NECESSARY MEASURES

by Alexander, Hannah

  “I know that must have been humiliating,” Dad said.

  “I didn’t think I was going to live through it but I did. Someday we might even laugh about it. I just can’t believe I tried to smile like that.”

  “It’s your natural compassion, Beau. It’s the kind of person you are. How do you feel about another attempt at surgery?”

  “The others didn’t work. We got our hopes up for nothing.”

  “I spoke with Dr. Taylor Monday and he’s had some success recently with the same kind of problem.”

  “It’s okay Dad, really. Maybe later.” Dad was already in debt because of the other surgeries. If the plaintiff won this malpractice suit, their bank account might not see daylight for years to come. And he didn’t want to go through all that again.

  “Beau, remember a few years ago when that kid was picking on you in sixth grade?”

  “You mean the one Brooke beat up?”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Dad said dryly. “When you came to your mother and me about it your mother suggested that you pray for him. It helped, didn’t it?”

  “Especially after Brooke heard me praying and decided to beat him—”

  “Okay yes, I know. Why don’t we try to leave Brooke out of it this time?”

  “She doesn’t know about it yet. Lauren does and she’s livid. That’s the word she used last night. I’m afraid she might get herself fired because of it. You want me to pray for Dr. Caine?”

  “It’s what we’re supposed to do. Pray for our enemies.”

  “He wasn’t as mean as Dru’s grandmother.”

  “No kidding? She must have been quite the harridan.”

  “He just dismissed me and threw my notes in the trash. Now that I think about it I would have expected Dr. Caine to be nastier.”

  “Maybe I’m the one who needs to do the praying.”

  “Both of us.”

  “I’ll sign off for now so you won’t be late for school. I’ll see you soon. I love you, Beau. And keep an eye on your sister, will you? My father’s intuition tells me she’s up to something.”

  “Sure Dad.” Beau said goodbye and disconnected, wishing again that his father was home. But soon he would be. Maybe with Grandma. Life might get even more interesting very soon.

  ***

  Grant hung up the phone with a bit too much force—just a little bit. It was a good thing he was in St. Louis right now instead of Dogwood Springs or he might be tempted to pull a “Brooke move” and beat someone up. He felt a sudden rush of powerful affection for Lauren, who was obviously there to help pick up the pieces when Caine humiliated Beau.

  How could the man work in the medical profession and be such a jerk?

  “What am I thinking?” Grant muttered aloud. He knew far too many people in the medical profession who weren’t in it to heal. Wherever money was plentiful the buzzards gathered.

  He took a deep breath, let it out, and flexed his fists as he went to the kitchen to start breakfast before Mom could beat him to it. He took a little too much satisfaction breaking the eggs into the hot grease in the skillet. Breakfast was almost cooked by the time he calmed down enough to think about something else. With the change of focus came the worry once again. He knew he was in partial denial. Mom’s mental status seemed to have deteriorated since Monday. Still, her sleep patterns were a mess, so her daytime confusion could be from sleep deprivation.

  She’d been up three times last night wandering the house, checking the locks on the doors, staring out the leaded panes of the front door at the lights across the street. In spite of her wanderings, she was usually up by seven-thirty cooking breakfast for him. Twice she’d spilled eggs on the burner and the smell lingered even after his attempts to air out the house.

  He was pulling toast from the toaster when she came padding into the room in the house shoes that were a size too big for her.

  “Grant? What are you doing up so early?”

  He looked at the clock. “It’s seven-thirty, Mom. It isn’t that early. I have some arrangements to make and another meeting with Jay so I need to leave before eight.”

  “When are those snoops coming to inspect the house?”

  This was going to be a kick-and-scream operation, he could tell. He took a breath to relax himself. “Comfortable Companions is supposed to send someone over to meet with us at three this afternoon. That’s why I need to get everything else done before then.” He poured her a cup of tea, pulled her chair out, and waited for her to sit.

