From the time Michelle had been diagnosed as profoundly retarded, Claire had desperately clung to her intense faith in God. Armed with the knowledge that their daughter had been born with extensive brain damage, Claire believed that God’s divine plan would one day be revealed to them. But until that time, she concluded that there was nothing more important to Michelle than the love and protection of her parents. Glenn had preferred that they take a more detached attitude and plan to institutionalize Michelle at an early age. Consequently there had been many disagreements about Michelle’s care, but it was Claire who generally had the final say.
Sensing Glenn’s indifference toward the child and his determination to remain aloof and detached only served to fuel Claire’s efforts to gain a modicum of normalcy to their lives.
Initially Glenn had attempted to convince Claire to immediately institutionalize their daughter. It wasn’t that Glenn was an ogre; he was simply agreeing with the recommendation of the specialists who had diagnosed their child.
It is the most humane thing for all retarded children, the doctors had said. The institutions can give her the things you can’t. The two of you can get on with your lives—have other children.
Claire had resisted, not sure the doctors were correct in their diagnosis and hoping there was a doctor who would give her encouragement. Seeking medical answers wherever they traveled, Claire never hesitated to call Junction City for a referral from their family physician. She had called him from the East Coast while visiting her parents, from the upper Midwest while visiting her brother, from the Southeast while visiting her sister, and from any other large city they visited. But the doctor appointments were futile, eventually reinforcing Claire’s earlier conclusion that the most important things she could offer her daughter were love and protection.
Then, during a particularly difficult episode of pneumonia when she was a year old, Michelle had to be hospitalized. Margie Rayton, an excellent registered nurse, was assigned to Michelle’s care and explained to Claire that she, too, was the parent of a brain-damaged daughter. Sometimes, late at night while the other patients slept, Margie would come and visit with Claire. The two of them would commiserate about the futility of seeking help for their daughters. During one of those discussions, Margie had told Claire of a program she’d discovered for “patterning” brain-damaged children, a form of home physical therapy using volunteers; she added that she had already been to Philadelphia to have her daughter evaluated.
Claire had been so excited that evening when Glenn had returned home from work. Her words tumbled all over each other as she attempted to share the information she’d discovered earlier that day. He had been less than enthusiastic, pointing out the expense, the probability that Michelle wouldn’t be accepted into their program, the fact the program wasn’t even approved by the American Medical Association, and the additional heartbreak when their efforts failed.
She and Glenn had fought bitterly, but Claire won. It had been a tough battle—one in which she was forced to make a concession she later regretted.
❧
“How’s my girl doing?” Claire asked as she walked in the front door of the tan, vinyl-sided ranch style house that was now Michelle’s home.
“Just great, Mrs. Winslow,” Sandra called from the kitchen. “She’s in there doing her favorite thing,” the woman said, pointing toward the family room.
Claire walked up behind her daughter, whispered in her ear, and then nuzzled her on the neck. Michelle rewarded Claire with one of her joy-filled laughs, her head moving back and forth, which caused her thick brown hair to sway back and forth. Those laughs never ceased to bring a smile to Claire’s face.
“Just what are you watching?” she asked her daughter, knowing she wouldn’t receive an answer. “Looks like you lucked out, kiddo. Sandra managed to find you some cartoons on a Saturday afternoon, didn’t she?”
Claire pulled a chair close to her daughter, sat down, and began watching cartoons with her. When Michelle began to fuss, Claire pulled a hank of yarn out of her purse and ran it across the child’s fingers. Immediately, Michelle’s fussing ceased and her eyes focused on the yarn, her hands pulling it into tangles, as if working an unknown puzzle.
“You bring her more yarn?” Sandra asked, shaking her head.
“You know, Sandra, I don’t see what’s wrong with giving her yarn to play with. It’s no different from allowing her to watch television. It’s her weekend, so why shouldn’t she enjoy the things she likes to do?”
“All I know is what they keep telling me at the day facility. They already know she likes the feel of yarn. But ‘she needs to develop responses to other tactile stimulation,’ so I’m not supposed to give it to her,’” Sandra repeated in the typical sing-song voice the occupational therapist always used with Claire.
“I know, I know—but you didn’t give it to her. Besides, I’ll take it home with me and nobody will be the wiser,” Claire told the girl.
“Pretty day out there. You can take her for a walk if you want,” Sandra suggested.
“When cartoons are over. She’d rather see them than be outdoors,” Claire replied.
“What she wants and what’s good for her are two different things,” Sandra stated wisely.
“I have no doubt that she gets what’s good for her all week. When I’m around, she gets to have what she wants,” Claire retorted.
Sandra turned on her heel and quickly walked out of the room, leaving mother and daughter staring at an ancient rerun of Daffy Duck.
“I’m sorry, Sandra,” Claire apologized a few minutes later when the aide returned to give Michelle her medicine. “It’s just that everything is so regimented. You people need to understand that it gives me pleasure to see her enjoy things. There are so few things I can do to make her happy. How can allowing her to play with that yarn do any harm?” Claire asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Come here,” Sandra consoled, pulling Claire into her arms. “It’s hard having special children, never having the opportunity to see them mature like other kids. But one thing is certain: that child of yours is loved—nobody around here ever doubts that fact. Now dry your eyes, and take her outdoors for awhile. It’ll do you both good!”
