‘Can we hurry it up a bit? I want to get back before dark,’ Adam had said, his voice registering his annoyance.
He stood in the doorway, dressed in his weekend attire of soft, fitted jeans and plaid flannel shirt. She felt frazzled, still in her nightgown and robe, hair spilling out of a messy bun. She turned to him, trying hard not to react with anger but failing. She felt her stomach clench, heart begin to beat faster, harder.
‘I’m trying. You could help, you know.’
Adam shrugged, taking a cup out of the cupboard over her head. She could smell his aftershave, a scent that reminded her of their early times together, causing a frisson of sadness along with a fleeting speck of hope that, maybe today, they could reignite some of that connection.
‘He only wants you. And besides, I have to make a few phone calls,’ he said, pouring coffee into his cup from the French press warming on the stovetop.
‘Again, really? I thought today was going to be our day away from all of this. From work, from well, everything,’ Clair said, her voice rising, giving her emotions away. She hated that and took a deep inhale to try and calm down.
‘It is, but I just have to make this one call. Something I need to arrange for later,’ he said, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. He set the coffee down to open the door leading out to the deck.
‘One call, or a few? That could take an hour or more?’
‘Just the one, really, it won’t take long,’ he said, picking up his cup and elbowing the door open.
‘OK, I’ll get him going, but can you at least pack the car?’ she said, hating that she sounded like she was pleading, but unable to stop herself.
‘I don’t know what to bring. How the hell should I know? You’re his mother. You do all this. I just show up and look like I’m a dad, but we both know who runs this family,’ he said, staring down at his phone.
‘And whose fault is that? Where have you been the past four years? At work. At school. With your precious students who, oh yes, need you so much.’
Her hands gripped the edge of the sink. She wanted to grab the phone away from him and throw it across the kitchen. But she didn’t. The morning was reeling away from her expectations of a happy outing.
‘You’re a teacher,’ he said, looking at her. ‘You know how it is. How can you, of all people, who works until one or two in the morning, accuse me of caring too much about my students?’
‘I work till all hours because I can’t work until he’s asleep. Unlike you, I can’t just go and do whatever I want when I want. Or haven’t you noticed over the past years; our son is different.’
‘Oh yes, believe me, I know, and if I forget for even one millisecond, you remind me.’
She turned back to the counter, began packing their lunch again. Her chest and shoulders slumped, like a deflated balloon. Wanting to rescue any hope for a good day, she exhaled, retreating from the argument.
‘Can we just let it go for a day?’ she said, her back to him. ‘Can we act like a normal happy family, for just today?’
‘Yes, yes, lay everything you want to take out here. I’ll load up the car. I’m just going to the deck for a moment,’ he said, pushing the door open wider with his hip, half in and half out.
‘The deck? Why out there?’ she turned around again, her face showing her disbelief. ‘Can’t you make your call here? I won’t listen to your precious conversation.’
‘It’s not that, it’s all the clatter and banging around once he gets up. I need some quiet time.’
Waving a hand at him, she said, ‘Go then, get it done. This thing that’s so important on this, the one day during our entire spring break we are spending time together as a family. Maybe then you can be with us, not with… well, with whomever it is you have to be with right now. Just go.’
Looking back, now, here in this place, with all that had happened, why didn’t she just go without him? Jet’s voice called her back to the room. They wrapped up by checking out, reciting their numbers again. When her time came, she said four and a half. She knew Jet would want to hear this, to know that this work had helped, and that she was improving. What she really wanted to say was zero. The memory of that final morning, so pathetic in its mundaneness, in its predictability, so lowly. Devon, he was like the sun. He shone so bright but all Adam, and yes, maybe by that time she too, could see was the shadow of the perfect child they had expected. And so, they mired themselves in their prosaic worlds of work, argument, loneliness, and heartache.
