She would have said that once the hospital building was demolished, any anchor John or the others ever had to a community would be swept away. No one would make sure Big John swallowed his pills or ate a meal. No one would make sure he visited a community health centre.
She would have made it very clear that giving John and others like him the “freedom” the media and the general public cried out for endangered him, which would, in turn, endanger society. Off his medications and without the reliable support he had known at the hospital, John and many others would become confused and desperate, inevitably spiralling into a life of addiction, crime, and violence.
She would have pointed out that deinstitutionalization was happening everywhere all at once, and it was simply too much for cities to handle. It had started in the United States in the 1950s and spread. In this immediate area, the Lakeshore Psychiatric Hospital in New Toronto would be closing at the same time as where she worked. Everything she was predicting for her patients would be repeated in countless facilities across the country.
After that, Marion would have made it clear that saving the government’s money by shutting down the facilities would undoubtedly be cancelled outby the rise of incarceration costs. Because that’s where many of their patients would end up. There was no doubt in her mind.
Everyone would suffer, she would have told him in no uncertain terms, because of deinstitutionalization.
But Marion had never gone to speak with Dr. Bernstein, either on her own or with Paul. She had been too afraid of jeopardizing her hard-won career. Of standing in the spotlight, possibly revealing her inadequacies.
And now that it was happening, she was ashamed of that selfish weakness.
All she could do now was damage control. When she had first learned of deinstitutionalization two years before, Marion had promised herself that she would keep tabs on her patients afterward. She would not abandon them. Alice, Barbara, John, and all the others would need her when they were released. But as that day came closer, she still had no idea how she could do it. She would be working in the health centres by then, and she would have no access to the records of her past patients. She knew their home addresses, but that might mean nothing in a few weeks. It was such an easy thing to open a door and wander blindly into the unknown.
The vastness of what was happening threatened to overwhelm her.
Looking down from her balcony, Marion spotted Paul’s car parked against the sidewalk five storeys below. She was only slightly surprised to see it was a convertible. He leaned against it, arms crossed, observing people as they walked by, looking like a magazine model. Any other woman would have been excited about tonight. If only Marion was any other woman.
The wind from the convertible would make a disaster of her long blond hair, so she swung it into a high ponytail, checked the mirror, then grabbed her purse and took the elevator down.
“Look at you!” Paul exclaimed as she walked out the main entrance. “You do not look anything like the doctor in the lab coat I saw in today’s meeting.”
“I hope that’s a compliment.”
“You are a fox, and you know it.” He stepped back and opened the passenger door, revealing white leather seats. Paul knew how to impress. If only she liked him the way he liked her, things might be a lot easier. Or a lot morecomplicated. He walked around the front then climbed in, shining that big, bright smile on her.
“Chill, Marion. We’re gonna have a gas tonight.”
“I’m chilled.”
“Whatever you say.” His gaze travelled up the wall of the apartment building. “Bet you have a cool pad up there. What floor?”
No, I am not inviting you in.“Fifth,” she said. “Are we going to sit here all night?”
Giorgio’s was a snug, homey restaurant with red-checked tablecloths and accordion music playing through speakers. Paul introduced Marion to all the waiters, who appeared to know him well.
“It’s my favourite place to go,” he explained, perfectly at home. “Wine with dinner?”
“Sounds nice.”
He signalled a waiter then rattled off the name of the wine he’d chosen. Marion didn’t mind his ordering for her. In fact, she found it old-fashioned and a bit charming. She liked wine, but she didn’t know one from another.
“I recommend the fettucini Alfredo,” Paul said, leaning across the table to point it out in her menu.
“I feel more like lasagna,” she replied, closing her menu and leaning back. When the waiter returned and poured their wine, she said, “Grazie.”
Paul raised his glass. “I didn’t know you spoke Italian.”
“A little. Lots of things you don’t know about me, I guess.”
She couldn’t miss the change that came over his features as he tapped their glasses together. “I’d like to learn more.”
“Oh dear, Paul. That’s too smooth. The one thing you have never been is subtle.”
The food was delicious, the atmosphere comfortable, and the wine was both. Surprisingly, their conversation was also pleasant. Maybe she should give him a second chance, she thought. He was trying hard, asking questions about her rather than going on about himself. That was new. Someone must have suggested the idea to him.
“Where do you stand on shutting down the hospital?” he asked at onepoint, ordering more wine with the flick of a hand. “I know we talked a little about it months ago, but now that it’s happening, I can’t believe we haven’t discussed it more. You’ve been pretty quiet about the whole thing. Now that we’re outside of the office, you can tell me. I promise not to tell Dr. Bernstein.”
