Baggage Check (13 page)

“So what happens next? What about the house?”

“Well, technically the house part is up to the Department of Health at this point, but I can say, from what I've seen, that if you are able to get it cleaned up within the next ninety days or so, they will allow you to have the condemnation revoked without having to jump through too many legal hoops.

“Normally with hoarding behavior, I suggest having the patient present to help clean out the home. It's more therapeutic that way and more likely to actually help with the disorder. In this case, though, since she's having some comorbid dissociation and obviously needs ongoing treatment for that, you may have to clean the house without her.”

“Me? Clean the house?”

“Unless you decide to sell it, as is. You can hire a company to come clean it, if that's the way you want to go. They can be expensive and the challenge there is that they don't know what you might want to save—if anything, I don't know—but then at least you don't have to do it yourself. It might be harder on your mom that way, when she's able to realize what has happened. But you have to do what's best for your situation.”

“I have to clean out the house,” she said. She did not know why this had not occurred to her sooner. Of course she had to clean out the house. Who else would do it? Dad? Sonia?

“Or you could just walk away and let the bank deal with it.”

“What?”

“If she still has a mortgage, you can let the bank foreclose on the home. The mess will be theirs to deal with. Of course, then your mom would need somewhere else to live and you would lose any equity that's in the home. For that, you'll need to talk to your attorney or financial advisor, actually. I can't really advise you on all that stuff.”

“Of course,” Rebecca said numbly. Lose the house? Where would her mother live?

“In the meantime, I'm going to do what I can to stabilize her medication in the next few days and get her transferred up to Mountainside,” he was saying. “Your dad has really good health insurance—someone said he's a mail carrier, right?—so I think we'll be able to get her a spot over there that won't bankrupt her. They really have more to offer long-term residents than we do here. It's a nice campus. You'll like it.” He attempted a facsimile of a warm and personable smile. “Flowers and pretty views and stuff.”

Until that moment, it had not occurred to Rebecca to consider who would be paying for her mother's care. Her dad? Maybe. For most of his life, there was nothing he would have denied his pretty wife, even after he had moved out. But now? Now it was complicated. There were two house payments, two sets of bills. And Sonia. Now there was Sonia. Rebecca had a fair bit of savings stashed away—one of the few perks of being a single workaholic who rarely spent money—but she had no idea how much her mother might need. And she had to work, she couldn't care for her mother full-time.

It was too much. She stood up. “Thank you.” It came out in her airline voice.

Dr. Sussman looked startled. “Um, you're welcome. Kathy's not—well, it's okay, I can walk you out.”

He came around the desk, saying something about how he was planning to go to lunch soon anyway. As though this mattered to her. As though anything mattered right now, other than being outside these walls and away from this nightmare. She was in the parking lot before she even realized what was happening, clutching Kathy's card and a tenth-generation photocopy of a list of personal items acceptable for inpatients.

The one thing she was sure of, as she drove away and navigated back to the two-lane highway to Oreville, was that she could no longer pretend none of this was happening. Her dad would have to be in the loop. And it was time to let her friends know what was going on. She pulled over and scrolled through her list of contacts, head swimming.

Before she got to Marci or Suzanne, the name appeared, and she knew it was the right call. “Hey, Jake. It's Rebecca.”

 

14

Rebecca returned to the St. Clair County Mental Health Hospital a couple of hours later, dropping off a bag of clothes, toiletries, flip-flops, and slippers at the front desk. It was the second time in twenty-four hours, and maybe the second time in her adult life, that she had been shopping for clothes at Walmart. Technically it was still visiting hours, but she did not ask to see her mother again. Her head was already spinning—after waking up to a half-naked deputy sheriff in her hotel room and finding out her mother was essentially on another plane of existence, it was surreal. Suzanne's wedding and Rebecca's friends seemed like something from another lifetime. And work …

Shit.
It was Monday. She had to fly tomorrow. Somehow she had to get checked out of the Super 8 and back to her apartment tonight so she could be at the airport at five in the morning. As she pulled out of the hospital parking lot, her phone rang.