  “I don’t want somebody else living here with me,” she muttered.

  “She won’t be living here; she’ll be staying here nights and then preparing your meals in the mornings for the day.”

  “I don’t want anybody else in my kitchen.”

  Grant sighed. “It won’t hurt us to talk to her.”

  Mom eased herself down on the chair and leaned her elbows on the table, combing her fingers through her hair. “Why don’t they call it what it is? A baby-sitting service.”

  “You’re not a baby. If you don’t like this companion we can look for someone else. The only other option I can think of is for you to come to Dogwood Springs and live with us.”

  She blinked up at him. Her gray eyes seemed to fill the circumference of her round, owlish glasses. “I can’t go traipsing off across the state to the middle of nowhere. And what would your father have to say about you taking the enemy to live under your roof?” Ancient bitterness hammered through her words.

  Grant didn’t want to think about that. Brooke and Beau had been dragged into their grandparents’ fights all their lives—controversy over who would go where for holidays, who had spent more money on whom—until Annette put a stop to that by establishing holiday celebrations at home as a family, promising to visit the grandparents separately at other times.

  She’d been firm about not dragging the kids into any conversations about the “other” grandparent. She had been unpopular for a while with both Mom and Dad until Rita and her family supported Annette’s stance and did the same thing. In the end it had made for smoother relations—until Annette was killed and the family was thrown into chaos.

  It was a shame when children had to be sheltered from their grandparents.

  Bringing Mom home with him would be bringing the battle into their home again if he didn’t take and hold a firm position the same way Annette had done. “I can’t leave you by yourself, Mom, not until you get better.”

  She spooned sugar into her tea. “Am I going to get better?”

  “You could with the right treatment. We’ll just wait and see.”

  “And what if I’m not?”

  “You can live with us.”

  “This is home. Your place isn’t.”

  “We’ll do what we can, Mom. I’ll take all measures necessary to take care of you. Please just trust me, okay?”

  The darkness of hurt suspicion remained in her eyes. He reached forward and laid a hand on hers. “Mom, I love you and you know I’ll take care of you.”

  “Even if your father kicks up a fuss because you’re spending more time with me?”

  “Even if he cuts all ties. I can’t leave you stranded like this. I’ll take care of you.”

  She sat back. Though the pain of loss continued to chisel her face with sorrow, the suspicion cleared. “I don’t think you’re going to give me a choice.”

  Chapter 23

  Beau arrived at school twenty minutes early, which gave him time to look for Brooke and Evan and make sure they were actually on school property and not skulking around in the shadows spying on questionable characters. He found them in Publications hovering over a table with a computer at the far end of the cavernous room—the same computer they used for all their skulking work and articles. They hadn’t even turned on the lights.

  He entered silently enough that they didn’t notice his arrival.

  “That’s the one who was with Oak the other day.” Brooke’s voice was unnaturally soft. She picked up a sm
all square of paper that looked like a photograph. “See? Here he is again with Kent. I could pick him out of a lineup. Good work, Evan. You could set up your own photography business when you graduate.”

  Beau moved in closer and some whisper of movement must have alerted Brooke. She slid the photographs beneath a manila folder and turned to the computer where Evan hovered. They both kept their attention on the screen without looking up.

  “‘Peer pressure can be a powerful incentive,’” Brooke read aloud. “‘It’s hard to say no when everyone around you is saying yes.’ So far it’s good, Evan.” Her voice was a little too loud and shrill.

  “Okay, that works.” Evan enunciated his words too clearly. “But we need to segue into the rest of the article. Listen to this. ‘You may think you have—‘” He looked up at that moment, as if he’d just noticed Beau had entered the room. “Oh. Hi Beau. You’re here early.”

  Beau sighed and shook his head. “Don’t let me stop your momentum,” he said dryly. He took a few steps closer to the computer. “Why don’t you read it to me?”

