Claim
Page 71
And because she was openly sobbing by now, burying her face against Ian’s strong, comforting shoulder, it was left to him to tell the doctor about the fire that had taken Gillian’s life and left Tessa an orphan. Ian stroked her back soothingly, pressing tender kisses to the top of her head, and crooning to her softly.
When she was calmer, she accepted a tissue from the doctor, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.
“I’m sorry to have fallen apart like that,” she apologized. “It’s just - well, hearing what actually happened from someone who was there makes it all seem so real. My mom had a very vivid imagination, but I never knew if the stories she told me were real or not. And when I finally got to read her books last year, I wanted to believe so desperately that her story was just another figment of her imagination. But it wasn’t. It was all too horribly real, wasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so,” the doctor told her quietly. “And, forgive me, Tessa, but I must ask you this. Have you ever exhibited any signs of depression or manic behavior yourself?”
But before Tessa could reply, Ian was already blurting out, “No! She’s perfectly fine, Doctor Phelps. I’ve lived with her nearly round the clock for the past year, and there has never been the slightest sign that she’s suffering from any sort of mental illness. She is nothing like her mother or grandmother.”
She squeezed his hand. “Ian,” she scolded him lightly. “We both know that isn’t true. Not really.” To Doctor Phelps she added, “I’ve never had a manic episode, or anything remotely like one. But I have had bouts of depression on and off for years, ever since I was a teenager. Though Ian is right - that hasn’t happened now for a long time.”
“Have you ever spoken to a psychiatrist or another mental health professional?” asked Doctor Phelps. “Or even discussed the matter with your general practitioner?”
“No,” she admitted. “Ian suggested that maybe I should do that once, but that was a year ago and I haven’t really been depressed since then.”
“Hmm.” He drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. “May I ask how old you are, Tessa? I’d guess at mid-twenties.”
“Yes. I’ll be twenty-six at the end of May.”
“I see.” There was another thoughtful pause before the doctor continued. “Obviously, I’m far from an expert on the matter, but I have done some research on the disorder, mostly because of your grandmother. From what I recall, the average age of onset for the disorder is right around twenty five. And I’m sorry to tell you that research has also shown the condition to be genetic. I would strongly encourage you to speak to a psychiatrist when you return home and be evaluated. I believe there are certain kinds of genetic tests they have available now to determine if you’re at risk. And the fact that both your mother and grandmother were bipolar makes it even more urgent for you to be tested.”
Tessa felt her entire body go numb, and she was suddenly unable to speak or even think coherently. She sat in the chair, frozen in place, and barely heard Ian begin to argue with Doctor Phelps that she wasn’t necessarily at risk, that according to his research family history was far from absolute in this sort of situation, and that she’d exhibited zero signs of any sort of instability.
Doctor Phelps shrugged. “As I said, Mr. Gregson, I’m just a simple country doctor, with little to no background in mental health. This is just my opinion based on some admittedly old data. But I would definitely recommend you seek out the opinion of a psychiatrist and quickly. Tessa is at the exact age when the majority of patients begin to show signs of the disorder. And with the two of you getting married soon, especially if you’re thinking of having children one day - well, this is something you both need to consider very seriously.”
Tessa didn’t remember bidding Doctor Phelps good-bye, or thanking him for his time. She couldn’t recall that Ian guided her back out to the BMW, and she more or less blanked out during the drive back to the hotel in Minneapolis. She merely stared out the window, silent and unresponsive, her brain unable to process everything she’d just learned - not only about her mother and grandmother but quite possibly about herself as well.
Ian seemed resolved to leaving her alone and not pushing her to discuss what had happened, making the drive back into the city a little faster than the journey out. Back up in the suite, he ordered a late lunch for them, cajoling her to eat some soup and part of a sandwich and sipping some tea. She ate and drank automatically, barely tasting a bite, and all she could think about the whole time was her poor, helpless mother not having enough to eat as a child, going hungry, being neglected and abused.
She sat and stared out the window of the suite as Ian quietly finished packing for her and assembling their bags. She thought distantly what a good man he was, how he took care of her and loved her, how he deserved someone so much better than she was. She shuddered to imagine the reaction of his wealthy, upper class family when they learned that their future daughter-in-law might have some terrible mental illness, and, worse, that she could pass it on to their grandchildren someday.
And as she settled into her seat on the plush corporate jet an hour later, Tessa knew that she couldn’t willingly subject Ian or his family to what she might become, couldn’t take the risk that her own children might one day suffer from it, too.
“Ian.”
He glanced up from the newspaper he’d been reading, having continued to give her the space she needed to come to grips with everything they had been told back in Oak Grove. He took her hands in his now, giving them a reassuring squeeze, and smiled at her in a way that made her heart want to break. He was the most wonderful man in the entire world, the best man she’d ever known, and it would kill her to ever be parted from him.
“What is it, darling?” he asked in that tender manner that always made her want to weep with joy. “Are you ready to talk about things? I’ve already sent Jordan an email asking him to recommend the very best psychiatrist in San Francisco for us to meet with. He’s checking on it for us and I’m confident he’ll -”
“Ian. No.” She shook her head. “I - I can’t do this. I can’t put you through something so awful. You were never around my mother, so you don’t know how terrible this disorder is, the way it can just destroy a person, take away their life. And I won’t let it destroy you as well. So, when we get back to San Francisco, I’m going to move out on my own, get a job, and support myself. Please don’t try and talk me out of it, because it’s the only way I can get through this.”
