Today, however, he was dressed . . . scruffy. A baseball cap turned backward, baggy navy workman pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt with a long ski jacket that had rips in it. At her look, he announced he was going fishing. Fishing?
“Yes, ma’am. I am going out into that wet wilderness, casting my lines into the deep blue to catch food necessary for the nourishment of my lovely, but nonetheless highly worried, lady.”
Adrienne rolled up to the table. “Huh! I’m not worried. I’m terrified. You should see this relic that he and Father Jacobs are planning to use. They are actually intending to get into it and then expecting to come back alive. I say, if Ian wants to bring back fish, he can go to the market. I can just see this wooden boat sinking before they even get out of the dock—capsizing. Then the river will spit them out miles down on the shoreline, and nobody will find the bodies until they’ve been picked clean by birds and animals.”
Her cheeks were ablaze with color as she spoke. She could see everything as clearly as if it were happening in front of her, and she didn’t like it a bit.
“Then why are you going? Ian, you’re not going to worry your poor wife like this, are you? I’ve always thought you were such a gentleman.” Elizabeth found Adrienne’s worry contagious.
Ian shrugged, winking. “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
“I never thought I’d hear such rubbish from your lips, Ian Moore; you are being absolutely ridiculous. And so is Father Jacobs.” Adrienne heard the truck pull into the driveway. “And furthermore, I’m going out there to tell him precisely what I think of this hare-brained idea. And he with a young wife and children; I swear, I should take a stick to both of you.”
She was still muttering angrily as she opened the front door and rolled out onto the porch.
Ian and Elizabeth joined her, and he had the satisfaction of watching Adrienne’s face drop in complete surprise.
“Well, Ian, I—you—this is not the boat you showed me.”
Sitting grandly behind the pickup truck was a gleaming fiberglass cabin cruiser with an inboard/outboard motor. Father Jacobs, dressed in even more-battered clothes, waved from the truck, his smile wide and happy.
Ian dropped a kiss on her head. “Now are you still worried?” His grin was contagious, but she was having none of it.
“Go on, get out of here. And with a boat like that, I’ll expect some impressive fish for the grill tonight.”
“Your wish is my command,” Ian called back as he sauntered toward the truck.
Adrienne turned her back on both of them and she and Elizabeth went back inside. “That man,” she fumed and then started laughing. “Oh, Lord, he probably showed me a picture of that heap of decayed wood so I’d get all the worry out of my system. Did you see that gorgeous boat?” Adrienne continued to chuckle, maneuvering her chair into the family room.
“So how come you’re back here so quick?” Adrienne asked, picking up her coffee cup. Her eyes became round with surprise as Elizabeth told her all that had happened since yesterday. “Wow. That was bold. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“He and I have been needing some space for quite a while,” Elizabeth said evenly.
“Did you really tell him that he makes you feel damaged?”
Elizabeth nodded, adding, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, if you don’t mind. It’ll work itself out, one way or the other. So. When are we going to meet to talk about this drug experiment?”
Adrienne looked carefully at her friend’s closed face and decided not to pursue her own curiosity. At least not today. Instead, she tapped her fingers against the cup. “This is happening fast. I haven’t even told Ian about it.” She thought hard for several minutes and then a smile crept over her face. “Well, I guess we’d better call a special meeting and figure out how we’re going to do this. It will need a lot of careful planning.”
Elizabeth was merely glad to have something else to think about.
Chapter Twenty-six
Claude Nolan greeted everyone with conspiratorial whispers of intrigue. “Keep your back covered and stay alert.” As they were all sitting on Adrienne’s massive wooden deck on the back of her house, overlooking the Potomac River, it was a hard thing to do. Claude, however, was having a great time. “The walls may have ears,” he whispered as seagulls honked overheard.
