Page 19 of A Better World

“Therapy. Meds. Psych on fourth floor. But if that doesn’t work, they can’t stay. This town isn’t equipped for people with severe mental illness. They need more help than we can provide.”

The elevator’sFOURlight goes dark.

The building was shaped like anH, green space filling the open places. Dr. Chernin’s office was at the far northeast end of the second floor, and under his name the brass sign read:MITCH CHERNIN, DIRECTOR OF EMERGENCY MEDICINE.

She knocked a few times, heard scuttling. Though it was midday, the suite of offices all down the hall was sleepy. She had the idea that half of them were vacant. It took a long while before Chernin answered. He was a medium-height, slender man in his late sixties with white hair and eyebrows. No dye, no cosmetic surgery or collagen fillers. He looked his age. Behind, his room was dark, the window to outside inky. She’d clearly just woken him from a nap.

Nervous, she talked fast and extended her hand. “So sorry to disturb you! I’m Linda Farmer, the Monday, eight-to-noon shift. I wanted to thank you in person for the job.”

He accepted and shook, his grip limp. It took another few seconds before he seemed present and oriented. “Yes, Dr. Farmer! We meet at last.” He scooted out and shut the door behind him. “Have you eaten?”

She shook her head.

“Come! Let’s have lunch!”

They got cafeteria sandwiches and sat on a bench in the green space. He was slow-moving and frail, though he also gave off the impression of intelligence. “You need to know that flu season is late fall,” he started. “That’s busy, but your busiest time is winter. People get downright morose, especially right before the festival. Inpatient psychological tends to reach its height.”

“Why?”

“Long nights, short days. Yes, yes. That’s the easy answer. But I’ve long had a theory that it’s a kind of cognitive dissonance. The world outside keeps sliding farther away.”

“You think people are bothered by what’s happening outside?” she asked.

“I do.”

“But they never talk about it,” she said. “They don’t even seem to acknowledge there’s anything beyond PV’s walls.”

Chernin lifted his eyebrows. “They doth protest too much.”

Through small talk, she learned that he’d lived in PV for more than thirty years but hailed from Pittsburgh. “You’d be surprised. Plenty of lake and river cities are flourishing. It was a great place to ride out the Great Unwinding. We’d have stayed. But then Louis got ALS. He’s my husband. I targeted company towns because I knew he’d get the best treatment. I was lucky. They don’t hire outsiders much anymore. It’s a wonder you’re here.”

“ALS thirty years ago?” Linda asked, making a low whistle.

“PV has extended his life significantly. I’d hoped for a cure, but the decline’s been steady and accelerating.”

Linda offered a sympathetic frown. They were shoulder to shoulder and his white coat was crisp. He reminded her a little of her father, who’d also been quiet and kind. A still, deep water of a person before addiction to Glamp got the better of him. “Caretaking can be hard. Do you get much help?”

“Help? Oh, yes, yes. It’s just me at night. We have someone who comes while I’m at work. I had to commit some favors on behalf of the board for the additional benefits. But such is the price of survival. Is it not?”

Around them, staff relaxed on benches. A new mom still in her delivery gown nursed her baby with the help of an eager lactation consultant. “I don’t know much about survival here,” Linda said. “I’m still learning.”

“And what brought you to our town?”

Linda gave the speech. “My husband was in synthetics regulation with the EPA. His position was terminated, so he sent out feelers andgot very, very lucky. But also, he’s a numbers genius. He can look at any study and know whether it holds water. He’s one of the last people working who knows how to run a statistical analysis and find probability outcomes without a computer. They don’t teach that anymore. He’s an autodidact when it comes to mathematics. They’re lucky to have him.”

Chernin chewed his sandwich, his mouth politely closed until he was done. She realized what made him so different from everyone else she’d met: he bore no false enthusiasm. “Yes. Most people are very nervous when they first come. They’re pleasers. Very eager. Plenty stay that way.”

“Am I like that?”

He was looking ahead. “No.”

“Is that bad?”

“I was like you. I’d say the adjustment was more difficult, but we do all kinds of things for love,” he said. “Yes, you seem to be managing the transition just fine.”

She surveyed the green space, trying to find whatever had caught his eye, but the courtyard was quiet. The hospital behind them was quiet, too. A set of caladrius strutted along the bench across the way. They ground their teeth on the soft pinewood of the seat back and she realized why all the outdoor furniture here seemed chewed.

“We’re having a hard time.”

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