Gone for Good (11 page)

‘So what was the fight about?' Post asked, still not getting it.

Or was I the one not getting it? I thought the problem was clear as day, but apparently the detective still didn't understand.

‘I didn't make the promise,' I explained. ‘I just didn't.'

Post raised her eyebrows. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Her expression said it all.

‘I would think you would understand,' I said. ‘If you're trying to have a career, you can't be caring for someone. Not someone like Ronnie.'

‘Some people would say family always comes first,' Post said.

‘I know, but we had family. My uncle … and my mom was fine then. It's not like she knew –' Post and I locked
eyes. Again, she didn't reveal anything. She let me reach the conclusion. ‘She couldn't have known anything was going to happen to her. Could she?'

‘There'd already been one incident with your brother,' Post said. ‘One serious enough to warrant the police being called.'

I didn't know where to look. I let my eyes wander around the room, past the stupid books, the coffee machine, anywhere but on Post. What she was suggesting didn't make sense. If Mom felt her life was in danger from her own son, why would she insist on making me a participant in his long-term care? She'd be endangering me as well. Right?

Unless …

‘She might have thought, or hoped, I wouldn't turn him over to an institution or something like that. She must have thought a family member wouldn't do that.'

‘Would your uncle?' Post asked.

‘Never. He loves Ronnie. He's better with Ronnie than I am.'

Post didn't respond. She tapped her pen against the notebook a few times, a slow metronomic beat. She waited. Was she keeping something from me? I wondered.

‘Do you know something about this I don't know?' I asked. ‘Did Paul say something to you about all of this?'

Finally, she said, ‘Your mother apparently didn't tell you about a lot of the things that were going on in her life. She kept these things to herself.'

‘So?'

‘So I'm just saying that if there's one thing I've learned from doing this job, it's that people possess an infinite capacity to surprise.'

‘Are
you trying to suggest something?' I asked.

‘What I can tell you is that your brother remains a suspect in your mother's death.' She flipped her notebook shut. ‘As far as issues between your uncle and your mother, or between you and your uncle, those are for you to figure out.'

That afternoon, after my class, I went to Dover Community to see Ronnie. When I arrived, a nurse intercepted me and told me I couldn't go in because a doctor was examining my brother. I had never seen the nurse working there before, but it seemed like every time I went to the hospital a different one was working. There must have been an unlimited supply. I had hoped to see Janie. A friendly face was always welcome.

‘You can come back later if you want,' the nurse said. ‘Or you can wait.'

‘How long?' I asked.

‘It could take an hour or so.'

I thought of the bag in my car, the one filled with thirty ungraded essays. I needed to tend to them.

Then the nurse said, ‘Your uncle went to the cafeteria. You could go wait with him if he's still there.'

I selected a tea bag and added hot water to my mug. I grabbed more than enough sugar packets and paid. Paul sat alone at a table in the corner. The day had turned overcast as a cold front passed through, bringing with it a hint of fall. Mom and I both loved autumn, even the cool grey days. Sometimes I liked those best of all.

Paul had a newspaper spread out on the table, and he smiled when I approached and took the seat across from
him. My face must have betrayed my feelings because right away he asked me what was wrong.

‘Is it something with Ronnie?' he asked.

I put my tea down on the table. ‘I was at the police station with Detective Post.'

‘Oh,' he said. ‘Was it rough?'

‘I'm trying to understand some things.'

Paul took off his reading glasses and laid the newspaper aside. ‘Anything I can help with?'

In that moment, I didn't like him. He seemed too helpful, too fatherly. I had a father and a mother. They were both gone, but I had them. I remembered them. I didn't want or need someone else to fill that role. Not right then. I wanted to know the answer to something.

‘Did you tell Mom to send Ronnie away?' I asked.

To his credit, he didn't try to tap-dance around the question. He held my gaze and answered without hemming or hawing.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘I did, right after Leslie had to call the police about him.'

‘Why?'

‘Isn't it obvious?' he asked. ‘I felt that Ronnie was having some problems – emotional and anger management problems – that would best be addressed by professionals in a controlled setting. It didn't have to be permanent, but I thought that intervention was needed.'

‘But you know that's not at all what Mom wanted,' I said. ‘To say that to Mom would be like spitting in her face. You knew that.'

‘Sometimes if you care about someone, you have to – and I'm using your indelicate metaphor – spit in their face.
I thought I was doing the right thing, the best thing, for everybody.'