“I guess we should shoot the birds in case they’re carrying microphones in their bills,” Carl snapped, weary of the old man’s antics. Carl was tired. He had not slept well for the past several nights. His doctors had changed his medicine again, concerned that he might actually get addicted. This new stuff didn’t do squat for the pain; if anything, it seemed to enhance it.
He was cranky and in no mood for stupid people, but it seemed those were the only ones he encountered.
Ian brought out tea and wafers to the tables and encouraged everyone to partake. Heading back to the kitchen he squeezed his wife’s arm, wondering for the umpteenth time whether they had all lost their minds.
Promptly at 10:00 a.m., she rang a bell and brought them all to attention. It was the Friday after the support group meeting.
“The reason for this special meeting is that I didn’t want to wait a full month to meet. I’ve been doing research and wanted to apprise you of it.”
“Is Sandra Little coming?” asked Albert Stoddart.
Adrienne shook her head. “No. She talked to her neighbor, who was aghast that she told anyone. The neighbor also refused to name the supplier and, rather than take the chance of that drying up, Sandra promised her neighbor she won’t have anything to do with our experiment. I am happy, sort of, to report Elizabeth has talked to her housekeeper’s granddaughter, who is asking around to get us what we want.”
Adrienne looked around. Besides Elizabeth, Adrienne, and Albert, Sally Trotter, Ethel Carden, Nicole Anderson, Claude Nolan, Pearl Smith, Carl Sanders, and Herbert Allen were there. Herbert, who suffered with arthritis, had started coming only the last two months. Everyone, except Carl, was in high hopes fueled by Sandra Little’s story.
“Now, let me tell you what Ian and I found. Marijuana eases pain, it can increase appetite, can ease nausea, can create a sense of well-being, it can help with muscle spasms. There are volumes of anecdotal stories about how this drug helps in many different ways. Unfortunately, there are plenty of medical studies that refute all these claims. For the first time in years, though, there are actual clinical scientific trials going on to discover just what is real and what’s not with this drug. But I have to tell you, given the political climate of this country, I personally worry about bias.” Adrienne sighed, pulling out even more papers.
“Talk about a political hot potato! Several states have passed laws making the medicinal use of marijuana legal. But federal laws negate state laws. We are pitting states’ rights against federal rights, and it’s chilling. There seems to be a lull about prosecuting, though. Everyone on both sides of the legal issue seems to be looking the other way. That’s the good news. But the question remains, for how long?
“Like I said, when it comes to this particular drug, our country seems to be schizophrenic. Right now in California, Alaska, Arizona, Colorado, Hawaii, Maine, Nevada, Oregon, and Washington state, they have medical marijuana laws that allow people with AIDS, epilepsy, MS, and glaucoma, as well as those undergoing chemotherapy, to grow it or buy it and use it. The newest wrinkle is, last year the United States Supreme Court ruled definitively that there is no legal basis for medical marijuana.
“Yet, in the most recent twist, the Supreme Court has rejected federal prerogatives that wanted to snatch away a doctor’s license for even discussing pot with patients. Now the court is allowing, allowing doctors to discuss using this drug with their patients as well as prescribing it. This is clear as mud, right?
“Let me see . . . Yes, I wanted to share this story because I found it very distressing. In June of 2000, a young playwright named McWilliams was sentenced to death by a federal court
for using marijuana.”
“Death? That’s not possible; you don’t get death for using drugs, not in our legal system,” sputtered Albert Stoddart.
Adrienne held up a hand. “Let me finish. McWilliams was dying of AIDS and cancer. Marijuana allowed him to keep eating, kept him from vomiting, and relieved a lot of his pains. Under the California state law of medical necessity, state and local police could not touch him. However, federal law could and did. He was convicted of possessing an illegal drug. The judge gave him a choice: jail, or home—as long he agreed to weekly urine tests to prove he wasn’t using the drug. He chose to stay home and started taking Marinol, a legal prescriptive substitute allegedly containing only the active ingredient of marijuana.
