his hand.

“How badly? Is she—”

“She’s alive,” Edward interjected. “But we didn’t help her. We thought that maybe, after the cerebral swelling went down, we would see a better result, but unfortunately, we did not.”