The Suicide Gene Page 6
“No, but there’s something else.” Sharon dug inside. “A yogurt fruit cup.”
“Pass,” Emma said. “Eat your heart out.”
“Well, whoever she is, she’ll be sorry when she gets our bagels.” Sharon chuckled victoriously. “I even forgot to ask for cream cheese with Attorney Boy flustering me.”
“Well, I for one am glad he distracted you. What kind of scone is it? Chocolate by chance?”
“No, I’m not sure what it is,” Sharon said, peeking past the wrapper and sniffing. “Orange flavored I think.”
“Cranberry orange.”
The voice from the doorway jarred them so much that Emma spit a mouth full of brownie across the room, and Sharon dropped her coffee on Emma’s desk. Emma jumped up but it was too late. Coffee cascaded onto her new, size-two black skirt. She hunched her shoulders and helplessly waited for the hot brew to filter through her skirt, anticipating its sting.
The dark figure rushed toward her, pulling paper napkins from the CoffeeHut bag he held. Sharon removed some from her bag and dabbed Emma’s skirt. Although he was close enough to do the same, he grinned and dropped his napkins on the desk to sop up some of the coffee. They were losing the battle, so Sharon shrieked and ran for towels.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said, laughing.
“Yeah, well thanks. Thanks a lot. I’m glad you find this amusing.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s my brownie you just—.” He looked across the room to where Emma’s brownie chunk lay on the floor, “disposed of.”
She felt a blushing rush rise from her tight collar to her face and wondered for one fleeting second if he heard Sharon call him Attorney Boy. The urge to slither down into her chair passed only because of scalding coffee against her skin. She was relieved when Sharon hurried in with paper towels. The three of them worked together to clear the desk and dam the coffee. They tossed towels in the trash and exchanged names in an awkward fashion that weakened their nervous chuckles.
Sharon broke the uncomfortable silence by saying, “I hope you like plain bagels.” A heartier laugh surfaced. Then the front door chimes rang, and both Sharon and Attorney Boy tossed Emma a wide-eyed, oh-no stare.
“My client,” Emma said.
“Oh gosh, Charlie Brown showed,” Sharon whispered, then hurried away.
“I’m so sorry.” Giff smiled, his straight, white teeth peeking behind parted lips. “I’ll leave your order with your secretary.”
Then he scrunched his eyebrows and mouthed, “Charlie Brown? Really?”
She shook her head but almost laughed. He backed out of the room, and she watched him until he was completely out of sight. Oh my goodness, he is nice looking. Then she prepared as hurriedly as she could to meet the infamous Charlie Brown.
Chapter 8
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
One hundred sixty-two days.
When she was young, she begged her parents to adopt another little girl. Ben Kerr worked as a CPA for an accounting firm, and Heidi worked four ten-hour days as a case worker at the welfare office. Both jobs required overtime. Emma spent hours home alone.
Even worse, her “nobody” status at school made her life lonelier. She had Ally, but she was nobody, too. They didn’t get invited to many parties, and dances were out of the question. She was never asked to one. Twice she and Ally dressed up and went with a few other misfit girls. Once they had fun. The other time kids called them gay and fired spit balls at them. One pimply-faced boy at her senior prom asked her to dance. She said no. She wouldn’t embarrass herself by dancing with another nerd. Preferred to let the gay rumors fly.
Because of substantial insecurities she sidestepped most clubs, and threw herself into reading instead. It was her saving grace and what led her to psychiatry.
She read every psychology book she could get her hands on during high school. Became passionate about human behavior. Signed up for college classes and left Mercyhurst Preparatory High School early twice a week, walking down the big hill with Ally to attend the adjoining Mercyhurst University. By the time she graduated high school as the salutatorian of 300 students—Ally ranked first, of course—thirty college credits, all As, went with her.
They entered the University of Pittsburgh in the summer with sophomore status, took classes the next summer, and both graduated in two years. Emma was just shy of her twentieth birthday. Four years later, Ally and Emma accepted University of Pittsburgh Medical Center residencies in Erie, Ally working with Doctor William Johannes, Emma with Doctor Cameron. Both signed contracts with respective Doctors before completing their residency program. Now, Emma was on her own.
