The Suicide Gene Page 8
She was exiting the room, holding hands with her mom.
Emma looked back at Agnes’s son, his hand, and he looked at her, her hand. Instantly, they saw each other’s plight. To watch a beloved parent’s mind wither away and not be able to do anything about it broke their hearts. His eyes looked sad for her, and her eyes looked sadly back at him.
It was Attorney Boy.
Chapter 10
Sunday, December 14, 2014
One hundred fifty-one days.
The hospital called Josh to work before noon on Sunday. Emma relished the solitude, happily free to do as she pleased. Honestly, she didn’t know if someone from the hospital or Anna had called. Briefly, she twirled her cell through her fingers, tempted to call and page him, but the temptation passed. She turned the TV off and enjoyed the sheer luxury of the hush.
She had never mastered the art of subconsciously processing sports newscasts while reviewing CAT scans and radiology reports like Josh did, and she didn’t tolerate background slapsticks, net swooshing, or crowd cheering, either—especially when writing articles. Josh was a cycling aficionado, football junkie, hockey lover, golf enthusiast, and baseball fanatic. Sports was his addiction. The TV, his syringe, and ESPN, his drug of choice. It kept his blood pumping, which Emma never minded, until sports became more critical than the air he breathed.
She had loved a good Pittsburgh Steelers game when they first married—lounging in an oversized Roethlisberger jersey, slinging down beers, exercising vocal cords at touchdowns—but he’d ruined even that for her. Refused to miss a game. If the Steelers didn’t make the TV guide, he’d buy a ticket online. Period. Money was no object. Responsibilities, no matter. Once, early on when funds were low, he blew their rent money on a playoff ticket. Emma borrowed the funds from her parents to cover the deficit until payday. He’d missed weddings, christenings, funerals, and left Emma alone on her birthday one weekend to drive to Cincinnati for a game. That’s how it was with Josh: all or nothing. Not much drifting in between.
In his absence that morning, she worked with unremitting determination, knowing it was simply a matter of time before he returned and revved up the DVR—the worst cable option ever invented. In the absence of its clatter, she wallowed in an ear-ringing silence so necessary for her words to flow.
And on Sunday, they flowed. Her dad took her mom to their church’s Christmas party where school carolers entertained parishioners all afternoon, so with no worries about her parents, she spent the entire day in her jammies, completing essential errands that fell to the wayside in the midst of the McKinney quandary and finishing unpleasant chores left dangling like mistletoe above an old, ugly uncle. She finished her journal article The Stigma of ADHD: Social Consequences. Talked to a computer techie about her continuing PC problems, purchased and installed a better firewall, ordered the last of her Christmas gifts, balanced her bank account, and backed-up her iPhone. In between, she washed, dried, and folded five loads of laundry.
Melissa—the baby—prattling in the back of her mind for days, waddled to her frontal lobe. Today her save-the-best-for-last mentality peaked. She became utterly efficient, flying through tasks to land safely for the evening on the McKinneys.
At five-thirty her cell phone rang. She jerked and answered, guardedly. Again, she waited but no one responded to her hello—the third call like that today. For nearly a month now she’d been dealing with an occasional hang-up. Josh was never around when the calls came. He blamed her wireless provider for lousy connections when she mentioned the problem. She wondered briefly if the calls could be from Anna, but then decided against it. Probably wrong numbers.
She rose and circled the room to turn on lights, to see clearly, and then went to the kitchen and put on another pot of coffee. She was a proud, Keurig-free, three-pots-a-day junkie and when the last black drips fell into this pot, she poured steaming coffee into a big mug, grabbed a solid chunk of milk chocolate—Attorney Boy’s brownie had resurrected her addiction—and plopped herself comfortably back on the couch. She opened the McKinney transcripts and fingered the loose-leaf pages, thanking God Sharon had victoriously printed them out despite her computer’s wrath.
She opened Minnie’s file.
Patient: Minnie McKinney
Psychiatrist: Dr. Emma Kerr
Date: December 2, 12 p.m.
****
Dr. Kerr: You’re telling me your grandmother’s sister, on your father’s side, also took her life.
