Dovetail: A Novel(15)

When Joe woke, the words were still ringing in his ears, and his heart raced as if he’d faced real danger. At Trendale, he’d had discussions about this particular dream, with Dr. Jensen suggesting that he had the power to change the outcome.

“This is your mind creating these images, Joe. Next time, you can be ready for this guy. You know when he’s going to knock you down. Turn before that happens, and stand up.” Dr. Jensen chuckled. “At least make it a fair fight.”

Everything the doctor had said made sense, but nothing he suggested ever worked. Some part of Joe wondered if he really was mentally ill, destined to have these awful dreams dog him for the rest of his life. He wasn’t sure his heart could take it.

Lying in bed, Joe mentally re-created the good parts of the experience, remembering the sight of the woman’s hands and the back of her neck. Her thick upswept hair. And the way she played the piano with such passion, her hands running over the keys, her right knee bobbing in time.

He could vividly recall the urgent feeling of being drawn to her side, closer and closer. An emotion had overwhelmed him, and even now, out of the dream, it stayed with him. Joe had never been in love, so he couldn’t speak to that, but longing? He knew longing, knew it well, and sitting on that piano bench, he’d felt the ache of it all the way through.

As he fell back asleep, the woman was still on his mind. He’d been so close, so very close. If only he could have seen her face.





CHAPTER EIGHT





1983


As promised, Pearl arrived at the house at nine the next morning. This time she was alone. Joe watched as she pulled up the circular drive in the old sedan, accidentally driving onto the lawn a few times before correcting and veering back onto the pavement.

By that point, Joe had already showered, eaten some breakfast, and made some phone calls—initially to his father and then to his friend Wayne. After that, he’d tried a few other friends. No one could help him.

He’d been hoping his father would drive to Pullman to pick him up, or at the very least, tell him he was welcome to come back home again. Instead, his father informed him that neither was going to happen. “I talked to Dr. Jensen this morning,” his dad said in a brisk manner. “Since your condition hasn’t responded to medication, he thinks you’d be an excellent candidate for electroconvulsive therapy. They’ve had terrific results on patients who—”

“Stop right there,” Joe said. “Electroshock therapy? No, no way. Not happening. Absolutely not.”

“Joe,” his father said. “I had my doubts too at first until it was explained to me. Believe me, Dr. Jensen has your best interests at heart. It’s an extreme therapy, but yours is an extreme case. You’ve said yourself that none of the talk therapy or medication made a bit of difference. I’ll come up today and drive you back to Trendale, and Dr. Jensen can explain it to you himself.”

Joe knew better than that. Once he was inside the facility, there would be no turning back. He still remembered the feeling of being locked up, unable to leave. Having his long-lost grandmother show up was a lucky break. Nothing like that was likely to happen again.

“How about I come home and get some sort of outpatient treatment?” he said. “There has to be a doctor in the area who will see me.”

“I’m sure there is.” His father sighed. “But I think we’re beyond outpatient, don’t you?” His father had a habit of voicing his opinion as a question. It was damn annoying.

“I don’t feel like I’m beyond anything,” Joe argued. “Being in my own home will provide me with the security and family support I didn’t have at Trendale.” He’d picked up some of the staff lingo and now used it to his advantage, lobbing it back as a defense.

The conversation went back and forth then, with Joe downplaying his nighttime terrors and making a case for coming home to deal with his problems and his father insisting he needed to be back at Trendale getting professional help. “It’s the only way.”

Finally, Joe said, “Are you saying I absolutely can’t come home?”

“I’m saying you can’t come home yet.” The emphasis on the last word was exaggerated. “Not until you finish your treatment plan at Trendale.”

What his father didn’t seem to understand was that the treatment plan was nothing official. Dr. Jensen had been stymied by Joe’s issues and now was just making stabs in the dark. The doctor had messed around in Joe’s head long enough. Joe wasn’t going to be his lab rat anymore. “I won’t be doing that.”

“Then I’m sorry, son, you can’t come home. It’s not just about you and me. I have Linda and your mother to think about.”

“What about them?”

“When you cry out at night, it terrifies them, and I find it disturbing as well. You’ve never heard it, so you’ll have to trust me on this. The voice doesn’t sound like you.”

Joe said, “I can’t control that. You know I’d never hurt Linda or Mom. The idea is ridiculous.” He got his father to agree that Joe himself was not violent, but still, he could tell that wouldn’t sway him.

His dad said, “Nothing else has worked. The electroconvulsive therapy is worth a try. It could be the answer.”