Self-Defence

"What a handsome guy you are," I said. "Handsome" was his favorite word, after "meat loaf." He started panting; then his nose went after the bag in my hand.

Robin said, "Okay, Larry?" in a tone of voice that meant she was working at patience.

"Yes, ma'am."

"So let's try for inspection by next Monday. If there are any other problems, let me know right away." She shifted the blueprints to the other hand.

"Yes, ma'am. For sure." Larry looked at me.

"This is Dr. Delaware. He pays the bills."

"Sir," said Larry, "we're fixing up a nice new place for you, you bet."

"Great," I said.

He scratched his head, walked up toward the house, and began talking to another worker. The pond was empty and half filled with dirt. What had once been a garden was a muddy pit. The new house's roof points sliced the sky at sharp angles. The sun that showed through was platinum-white.

"What do you think?" she said.

"Very nice."

"Soon." She kissed my cheek.

I kept looking at the construction. The framing was complete and the walls had been papered and partially mudded. The mud was ridged with trowel marks and still wet in spots. The original house had been redwood walls and a cedar roof. "Kindling on a foundation," the fire marshal had called it. The new building would be stucco and tile. I'd get used to it.

Robin put her arm around me and we walked to the truck. "Sorry about tonight."

"Hey, everyone has their emergencies. Here's something for your sanity."

I gave her the earplugs and she laughed. Pulling down the tailgate, she spread an army blanket and we set out the food. We ate listening to the sounds of hammer guns and saws, feeding Spike bits of sandwich and watching birds circle overhead. Soon, I felt pretty good.

I brought Spike home, fed him di

The Psychiatric Unit was on the third floor, behind swinging doors labeled LOCKED. I pressed a buzzer, gave my name, and heard the tumblers click. Pushing, I entered a long well-lit hallway.

The chocolate carpet was freshly vacuumed, the walls a pleasant brownish-white. Ten closed doors on each side, the nursing station at the end. One nurse sat there. Soft conversation came from somewhere, along with television dialogue, radio music, and an occasional ringing phone.

When I got to the station, the nurse said, "Dr. Delaware… yes, here it is. Lucretia's in 14, that's back there on the left side." She was very young and had yellow cornrowed hair studded with tiny blue ribbons, and beautiful teeth.

I retraced my steps. Before I got to 14, the door to 18 opened and a small, sweet-faced woman around fifty looked out at me. She wore a pink dress, pearls, and pink pumps. The back wall of her room was covered with family photos, and the aroma of chocolate chip cookies poured out.

"Have a nice day," she said, smiling.

I smiled back, trying not to look at the bandages around her wrists.

Her door closed and I knocked on Lucy's.

"Come in."

The room was eight by eight, painted that same brownish-white, with a bed, a fake-wood nightstand, a tiny doorless closet, and a desk and chair that looked child-sized. The TV was mounted high on the wall, the remote control bolted to the nightstand. Next to it was a stack of paperbacks. The top one was entitled Grievous Sin.

No bathroom. A single immovable window, embedded with metal mesh, offered a view of the parking lot and the supermarket that was the hospital's neighbor.

Lucy sat on the bed, on top of the covers, dressed in jeans and a white button-down shirt. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow, her hair was pi

"Hi." She put the magazine aside. Good Homemaking. The cover promised "Holiday Snacks Your Family Will Love You For."

"How's it going?" I said, sitting in the chair.

"I'll be glad to get out of here."

"They treating you okay?"

"Fine, but it's still prison."

"I spoke to Dr. Embrey. She seems nice."

"Nice enough." Flat voice.

I waited.

"Nothing against her," she said, "but I'm not going to have anything to do with her when I get out."

"Why's that?"

"Because she's too young. How much experience could she have?"

"Did she do or say something to weaken your confidence?"

"No, she's smart enough. It's just her age. And the fact that she's the one who's keeping me in- a jailor's a jailor. Once I'm out, I'm finished with this place and anyone associated with it. Do you think that's foolish?"

"I think you need someone to talk to."

"What about you?"

I smiled and touched the gray at my temple. "So I'm old enough for you."

"You're experienced, Dr. Delaware. And we've already got a relationship, why start from scratch?"

I nodded.

"You don't agree," she said.

"I'll never abandon you, Lucy."

"But you think I should see Embrey." Her voice had tightened.

"I think ultimately you make the choice. I don't want you to feel abandoned, but I also don't want to sabotage Dr. Embrey. She seems very capable, and she's interested in you."

"She's a kid."

I said nothing.

She scooted to the edge of the bed and sat there, legs dangling, toes brushing the carpet. "So that's it for my therapy with you."

"I'll always be here for you and I'll help you any way I can, Lucy. I just want you to do what's best for you."

She looked away.

"Who knows, maybe I don't even need a therapist." She turned back to me sharply. "Do you really think I tried to kill myself?"

"It looks that way, Lucy."

A painful smile flickered. "Well, at least you're honest. And at least you call me Lucy. They call me Lucretia. He gave me that name. After Lucretia Borgia-he hates women. Jo's full name was Jocasta. How's that for Oedipal?"

"What about your brothers?"

"No, the boys' names are okay. He let the boys be named by their mothers. He was only out to ruin the girls."

"Ruin, how?"

"Rotten names, for one. How can I have confidence in this place when they don't even respect me enough to call me what I want? I keep telling them Lucy, but each time a new nurse comes on shift, all they do is read the chart. Lucretia this, Lucretia that. "How are you, Lucretia?' "

She got up and looked out the window.

"I didn't put my head in that oven," she said. "I have no idea how I ended up there, but I didn't do it. Not sleepwalking or any other way."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I just know. Not that I'd ever tell Embrey that. She'd think I'm crazy."

"She doesn't," I said. "And neither do I. But I do think you might have done it while sleepwalking. It's unusual but not impossible."

"Maybe for someone else, but not me."

She turned around. She'd cried, and moisture streaked her cheeks.

"I know it sounds bizarre and paranoid, but someone's trying to kill me. I told Embrey I changed my mind about that because I didn't want her to lock me up forever. But there's something you should know about. Can I tell you in confidence, without your telling her?"

"That puts me in a bind, Lucy."

"Okay," she said. "I understand. I don't want to do that to you. But either way, she won't know. Not until I get out of here."

We didn't speak. She dried her eyes and smiled.

"Thanks for coming. Thanks for doing what you think is right… I didn't put my head in that oven. Why would I do that? I want to live."