“It didn’t work. It didn’t keep him from vomiting every bit of food that entered his stomach, as the home-grown marijuana he smoked did. He died choking on his own vomit.”
Shock rippled across the faces and she shared their dismay. “That’s why I’m worried about these so-called clinical trials—what are they actually testing? Already, several reports from English scientists have found nothing to support these anecdotal testimonies.”
Silence reigned as Ian moved back and forth refilling glasses.
“That’s a damn shame,” Carl stated, eyes downcast for a brief moment. “My pain is increasing because my doctors are reluctant to give me enough of anything to make it bearable. I know they are regulated heavily, but I don’t really give a damn about that.” He stopped as a spasm rippled through his back. “All I care about is getting rid of it. If it keeps on like it has been, if they can’t do squat because they’re too busy watching their back to keep from getting in trouble with the powers that be—well, in the next few months I’ll be doing something drastic.”
He left unsaid what that might be. Adrienne sighed. “This country, its legalities, so politicized. Sometimes I think our laws . . . How is it helping by denying hope to those who have none? I just don’t know.”
Elizabeth spoke up. “Carl, like Adrienne said, this drug might help diminish your pain. I hope so,” she said fervently. You could almost see the rippling of pain when it hit him. She felt so bad for him. “My housekeeper’s granddaughter has said she can get it for us, but she’s going to deliver it to me, so I can deliver it to the rest of you; no one else will be directly involved.”
“So you don’t have to tell her about us, do you? We can remain anonymous, right?” Nicole Anderson asked. She was jittery about the whole thing; she had never done anything illegal in her whole life. Good Lord, she had children in the school system and hadn’t they both completed that state Don’t Take Drugs program? She had even gone to see them receive their certificates. Her stomach clenched again and she thought she might be sick.
She watched Elizabeth shrug. “I can call tonight and get the ball rolling. I’ll find out how much, and we’ll let everyone know.”
“Well.” Adrienne was again caught off guard at how quickly this was happening. “Well, then I guess we have to decide when we will be getting it and where we are going to use it and”—she paused, flustered at all the unknown details—“my goodness, what am I leaving out?”
“Are you all going to use it together? I think that would be unwise.” Ian spoke for the first time. He was sitting behind Adrienne and had listened to everything.
He started laughing. “I have to admit that the thought of what might happen if you did inhale en masse and got busted has crossed my nimble mind. What would they do, handcuff your wheelchairs so you couldn’t roll away? Or could you all outrun them going in different directions?”
Chuckles joined his as imaginations conjured up ludicrous scenes. “Can you imagine their faces? The faces of the cops, thinking they were busting up a huge pot party?”
“What if they thought we were a gang lighting up and they burst in like they do on television, with dogs and guns and whistles and knocking the door down—” Ian started and Claude finished for him, wheezing, “and then they see us!”
“We’d get on the six o’clock news, roaring with indignation, and state that what we were doing is medically necessary, and then we’d haul out Sandra Little to prove it,” Adrienne gushed, liking these thoughts. Then it hit her. “Strike that. We can’t let anyone know about Sandra. I promised her yesterday.” She looked around. “That would have been one whale of a story.”
“Yes, well.” Ian sighed and shrugged philosophically. “So now let’s concentrate on a plan so that no one will get caught. I think Elizabeth, who already said she would, should buy it and then bring it back here. It can be dispersed throughout the day and each can individually use it in your own homes or wherever you deem appropriate. Does that sound like a plan?”
Nicole Anderson interrupted the nods and murmurs of approval. She got up hastily, apologies falling from her voice and filling her face. “I’m so sorry; I just can’t do this. I’m sitting here, and all I can think about is what if my children learn about this. It would break their hearts. I just can’t do it. I wish you all the best of luck, but now I’ve got to leave.” Ian was already ahead of her opening the front door as good-byes chased her out.
“Poor thing. I certainly understand,” Adrienne murmured, then looked back at the others. “If anyone wants to back out at anytime, just say the word. It’ll be fine.”