When she was calmer, she accepted a tissue from the doctor, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.
“I’m sorry to have fallen apart like that,” she apologized. “It’s just - well, hearing what actually happened from someone who was there makes it all seem so real. My mom had a very vivid imagination, but I never knew if the stories she told me were real or not. And when I finally got to read her books last year, I wanted to believe so desperately that her story was just another figment of her imagination. But it wasn’t. It was all too horribly real, wasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so,” the doctor told her quietly. “And, forgive me, Tessa, but I must ask you this. Have you ever exhibited any signs of depression or manic behavior yourself?”
But before Tessa could reply, Ian was already blurting out, “No! She’s perfectly fine, Doctor Phelps. I’ve lived with her nearly round the clock for the past year, and there has never been the slightest sign that she’s suffering from any sort of mental illness. She is nothing like her mother or grandmother.”
She squeezed his hand. “Ian,” she scolded him lightly. “We both know that isn’t true. Not really.” To Doctor Phelps she added, “I’ve never had a manic episode, or anything remotely like one. But I have had bouts of depression on and off for years, ever since I was a teenager. Though Ian is right - that hasn’t happened now for a long time.”
“Have you ever spoken to a psychiatrist or another mental health professional?” asked Doctor Phelps. “Or even discussed the matter with your general practitioner?”
“No,” she admitted. “Ian suggested that maybe I should do that once, but that was a year ago and I haven’t really been depressed since then.”
“Hmm.” He drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. “May I ask how old you are, Tessa? I’d guess at mid-twenties.”
“Yes. I’ll be twenty-six at the end of May.”
“I see.” There was another thoughtful pause before the doctor continued. “Obviously, I’m far from an expert on the matter, but I have done some research on the disorder, mostly because of your grandmother. From what I recall, the average age of onset for the disorder is right around twenty five. And I’m sorry to tell you that research has also shown the condition to be genetic. I would strongly encourage you to speak to a psychiatrist when you return home and be evaluated. I believe there are certain kinds of genetic tests they have available now to determine if you’re at risk. And the fact that both your mother and grandmother were bipolar makes it even more urgent for you to be tested.”
Tessa felt her entire body go numb, and she was suddenly unable to speak or even think coherently. She sat in the chair, frozen in place, and barely heard Ian begin to argue with Doctor Phelps that she wasn’t necessarily at risk, that according to his research family history was far from absolute in this sort of situation, and that she’d exhibited zero signs of any sort of instability.
Doctor Phelps shrugged. “As I said, Mr. Gregson, I’m just a simple country doctor, with little to no background in mental health. This is just my opinion based on some admittedly old data. But I would definitely recommend you seek out the opinion of a psychiatrist and quickly. Tessa is at the exact age when the majority of patients begin to show signs of the disorder. And with the two of you getting married soon, especially if you’re thinking of having children one day - well, this is something you both need to consider very seriously.”
Tessa didn’t remember bidding Doctor Phelps good-bye, or thanking him for his time. She couldn’t recall that Ian guided her back out to the BMW, and she more or less blanked out during the drive back to the hotel in Minneapolis. She merely stared out the window, silent and unresponsive, her brain unable to process everything she’d just learned - not only about her mother and grandmother but quite possibly about herself as well.
Ian seemed resolved to leaving her alone and not pushing her to discuss what had happened, making the drive back into the city a little faster than the journey out. Back up in the suite, he ordered a late lunch for them, cajoling her to eat some soup and part of a sandwich and sipping some tea. She ate and drank automatically, barely tasting a bite, and all she could think about the whole time was her poor, helpless mother not having enough to eat as a child, going hungry, being neglected and abused.
She sat and stared out the window of the suite as Ian quietly finished packing for her and assembling their bags. She thought distantly what a good man he was, how he took care of her and loved her, how he deserved someone so much better than she was. She shuddered to imagine the reaction of his wealthy, upper class family when they learned that their future daughter-in-law might have some terrible mental illness, and, worse, that she could pass it on to their grandchildren someday.
And as she settled into her seat on the plush corporate jet an hour later, Tessa knew that she couldn’t willingly subject Ian or his family to what she might become, couldn’t take the risk that her own children might one day suffer from it, too.
“Ian.”
He glanced up from the newspaper he’d been reading, having continued to give her the space she needed to come to grips with everything they had been told back in Oak Grove. He took her hands in his now, giving them a reassuring squeeze, and smiled at her in a way that made her heart want to break. He was the most wonderful man in the entire world, the best man she’d ever known, and it would kill her to ever be parted from him.
“What is it, darling?” he asked in that tender manner that always made her want to weep with joy. “Are you ready to talk about things? I’ve already sent Jordan an email asking him to recommend the very best psychiatrist in San Francisco for us to meet with. He’s checking on it for us and I’m confident he’ll -”
“Ian. No.” She shook her head. “I - I can’t do this. I can’t put you through something so awful. You were never around my mother, so you don’t know how terrible this disorder is, the way it can just destroy a person, take away their life. And I won’t let it destroy you as well. So, when we get back to San Francisco, I’m going to move out on my own, get a job, and support myself. Please don’t try and talk me out of it, because it’s the only way I can get through this.”