The words of an old song her mom loved echoed through her head. Alone again, naturally.
Emma’s practice was two blocks from Ally’s, on West Eighth Street, in a four-block span that residents often referred to as Mental Health Alley. Interspersed throughout were other supportive and professional service providers, a few attorneys—including the infamous Attorney Johnson—and a well-placed CoffeeHut. What she wouldn’t give to own stock in those beans.
She closed Charles Brown’s file and picked up the McKinney case. Charlie Brown was easily treated. An agoraphobic prone to panic attacks, he hated leaving home. Didn’t like crowds. Wouldn’t dare step foot in an elevator and preferred roaming the streets at night while the world slept. She started him on an anti-anxiety medicine and was searching for a good cognitive behavioral therapist to teach him techniques to overcome his phobias. She would continue monitoring his medication, but delivering the therapy herself was only temporary.
She wished for such simplicity in the McKinney cases.
For Emma, there were two advantages of remaining in Mental Health Alley—the CoffeeHut and Ally. She always needed her morning coffee fix, but more importantly, her best friend was only a stone’s throw away. If she needed help with a client, and she had in the past, she would call and Ally would come.
She reminded herself of her promise to gather the McKinney transcriptions and take them to Ally. She’d labor through them a little longer and then hand them off to her, for an unbiased opinion.
She opened Mary’s file to her Post-it marked “twins” and glanced outside her window. Gray puffs of clouds hung in the air but no snow fell.
Her mind wandered briefly. Thanksgiving had sailed by without ordeal. Her dad was lightening up on the liquor. Her mom, safe. She shopped on Black Friday with Ally, and Josh had spent a lot of “patient” time at the hospital since their semi-normal turkey dinner. She wondered if that was good or bad.
No negative rationalizing. Don’t speculate the worst. She didn’t want to be that wife.
She forced herself back to reading.
Patient: Mary McKinney
Psychiatrist: Dr. Emma Kerr
Date: November 25, 2014 11 a.m.
****
Mary: All the girls on my father’s side of the family are twins.
Dr. Kerr: What about Melanie?
Mary: Correction. All the girls on my father’s side of the family are twins except Mel.
Dr. Kerr: Interesting.
Mary: We are or were all left-handed, too.
Dr. Kerr: All twins? All left-handed?
Mary: Identical twins.
Dr. Kerr: Identical?
Mary: You didn’t do your homework, did you?
Dr. Kerr: (Pause.) Well, I am aware your aunt Carol was also a twin. She had a twin, Coleen.
Mary: If you were good, you’d know all the girls in my father’s family are born early but only the twins survive. If they are born alone, they die.
Dr. Kerr: Except for Melanie?
Mary: Except Mel.
Dr. Kerr: All the surviving females were twins.
Mary: Yep—identical.
Dr. Kerr: Identical twins don’t run in families.
Mary: Somebody should have told my family that.
Dr. Kerr: You can have multiple fraternal twins in a family but having identical twins is on
ly coincidental. There is no “identical twin” gene, so to speak.
Mary: (Laugh.) You’re cracking me up.
Dr. Kerr: Some women are prone to producing more than one egg during a cycle, which can be the reason some families are more likely to have multiple fraternal twins, but there is no genetic connection to the splitting of an egg into identical twins.
Mary: (Laugh.) Cycle shmycle, you doctors are all alike. You read too much.
Dr. Kerr: This is a matter of genetics.
Mary: Want me to blow your mind?
Dr. Kerr: (Silence.)
Mary: My father’s mother was an identical twin, too. Still want to believe it’s not genetic?
Dr. Kerr: Mary, if that were true, that would be one in several billion chances.
Mary: (Laugh.) You think I am lying? That’s hilarious.
Dr. Kerr: Absolutely not. I’m sure you aren’t lying. A father can pass down the fraternal twin genetics to his daughters. Sometimes fraternal twins have been mistaken for identical twins.
Mary: Nope. Not in our family. We girls are all born identical. Except of course for the single ones. And they die.