* * *
After group, it was time for therapeutic activities. She had been working hard to fit in to the milieu of the unit. Getting up, dressing in the blue scrubs that came without even a string tie around the waist to hold them up. Anything that could be used to strangle, choke, cut off blood was censored. Contraband they called it. She ate, exercised, and participated in group activities. One day, they were creating a group collage from magazine pictures. They would find a picture that looked like how they felt that day. At first, she had found a photo of a canyon, empty of all but shadow, cut in two by millions of years of wear, its river so far removed it no longer seemed to exist. This was how she felt, empty and dredged. But, instead of cutting that one out, she chose a picture of a valley, with sheep grazing on green hillsides, a red barn sheltering daffodils and crocuses. This was the opposite of how she felt, and this was what she shared. It gave her a sense of power, of control. She could find an equation that fit here. She just had to first figure out the numbers. Having a future to look forward to – being ‘future-oriented’ was how they put it. This was essential in not being suicidal. She did have a future she was looking forward to – a future where she would die. And maybe this time, he would too.
Annie, the recreation therapist, was rounding, looking at the different pictures patients were gluing to the large sheet of white paper. She stood behind Clair, leaning over, resting a hand on the back of her chair.
‘That is really lovely, Clair. Does this remind you of any place in your life or is it something you look ahead to?’ she asked.
‘It does remind me of an area I used to pass on my way from home to the coast. Yeah, I hadn’t thought about that, but it does. It always brought me a sense of peace and hope.’
‘That’s good. I’m glad to hear that you are able to connect with those feelings again.’
Annie walked on, looking over another patient’s shoulder. Clair remembered the day, the drive to the coast, that morning. There was that red barn. Devon had called out to look at the lambs. To look at the baby sheep. The memory of that joyful expectation – his belief in her, that she would keep him safe, that his world was a place of wonder and delight, not one where a monster wave could come out of nowhere and sweep you away from all you knew and loved – brought tears, shame, and she bolted, knocking over her chair.
She walked quickly to her room, private now without a roommate, and curled into a ball, clasping her pillow against her aching chest. She lay there for several minutes, rocking herself, tiny moans escaping from deep inside. Linda, the psychiatric aide checked on her. Clair waved her away. Once the emotional avalanche had passed, she sat up. I have to get out of here, she thought. I just have to get out.
Clair looked out the window and saw Jet coming across the parking lot, a man walking with her. Small, slender, black hair. He wore a suit with a white shirt, thin, dark tie. Clair felt a churning in her gut. Jet had said there might be an interview soon, because of the attempt on Adam. Oh God, she thought. Is he coming for me?
Chapter 4
Clair
It was the first time Clair had been off the locked unit since she was first admitted. Jet’s office was in the hallway along with several staff offices and a clinical pharmacy. It felt strange to see and hear normal people going about their day to day jobs, talking about the coming weekend, plans for kids’ ball games, shopping trips to
Eugene, and those simple activities that make up a life. Her legs felt shaky, steps uncertain as she followed Jet through the door into a square room, with floor to ceiling windows looking out towards the mountains to the east. A marine layer caressed the tops of Douglas firs, spruce, and scattered redwoods that lay a deep green covering over the land. A clearing, where fir and spruce forests had been cut down, stood out like a wound. It made her sad to see this, and then she remembered why she was here. Looking to her right, she saw him; the detective. Her heart contracted; her mouth suddenly dry. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. Jet motioned for her to sit on a chair, next to a small wooden table holding a vase of holly, her back to the window.
‘Clair, this is Detective James Santiago, of the Harbor Police Department. He’s here to ask you some questions about what happened. Do you feel up to talking with him? It’s up to you. You can refuse, and you can also request an attorney to be present. I can stay with you, if you like.’
‘I’m OK,’ she said softly. ‘I can talk.’
‘Do you want to have an attorney present, Clair?’ the detective asked.