“Hey, doll,” Valerie said. “How's it going over there?”

“Hi, Val. It's okay. Well, actually, it's a little overwhelming.” She gave Valerie a quick summary of everything that had happened, except the part where she woke up with Alex Chen in her hotel room. Rebecca decided that part was not strictly critical.

“Why don't you take some time off?” Valerie said.

“I can't. I don't want to lose my job.”

“Um, sweetie, ever heard of FMLA? The Family Medical Leave Act? You can take up to twelve weeks of unpaid family leave and keep your job.”

“Really?” It was a wonder Valerie had never become a lawyer. She could quote Federal Aviation Administration regulations, the HR manual, and half the laws pertaining to property ownership in Georgia. She'd had a couple of disputes with a neighbor that got escalated to the homeowners' association, and Valerie had made sure everyone involved regretted messing with her.

“Hang on, let me text you the number for Trey in HR. He's the only one in that department who's not an imbecile. There are a couple of forms to fill out. Tell him I'm helping you, that will put you at the front of the line.” Rebecca had no doubt this was true but she wondered vaguely if Valerie's were the right coattails to ride at the airline. More people seemed afraid of her than truly happy to see her.

“Okay, I just texted you,” she said. “Now, tell me more about this boy.”

She did her best to explain to Valerie that Alex Chen was not a love interest. He wasn't even really an old friend, since Rebecca barely remembered him from high school. He was just a guy who had played football with her brother and managed to still be in the Podunk town where they had all grown up. “Still,” Valerie said with her usual candor. “He's not your best friend's husband, so that's a plus.”

“Okay, then, I guess I'd better go call your friend Trey,” Rebecca said through gritted teeth. She didn't enjoy being ribbed about her long-standing feelings for Jake, of course, but something about the motherly way that Val gave her a hard time was reassuring. It's not like she could talk to anyone else about it.

“Seriously, doll,” Valerie said before they hung up. “Don't let them give you a hard time. If you need me, call.”

Trey in HR turned out to be as nice as Rebecca could have hoped. She left him a message, and he returned the call before she'd been back in her hotel room for half an hour. He briefly explained FMLA, and that the airline's policy was that Rebecca could use any accrued paid vacation first, and then start up to twelve weeks of unpaid leave after that. “If your mom isn't feeling better by then, we have an outside service that can help you set up home health care, transportation to doctor visits, that kind of thing. Some of it may even be covered by insurance, if your mom is on your policy.”

“She's not,” Rebecca told him. “But she's not sick, you know, in the traditional sense of the word. She has a … a mental health issue. It's not like cancer or anything.”

“It doesn't matter,” Trey said without missing a beat. “Our leave policy applies to any medical condition, including mental health issues.”

“Okay, you're sure? Do I need, um … do I have to document everything?”

“Nope,” he said. “Just a form for my files here. Do you have access to a fax machine?”

“I think so, the hotel … does it have to be notarized?”

“No, just a simple form and a signature.”

“I could get something from the hospital, where she's staying? Like a receipt or … something?”

“Not necessary. We've had very little abuse of FMLA, so we more or less operate on the honor system.”

Rebecca had not expected it to be this easy. “Thanks,” she said.

“My pleasure. So … I'm showing that you have seven days of paid leave left this year. It works Monday through Friday for our purposes, even though your actual work schedule probably isn't limited to that. I will fax you the form to fill out and get in touch with your supervisor. You might want to touch base personally since you're scheduled to work tomorrow.”

“Do you think it's late notice? Should I come back and work tomorrow?”

“No,” Trey said gently. “It should be no problem. That's what alternates are for. Just go take care of your mom.”

