The Lobotomist's Wife(76)

“See, Frank. I told you she seemed unhinged yesterday.” Margaret looked at Frank, and he shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of what the doctor had just told them. Her heart pumped feverishly.

“Mags, either way, I want you to know that I don’t think you should do this.” He turned toward her and took her hands in his tenderly. “I don’t think you need to do this. I think you’re getting better.” He paused and gently caressed her cheek, looking deeply into her eyes. She was reminded of their wedding day—how earnestly he said his vows. “But I’ll stand by whatever you decide. I love you.”

Margaret felt like an hourglass that had been flipped over moments before the last grains of sand drained to the bottom. How could Frank say this now? After months of agonizing, the day was finally here.

“Frank, nothing has changed. We made this decision, and we should stick to it. You agree, right, Doctor?” She turned to Dr. Apter, who stood pacing behind his chair.

“Of course I agree,” he said curtly. “This is the only way for you to truly heal.”

“Frank, go outside.” Margaret nudged her husband forcefully, demonstrating more confidence than she felt. “Everything is going to be all right.”

The doctor walked toward the door and opened it, standing there until Frank hesitantly walked back through and settled himself on the bench outside.

“As I said before, we should be about an hour. Don’t worry. I am an expert at this. I think you will be very pleased with the results.”





Chapter Forty-Eight


Ruth awoke on the floor with a throbbing headache. Where am I? She struggled to stand, disoriented and groggy. The sun was rising. She didn’t remember falling asleep. What happened? Steadying herself with the wall, she made her way to the kitchen to get some ice.

“Mrs. Apter, your face!” Liana stared at her aghast, and Ruth caught her reflection in a cabinet. Her lip split and swollen, her cheek purple. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I think it looks worse than it is. I must’ve taken a fall in the study last night.”

“Come, sit down.” Liana pulled a steak from the freezer and gently escorted Ruth to the breakfast table. The cold made her wince, but it also seemed to sharpen her mind.

She stood and walked to the back door, peering through the panes toward the carriage house. There sat the green Saratoga, the Baxters’ car.

She dropped the steak and ran outside in a panic.

“Frank? Are you Frank Baxter? Is Margaret in there?” She was terrified. Was it possible that Margaret was having the lobotomy right now?

“Are you the doctor’s wife?” He backed away from her slightly.

“Yes, sorry. Forgive my appearance. Is Margaret in there, alone?”

He looked as though he wasn’t sure what to say.

“Mr. Baxter, please, if your wife is in there for a lobotomy, we must stop her.”

“What happened to your face?”

“I think you should go inside now and take your wife home,” she said pointedly.

“But she wants this.”

“No, she wants to feel better. And this isn’t the way.”

He looked anguished. Paralyzed.

Suddenly they heard a scream.

“No!” Ruth was overtaken with fear.

“Maggie!” Frank yelled as he went to open the door. The knob didn’t turn. It was locked.





Chapter Forty-Nine


“Okay, any final thoughts before we begin?” Dr. Apter shut the office door and sat again in his usual chair. For a moment she forgot that today wouldn’t be just another day where they sat and talked. Even though this was what she wanted, a chill ran through her.

“You mean now? You want to do this right now?” Margaret thought there would be more preliminaries before it began. One last chance to make absolutely sure this was the right thing to do. She felt suddenly frantic. Maybe she wasn’t ready. “I have been feeling better for longer spells. You know, less down, less angry.”

Maybe Frank was right. Was she making a mistake? “But I’m still not myself.” Her eyes swept nervously around the room. “It’s just, all of a sudden, it seems like everyone around me is telling me not to do the one thing I know will fix me. And . . . I’m so confused. And I am so sick and tired of feeling confused. But I don’t want to do the wrong thing either.”

“I can see that you are struggling.”

“Dr. Apter, are you certain that lobotomy will cure me?” Margaret looked at the doctor expecting a comforting smile, but his eyes darted around the room and his knee bounced up and down impatiently. She shifted in her seat.

“Yes.” He looked away from her, toward the room next to the kitchen. The area where, she knew, he performed his procedures. “As I’ve told you many times, without lobotomy, your maladies will not simply disappear, Margaret.”

“Yes, I know they won’t. It’s just that . . . I’m scared of making a mistake.” She looked sheepishly at the doctor as she played with the strap on her pocketbook, hoping for reassurance. Instead, she saw what she could only interpret as fury. His pinched mouth struggled to contain his disappointment in her; his furrowed brow silently chastised her disobedience.