Stories Untold by Wolfe Leslie

Author:Wolfe, Leslie [Wolfe, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amazon, Thriller
Amazon: B075PD7SZH
Publisher: Italics Publishing
Published: 2017-09-22T22:00:00+00:00

26

A Cup of Soup

Angela savored a spoonful of soup, then admired the golden color of the dense liquid. Exquisite. She looked at her father, seated across from her at the table, and noticed the satisfied smile on his lips.

“Wow, this is fantastic. How come you cooked? You never do.”

“I felt like I was coming down with a cold, and I panicked; I made myself a lot of chicken soup. Now I need you to help me work through it,” he chuckled.

“Gladly. Aren’t you having any?”

“Already did,” he replied, rubbing his stomach in circular moves, accompanied by a satiated sigh.

“For dinner?”

“And lunch too.”

“I don’t blame you. Did you put sour cream in it? I also smell some garlic.”

“Yes, the works. I sprinkled some feta cheese crumbles in there, and some fresh parsley.”

“Great, thousands of calories in a bowl of dinner soup. Thanks, Dad.” Angela laughed, then took another spoonful and savored it with eyes half-closed. “I needed this.”

“Anything wrong?” Dr. Foster frowned a little, and his ruffled eyebrows arched with concern.

“No,” she replied, “it’s this fog. Dense and cold, gets to my bones. I didn’t want to go home yet.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand. “You know you could stay here, Ang. For as long as you’d like. It must be hard for you, living alone in that big house. Think about it, will you? No pressure, just an offer.”

She nodded and sipped the last of the remaining soup, down to the last drop. Then she pushed the bowl aside and leaned back in her chair.

“Why did you turn to addiction psychiatry as your specialty?” she asked. “I don’t think you ever told me.”

“Because all these people, my patients, and addicts in general, they turn to drugs in search for pain relief. Their lives can’t be just about the chemicals in their brains; it would be such a waste. Of spirit, of individuality, of sentiment and meaning. There has to be more, and there is. I like to believe that helping them find that ‘more’ in their lives is a worthy goal.”

She laughed quietly and looked away from her father’s perceptive eyes.

“It’s strange,” she said, “how you and I believe in the same core values, yet chose such different paths.”

“Yes, you surprised me when you became a board-certified psychiatrist, only to give that up and take on psychology instead. I was proud, but surprised.”

“I believed, and still do, that people shouldn’t resort to chemicals to find happiness and meaning in life. That should come from deep within themselves, not from the Rx counter.”

“Yet sometimes drugs help. Take your mystery patient, for example. Don’t you think an SSRI could attenuate his suicidal tendencies? Don’t you feel temped to write that script, if only to buy yourself more time to help him?”

“He wouldn’t take anything, anyway. But no, the thought hasn’t even crossed my mind.”

“No?”

“His issues aren’t chemical in nature. Unlike your patients, Dad, this man endured his pain without seeking relief. He’s punished himself with it and continues to do so. For some elusive reason, he strongly believes he deserves to die.

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