Minnie: Yes, sucks for us. We have it coming from both families. My mother and grandfather on my mother’s side killed themselves, and my great-aunt on my father’s side did, as well.
Dr. Kerr: Tell me about your grandfather. Someone else mentioned him.
Minnie: John Blake. He killed himself March 2, 1981, before we were born. Shot himself—a horrendous tragedy for my mother to get over, as they were close.
Dr. Kerr: Do you think about his—death—often?
Minnie: I suppose I have some residual sadness. I was sorry I never met him, but I’m more of a girl’s girl, so I grieve more over my mother and wonder more about my grandmother Sara’s sister. Plus the fact that he shot himself makes me angry. I suppose that is a manly way to kill yourself but it is selfish, too. My mother found him. I can’t imagine the blood and gore. Unlike my grandmother, Mom never talked about what she saw—thank you, sweet Jesus! Despite being a nurse, self-inflicted stuff nauseates me. Grandma Sara babbled endlessly about her sister. She took several pills, got into the bathtub, and slit her wrists. I believe the cause of death was drowning, but she would have bled out if she hadn’t drowned first. All they had to do was unplug the tub, and the gory details went down the drain. It was a much more considerate method.
Dr. Kerr: You believe this was your grandmother’s identical twin?
Minnie: (Laugh.) You just can’t get past that, can you? Yes, identical twin. I’m one hundred percent certain.
Dr. Kerr: You said she was sixteen years old at the time?
Minnie: Yes, sixteen and very much in love.
Dr. Kerr: With the man who eventually married your grandmother.
Minnie: Correct. Depression runs rampant on both sides of my family. My grandmother tried taking her own life after her sister killed herself but she didn’t succeed. Her sister’s boyfriend, my grandfather, found her. She had slit her wrists also, but he was able to get her to the hospital in time to save her. My grandmother married him two years later and, like they say, the rest is history.
Dr. Kerr: They had three children, a set of twins and your father. Is that accurate?
Minnie: No, they had four. My dad, twin girls, and a baby girl that died, of course.
Dr. Kerr: (Pause.) You said one of the twins, your estranged aunt, passed away of cancer.
Minnie: Yes, breast and ovarian. She died quite a while ago. We had relatively little contact with her but we heard she had the nasty BRCA gene. My aunt Carol has the mutation also. She’s been battling breast cancer for some time now but she’s holding her own.
Dr. Kerr: Have you and your sisters undergone the genetic testing?
Minnie: Yes.
Dr. Kerr: And the results?
Minnie: We have it.
Dr. Kerr: All three of you?
Minnie: No, just Mary and me. Mel drew the lucky chromosome straw. Mary and I are screened annually. Do you think we should have mastectomies?
Dr. Kerr: You should certainly speak with your family physician about that.
Minnie: I want to know what you think. From your standpoint, what would you do?
Dr. Kerr: I can’t answer that honestly.
Minnie: Were you tested for the BRCA gene, Doctor Kerr?
Dr. Kerr: No, I haven’t been.
Minnie: Maybe you should be. Breast cancer has been known to pop up unexpectedly. No one in my family had breast cancer before my aunts. It came out of nowhere. Blindsided us. That’s the reason we didn’t have children.
Dr. Kerr: Excuse me?
Minnie: Mary and I. We didn’t want to pass the BRCA gene on. So, no kids. My ex and I intended on adopting a child. We were on the Catholic Services adoption list when we separated. They took our names off the list, of course. But I’m fine with it now. I’m close to Mel’s kids. I love that little Ruby. She and her two brothers keep our family hopping. (Laugh.)
****
So Melanie had dodged the gene mutation. Fate had tossed the BRCA dart square in the bull’s-eye for each twin but off the board for Melanie. One more stone to tip the fatherhood scale toward Sam.
She checked her watch, glad Josh’s true whereabouts remained unclear. If he had been there, she may have ignored confidentiality and introduced him to Minnie, another woman who skirted parenthood due to genes, albeit a not-so-sane woman.