THREE
The next morning Claire stationed herself outside the church at exactly ten-fifteen. When her watch reached ten-forty and service had already begun, she felt certain Jake wasn’t going to show. Quietly entering the back of the church, she surveyed the crowd and spotted an empty seat close to the rear of the church.
I wonder why Jake didn’t show up, she thought to herself when the service had ended. I should go home and call him to see if there was a problem, she thought, though knowing she wouldn’t.
That evening as she slipped into a pair of pale green silk pajamas, Claire’s thoughts drifted back over the weekend. “I’m surprised I didn’t hear from Jake,” she murmured, pulling back the ivory eyelet comforter and then turning down the matching sheet.
❧
The following week passed in a flurry, and although Claire was able to squeeze in a trip to see Michelle, there was little time for much else. One of the attorneys was preparing for an automobile negligence trial that would begin the following Monday.
“You working late again tonight?” Josie asked, obviously noting that Gloria and Claire weren’t making any move toward leaving and it was already after five o’clock.
“Do the geese fly south in winter?” Gloria asked disgustedly. “We’ll probably be working late until this trial is over. If you’re smart, you’ll get out of here while the gettin’ is good,” she added.
“You don’t have to warn me twice,” the younger girl replied, grabbing her small leather purse and tossing the strap on her shoulder. “See you on Monday. Hope you don’t have to spend the whole weekend here!”
“Now there’s a pleasant thought! You know if these guys wouldn’t procrastinate, thinking their cases are going to settle, the rest of us wouldn’t hav
e to put in these long hours,” Gloria said as she began typing the jury instructions Claire handed her.
“I’m certain that Dave will have some special instructions, but at least you can get started on those. I’ll go see what he’s working on and try to find out when we can get out of here,” Claire called over her shoulder as she walked toward Dave’s office.
Returning a few minutes later, she walked over to Gloria’s desk. “You have a choice. You can either stay here tonight until everything is ready or come back tomorrow. He said that if you stick around tonight, it may be pretty late. He hasn’t finished dictating his opening statement, and there are at least two or three motions he wants the judge to decide upon before the trial begins. He’ll need to dictate those also. It would mean you would have to sit around and wait on him,” Claire stated.
“How much have you got left to do?” Gloria asked.
“I need to check our copies of the exhibits and make sure they’re in order, and Dave wants me to go through the proposed questions and mark the correlating answers the witnesses gave in their depositions. It will probably take a good eight hours, so I think I’ll work a few hours tonight and then come back in the morning. You do whatever you want, though,” Claire said.
“I don’t want to sit around here waiting on him. I think I’ll finish up the jury instructions and call it a day. What time are you coming in tomorrow?” Gloria asked.
“Probably around nine. I hope that we can get out of here by noon or one o’clock at the latest.”
“Hey, you heard anything from Jake this week?” Gloria asked.
“Where did that question come from? I thought we were talking about work,” Claire responded, artfully dodging the question.
“It’s the weekend, and I just happened to think about it. So have you or not?”
“Nope. You know all there is to know. I think my invitation to church took care of Jake Lindsey,” Claire replied.
“You may be right—you sure know how to weed ’em out! Tell him you have absolutely no interest in commitment, allow him to do your yard work on Saturday, and invite him to church on Sunday,” Gloria said, laughing. “You probably won’t ever hear from him again. Too bad—Roger says he’s a nice guy.”
“I’m not looking for a guy, Gloria. I keep telling you that, but you just won’t listen.”
“Right! I keep forgetting—you don’t need anybody,” Gloria retorted and turned back to her typing.
A half-hour later, she piled the neatly typed stack of papers on the corner of her desk. “Those are done. See you tomorrow,” Gloria said, removing her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk.
“You’re upset with me, aren’t you?” Claire asked.
“No, I’m not upset. I just don’t understand you. See you in the morning,” Gloria answered, walking out the door.
❧
By Monday morning they were ready for trial. Claire knew the week would be hectic, all day in the courtroom to assist Dave and then back to the office at five o’clock to perform damage control and get ready for the next day. She dreaded the long hours but enjoyed trial work. However, since Dave and Lyle won more cases than most trial attorneys their age, the case load had become increasingly heavier and the trials closer together. In fact, there didn’t seem to be much time to recuperate in between anymore.
By late Thursday afternoon they had presented their case, and the defendant would be through early Friday morning. All that remained were summations to the jury and waiting upon a decision. Claire was glad that Dave had finished writing his summation the night before. Gloria had already typed it, and he could spend the evening doing his memorization. Claire would be able to leave by six o’clock.
“You won’t know what to do with yourself, getting a good night’s sleep,” Gloria commented as the two of them left the office that evening.
“I ought to drive over and see Michelle, but I’m so tired,” Claire replied as she got into her car.
