Page 54 of Brain Damage

Clark looks up at me and grins. “Hey, there. You look all cute and sweaty.”

I ignore his remark and plop down next to him on the couch. “Look what I got in the mail.”

Clark takes the torn piece of paper from me and studies it for a minute. “I don’t get it,” he finally says. “It’s a divorce paper.”

“Right,” I say. “And look at the names.”

“Kyle Barry and Regina Barry,” he reads. He shrugs. “I have no idea who they are.”

Right. I don’t suppose he would. “Remember that day you came to my clinic and that guy was threatening me?” I say.

“Of course,” Clark says, brightening. “I saved you, remember?”

“This is him,” I say. “Kyle Barry. He was threatening me because he thought his wife was going to leave him because I cured her psoriasis. And I guess she did.”

Clark looks down at the paper again. “So… I don’t get it. Why would he send you this? Do you think it’s a threat or something?”

“Maybe…” I shiver and hug myself.

“It is kind of creepy,” Clark admits. “Do you think we should call the police?”

“And tell them what?” I say. “That I got a ripped divorce paper in the mail? It’s not like it’s got a threat written on it. Or it’s covered in blood.”

“Do you want me to call this Barry guy?” Clark offers.

“No!” I yelp. “God, no. That will just make it worse.”

Clark drops the paper down on the couch between us. I slide away, afraid to even let it touch me.

“I think he’s just trying to scare you,” Clark says. “He’s a dick, and he wants to freak you out. And it’s obviously working.”

He’s right.

“If you don’t want to call the police, you should try to forget about it,” Clark says. “This guy’s all talk. Seriously.”

“Okay,” I say quietly.

Clark gives me a pointed look. “Charlotte, you don’t look like you’re going to forget all about it.”

I glance down at the ripped paper and remember how frightened I felt when I was face to face with Kyle Barry. But then again, if he were actually going to hurt me, he probably wouldn’t send me a letter to warn me about it.

Would he?

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

37

AFTER

The only visitor I get is my mother, while Jamie mostly gets visited by his father. Jamie’s father is here a lot, maybe three or four times a week. He seems really nice, like Jamie is. Lately, they’ve been talking a lot about the bar that Jamie owns with his brother. I get the feeling that Jamie doesn’t trust his brother to be able to manage on his own. He keeps saying things like, “Kurt can’t even balance the register.”

Of course, I have a feeling that right now, Jamie couldn’t do it either. Except he doesn’t seem to realize that.

Jamie’s father always shows up right when we’re finishing dinner. Exactly six o’clock. Today is no exception. Jamie and I are sitting in the hallway, finishing the last of our food. Except not really. Jamie has dropped about half of his meal on his chest and lap. And I probably haven’t eaten anything on the left side of my tray yet.

“Hey, Dad,” Jamie says.

“Hi, Jamie,” his father says. The first thing he does is lean over Jamie and start cleaning food off of his chest. Not that it really matters. As he brushes off the food, Jamie’s father smiles at me. “Hi, Charly.”