‘What did she say when you suggested that?'

‘About what you'd expect.' He rubbed his hands together. ‘She was angry – very angry. I think she took it as a criticism of her. Criticism of her parenting ability and criticism of her ability to take care of herself. People our age start to get testy when others suggest we may not be in full control of our lives. She said, “No. Never.” '

The tea was still too hot to drink. I hadn't even tried it yet. I shouldn't have come down to the cafeteria. I shouldn't have brought anything up. I remembered that Paul said the police would say a lot of things to me, that they might say things meant to upset me. Was this what he'd been talking about?

‘Why are you so worked up about this?' he asked.

‘Because …' But I didn't have anything else. I couldn't say why I was angry. I gave it my best shot. ‘It feels like a betrayal.'

‘A betrayal? Of whom?'

‘Of Mom,' I said. ‘And Ronnie.'

‘And you?'

‘In a way, yes.'

A smirk crossed his face. He could be condescending when he wanted to be. The teacher amused by the confusion of the pupil.

‘Don't do that,' I said.

‘What?'

‘Smirk at me like that,' I said. ‘You look just like Mom when you do it. But she was never as condescending as you can be.'

I
didn't like where any of this was going, but I also felt powerless to stop myself. It was as though I were outside myself somehow, watching myself have an argument with my beloved uncle during the worst week of our lives.

‘Okay,' he said. He picked up his glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. Then he reached out and started folding up the newspaper. ‘You're obviously upset, and I understand that. I'm just going to go. I've been here all day anyway. There's no use in both of us being here, especially when they have Ronnie doped up to his eyeballs.'

I sat still while he gathered his stuff and pulled his coat on.

Before he stood up, he asked, ‘What would you do with Ronnie?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘If Ronnie were placed in your care, what would you do with him? Would you quit school? Hire a babysitter? What?'

‘I could make it work. Mom wasn't tied to Ronnie all day. He worked. He was independent.'

‘Ronnie is who he is today because your mom gave up her life for him,' he said. ‘She was his everything. I don't think anyone else could do that. I know she wanted me to do that for him, to be his guardian. But I don't know if I can really do it. And I'm not sure it would be healthy to live that way.' He stood up and zipped his coat. ‘But I think you knew that without me saying it, right? After all, you didn't make that promise to your mom, did you?'

The words entered me like a needle, sharp and stinging.

He paused a moment. He seemed to be thinking of
something else to say. I just wanted him to go. ‘I'm sorry, Elizabeth,' he said. ‘I just don't think you're in a position to judge anybody.'

And with that, he left the hospital.

I almost left as well. I only wished I had left before talking to Paul.

When I returned to Ronnie's floor, I saw someone talking to the nurse who had sent me to the cafeteria. As I came down the hall, the nurse made a nodding gesture towards me, as though the man wanted to see me. I assumed he was Ronnie's doctor.

‘Ms Hampton?' he said.

‘Elizabeth,' I said.

We shook hands. He was a white-haired man in his early sixties. He wore a tie and a sharply pressed shirt and told me his name was Dr Heil. He placed his shiny gold pen in his shirt pocket.

‘Is Ronnie okay?' I asked.

‘He's doing fine,' he said. ‘Better than yesterday, as I understand.'

‘Is there anything I should know?' I asked.

‘Well,' he said. He pointed to a door that opened off the hallway. It looked like any other patient room, but once we were inside, I saw that it was a consultation room, a place where families gathered with doctors to hear bad news about their loved ones. Dr Heil closed the door and we sat in the upholstered chairs.

‘There really isn't much for me to say right now. My role
is to examine your brother and make a report available to the police. I'm going to write that up in the next day or two.'

‘A report about what?' I asked. ‘If Ronnie is a killer?'

‘That's not my job,' he said. ‘I'm not a police officer. No, I'm just here to offer my medical opinion on your brother. And I pass that on to the police. How they decide to act is up to them.'

‘Is there anything you can tell me?' I asked. ‘He's been in here a few days already. I don't know what's been happening.'

He smiled at me, a comforting grandfatherly smile. He wanted to put me at ease without saying anything he wasn't allowed to say. ‘As I'm sure you know, your brother is quite high functioning for someone with Down's syndrome. It's obvious that someone has taken a great deal of care with him over the years. I'm guessing that's your mother?'

‘Yes.'

