Secrets (56 page)
“We talk about normal, and for legal and practical reasons set a bar for expected societal norms. But can any of us really claim normality?”
Rese had never thought of herself as anything but normal. She had fought for that right, then had it demolished by the paperwork in the file. But as Dr. Jonas expounded on the shadowy landscape of the mind and admitted the limitations in the theories of its science, her tension diminished. At least if he told her she was crazy, she’d fall in with his opinion of the rest of humanity.
He finally came back to Elaine Barrett and the particulars of her condition that had earned her lodging at the mental health hospital. “With the new family of drugs recently developed, we’ve had greater success in her case than before. She was showing marked improvement until Vernon stopped visiting.”
Rese jolted. “Dad visited her?”
“Every week. She looked forward to it. But then he stopped coming. We learned from his office that he had passed away. My condolences.”
Her head spun. From his office? And then the tsunami struck—Dad had visited Mom all through the years. And she had never known. How narrow and blind she’d been, like a turtle in its cage. It might be glass through which to view the whole wide world, but only what was inside had mattered.
“Who told you Dad had died?”
Her question seemed to take him by surprise. He shrugged. “I can check, if you want.”
She nodded. He opened a file cabinet, withdrew an expanding folder and fingered through the pages. “Death confirmed online with Social Security, that’s when we turned her case over to the state…. Oh, here it is. We tried unsuccessfully to contact Mr. Barrett by mail—”
“I never got anything.”
He read off a post office box she had known nothing about, obviously used to keep her in the dark. “Then we called the work number he’d listed for emergencies and spoke with Brad Plockmen.”
“Plocken,” she corrected. Brad must have informed them while she was incommunicado. “Did you tell him about my mother?”
Dr. Jonas shook his head. “That’s private information. The secretary would have asked to speak with Mr. Barrett and been informed of his death.”
But they might have identified the hospital. Had Brad put it together? Or maybe he’d known already. Dad had told Brad things he kept hidden from her, Brad whose deepest moments were spent with a beer and David Letterman.
That was unfair. He had his good points; for a while they’d captured more than her interest. He had probably been a comfort to Dad. Rese chewed her lip, seeing the emptiness of her own relationship outside their work. It was the only thing they’d shared. But if he was keeping something like weekly visits with Mom from her, that might limit conversation. And if he loved Mom enough to see her every week after putting her away, it might cause a sorrow too deep to share with a daughter whose fault it was.
Rese swallowed. “So Mom noticed when he stopped coming?”
“Of course. She has perfectly lucid moments. In fact, the new drugs have provided sustained periods without psychotic episodes. We’re very excited.”
“Was she on medication before? I mean before she was hospitalized?”
“Dopamine blockers were prescribed, but with little effect. They don’t work for everyone. That’s why we’re constantly seeking new treatments, new understandings.”
So they had tried to medicate Mom without success. Dad must have known the danger in leaving his daughter with someone so unstable, but maybe he didn’t want to see it any more than Rese had. Maybe that was why the times with Alanna upset him so much. And she had contributed to his blindness by covering for Mom, by denying the things he asked her. They had both tried to love Mom by denying the truth instead of facing the reality before them. But it was time to face it now.
“May I see her?”
“Yes. But you have to realize it’s been a number of years, and…”
“My memories are faded at best. I just want to see my mother.”
He nodded. “We can discuss guardianship and make decisions later. I’ve told Elaine that you were asking about her. I didn’t want this visit to be a complete surprise. Surprises aren’t good for her.”
“Me neither.”
He laughed. “This way.”
Just outside the double doors he paused. “She may be thrown by this. Don’t expect too much.”
The visiting room was warm and comfortable, pale ochre walls with woven yarn hangings and sage corduroy chairs. Rese was not sure what period or effect they were trying for, but it was pleasant anyway. A woman sat at a table, hands folded, watching a bird at the feeder outside the window. An electrical jolt coursed Rese’s limbs as she realized it was her mother.
“Here she is, Elaine. See who I’ve brought you? Your daughter, Theresa.”