  “We’re polishing. It isn’t done yet,” Evan said. “And it’s just a bunch of boring facts.”

  “How stupid do you two think I am?” Beau pulled a chair from beneath the computer table and slumped into it. “You’re still snooping where you shouldn’t be, taking pictures, taking all kinds of chances. Brooke, Dad called this morning and he wanted to talk to you but you’d already left for school—early. That’s twice in a week and a half. How weird is that? When are you ever early?”

  “Has it occurred to you or Dad that I might have finally found something that holds my interest? Give me a break, Beau.”

  “You two are doing surveillance for Tony Dalton again, aren’t you?”

  “We’ve talked with Sergeant Dalton, if that’s what you mean,” Brooke said.

  Beau reached beneath the manila folder and slid the photos out before they could stop him. The shot on top was a side view of a scruffy-looking man with spiky blond hair, wearing a dirty sweater and jeans. He was holding his hand out to a kid Beau didn’t recognize. The background was dark.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “It’s a picture we took last night, okay?” Evan snatched the pictures from Beau’s hand. “Satisfied? It’s a drug deal. It’s happening right out there on our streets when the kids go cruising.”

  The overhead lights came on. “What’s going on in here?”

  Evan gasped and shoved the pictures beneath the manila folder again. The three of them turned to see Miss Bolton walking to her desk carrying her purse and the large canvas bag she always used to cart work home with her.

  “Webster and the Sheldons. I should have known. Are you finished with that article yet?” She set her things down. “We need to get it into tomorrow’s edition if possible.”

  Evan swallowed. “Tomorrow? But I thought—”

  “All the kids I’ve talked to are staying after school for Oakley’s funeral. We’ll have a packed gymnasium.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and strolled back toward them. “It’s no secret Oak died of an overdose. You hit them with a good article tomorrow and public outrage about the drug problem will shoot sky-high.” She leaned against a nearby desk. “So let’s hear it. What’ve you got?”

  Evan scooted closer to the monitor and cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ll read you what I’ve got but don’t critique it yet. It’s really rough.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  He cleared his throat again. “‘Let me tell you what peer pressure can do to you. It can ruin your love life, damage your relationship with your parents, and eventually it can kill you. It happened to me.’”

  Beau straightened in his chair. “Peer pressure killed you?”

  Evan peered up from his screen. “I said don’t critique. You’ll knock me off my stride.”

  “Sorry.”

  Evan scowled and punched a few keys. “Fine then, how does this sound? ‘I know, because it recently happened to one of our own and it almost happened to me.’”

  “That’s better,” Beau said.

  “Good. That’s all I’ll need to say about Oakley. So listen to this, ‘Don’t get me wrong, sometimes peer pressure can be a good thing, especially when public opinion forces you to drive cautiously, study hard, and be kind to senior citizens. But there is a dark side.’” He looked up and gave Beau a warning glance.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  Evan sighed and continued. “‘When a friend entices you to try an illegal drug, that person is no longer your friend. Our fair community, deep in the heart of the Ozarks, with strong ethical standards, is a town on the edge of a dangerous precipice.’” He looked up at Beau again.

  “I thought you didn’t want my opinion,” Beau said.

  “I don’t. I can read your expression. So far you’re not gagging.”

  “Are you ever going to get to the point?”

  “Fine. Here goes. ‘Our fair community is drowning in the drug scene. Our poison of choice is the illegal methamphetamine that some of our own citizens are manufacturing.’”

  “Cut the purple prose,” Brooke said. “And don’t say ‘fair community.’ It sounds like something in a political speech.”

  “Later, okay? I’m flowing with it. ‘The pills are dangerous enough to kill but even if that first dose doesn’t hurt you the high goes away. At this point you are a low-intensity abuser. But it will draw you deeper. You discover soon enough that the real trip comes when you snort it up your nose or inject it with a needle. By then you’ve already stepped into the zone of red alert and there will be no warning.’” He looked at Miss Bolton. “Brooke’s probably right. I think the rest has too much purple prose. Maybe we should wait—”

  “No, I want to hear the rest,” she said. “Just stop trying to bias the reader against the drug. If they’re the least bit resistant, they’ll rebel against everything else you have to say. Let the facts speak for themselves—that’s all you’ll need.”