‘That's what Ronnie said as well. He's smart, and a good communicator. And understandably, he's a bit overwhelmed by all of this.' He leaned forward. ‘He needs you to be his sister right now. He needs someone just to talk to him and treat him normally. I think you'd be good for that. He thinks very highly of you.'

‘Does he?' I asked.

I assumed Ronnie didn't think much of me at all, mainly because I knew I had my own wall up with him. I'd let him be Mom's concern over the years and kept my distance, even going so far as to withdraw and stay far away
whenever Ronnie had an issue of any kind. I figured he'd picked up on that – he was too smart not to – and took the same approach with me.

‘He spoke glowingly of you today,' Dr Heil said. ‘I think he recognizes what has happened to your family and the position that puts the two of you in.' Then he made the simplest statement of all, and perhaps the one I most needed to hear. And maybe I heard it better because it came from someone outside the family, an independent authority figure. ‘You're his closest relative.'

I nodded, letting his wisdom sink in.

‘I understand what you're saying,' I said.

‘Good,' he said. ‘You never know how bumpy the road ahead is going to get.'

When Dr Heil was gone, I went in and sat with Ronnie. He was asleep, either as the result of the medication or just because being examined by a head shrinker was enough to wear anyone out. And Ronnie's reserves must have been pretty low at that point.

Even though he didn't know I was there, I felt an obligation to stay a while. But ‘obligation' wasn't the right word. I
wanted
to stay. I wanted to know he was safe, that no one else was going to come in and bother him or interrogate him. Not as long as I had anything to say about it.

I graded papers while Ronnie slept. The time passed quickly. My phone rang not long after I started grading. It was my landlord informing me that I had a new door and a dead bolt.

‘You should be fine,' he told me. He agreed to come by
the hospital and bring me the new key, which he did, meeting me at the front door.

Was it just that easy? Bolt the door and sleep tight? My mother's house had more locks than Buckingham Palace and look what they had done for her. Sure, I wanted to be there for Ronnie. But I was avoiding something as well. I wasn't looking forward to going home and sleeping in that apartment. I couldn't imagine closing my eyes and not dreaming of someone breaking in again. I wanted to protect Ronnie, but who was going to protect me?

I kept on grading. They brought a tray of food for Ronnie. Some processed meat smothered in gravy, mashed potatoes, sliced pears, and a chocolate milk. Ronnie woke up, probably because he smelled the food. He wasn't a picky eater. I knew he'd love the meat and potatoes, even though the thought of it made my stomach turn a little. And I hadn't eaten much all day.

Ronnie looked surprised to see me. He looked groggy, his eyes heavy lidded and bloodshot. His hair stood up in a swirl as if someone had given it a going-over with an electric mixer. I decided to comb it down for him, but I let him eat first.

We didn't say much to each other initially. As Ronnie ate, he reached for the remote control and turned on the TV. A news show played, a recap of all the disasters in the world. Ronnie watched it while he ploughed through the meat and potatoes. He could be like that sometimes – intently focused on the task in front of him, a little removed from the people around him. I don't think it had anything to do with the Down's syndrome. I could be the exact same way.

At
the first commercial, he turned to me. ‘You look tired, sis.'

‘I am.'

‘You need to sleep,' he said.

‘I will. I'm trying to get caught up on paper grading.'

‘Work, work, work,' he said, smiling a little. It was good to see that. ‘Is Paul coming back?' he asked.

‘I think he went home for the night,' I said. ‘He was here while the doctor was with you.'

‘I know. I saw him.'

‘Did you like talking to the doctor today?' I asked. ‘Dr Heil?'

‘He was nice.'

‘What did you two talk about?' I asked.

Ronnie shrugged. The news came back on, a story about wildlife in Africa. Ronnie's eyes were glued to the screen.

‘What did he ask you about?'

‘A bunch of questions.'

‘Were they about Mom?'

Ronnie didn't answer. He watched the TV. I thought about reaching for the remote and turning it off. If we were teenagers, I would have done that very thing. But I didn't want to get him angry or upset. He'd had a hellish day as well. But still, I wanted to know what they'd talked about. I felt I had a right. And I remembered what Dr Heil had said to me just a little bit earlier. It could be a bumpy ride ahead.

Did Ronnie know that?

‘And that's it?' I asked. ‘Nothing else?'

Agitation
crept into his voice. ‘He was nice, sis. I liked him. It's fine.'

He turned his attention back to the TV and drank his milk.

I wished I could believe him.