“You need to get some rest. You can see her this weekend,” Gloria replied sternly.
“Okay, okay. Think I’ll have a bite to eat and treat myself to a long, hot bubble bath.”
“Now, that sounds like a smart idea. See you tomorrow.”
“See ya,” Claire called, driving out of the parking lot.
Pulling into the one-car garage attached to the house, Claire grabbed the water hose and dragged it to the back of the house without stopping to go inside. “These poor tomato plants,” she muttered aloud. “If they don’t get some water, I’ll never see a tomato this summer.” Hooking up the hose, she turned on the water then walked back to the garage, retrieved her purse from the car, and went inside. Checking the freezer, she stood peering into its depths for a few minutes and then slammed the door. A tuna salad sandwich sounds fine, she thought, deciding she didn’t want to cook anything.
A large glass of milk and tuna salad sandwich later, she returned outside, turned off the water, and disconnected the hose. Too tired to worry about taking the hose back into the garage, she allowed it to remain snaked among the tomatoes. The ringing of the telephone caused her to rush back into the house.
“Hello,” she breathlessly answered.
“Jogging again?” came the voice from the other end.
“Jake?” she inquired, pleasantly surprised to hear his voice.
“The one and only,” he blithely responded.
“Where have you been?” she asked, without thinking.
“Does that mean you’ve missed me?”
“No! It means you were driving me nuts for a couple days and then dropped out of sight like you never existed,” she replied, suddenly defensive.
“Oh, come on, admit it—you missed me,” he teased.
“I haven’t had time to miss you, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have!”
“You want to run that by me one more time? I’m sure your thoughts were coherent, but they lost something in the spoken word.”
“I said—oh, never mind. What do you want?”
“There you go with that attitude again. I’m just going to ignore it. I’ve been trying to call you for a couple nights, but you must be keeping late hours. Hope I don’t have some unknown competition.”
“Is there some particular reason why you’re calling, or is it just for the pleasure of harassing me?” she asked, a bit of an edge to her voice.
“Sounds like you’re in a bad mood. Want some company? Be glad to come over and cheer you up,” he offered.
“The last thing I want is company. For your information, I’ve been working late every night as well as on the weekend,” she replied.
“How about this weekend? Could I interest you in that trip to the zoo?”
“I didn’t see you at church a couple of weeks ago,” she replied, intentionally not answering his question.
“Probably because I wasn’t there. I got sick Saturday night and was in bed until Monday,” he told her.
“I see. Sounds like sleeping sickness to me.”
“It wasn’t sleeping sickness; it was sick as in throw-up sickness,” he replied.
“Well, if you really had the flu, I apologize.”
“So does that mean you’ll go to the zoo with me on Saturday?”
“I haven’t seen Michelle all week. I’m going to see her on Saturday.”
“Doesn’t she like the zoo?” he asked.
“Sometimes. Sometimes it doesn’t appeal to her; it just depends on how she’s feeling.”
“Sounds like she inherited her mother’s attitude problem,” he jibed.
Silence reigned at Claire’s end of the line.
“Did that remark offend you? I really wasn’t trying to offend you. Just attempting to lift your spirits a little.”
“Perhaps I’ll take you up on that offer. Be here at ten o’clock on Saturday,” she replied.
“Yes, ma’am! I almost feel as though I ought to salute,” he replied, although he wasn’t sure that she heard the remark before clicking the receiv
er in his ear.
❧
“Ten o’clock sharp,” he stated when she opened the front door.
“So it is,” she replied, not bothering to invite him inside. “Let’s go,” she commanded, grabbing her purse and pulling the door closed behind her.
“You’ll need to move your car out of the driveway,” she directed. “You can either park it on the street or pull it back into the driveway after I get my car out.”
“That’s okay. I planned on taking my car,” he told her.
“Jake! You have a sports car that holds two people. We need space for Michelle and a specially built wheelchair that is hard to get into most average-sized vehicles,” she responded as if instructing a schoolboy.
“Guess I wasn’t thinking,” he said, giving her a weak smile.
“I’m sure you’ll be thinking about a lot of things before this trip is over,” she responded, walking away from him and into the garage.
“You want me to drive?” he asked, walking to the driver’s side of her vehicle.
“No, I prefer to drive my own car,” she told him.
He pulled the door open, slid inside, and slammed the door. Reaching across the seat, he placed his hand on her arm.
“Did I miss something here? I’m sorry I didn’t think about the car, but you seem to be slam-dunking me every time I open my mouth. Tell me what I’m doing to irritate you.”
She placed her hands on the steering wheel, leaned back, and turned her head toward him. “I guess I owe you an apology. I know this may seem difficult to understand, but in some respects I feel like you’re intruding on the special time I spend with my daughter. On the other hand, it’s nice to have somebody want to go with me. Plus, I always worry about how people will react to Michelle, so instead of being able to focus on her, I focus on the person with me. Guess that’s it in a nutshell. Now, after hearing that little speech, you’re welcome to get back in your own car and forget you ever suggested going along. No hard feelings, I promise,” she told him.
A Trusting Heart Page 3