Tears spilled down Rebecca's cheeks when she hung up. Only then did she realize that she'd been gearing up for a fight with her employer, and surprisingly, that she had half-hoped she would lose. If her job were on the line, everyone would understand that she needed to pack up and drive back to Atlanta tonight. She couldn't possibly be expected to venture into the disgusting mess that had once been her childhood home, much less be in charge of cleaning it out. And the distraction of serving Diet Cokes at thirty thousand feet might make it easier to ignore the fact that she had not the first idea what to do next.

 

15

If she'd been wondering whether she would bump into Alex again during her stay, he answered the question by showing up at her hotel door a little after six. He was freshly showered, wearing khaki cargo shorts and flip-flops and carrying a clump of scraggly wildflowers.

“Hey,” Rebecca said. She was too tired for formalities. She felt like a slip of paper ready to crumple in a giant fist.

“Thought you might want dinner,” Alex said. “I saw that your car was still here at the end of my shift.”

“I'm just going to ignore how much that makes you sound like a stalker. Did you run my license plate, too?” It was supposed to be a joke, but he looked a little wounded and memories of Suzanne's horrifying experience with an actual stalker made her shudder. She touched his arm. “That was inappropriate. I'm sorry.”

“That's okay,” he said. “And you should slow it down, too. Your insurance is going to skyrocket if you keep getting speeding tickets.”

Rebecca flushed. “You
did
run my license!”

“A little,” he admitted. “Which is totally illegal and could get me fired. So now you have something to hold over my head to make sure I'm on my best behavior. Dinner?” He extended his elbow for her to take.

“Is there anywhere to go besides that place we were last night?”

“Sure,” he said. “In Gadsden. A short thirty-minute drive.”

“No thanks, I'm exhausted. Where's your patrol car?”

“It's not
my
patrol car. I usually only drive it on duty. Why, were you hoping for the cuffs this time?”

There was an indignant retort for that somewhere, but Rebecca was too exhausted to do anything but roll her eyes at him. She didn't even insist on taking her car when he opened the passenger's door of a slightly beat-up red Chevy Malibu. After the last few days, it felt nice to have someone else in the driver's seat.

They sat in the same booth as the night before. Rebecca ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with a side of fries and coleslaw, while Alex feasted on baby back ribs. The waitress who had been surly the night before was polite, even friendly. Rebecca supposed they had become familiar at some point during her karaoke episode the night before. Rebecca had never been a big drinker, but between Alex and the friendly smiles she was receiving at the bar, she began to wonder if her drunk self was more fun to be around than her real self.

She found herself recapping for Alex the broad strokes of what she'd learned from Dr. Sussman that day. It felt odd to confide in someone she barely knew, but he was here, in front of her. When she'd talked to Jake, he had conveyed sympathies and offers of help from the rest of her friends. She knew they were sincere, but she also knew that their own lives were full to the point of overflowing. Dylan was going back out on tour soon. Suzanne had her charity and her business to run, not to mention the planning of the second, more public wedding. Marci and Jake had Bonnie to look after, a new baby on the way, and each other. And Valerie, the closest thing Rebecca had to a work friend, bless her. Valerie was Rebecca's mentor, and certainly a friend, but she was someone with whom Rebecca had so little in common personally, it was hard to picture their relationship working if they didn't fly together four times a week.

So, she talked to Alex. He listened politely, and asked appropriate questions, and told her what he knew about County Hospital (underfunded and understaffed like everywhere else), Mountainside (nice, expensive, but supposedly good), and Dr. Sussman (not much). As with Trey in HR, Rebecca found herself surprised at how accepting Alex was about everything that was happening with her mother. He'd had to help restrain her on Sunday, to get her into the patrol car and over to the hospital, but he talked about it as though it happened to him every day and was a perfectly normal thing. Maybe it was. She didn't ask.

He told her about his family, too. His father and uncle had owned the only Chinese restaurant in the area for as long as Rebecca could remember. They had moved a couple of times, each time getting closer to the micropolis of nearby Gadsden, which was experiencing population growth while Oreville flatlined and floundered. Alex's parents had hoped he would take over the restaurant, but he had no interest. He had worked there evenings, weekends, and summers while attending college in Birmingham.