He was polite but official. His voice held a slight accent. She noticed a neat mustache over his small, bow-shaped mouth. He stroked it lightly from time to time. Old acne scars covered his cheeks like moon craters seen from the earth. His eyes were the deepest blue. She felt she might fall into those eyes and disappear. Was this part of his technique, to throw his suspects off guard? She shook herself clear of any notions he might be kind or caring.
‘No, but I would like for Jet, uh, Dr Taylor to stay.’
‘I’m going to record this,’ he said, and it wasn’t a question.
He pulled a small camcorder out of his satchel, sitting it on the edge of the windowsill. Clair felt naked and cold. Jet noticed her shiver and offered her a blanket from the couch on the other side of the room. Clair had been in sessions with Jet many times over the past several days. It had always felt safe. It didn’t feel safe today, not with Santiago here.
Clair sat, her hands folded neatly in her lap, and waited. Jet and the detective sat either side of the table Jet used as a desk. Bare except for a computer and a photo of Jet and a young woman who looked just like her. A graduation shot, black gowns and caps with purple tassels tilted to the left. Both smiling broadly, their arms around each other, free arms waving at someone in the distance.
It was time now. The story was advancing, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Each remembering, each telling, invoked memories, or were they imaginings? She didn’t know. This man, this detective, Santiago, the way he looked at her, with such empathy. Where did he get that? And yet, he had the power to stop all of this and just send her to prison. They were giving her a chance. But a chance for what? Life, she didn’t want. Freedom, that terrified her. Absolution, impossible.
A click sounded from the small camcorder set up on the windowsill.
‘Detective James Santiago, Harbor Police Department. Dr Juliette Taylor is also present. It is Thursday, September 27, 2018. We are at Harbor Hospital in the office of Dr Juliette Taylor. I am interviewing Clair Mercer on the events of September 20, 2018.’
‘I know now I was psychotic. I must have known it then, but I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop myself.’ Clair spoke directly into the camera, as though it was a person. Her hands busied themselves rolling up her scrub top into a tight knot at her waist, then letting go, again and again as she spoke.
‘After I, you know, mixed his drink, dumped the powder from the pills into the drink and mixed the rest into the cheese mixture. I made him the cheese toast, gave them to him. He didn’t even say thank you. He just kept talking on the phone. I watched him take that first sip, afraid he would taste something strange. But it was his good Scotch. He didn’t notice. He took a big bite of his toast. I remember some of the cheese stuck to his bottom lip. It made him look sad, old. Well, after, and I thought he was dying, dead, I got my bag, made sure I had what I needed, and walked out to my car. I remember how bright the sun was. The late summer haze from the cooling ocean drifted across the coastal range scattering rainbows across the horizon. I saw them as a sign, like a bridge, you know, from here to there.’
She looked up at Jet, hoping that somehow, magically, through this telling, this moment of joyful recognition of beauty, somehow the terrible events of that day could be erased. Like the tsunami tide, a surge so powerful that it could take it all away. Seeing only assent in Jet’s gaze, she dropped her own, staring at the silvery threads woven into the deep indigo carpet at her feet. Then at her feet, wearing the blue booties the hospital provided for the psych patients. This jolted her back to the reality that was now. The tide was surging back in.
‘I got in my car. Began the drive to the coast, to the beach where, you know, where I lost him, my boy. It was about a thirty-minute drive, maybe more, depending on traffic. This was a Friday afternoon so yeah, lots of people heading to the coast, slowing down the 101. Escaping the valley heat. But it was OK. I wasn’t in a hurry. I was just on my way. I had finished my business at the house. Adam was done. And I was going to join Devon. To become part of that watery sanctuary that had enfolded him. To immerse my atoms and molecules with his.’
Clair was shaking her head, pleading with her eyes, spreading her hands towards Jet and Santiago, beseeching them to understand.
‘I was on the river road, just before the turn off, when I saw his car for the first time. That damn new black Mercedes he insisted on, saying he had to maintain a certain image for his students, his public. How could it be him? I disbelieved my eyes, but at the same time I questioned why I hadn’t taken his keys with me. Is this his ghost, coming to haunt me already? I just drove on, faster.’