  Evan nodded. “‘Do you see what I’m saying? You’ll crash without a safety net and when you hit, you’ll hit hard. And remember this if you never remember anything else: you’ll never again feel the same ability to enjoy life without the drug. You will have become a high-intensity abuser. The scientific explanation is that it depletes your body’s natural endorphin supply. No matter how many times you shoot up or snort, you will never find the same high again—and yet you’ll have to have it!’” He punched a few keys. “I see what you mean. I do sound a little prejudiced.”

  “At least you have some scientific stuff in there,” Beau said. “Let’s hear the rest.”

  “Let’s see... okay, here we go. ‘At this point you have traveled out of the reach of redemption. Even if you’ve never believed in a devil before, you will believe in him now, because he will snatch your soul.’”

  He looked up at his listeners. “What do you think? Scary? Will it make the readers think?”

  “They’ll probably complain that you’re forcing your personal convictions down their throats,” Brooke said.

  “I’ve done this kind of thing before and nobody complained.”

  “So read us the rest,” Miss Bolton said.

  Evan beamed at her. “I got your attention didn’t I? You want more. I can see it in your—”

  “Would you just read it from the screen?” Brooke snapped.

  Evan chuckled and returned to his work. “‘The final consequences are gruesome to behold.’”

  “I still think you’re using too much purple prose,” Brooke said.

  Evan shrugged. “‘The victim of the drug has now become the very evil that lurked in those shadows, the evil that is not afraid of killing. The drug abuser gets high and stays high for days, even weeks, without sleep. And then after sleeping from one to three days straight, he becomes a ‘tweaker’ looking for his next high. He’ll do anything to get it.’”

  “Objection,” Brooke said. “You’re usi
ng the masculine pronoun.”

  “I’ll deal with it later, Brooke. ‘Even if he—or she—is serious about trying to quit, about sixty to ninety days out he realizes that he has brought someone back with him from that dark world of illusion—the specter of depression, a permanent companion.

  “‘And so our vicious victim turns to alcohol to blunt the sharp pain of depression and another companion joins the first. Paranoia. If you see eyes that flick back and forth in a crowded room, you’d best keep your distance. The victim has become the aggressor. There is no going back.

  “‘This could be you, my friend, if you listen to the voice of seduction.’” He sat back and sighed then looked at Miss Bolton. “What do you think?”

  “Too long,” Brooke said.

  “I don’t know,” Beau argued. “Even if it is a little dramatic I think it’ll keep their attention.”

  “Keep the dramatic slant,” Miss Bolton said. “Get that thing rewritten and ready to go. Beau and Brooke, help him edit but don’t hit him too hard. We can get away with more emotion right now.”

  The bell rang and Miss Bolton shooed them out of the department.

  ***

  At two-fifty on Thursday afternoon Grant entered his bedroom and closed the door while Mom got ready for company. As he had begun to do in this room twenty-four years ago, he knelt beside the bed and buried his face in his hands and said a heartfelt prayer for his mother and for the courage to make the necessary measures to help her.

  Necessary measures. The term struck him. Many times the measures one had to take were not attractive. They were often painful and difficult.

  He heard the doorbell, heard Mom’s voice calling out to him, and he started to get up. He couldn’t. He wasn’t finished. Reluctantly, he settled back onto his knees.

  “Grant?” There was Mom’s familiar click of fingernails on the door. She did that because it hurt her arthritis to knock with her knuckles.

  “Let them in,” he said. “I’ll be out in a minute.” She would have to get accustomed to company. He could hear her breathing as she stood another few seconds outside the door then she shuffled on down the hallway.