an hour to herself every week, to talk about anything she wanted, to be able to think clearly, speak clearly, process her thoughts and figure out the answers.
He was never sure what the questions were, but Bee seemed happier, and although Daniel had always thought therapy was for the seriously self-indulgent, he indulged her.
At first, Bee had merely talked about how wonderful she found it, but soon she started gently suggesting that perhaps Daniel should go and see someone, that even though he claimed not to believe in it, therapy would help him open up, help him realize his full potential.
“I don’t want to realize my full potential,” Daniel had groaned, all those years ago. “I’m perfectly happy as I am.”
Bee thought this wasn’t possible. He was, she would say when they were arguing, the most closed person she had ever met. He never connected emotionally, she would say, it was like talking to someone through a steel wall. “I can help you,” she insisted, and then she began to plead with Daniel to let her help him. And after a while he grew tired of saying no, so he agreed to see someone.
Not the same therapist as Bee, that would have felt almost incestuous, but another partner in the practice. He went a handful of times. Talked a little about his childhood, talked a little about his relationship with Bee, and started canceling when his initial effort seemed to appease Bee, and she accepted that he’d made the effort and that was enough.
This time they have been seeing Dr. Posner for four months. They ought to be getting better. The last time they tried couples counseling it was three years previously, when they saw a man and a woman who had been recommended by a friend of Bee’s, who had neglected to mention that they practiced client-centered therapy, therefore didn’t speak, merely reflected statements back to Bee and Daniel.
“He never supports me,” Bee would say. “He’s always busy doing something, he’s always distracted and he never listens to me.”
There would be a long silence as they both looked hopefully at the husband and wife therapists, and eventually one of them would say, “So you feel unsupported. Daniel is distracted and doesn’t listen?”
“Yes.”
And the silence would continue until finally Bee, or Daniel, would get the giggles, and they would invariably leave the office shaking with laughter, which may not have been the desired effect, but certainly served to bring them close enough to quit the sessions after two months.
Dr. Posner is different. They have a dialogue. He started by simply asking questions, but soon offered solutions, had a depth of knowledge that Daniel was surprised and impressed by.
Under other circumstances, he imagines he and Dr. Posner would be friends. As it is, he feels as if he shows up every Wednesday morning in preparation for an attack. He meets Bee there, neither of them having talked about it in the morning at all, and squashes himself as far away from Bee as possible as she criticizes everything about him.
And the worst part is, she’s right. He is distracted. He is busy. He doesn’t want to do things with her. He doesn’t compliment her. He isn’t kind, or loving, or affectionate, except when it comes to his daughters, where his heart knows no bounds.
Bee is right about everything, and so every Wednesday, when the assaults come, there is little he can say; he shrugs, giving an acknowledgment that she is right. If he had the courage, perhaps he could say that he is everything she says because—oh and this is so painful to think about, something he tries to push to the back of his head—because he doesn’t love her. Loves her as the mother of his children, but doesn’t love her in the way he had always expected to love his life partner.
He can’t say that. Can’t possibly cause this much pain. And a future without his daughters is not something he can contemplate. There are times, particularly in the middle of the night, when Daniel wakes up feeling as if he is suffocating. He knows sleep is not an option on these nights, and he goes upstairs to his office, breathing deeply to try to stay calm, grabbing a newspaper or book to try to take his mind off his fear.
So he sits in Dr. Posner’s office, in a studio over the garage, week after week, too frightened to face a reality that will change his life forever, withdrawing