‘Take a breath, Clair,’ Jet coached. ‘Take a minute, we have time.’ Jet reached across the table, touched Clair’s forearm. ‘Are you OK? We can stop and do this later.’
‘No, I want to get it over with,’ she said, shuddering. ‘Please.’
Santiago nodded.
‘I turned onto the coast road. It was still so bright. The western sun was shining in my eyes, blinding me. But he was there. In my rearview mirror. He would gain on me, then withdraw, like a shadow. Even the wind, the trees colluded in his stalking, throwing leaves and debris in my path. I drove so fast, but my older car was no match for his machine. He stayed with me. I slowed down through the village of Seven Devils. Then rushed to the turn off where I parked to walk down to the beach. I felt sure I had lost him. He must have died again on the way, crashed his car. I hurried down the trail. It was getting dark now, but I could still see the path. Each root, remembering how Devon had skipped and leaped over them on that day, before. I made it to the cove. I felt so safe now. I had made it. Then I heard a car door slam. Sound carries, you know, close to the water. I froze.’
Clair sat rooted in the memory, her hands tight fists. She felt her nails pressing into her soft palms, bringing her back to the present.
‘When nothing happened, when his ghost didn’t come, I sat down on a rock, at the far end of the cove. I could see a fisherman making his way across the rocks on the other end, but he wasn’t looking my way. At least I didn’t think so.’ She sighed, letting her hands release, rubbing them briskly against her upper arms.
‘I had brought a bottle of vodka with me, and the pills. I sat there on the beach, waiting for the tide to come in. I waited, waited, then noticed it wasn’t coming in, it was going out. I remember feeling woozy and nauseous. The sound of waves pulling me forward was irresistible. I knew it was now or never. I began walking into the water. Cold, so cold. My breath caught. All I could think about was Devon, what he must have felt, that shock.’ She looked up at Jet, her eyes reddened, wet.
‘I was told he would have lost consciousness at once, that the shock, the hypothermia would have been like a salve. That he wouldn’t have had time to
be afraid.’ Tears flowed down her face. A gasp, and she crumbled into herself, hugging her arms around her middle.
‘I just wanted to be with him,’ Clair explained. ‘It had been six months since he left. He left in March, such an unkind month. The great whites come through then. The orcas. It was too dangerous for him. I had to find him. And I was so close, I knew it. A water spirit had come to take me to him. I could feel him there, drawing me in. I could hear the song of the sea, hear the voices. Don’t you believe me?’
Clair broke down, sobbing. Her head hung on her chest, too weak to lift her hands to support herself. Slowly, she melted, head resting on the edge of the desk, back and shoulders heaving.
Through her tears she heard Santiago speaking, saying something about the interview ending. Jet had walked around the table, sat beside her. Clair could feel her presence. She could hear Jet and the man talking, voices coming from far away. A door shut. She couldn’t, wouldn’t open her eyes. Her failures, as a mother, a wife, even as a teacher, a role she couldn’t find her way back to after Devon, all came crashing down, an avalanche of feeling. She had held back the dam for so long.
She began to hear soft music, a drumming sound, muffled, like the first time she had heard Devon’s heartbeat on the ultrasound monitor. Like when she’d been in the water. Will that sound be a part of her for ever, she wondered? The swish, swish of fluid moving through her body, their connection. She realized she was lying on the floor, curled into a pile of bolsters and cushions Jet placed around her office. Hugging one of the cushions to her chest, she allowed visions to come. She could sense Jet in the room, could hear paper crinkling, computer keys tapping. She felt a warm breath from the ventilation fan, heard its rumble. Sinking deeper and deeper into the carpet, the cushions, she drifted. Back, and further back. To another beginning, the one that cracked open the fragile mold that had been her life.
The Wave Page 3