However, this concept—not having children because of a high-risk cancer factor—did not seem so insane. Whether the suicide gene existed or not was inconsequential; science confirmed the BRCA gene. Perhaps that’s what Mary meant. Just “wait it out” and the cancer would kill you. If a woman with the BRCA gene beat the odds and lived until the age of eighty, the probability of her developing breast cancer remained extremely high even then.
Lucky Mel.
Not so lucky twins. Deep within them hid the BRCA gene, the suicide gene, and the ludicrous family-proclaimed, left-handed, identical-twin gene. Emma considered the threesome a yes-maybe-absolutely not concept. Yes, there is a BCRA gene. Maybe there is a suicide gene, and absolutely not, there is no identical-twin gene.
She looked down at the pen in her hand, took a deep breath, and opened Matt’s file.
Patient: Matt McKinney
Psychiatrist: Dr. Emma Kerr
Date: December 10, 5 p.m.
****
Dr. Kerr: What do you believe?
Matt: That there is no identical-twin gene. The studies are clear.
Dr. Kerr: You’re correct.
Matt: Well, I know that and you know that, but you’re going to have a hard time convincing Mary and Minnie of that. They insist all the twins in our family were identical.
Dr. Kerr: You disagree with them then.
Matt: Well, they looked an awful lot alike. I’ll give them that. Older relatives say they couldn’t tell them apart and, to me, their pictures look the same, but again, there is no gene.
Dr. Kerr: In regard to your grandmother and her sister, Mary said both women suffered from depression.
Matt: (Laugh.) Is that how Mary put it?
Dr. Kerr: Yes, is there something else I should know about them?
Matt: Not really.
Dr. Kerr: Do you believe depression runs in your family?
Matt: Well, it definitely ran on my mother’s side. Both my mother and her father suffered from depression. I’m not sure anyone informed you, but her father shot himself. She found him.
Dr. Kerr: Yes, someone did.
Matt: A parent committing suicide does a number on a child no matter what their age. The grieving can be subtle but lifelong. I don’t ever remember my mother as happy. She suffered from depression but remained functional for her children. Well, for as long as her strength allowed. Life bore down hard on her. She endured much. Her dad’s suicide, the baby’s death, and falling in love with a McKinney.
Dr. Kerr: Does depression run on the McKinney side also?
Matt: (Pause.) Yes, depression, erratic behavior, jealousy, and downright evil. The McKinneys are wickedly wacky—my father, my grandmother, my sisters, hell, even me. You’re a smart girl. I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. My entire immediate family flaunted their mental health issues for the entire world to see.
Dr. Kerr: But not your mother.
Matt: Oh no, not her. She tried to conceal her misery, not flaunt it. She was unhappy but far from crazy. She was just unlucky.
Dr. Kerr: Unlucky?
Matt: Fell in love with the wrong guy. I’m sure you wouldn’t understand that, Doctor Kerr.
Dr. Kerr: (Silence.)
Matt: When she lost the baby, the marriage crumbled. Her heart ached for her little girl—all her life.
Dr. Kerr: Do you feel the loss of the baby instigated her death?
Matt: I know it did.
Dr. Kerr: When did the baby die?
Matt: Between Melanie and me.
Dr. Kerr: Your sisters weren’t clear on an exact date. Do you know?
Matt: (Pause.) What I’m clear on is the loss of the baby inspired a depression in my mother so deep and dark it remained with her for years. Before she died, she made me promise to watch over my little sister. I should have known something was wrong at the time, but I was a selfish teenager. You don’t think about your mother’s mortality when you’re young.
Dr. Kerr: Children seldom do.
Matt: I should have paid more attention to her. You don’t realize how much you love someone until they’re gone.
Dr. Kerr: Looking after your mother was not your responsibility. Certainly you know you are not to blame for her death?
Matt: (Pause.) I do know that. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it.
Dr. Kerr: You’re right, Matt. In the end, each of us is responsible for our own actions, no one else.
Matt: (Silence.)
Dr. Kerr: Were you close to your father’s side of the family at all?
Matt: I idolized my grandfather. He taught me to fish, play ball. How to hammer a nail without bludgeoning a finger. He was a kind person but unlucky like my mother. Married my crazy Grandma Sara. The twins and my father inherited the Scully demeanor.
