Chapter 49. Micah
MICAH
“Micah, what’s up? What time is it?”
“Sorry to call so late. I couldn’t sleep. I took the first flight this morning to see Granddad. I met his nurse. When were you going to tell me he’s taking lithium?”
Aunt Max exhales into the phone. “Where are my glasses? Hold on.” She speaks in a hushed tone. “Let me take this in the other room. I don’t want to wake—”
I hear her wife groan like an Olympic weight lifter.
I’m glad I’m not there. Aunt Jenna’s not fun to be around when she’s cranky.
A door closes. My aunt sighs. “Okay, tell me again.”
“The doctors asked you and Dad about our family’s medical history, including a genetic disposition to schizophrenia, and no one said, ‘Hmm, his granddad suffers from the same thing.’”
“When you were sixteen, we weren’t so concerned about Granddad’s behavior,” Aunt Max says patiently.
“Mood swings aren’t uncommon for a perfectionist. Sure, he was erratic and overzealous about his work, but he was also a creative genius.
When his highs and lows got more severe, we kept it quiet for the sake of the agency.
He managed million-dollar accounts; we couldn’t risk our clients and other agencies discovering that the man in charge had gone mad. ”
“Mad? Really, Aunt Max? Do you think I’m mad as well?”
“Of course not—”
“Well, I understand now why Dad and Granddad don’t get along: Dad resents me for having the same thing his dad has, doesn’t he? It explains a lot.”
“Micah, you’re spiraling—”
“More like freaking out for good reason, Aunt Max.” I grit my teeth. “I just uncovered our family’s biggest secret.”
“And now you need to forget it.” She exhales into the phone.
“Is this why Grandmother left him?”
Several seconds tick by. In my mind, I see her rubbing her eyes under her frames like she does when she’s stressed. “Yes.”
“That happened when I was a kid. You’ve always said we’re so alike.”
“Creative. Passionate. Brilliant. I should never have used the word mad. That was insensitive.”
“My dad’s story about the fever I caught in the Philippines when I was little causing my psychosis . . .”
“Speculation. Perhaps a genetic predisposition is more accurate.”
“Why leave me in the dark?”
“It’s what we Kershaws do best. I’m sorry, Micah. I wanted to tell you that day in my office . . .” She clicks her teeth. “I need to tell you something else. He’s developed Alzheimer’s.”
I suck in my breath. The old lady in the elevator . . . Brynn’s warning. That could be any one of us someday.
“Hard for me to talk about, even with you,” Aunt Max continues. “He’s the only parent I have left.” Her voice shakes. “I’ve been trying to manage his care by myself. Beck’s useless.”
“I’m here.”
“I know . . . but I didn’t want to pile more on you.”
“My schizophrenia is never going away. You can talk to me.”
She’s quiet for a moment. I imagine her thinking of me as the same little kid her brother dropped into her life.
“Um . . .” I hear the catch in her throat.
“I miss my dad.” She sniffles. “The man he was. His sharp mind. I could ask him anything. He always knew the answer. I miss talking with him every day. He’s fading away . . . and I can’t stop it.”
I blink a few times at the shadowy figure coming through my bedroom door.
The Woman in Black props her combat boot against the wall and gives me a hard eyeroll.
My chest fills. Strange to have missed her, but I did.
“Micah?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. Let’s do brunch tomorrow, okay? I’ll come up to your side of town.”
“I’d like that.”
The next morning, I text Dr. Val: Need to see you.
She makes room in her schedule an hour later and shows up late to our video call. I can see her fussing with the wheels on her motorized chair even after she logs on.
Anytime now would be great, I think to myself.
“I’m read-y.” She looks back at me, her eyes dancing. “Caught me oil-ing up the old girl.” Her lips curl into a smile. “How’s New York?”
“Did you know about my granddad?”
“That he’s tall, rich, and a grump-y sort of fel-low?”
“That he’s schizophrenic too,” I spit.
“He’s not,” she says matter-of-factly. “He’s bi-po-lar—which, as you know, is dif-fer-ent.”
Oh. “Did my father tell you that?”
“No, your aunt did. Your dad and I ne-ver dis-cuss his fa-ther. Your grand-dad sees the e-steemed Dr. Pen-der-gast there in New York. Beck’s fun-ny about fam-i-ly. I could tell from the few in-ter-ac-tions with your fa-ther that dis-cuss-ing your grand-dad re-mained off lim-its.”
“I think my dad hates the two of us for the same reason.”
“I would-n’t call it hate.” She sighs and waits for me to look at her one eye that’s focused on me. “Fear, may-be. He does-n’t un-der-stand, so he pulls a-way.”
“He’s a fair-weather father and son.”
She moves her head in a jerky fashion. “Can’t change what he’s a-ble to give you. You need to find the love and un-der-stand-ing in your-self. O-pen your heart, Mi-cah. I’ve said this be-fore, don’t let your di-ag-no-sis de-fine you.”
“You sound like Oprah.”
“What-e-ver works. Hey, I like the beard stub-ble. Look ver-y de-bon-air.”
“Weirdo.” I sigh and shake my head.
“Time’s come to stop play-ing the vic-tim and take re-spon-si-bil-i-ty for your life.”
“Like you, Dr. Val?”
“Damn straight.” Her grin sits crooked. “You don’t see me wal-low-ing about liv-ing my life from this damn wheel-chair.” She looks down at her lap for several seconds, her bottom lip juts outs. “O-kay, I lie. I al-low my-self a good wal-low at times. Helps me keep go-ing.”
“You do manage to power through no matter what, though.” I nod a few times. “It’s part of the reason I picked you to be my doctor. That and your stupid jokes, of course.”
She clucks her tongue. “Not my sex-y bod-y? How dis-ap-point-ing.”
I roll my eyes and get serious again. “My aunt told me about Granddad’s Alzheimer’s. Does this mean I’m at a greater risk for that too?” I grip my elbows, pulling them into my body.
“Mill-ion dol-lar ques-tion. May-be. May-be not.”
I rock forward and stare down at the knots in the hardwood. In the past, when my heart’s started racing and it’s become difficult to breathe, I’ve counted these planks to avoid passing out on the floor. And now this. How much shittier can things get?
Dr. Val leans back against her headrest. “Stop think-ing the worst. We know so much more now, how di-et and a heal-thy life-sty-le can help.”
“Granddad couldn’t even look at me when I told him about the Shadow People.” My voice goes reed thin, remembering that day. “He got so disgusted, he pulled me out of school. Shut down my world.”
“What if the shame was-n’t a-bout you but him?” Dr. Val purses her lips. “What if he feels a-shamed for pass-ing the same de-mons he strug-gles with a-long to you?”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Stop. Stop what you’re do-ing. Look at me, Mic-ah. Look. At. Me.”
I lift my eyes from the ground and huff at the screen.
Her gummy smile folds into a deep frown. Her chin trembles.
“Shoot, you okay?” Dammit.
She blinks in slo-mo, like the way she speaks. “You’re twen-ty, Mi-cah, with four gor-geous, work-ing limbs. Go live while you’re a-live.”