Dr. Kerr: So you are saying you believe, in addition to you and Minnie, your aunt and grandmother both had identical twins?
Mary: Yep. I think someone should explore our family history. Hey, why don’t you study us? You can add it to your repertoire—the study of a family with genetic identical twins. You could be famous.
****
Once many years ago, Emma and Ally became ill with the same exact symptoms within twenty-four hours of each other. Despite being diagnosed as viral, Ally’s doctor prescribed an antibiotic, and she recovered in two days. Emma’s doctor stuck to his principles and didn’t prescribe medicine for her because as the books all state: antibiotics only cure bacterial, not viral, infections. Three weeks later Emma was still sick and getting worse. Her doctor conceded. He gave her amoxicillin and two days later she recovered.
Afterward her father uttered the same words as Mary: Doctors read too much. He said if her doctor had gotten his nose out of his book and listened to them explain how Ally recovered with an antibiotic, he’d have called the pharmacy earlier and saved them three weeks of hell.
She recalled that incident often in medical school. Because of it, she continually tried to thread practicality with theory. That practice set her apart from other students. She hesitated to grab a book diagnosis based on a client’s symptoms or traits. She looked at the individual case—allowing practical psychiatry to trump theoretical psychiatry at times.
Still, this was absurd. This was genetics. Identical twins did not run in families. Mary and Minnie were obviously identical, but at minimum, one of the other two McKinney twin sets had to be fraternal.
She skipped to a Post-it in Minnie’s session:
Patient: Minnie McKinney
Psychiatrist: Dr. Emma Kerr
Date: November 25, 2014 12 p.m.
****
Dr. Kerr: Someone else mentioned the identical twins phenomenon in your family. Suggested there were three sets.
Minnie: Only three? (Laugh.) Mary knows more about that.
Dr. Kerr: You understand three sets of identical twins in one family is next to impossible?
Minnie: I know what you’re going to say.
Dr. Kerr: At least one other set must have been fraternal.
Minnie: That’s what I thought you would say. But no, we are all identical.
Dr. Kerr: Research concludes, clearly, that is impossible.
Minnie: Practically impossible, and you’re not the first person to tell us that.
Dr. Kerr: Other doctors have told you the same?
Minnie: Yes. A university in Virginia once sent a professor to interview us. The University of Minnesota contacted us, too. Dad thought there might be some money if he let them study us. Mom negated that. Quickly. It came up after she met Sam. Sam understood studies and research. He taught college. Did you know Hemingway never went to any university or college?
Dr. Kerr: Yes, I knew he didn’t attend college. Did anyone from either university say what they wanted to analyze?
Minnie: His father, brother, sister, and granddaughter all took their own lives. And no one is sure what Gig died of. Natural causes, baloney.
Dr. Kerr: The universities, Minnie, what were they going to study?
Minnie: What’s that? Oh, the twin thing. Yes, they were going to investigate the identical twins in our family. Said it would be a chance in a million, maybe even a billion, that we’d have so many sets. (Laugh.) We should have played the lottery!
****
“Two sets had to be fraternal,” she said out loud, needing convincing herself.
She googled the University of Minnesota’s ongoing study of twins separated at birth and raised in different environments. The research evaluated their similar physical and psychological characteristics despite their varied socio-economic influences but did not involve the possible identification of an identical twin gene. The analysis revolved solely around pinpointing individual genes causing similar traits in twins reared apart.
Another McKinney discussed that same study, but she labored over who and in which session. They were running together. She pushed her chair back. Was that yesterday? Seemed much longer than a day ago. She remembered. Mary. The topic was embedded in a bizarre St. Patrick’s Day story.
She worked fast, passing several Post-its to find the one marked “St. Pat’s.” Too much information gone by with the flick of the wrist, she thought. Picking and choosing what to scrutinize was key. She began reading.
Patient: Mary McKinney
Psychiatrist: Dr. Emma Kerr
Date: December 2, 2014 10 a.m.
****
Mary: My father was furious when my mother said no to the study. It was the one time she stuck to her guns. Dad took her refusal out on Matt. Gave him a whipping.