Mom turned and there was no mistaking her eyes, though her hair was mostly white and her skin pale and slack. She was thin, but not emaciated, yet her skin hung as though it had been draped over her face and neck as an afterthought. Rese wondered if she’d lost weight or if the tissue had simply tired of holding itself firm.
“I’ll leave you two to visit.” He motioned to another woman sitting by the wall, dressed in a floral scrub. “Bonnie’s here if you need anything.”
Mom made a noise, and Rese realized she was laughing, but the emotion would have been more appropriately expressed by tears. In spite of the shaking inside, she went to her mother and sat in a chair at the table. “Hi, Mom,” she managed before her voice turned traitor.
“What have you done with my little girl?”
“I grew up.” She fought the swelling in her throat. “I didn’t know you were here. I came as soon as I knew.”
Mom tipped her head and studied her. “It’s a very good try. You look like her.”
Rese searched her mother’s eyes. She didn’t believe her? Didn’t know her own child? But would she have recognized her mom on the street? Yes, a thousand times yes. “It’s me, really.”
Her mother started to rock. “She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone…”
“Who’s gone?”
“Gone, gone, gone, gone…” It kept on like a pulse, then, “I met the president and he was very nice. But I know. Inside his teeth are little bombs, little gas bombs, poison gas. Breathe in, breathe in…”
Panic seized her. Horrible gasping breaths. How could her mother say something so cruel?
“Gone, gone, gone…”
Had Dad told her Mom was dead so she’d never have to face this? So she’d remember a Mother who played and danced and told stories? He was protecting them both: Mom, from the rage and hatred Rese might have felt knowing the truth, and her from a truth that hurt so much. But he was gone and now all they had was each other.
She fought back her tears and took her mother’s hand. “Mom.”
“Yes, Theresa?”
She knew her? Soaking gratitude. “I want to help you. I’m going to do everything I can.”
Her eyes sharpened. “It’ll be our secret. Don’t tell Dad.”
Waves of pain. Hadn’t they told her? “I won’t.”
“Why doesn’t he come? He’s gone, gone, gone.” Again her mother laughed—at Dad’s death?
Mom couldn’t help it, but chills slid down Rese’s spine, and she had to get away. “I need to talk to Doctor Jonas now.”
“Wilbur is a pig’s name. A little baby pig.”
They’d read
Charlotte’s Web
together, but she didn’t make the connection until she saw Dr. Jonas’s nameplate again.
Dr. Wilbur A. Jonas
. He welcomed her back into his space with a gentle hand. “So you’re wondering where to go with it?”
Rese nodded. No comment on what she’d just experienced, no word of comfort or explanation. Did he know she was shaking inside? Her mind was whirling, but she listened as he described the procedures already in place that had given the state temporary guardianship after Dad’s death. Since she’d sold the company and moved, they’d been unable to find her, and Elaine required a guardian. She would have to appeal for a change and there would be a personal study conducted to determine her ability to function in that role.
“Will they try to prevent me?”
Dr. Jonas looked surprised. “Believe me, the Department of Mental Health wishes everyone had someone to step forward for them. If you qualify, your petition will be expedited.”
“If I qualify?”
He shrugged. “There is the genetic nature of the disorder. Your medical history will be examined and your capacity to act in Elaine’s best interest. Have you had any psychotic episodes?”
He might have said, “Sore throat, headache?”
“Would I know?”
He smiled. “Maybe not. But it would be in your record if it has had a diagnosis.”
“I was treated for shock after Dad’s death. I was with him when he had the accident.”
Dr. Jonas nodded. “The state will determine the extent of the study and process your petition.”
No comment on her disclosure? “I was kind of out of it for three weeks. I didn’t speak much.”
He nodded. “I didn’t speak much for years after my son died.” He met her eyes. “Then I switched from internal medicine to psychiatry.”
Rese said, “I went from renovation to hospitality.”
They laughed. Then he sobered. “You’ve read the statistics. You know your risk. The best you can do is face it with appropriate attention and resist obsessing. If you’re granted guardianship, we’ll work together to determine the best avenue of care for Elaine.”
