Turn of Mind Read Free Page A

therapy.
    He gives me a look. Do you have a problem with that?
    I shake my head. Okay, then. We’ll do everything we can to keep you in your home. I know that’s what you want.
    He pauses. I must tell you, Mark has been urging me to make a statement that he can use to declare you mentally incompetent to make medical decisions, he says . I have refused. The doctor leans forward. I would recommend that you not let yourself be examined by another doctor. Not without a court order.
    He takes a piece of paper out of his file. See—I have written it all down for you. Everything I just said. I will give it to Magdalena and tell her to keep it safe. I have made two copies. Magdalena will give one to your lawyer. You can trust Magdalena, I believe. I believe she is trustworthy.
    He waits for my answer, but I am fixated on the photo of the naked woman. There is doubt and suspicion in her eyes. She is looking at the camera. Behind it. She is looking straight at me.

    I can’t find the car keys, so I decide to walk to the drugstore. I will buy toothpaste, some dental floss, shampoo for dry hair. Perhaps some toilet paper, the premium kind.
    Normal things. I’m inclined to pretend to be normal today. Then I will go to the supermarket and pick out the plumpest roast chicken for dinner. A loaf of fresh bread. James will like that. Small comforts—we share our love of these.
    But I must go quickly. Quietly. They will try to stop me. They always do.
    But no purse. Where is it. I always keep it beside the door. No matter, there will be someone nice there. I will say, I am Dr. Jennifer White and I forgot my purse and they will say oh of course here is some money and I will nod my head just so and thank them.
    I stride down the street, past ivy-covered brownstones with their waist-high wrought-iron fences enclosing small neat geometrically laid-out front gardens.
    Dr. White? Is that you?
    A dark-skinned man in a blue uniform, driving a white truck with an eagle on it. He rolls down his window, slows to a crawl to keep pace.
    Yes? I keep walking.
    Not the nicest day to be out and about. Nasty.
    Just a walk, I say. I make a point of not looking at him. If you don’t look, they may leave you alone. If you don’t look, sometimes they let it go.
    How about a ride? Look at you, completely soaked. No coat. And my goodness. No shoes. Come on. Get in.
    No. I like the weather. I like the feel of my bare feet against concrete. Cold. Waking me out of my somnolent state.
    You know, that nice lady you live with won’t like this.
    So what.
    Come quietly now. He speaks soothingly while pulling the truck over to the curb. He holds out both hands, palms up, and beckons with them. Gently.
    I’m not a rabid dog.
    No, you’re not. Indeed you aren’t. But I can’t stand by and do nothing. You know I can’t, Dr. White.
    I brush my icy hair out of my face and keep going, but he idles his truck alongside. He takes out his phone. If he punches seven numbers, it’s okay. If he punches three numbers, it’s bad. I know that. I stop and wait. Onetwothree. He stops. He brings the phone to his ear.
    Wait, I say. No. I run around the front of the truck. I yank the door open and clamber in beside him. Anything to stop the phone. Stop what will happen. Bad things will happen. Put the phone down, I say. Put the phone down. He hesitates. I hear a voice on the other end. He looks at the phone and flips it shut. He gives me what is supposed to be a reassuring smile. I am not fooled.
    Okay! Let’s get you home before you catch your death.
    He waits at the curb until I reach the front door. It is wide open, and wind and sleet are gusting through into the hallway. The thick damask curtains on the front windows are drenched. I step on a sodden carpet—a dark Tabriz runner we bought in Baghdad thirty years ago, now considered museum-quality. James had it appraised last year, will be furious. Magdalena’s shoes are