Chapter 14

Wednesday, April 10

Aaron and Holly have already hiked or walked—it’s an ongoing debate between them how to label their favorite four-mile loop, the Dartmoor Boat Canyon Trail—two miles and climbed over seven hundred vertical feet. But they haven’t shared more than a few words in that time.

Since Holly first informed him of Elaine’s death, two days earlier, Aaron hasn’t pressed for details, sensing his wife needed time to digest it. But as they pause now at a scenic lookout to sip their waters and admire the endless expanse of the Pacific below them, he decides the moment is right. “Two days,” he says.

“Huh?” she asks without looking up from her bottle.

“Is that enough time to process what happened to your client?”

“It took me one second to process what happened to her. An opioid overdose.”

Aaron chuckles. “End of story?”

Holly shrugs. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Grieve her?”

She studies the label on her water bottle before replying. “Do you know that twenty Californians die every single day from opioid overdoses?”

“I did not. At least, not so specifically.”

After another long sip, she finally says to him, “I never knew the exact number either. Not until Elaine shared that depressing stat with me.”

“No shortage of irony there,” he says. “Dying from the illness she dedicated her life to combating?”

“What’s so unusual about that?” Holly asks. “Advocates die all the time from diseases they’re crusading against.”

Aaron stares hard at her. “You’re not fooling anyone, Holl.”

“Is that what I’m trying to do?” Her voice sounds almost playful, but he knows better.

“You can be as stoic as a statue for the rest of the world, but I can tell this is eating you up.”

She meets his gaze for a few seconds and then looks back out to the rolling Laguna shoreline below them as it snakes alongside the cyan-colored ocean. “She was terrified of needles, you know?”

“An opioid addict?”

“Her addiction was to pills. Vicodin, Percocet, et cetera. She once told me that her needle phobia was the only reason she hadn’t overdosed years ago like so many others.”

“But this time she injected?”

Holly starts to walk again. “The evidence was lying right there by her foot.”

Aaron follows after. “What are you thinking, Holly?”

“I don’t know. But it’s so hard to imagine her injecting herself. Maybe she wasn’t looking for just another high?”

“Wait. Suicide? Is that you what you believe?”

“I have no fucking idea what to think!” Holly snaps and then glances at him with a conciliatory grin. “Sorry, Aaron. You don’t deserve that. I’m only venting.”

“Vent away.” He waves to the dirt trail and the barren hills surrounding them. “This is our safe space.”

“At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter whether her death was an accidental overdose or something else,” she says.

“Why not?”

She shakes her head. “Either way, I failed her.”

“Come on, Holl.”

“I took her on pro bono, Aaron. My charity case. Now she’s dead. Some charity, huh?”

“Holly…”

She surges forward, breaking into a jog.

Aaron hurries to catch up with her, breathing heavier and feeling a slight burn in his thighs. “Let’s say you were an oncologist instead of a psychiatrist,” he says.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Would you blame yourself for every patient you lost to cancer?”

“Not exactly a fair comparison.”

“Why not? Like cancer, opioid addiction is extremely lethal. The world’s best doctor isn’t going to be able to prevent all overdoses in her practice. Or all suicides, for that matter. You know this, Holly.”

“But how many oncologists cause cancer in their own patients?”

Aaron throws his hands up in the air and has to catch himself as he stumbles over a small rock. “You caused her to misinterpret her own memory, is that it? Is it your fault she confused you for her childhood abuser?”

Holly slows to a gentle trot. “I gave her unproven therapy, Aaron. I combined two powerful psychedelics. And I did it as much for my own gain as for hers. Clearly, Elaine wasn’t ready.”

Aaron doesn’t entirely disagree, but it’s the last thing Holly needs to hear at this moment. “You helped her to unlock the lifelong secret that had been suffocating her like quicksand. You gave her her first real chance at recovery.”

“I pushed her too far, too quickly.”

“It’s always so easy in retrospect,” Aaron says. “Accidental or deliberate, she was always going to be at huge risk. You can look back and try to make all the sense out of her death as you want to, but it will still be just as senseless.”

Holly stops, and so does Aaron. “You’d feel differently if she’d been your patient.”

“Maybe.” He lays a hand gently on her shoulder. “I’ve lost five patients—that I know of—to suicide. The last one hurt just as much as the first. But I don’t blame myself for any of them.”

She eyes him dolefully. “Lucky you.”

“I look at it another way, Holl.”

“Which is?”

“How many people have I saved from suicide? How many deaths have I prevented? How many loved ones have I spared the agony of suffering that kind of loss? No way of knowing, but one thing I am certain of is that it’s a hell of a lot more than the ones who died.”

“A win-loss column?” She snorts. “That’s a rosy way of looking at it.”

“It’s not rosy, it’s realistic. Look at you. How many of your clients—those recalcitrant addicts—have become sober thanks to you and your innovative methods? How many overdoses have you prevented?”

“You’re really pulling out all the stops, aren’t you?” Holly groans. “It’s odd, though.”

“What is?”

“The last time I saw Elaine—the day before she died—she told me she was done with drugs. The way she said it, too, made me believe her.”

“I don’t need to tell you that relapse is the rule not the exception among addicts.”

“True. But there was something different about her. A real focus. A passion for self-agency.”

“Sure. In the moment. Then something changed. Maybe she was triggered? A text? A call? God only knows. In a crisis, people usually revert to what they know best, where they find most comfort.”

“Maybe.” Holly is silent for a long moment. “But you want to hear the worst part? What really makes me hate myself?”

He squeezes her shoulder. “I do.”

Holly’s eyes redden and tears begin to pool above her lower lids. “I’m relieved.”

“Because of the accusations she was going to make?”

“Yes!” Holly cries. “They won’t see the light of day now.”

“That’s understandable. Natural, even. No matter how her allegations might have landed, the whole ordeal was going to be an absolute nightmare for you.”

“Do you know how guilty that makes me feel?” She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “A woman died, maybe because of the therapy I gave her. And now I’m relieved she’s dead? What kind of monster am I?”

Aaron looks deeply into her eyes. “How else are you supposed to respond? After escaping an existential threat like that? Relief is inevitable.”

Holly’s face crumples, and she embraces him, squeezing him tight enough that he can feel every sob that racks her body.

Aaron hates to see his wife in such pain and distress. But he loves the feeling of her in his arms. And he realizes that, at some level, the two are inseparable.