Summary: Adam escorts Martha to her first therapy session.
Rating: PG-13 (mature themes)
Disclaimer: See Ch 1.
September 9th, 2001
New York, New York
Adam Logan smiled politely at the perky staff that stood behind the reception desk as he made this way toward the elevator. They knew. He knew they knew. That crazy senator’s wife, his crazy mother, was locked up in the foremost tower of their castle. They had seen her break down on television. The whole country had. At least, all those who watched CSPAN on Inaugeration Day had watched, in real time, as the newly inaugerated junior senator from Connecticut had to physically restrain his wife to keep her from going after the President. The clip had been played and replayed in a continuous cycle on CNN and the other major networks for the several days following, until critics and so-called political analysts ran out of things to say about it. From that moment on and all throughout the ensuing trial, she had endured obscene comparisons to Mary Todd Lincoln to the best of her abilities. Adam couldn’t have been more proud of his mother. She was far less than proud of herself. She had lost.
After knocking on the door to Martha Logan’s penthouse suite, Adam waited outside the closed door for nearly three minutes before she was inclined to answer it. When she did, she smiled as if no time had lapsed at all and beckoned him inside. Once inside, the room’s unscrupulously unkempt state gave Adam the impression that he had lost both of his eyes. Or, wished he had. His mother had always been overly obsessed with clealiness and organization around their house, never letting up on either of her children when it came to completing their chores. Glancing around at the sight before him, Adam wondered, for the first time, where his mother had gone. Everyone else who knew her had lost her months ago, but Adam had held onto her for dear life. She was gone now. She was absolutely gone.
He whisked her out the door then, more determined than ever to find her again so she could find herself.
The walls of Dr. David Walsh’s office were adorned with paraphenelia that conveyed the immense success he enjoyed in his profession. Impressed but not convinced, Adam held his mother’s trembling hand as they waited for the doctor’s attention. He put a hand on her knee to steady her shaking leg and looked up at her, failing to mask that his own apprehension equaled hers and then some.
“It’s going to be fine,” Adam told her, hoping that he had sounded as reassuring as he had intended.
She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips.
“The look on your face tells me something different.”
Before he had a chance to defend his expression, Dr. Walsh emerged from his secluded office and suddenly stood before them, all intimidating six feet of him. Adam let his mother go then and left to report back to his father on her status.
It took little time for Dr. Walsh to realize just how uncomfortable his patient was, not only in his office, but in her own skin. She was fidgety, restless, and generally unresponsive to his efforts. Eleven minutes into their first session, he knew nothing but her name and what was written in her file.
Her eyes were glazed over and directed at some random inanimate object in his office. It took him a few tries before he was able to recapture her attention.
“Mrs. Logan, do you think there’s something wrong with you? Something worth fixing?”
She appeared startled by the question, but far from perturbed.
“Did you come here so that I could help you get to the root of your problems?”
She swallowed hard and allowed her eyes to dart aimlessly around the room as she answered another unsteady, “Yes.”
“How do I suppose I’m going to do that?” He asked.
Her cheeks began flush, having been caught so off-guard.
“Let me rephrase,” Dr. Walsh interjected. “How do you suppose I’m going to do that, going to help you, if you don’t utter more than five words to me each session?”
She shifted around in her seat uncomfortably before finally looking him square in the eyes, a sign that she understood.
“Yes, all right.”
Dr. Walsh nodded, pleased with himself for turning her around so quickly and with such minimal effort.
“Good. Let’s get started then, shall we?”
She flashed him a nervous half-smile and nodded her head in assent. When nearly thirty seconds had passed and neither of them had spoken, she looked up at him expectantly.
“What do I…what am I supposed say? Am I just supposed to…start talking?”
“You can do whatever you like. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
“You don’t want to ask me about my childhood or anything? You don’t want to know about my emotionally negligent, promiscuous mother or my cold, alcoholic father?”
“I want to know whatever information you’re willing to part with,” Dr. Walsh replied.
“Too bad my parents were none of those things then, because that’s going to make this whole thing a little less interesting.”
Dr. Walsh smiled and shook his head.
“Could we just…could you just tell me whatever you’ve got in that file there so we can cut right to the chase?” Martha questioned.
Dr. Walsh glanced down at the file and his eyes wandered over the document for a few seconds before he looked back up at her.
“Would you like to tell me a little about Inaugeration Day?”
“I highly doubt there’s anything to it that you didn’t catch on Fox News last January.”
“Well, a person doesn’t often lose control and go after the president on the day their husband is welcomed into the U.S. Senate, Mrs. Logan. That leads me to infer that there is a great deal I didn’t catch on Fox News last January.”
“All right, I’ll grant you that,” Martha conceded reluctantly. “But in order to do this story justice, we’ve got to head on back to the year 1997. You willing to go that extra mile, Doctor?”
Dr. Walsh couldn’t help but smile. This was no ordinary woman sitting before him.
“Willing or not, I’m afraid that’s my job, Mrs. Logan.”
Martha couldn’t help but smile back. Some psychiatrist.
Current Mood: creative
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