Dr. Wallen came into the office a few minutes later. He was in his mid-fifties, maybe, with salt-and-pepper hair and a deep tan, probably from sailing around the island. He wore a black button-down and had an arrogant air that Arietta pinned on a college experience at one of the Ivy League schools, maybe Harvard or Princeton. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Peters,” he said.
“You can call me Arietta,” she said, hating how meek her voice sounded.
“That’s a pretty name,” he said dismissively. He put his glasses on and sat across from her.
Arietta immediately saw them from above: the therapist and the grieving wife. She felt small and stupid.
To start, Dr. Wallen asked Arietta to share her goals for the session. Arietta laughed nervously, thinking of her husband at home in bed and the nurse she’d left him with, a nurse who was probably on her phone, bored out of her mind, as there was nothing to do.
“My husband suffered a massive stroke while we were on vacation,” Arietta explained. “He survived, but only barely. His mind is… well, it’s not here. Not now.” She felt a spasm of panic. She hated having to describe all this to strangers. “My daughter thought it would be a good idea for me to talk to someone.”
She went on to explain their setup, about how she was Fred’s caregiver and how she’d moved them to Nantucket Island because she thought it would be a nice change of pace.
Dr. Wallen tilted his head. “You’ve decided to care for your husband yourself.”
“Yes. I love him,” Arietta said firmly. “This is what I signed up for.”
“That’s not entirely true, is it?” Dr. Wallen asked. “How old is your husband?”
“Fifty-six.” Arietta felt a prickly sensation on the back of her neck. “But I have to argue with you. I think marriage is exactly that—signing up for caring for someone. Loving them till the end.”
“And you don’t think your husband’s stroke was the end?” Dr. Wallen asked.
Arietta thought she was going to scream. Although she’d begun to practice saying “vegetative state” in her mind, she didn’t dare say it in front of this doctor. She had the sense he was making fun of her, or that he thought she was foolish for still caring about Fred. She looked at the clock and saw there were still forty-five minutes left.
“How do you see your future?” Dr. Wallen asked now.
Arietta gaped at him. “I guess it’ll be like this. Caring for Fred. Living here.” She shrugged.
“That doesn’t sound very good, does it?” Dr. Wallen asked.
Arietta flinched, then reached for her purse. “I’ve just remembered that I have another appointment,” she said.
Dr. Wallen smiled in a way that made her toes curl. “Sit down, Mrs. Peters. Please.”
“I really have to go.”
“I’m trying to understand the situation,” he said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Arietta traipsed toward the door and left without saying anything else. The secretary called her name, but she didn’t pause before she left the building. Out on the sidewalk, she stomped her feet and felt anger reverberate through her. She didn’t know why Dr. Wallen had created within her such an awful feeling. But she had no plans to go back.
But Arietta had hireda nurse for Fred for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, giving herself a bit of time. She decided to use it. She took herself to a little wine bar, where she tried and failed to read a book she’d been meaning to get to. Mostly, she looked out across the water, trying to focus on her breathing. She considered calling Shannon and telling her that the therapist she’d seen had been a complete dud, but she didn’t want to worry Shannon even more.
After the wine bar, Arietta walked past a little bookstore in the historic district. A sign out front advertised a reading from a local author who’d recently published a book calledWaves. Arietta wandered into the crowd out front until she reached theinterior, where a tiny woman named Maeve Stephens read from her novel. Although Arietta had come in during the middle of the reading, she could deduce that the novel was about a woman who’d lost her father to cancer and had taken up sailing, trying to reconnect with him through his favorite pastime.
It was a beautiful story, well-written and emotional. Arietta found herself welling with tears.
When the reading was over, the bookstore staff urged everyone to grab glasses of the free wine at the table and linger to discuss the book and what it meant to them. “Of course, anyone who wants to can buy the book as well!” the bookstore owner announced, smiling.
Arietta got in line to buy the book, then grabbed a glass of the free wine and stood awkwardly in the midst of everyone else. It seemed that most had come with friends, and they chatted easily, both about the book and about what they’d done so far that day. Arietta felt like an exposed nerve. When she thought she might go crazy with loneliness, she turned too quickly, spilling red wine all over the dress of a pretty blond woman.
“Oh!” Arietta cried out. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She was horrified.
The woman laughed and reached for a napkin, which she dabbed at the stain in vain. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Honestly, I spill wine on myself all the time. I’ve had to learn to get over it.”
“Oh, I don’t know what to say,” Arietta said. “I want to buy you a new dress!”
“I’ve gotten really good at laundry,” the woman assured. “No new dress required!”