NOTE: This is an excerpt from "Saint Jude" by Dawn DeAnna Wilson (
http://www.dawndeannawilson.com/) . This book is
on sale on Kindle for 99 cents only though the end of March. For information, click on the links at right.
In this scene, Taylor, the main character, meets the new therapist, Dalton. Dalton challenges the residents with his avant garde techcniques...
CHAPTER 18
We tactfully decided that the newcomer, whoever he was, would have to know, simply and succinctly, that we were in charge. We’d explain to him that the rules had been changed. That we were allowed to watch R-rated movies and stay up past ten on school nights. After all, as Reno said, we outnumbered him and besides, we were all crazy. We were all like prisoners. We could riot any minute. Big Mama, we felt, could care less about what we did as long as we left her alone.
But who knew we would get Dalton?
I had started attending school for half days at a time. Other than a few strange stares here and there, I managed quite well. Whenever I started feeling shaky, I would take a Klonopin, and it would ease the feelings, thought leaving me somewhat doped up in the process.
Big Mama had dropped me off at Brick House and told me that she had to go grocery shopping.
“You’re leaving me alone in the house?”
“No, Dalton’s there.”
“Who’s Dalton?”
“The new therapist.”
I walked into Brick House and already I could tell things were different. The air had a thick, salty taste to it, like it does when you go to the beach. He was so obvious I almost didn’t notice him. He was sprawled on the couch in such a massive tangle of arms and legs that I couldn’t see his face for his forearm stretched across his eyes.
“Excuse me, are you—“
A loud grumble came in return. He was wearing what would have been a right smart outfit, if he had his Oxford shirttail tucked in and his slacks had not been in such a wrinkled disarray. He wore white socks, one of which had a hole in it, and his big toe, peered out at its new surroundings from his Birkenstocks.
“I’m Taylor.”
He started to reply, but paused. He moved his forearm and a pair of green, penetrating eyes shone through.
“You’re the bipolar patient.”
“Yes.”
“I read your file. Hell of a file.”
I had a feeling Big Daddy had been less than flattering.
“You must be Dalton---“
“Shhhhhhhh.” He drew it out long and hissy, like a snake. “I just got through driving thirteen hours straight from the coast. I got in a few hours ago and I need some rest before I take a machine gun and go up and down the street nailing people. Understand?”
I didn’t know what to say. Machine gun? Nailing people? This guy was crazier than we were.
“Duck.”
“What?” I asked.
“Duck.” He turned and rolled on his side to face me.
He had shoulder-length hair that was curly in the back and his chin sported a well-trimmed sandy brown beard. I checked his left hand. He wasn’t married. But then, I didn’t think they’d send us a married one.
“Taylor,” he continued, “I have been living in a small town on the Outer Banks outside of another small town named Duck. Ever heard of it?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ve been all around the world, mind you, and I have never tasted fried clams like this anywhere. The best. Of course, there’s nothing else around except some mom and pop stores with the prices hiked so high it’s ridiculous. Know how much they wanted for a pack of tampons?”
My eyebrows raised.
“Well, not for me, of course. For my girlfriend. Now run along or do your homework or watch TV---no, don’t watch TV because I’m going to take a nap.”
“Your bedroom’s in back. Why don’t you sleep there?”
“Because I don’t think I have the strength to make it down the hall,” he said. Then I notice his suitcases are piled in the living room.
I headed upstairs to finish some algebra so I would have free time to play my guitar. He was snoring before I made it up the staircase.
We had pizza that night even though it wasn’t pizza night. A first sign that Big Daddy was long gone. Dalton kept to himself, unloading his suitcases after a lengthy afternoon nap. No one said anything to him., It was like having a foreign exchange student in your house, and you’re so hesitant because you don’t know about their customers or what they eat or drink, and you’re so worried about offending them you just sit and stare.
He drank coffee with his pizza. Straight and black. He picked away at the mushrooms and said he didn’t want to eat anything that was a fungus. He carefully avoided looking anyone in the eye.
I knew there had been a mistake. This guy was actually an escaped convict who posed as a therapist. Or a con man. Or even worse…
He could actually be a psychologist.
“What’s your last name?” Reno asked.
“You don’t want to know,” he said, sipping his coffee. “West. Dalton West. Sounds like a bad Western movie actor.” He shook his head.
“The last therapist we had,” Blaine interjected, “We called Big daddy Warbucks. Mind if we call you Big Daddy?”
“Mind if I call you jackass?”
There was a strained silence. Big Daddy rarely cussed.
“We freak you out, don’t we?” Reno was geared up to play a mind game with him.
“Let me tell you something,” he started, “I had a patient who took a chainsaw and cut off his leg. To the waist.”
Even Reno fell silent.
“Anyway,” Dalton talked with his mouth full, “this same guy could cook an awesome bunch of fried clams.”
“I certainly hope you won’t go around telling others what I’m doing at Brick House.”
“Reno,” he cave a crooked half-smile, “don’t flatter yourself. No one wants to hear your story that bad. Except me, of course, and that’s mainly because they’re paying me.”
That’s all the material we needed for our minds to fill a thousand Castaway meetings. He was on suspension because he’d done it with a patient and the church board just didn’t know about it. He was kicked out of Duck for dealing drugs illegally to patients. He had no degree and faked everything on his resume.
He cleared his place and headed back toward his room.
“Where are you going?” Blaine asked.
“I’m going to finish unpacking.”
“But we have group time after supper.”
“I thought therapy sessions were in the the afternoons.”
“They are. You skipped today’s.”
“Oops. Hope no one had a crisis.” Dalton was unfazed.
“These group times are daily temperature readings to see how we function as a community,” said Blaine. We snicker because we know he’s imitating Big Daddy. “Here at Saint Jude, we view ourselves as a family, and this is our chance to work out our problems and frustrations with each other before we get out of control.”
Dalton paused for a minute. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling as if he were doing some deep thinking.
“Right,” he said. “Everyone gather in the living room.”
We gathered in our usual space, and we found that he preferred the couch to Big Daddy’s recliner. That meant two of us, Reno and I, had to share the recliner while he sprawled over the couch.
“Okay, group time. Everybody know each other’s name?”
“Yes.” Our reply was distant and whitewashed.
“Does anybody have a major crisis?”
“I failed an algebra quiz,” Isaac said.
“Crisis man, I said crisis. You haven’t set your hair on fire or anything like that?”
“No.”
“Then don’t complain.”
“I don’t like your attitude,” Reno said.
“Why? Because I won’t coddle you like Richie Rich or Big Warbucks or whatever the hell you called him? I’ve got news for you. In the real world, people couldn’t care less if you’re mentally ill. The only thing they care about is how you are able to function, how you are able to work, to produce, to get good grades, pay the bills. No exceptions. That means you fail tests, get evicted, the power gets cut off, and you’ve got a bad credit rating with Southern Bell. I’m not teaching you how to sugar-coat your sickness. I’m teaching you how to survive. Anyone who tells you something different is selling you something.”
Silence.
“Now, finally, is anybody pissed off at anybody else?”
There was a long pause before our hoarse reply: “No.”
“Okay, group time is over. I’m going to get another cup of coffee.”
He jumped from the couch with amazing agility and went to the kitchen, leaving us alone to cradle our silent room.
Carraway Bay Press takes its name from Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby," where narrator Nick Carraway saw Gatsby looking across...
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