Dr. Kerr: Matt?
Mary: Yes, Matt said we shouldn’t let any university nose around our family. He was sticking up for Mom. They were close. She had a soft spot for him and him for her.
Dr. Kerr: So the study never happened?
Mary: No, and Dad and Matt had a big argument. But that spat was nothing compared to the one they had a few years later.
Dr. Kerr: Later? Over the study?
Mary: Well, yes, at least the row started over the study. It happened after my mother passed away. St. Patrick’s Day. Of course, Dad was drinking. He said he was going to phone that university to see if they were still interested in studying our family—because it was his family, not Mom’s. He said she should’ve minded her own business. Then he called her terrible names for not allowing the college to come. When he didn’t get a rise out of any of us, he started needling Matt.
Dr. Kerr: About?
Mary: He accused him of talking Mom out of allowing the university to interview us. Matt insisted, again, he wasn’t the culprit. Then the whole day turned ugly.
Dr. Kerr: How?
Mary: Matt said a friend of Mom’s who worked at a university told her those studies were cumbersome. I’ll never forget it. (Pause.) Dad asked what friend. Matt smiled like he’d been waiting for that question all his life. He said “Sam Winger,” and all hell broke loose. Dad punched him.
Dr. Kerr: Your father punched Matt?
Mary: He didn’t land it square. Matt leaned back and Dad only grazed him, but Matt had a pink streak on the side of his face for a few days.
Dr. Kerr: How did Matt react?
Mary: (Laugh.) Matt shot him a you-missed smile, and Dad grabbed him by the collar and all but ripped his shirt off. He slammed him down on the kitchen table—food flew from ceiling to floor—and when Matt got up my dad swung at him a second time. Matt ducked and Dad missed completely. We girls jumped up and Matt scrambled to the other side of the table. Dad went berserk. Screaming and hollering. Never saw him that mad. He said if Matt ever mentioned Sam Winger again, he’d kill him.
Dr. Kerr: Sam Winger?
Mary: (Laugh.) You have so much catching up to do. Yes, Sam Winger. My mother’s second husband. My father hated him, and Matt brought his name up on March 17th. He did it on purpose. I’m sure.
Dr. Kerr: On St. Patrick’s Day?
Mary: Yes, for once my dad made us dinner—Irish stew, corned beef and cabbage—he was a good cook when he wanted to be. It was one of the few times in my life I remember my father trying to create a family atmosphere. The Irish get sentimental after they tip a whiskey or two. But then, as usual, Matt ruined it.
Dr. Kerr: By mentioning Sam?
Mary: Yes, keep up. By mentioning Sam on March 17th. That was the absolute wrong day.
Dr. Kerr: Why the wrong day?
Mary: Because it reminded Dad of Mom’s infidelity. Unequivocally, the reason my brother brought it up. To flaunt her unfaithfulness in my father’s face. He’s so damn smart—was back then, too. His IQ is 153. Remember?
Dr. Kerr: You believe your mother had an affair with Sam Winger?
Mary: Yes, long before my parents were separated and divorced. At least that was the rumor. Mom said they were only friends, of course. But a big-mouthed neighbor leaked it to Dad that Mom met Sam at a neighborhood St. Patrick’s Day party one year when Dad was out of town driving. He told my dad they were pretty chummy—got into some deep philosophical conversation. Dad became insanely jealous.
Dr. Kerr: Did the neighbor tell you this, too?
Mary: No, Dad told us the story one hot summer night in a drunken stupor after Mom died. He blabbered on about Mom like an idiot sometimes when he drank. I don’t think he ever stopped loving her. And despite the fact Mom ended up marrying Sam the year before she died, I don’t think she ever stopped loving my dad either.
Dr. Kerr: Your father was a truck driver—on the road for a while—correct?
Mary: Yes. Owned a small trucking company. Made quite a bit of money back then but was gone for long periods of time. I think you see the picture. Supposedly, my mom met Sam when Dad was gone. Minnie and I were very little. It may have been 1986. He moved into the neighborhood the year before.