Rese nodded. She’d received another call and forms in the mail from the California Department of Mental Health. She would begin that process, but processing the rest would be much more difficult. It wasn’t Mom as she remembered her. They hadn’t embraced in tearful ecstasy, sharing words of love and heartache. Mom had laughed. She’d looked at her daughter and laughed.
Rese walked out to her truck. She had to let go of every expectation, all hope for the relationship she’d lost. It couldn’t be that way; maybe it never had.
Before she fell apart, there was something she had to do. She picked up the cell phone she kept connected in the truck and dialed Brad’s number. He’d be on a job, but she didn’t care. He picked up and she said, “Brad, it’s Rese. I need to see you.”
“Hey, great. You in town?” He gave her his location, a street she recognized.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She hung up. It took her only fifteen, and she parked on the steep incline behind Brad’s truck and got out. He was outside the tall, narrow house painted a pale blue that he would hate, discussing something with an architect they had used on occasion.
She waited near the truck, but he’d seen her and started her way as soon as they finished. He probably thought she had come to accept his offer. She didn’t even want to go there. She raised her chin. “Why didn’t you tell me my mother was alive?”
His greeting died on his lips. He closed his mouth and eyed her with a guilty expression that said all she needed to know. “Vern asked me not to. He was worried what it might do to you.”
“Put me over the edge? Make me start seeing people?”
Brad hung his thumbs in his tattered jeans. “I guess you’re angry.”
Was she? Mostly incredulous. “What about after the accident, when the hospital called you, and you told them Dad was dead? They were looking for me.”
“Rese, I wasn’t sure what to do. You weren’t … very stable.”
“Someone bleeding to death in your arms tends to have that effect.”
He nodded. “I know. It was awful.” He patted his T-shirt pocket, but for once it was empty.
“Out of cigarettes?”
“I quit. At least, I’m trying to.” He cocked his head. “Look, your Dad did what he thought he had to. I just did what he asked.”
Everyone had done what Vernon Barrett asked. He was that kind of man. She looked away.
“Are you okay?”
“Except for all the voices and little green men.”
Brad gave a short laugh. “Man, Rese. You’re hard as nails.”
Lance had told her that too. She turned back. “Any other surprises I should know about? Are you really my brother or something?”
“I sure hope not. I had a terrible crush on you.”
She stared at him.
“Hide it good, don’t I?” He grinned. “Have you given any thought to my offer?”
“The inn is doing well. I even have a band.”
He dropped his chin and shook his head. “It’s just not you.”
Her throat squeezed her voice tight. “How would you know? To you I’m just Vernon Barrett’s crazy daughter.”
He cocked his glance up. “Not hardly.”
She stepped back. “Good-bye, Brad.” She opened the door of her truck and glanced back once to see him bumming a cigarette from the man on the porch.
R
ico reached Star first, but Lance was right behind. Her flashlight illuminated Quillan’s admittedly gruesome remains, and she had frozen with a look of horror. This would require major damage repair—to her psyche and his goal.
What was she doing there? She must have seen the open cellar hatch, gone for a light and come back to see what they were up to. He hadn’t checked the door, but the guys must have left it unlocked when they came in to clean up. Star wouldn’t normally barge in, but she could have just ducked her head inside and seen the open hatch. Who wouldn’t be curious? A skeleton was obviously more than she’d anticipated. Rico had an arm around her shoulders, but Lance had her gaze.
“What … who… ?”
“Let’s go upstairs.” He couldn’t bear his great-great-grandfather being scrutinized like some attraction at a freak fair.
Star glanced back repeatedly until they climbed the stairs to the hatch where Baxter met them in an excited frenzy. Some watchdog. He hadn’t barked until Star went down and was only complaining about being left out. But Lance calmed him with his hands. He couldn’t expect the dog to consider Star an intruder, and once she’d seen the open hatch, the damage was done.
Rico seated her on the sofa while Chaz closed the hatch.
Lance crouched in front of her. “You okay?”
“What wretched being…? What is that place?”
Lance rubbed her hands. “Just a cellar.”
“That skeleton was real.” She shuddered.
He nodded. Rico sat down beside her, but neither he nor Chaz tried to explain. It wasn’t their problem.