Dr. Kerr: Sara Scully? Affiliated with Scully’s Winery in Westfield, New York?
Matt: Yes, and from whence the McKinney money came. My grandparents took the winery over. Sara bled the business dry. My grandfather couldn’t salvage it, although he tried. He was stoic but not astute enough to handle the McKinney women. They overran him. Put him in his grave. Another reason on a long list of why I carry such disdain for them.
Dr. Kerr: Except Mel.
Matt: Of course. Mel doesn’t belong in the same category as them. Nor did my estranged aunt Coleen, who my great-grandmother raised. Coleen was quite a woman.
Dr. Kerr: You’ve mentioned her before.
Matt: I didn’t know her well but will never forget her. The few times our paths crossed she was nice. I remember wishing my grandmother kept her and sent Carol away.
Dr. Kerr: One twin being raised apart from another twin is odd.
Matt: My great-grandfather passed away at a young age, and when I was little I thought our aunt Coleen went to live with her grandmother to keep her company.
Dr. Kerr: And now?
Matt: Now I’m not sure what to believe. Maybe my grandmother couldn’t handle all three kids—Dad, Carol and Coleen—so she asked her mother to take Coleen. I believe being raised in a different household made all the difference for her. She grew to be kind, unlike her relatives. Unfortunately, she died relatively young. What’s that saying? Those the gods love die young?
Dr. Kerr: The BRCA gene, correct?
Matt: That was the rumor.
****
Emma closed the file.
How strange his remark. The comment could have been innocent, that Emma wouldn’t understand being married to the wrong guy, but sometimes she felt the McKinneys knew more about her than she knew about them.
She considered if she should more closely evaluate Matt, his relationship with his mother or his emotional stability. He didn’t appear to exhibit erratic behavior. He seemed a little radical, yes, but relatively sane. Not liking your siblings didn’t make you crazy.
For reasons she could not identify, her feelings for Mathew McKinney teetered between fear and intrigue. A few times goose bumps crawled over her skin at the sight of him, and other times she relaxed in his company. He was different, complicated. His relationship with his sisters varied beyond measure. What made him detest the twins?
“That is the million-dollar qu
estion,” she whispered in the silent house.
She decided to take the time to do what she had ached to do for weeks: devise a McKinney timeline. She pulled their family history questionnaires, transcripts, and the family tree she had created, and then she considered Mel’s and Matt’s birthdays. She counted the months of the year on her fingers, forward and backward, to estimate when Renee gave birth to Melissa. She narrowed the time period down to between ten months after Matt’s birthday and ten months before Mel’s.
She opened her laptop, selected the Word icon, and hoped no virus surfaced. The screen flickered but held. She inserted a jump drive in the side of the computer to copy any new files she created—just in case it quit again. Then she opened a new document, labelled it McKinney Dates, and typed family events chronologically:
December 22, 1979 - Renee and Mathew married
March 10, 1982 - Mary and Minnie born
August 17, 1983 - Matt born
June of 1984 thru
August 1986- Melissa born
March 17, 1986- Renee and Sam seen together
August 28, 1987- Mel born
May 5, 1996- Renee divorces Mathew
January 30, 1997- Renee marries Sam
December 22, 1997- Renee commits suicide
September 15, 2011- Mathew Senior dies
How odd that Renee committed suicide exactly eighteen years to the day after she married Mathew McKinney. Did she still love him like Mary said? Then why marry Sam?
Renee McKinney certainly wouldn’t be the first woman who left a man she was in love with but knew was no good for her and married one who was. Emma had checked Sam Winger out through an extensive online search and confirmed his impeccable character: Boston College graduate, Ph.D., philanthropist, good-looking, and a college professor since the age of twenty-nine. He still taught at a Georgian university. More or less perfect.
Yet, a perfect profile could not make a woman love you. Emma understood a little about that.
She sat up, leaned forward, reached inside her briefcase, unzipping the inside pocket, and removed the concealed, black folder. She sorted its contents, the pictures of the McKinney family, removed the photos of both Mathews, Senior and Junior, and lay them side by side in front of her to study their attributes.