“I’m here for the duration,” said Carl tightly. “And I’ll buy her share.”
Claude and Albert gave the thumbs-up signal and everyone else nodded. Adrienne looked around. “So. It’s all systems go. I guess this is a wrap.”
Serenity Brown maintained a neutral face as easily as if she were a car idling. Her grandmother talked at length about bad influences. About people pulling you down in the gutter with them; look at the example of her own daughter, Serenity’s mother. Is that what her granddaughter wanted for herself?
“No, Granny,” she answered demurely, pretending to listen attentively even when her insides were flapping up and down in childish glee at the money she was going to make. Her instincts had been right on the money to go and apologize to that Whittaker woman! Forget revenge, she had been given the opportunity to make a bucket load of money.
Still, she stood there inside the kitchen of the concrete house, the picture of innocence as Mehalia lectured. There were no new arguments, just the same-old same-old that school offered. And not very convincingly either. She knew how much money her grandmother made cleaning the houses of the well-to-do. And she found it ludicrous that a teacher who earned a pittance comparatively had the gall to say anything about dealing drugs. Society clearly showed how much real value it put on that occupation.
All this was going through her head while she stood presenting the correct visage, which only made her grandmother keep talking. Mehalia was relieved almost to tears that for once she was getting through to this headstrong and willful child. Finally, she was seeing some maturity. Although she didn’t like the idea of Serenity buying drugs for Elizabeth, it was such a good and worthwhile cause, and Serenity must see it that way, too, because the child was getting nothing out of this for her troubles.
Serenity made up the perfect lie and then maintained a face that looked as sincere as it was false.
“By the time I get the stuff, it will have gone through three middlemen, each making a cut,” she explained carefully and earnestly. That was why each joint, or each “little gentleman,” as the girl liked to use as a code, would cost forty dollars instead of ten.
All the while she was saying this, she knew precisely what she would be doing. She would go to the dealer directly. Through the grapevine she would know where the dealers would be each Friday night. Then she would show up at, say, the Get ’n’ Go gas station at the corner of Bleak House Road and Clareton Station. That was one of the places she could easily bike to and, once there, stand around—and wait. Maybe for hours after dark. It might be real late because the dealers cruised constantly, leery of staying in one place too long.
She’d
have to wait for the car to come up and for a brother to lean out and grunt, “Ya lookin’?” That was the signal to say what you wanted, money changed hands, and it was a done deal. Serenity would pay a hundred dollars for the ounce that would make ten joints, and pocket three hundred dollars; it was capitalism at its very best.
Serenity was all smiles as she let herself into the small house. When she called to find out for sure that the group wanted to do this thing, she held on to the door ledge to keep herself from dancing wildly about the room as she listened to Mrs. Whittaker. “Yes, there will be four hundred dollars ready by next Friday morning. Yes, thank you, Serenity, so very much. You don’t know how much I appreciate your help. Please be careful,” Mrs. Whittaker gushed on the phone.
The support group was being very cautious. They were going to do exactly what Sandra had done. Once a week seemed to be keeping her wrapped in the same miracle they wanted.
Saturday morning, in the busy parking lot of an independently owned grocery store, Serenity stepped out of her grandmother’s used Chevrolet and trailed behind the older woman to the door, eyes darting back and forth through the cars and trucks. In her hand she held a brightly colored gift bag, red tissue paper peeking out the top. She stopped when she finally saw what she was looking for: Elizabeth, sitting in her shiny Volvo station wagon. The woman was huddled in the front seat, clutching the steering wheel, eyes hidden behind huge black sunglasses. Serenity yawned. She had been up till after midnight last night. She had spent the night at a friend’s house so her grandmother wouldn’t know just how she was getting this stuff.
And then, to top it all off, she’d had to get up early this morning to roll the stupid things. She had earned her money; she only wished she had charged more.
The sun had slipped behind a bevy of clouds that were gliding in from the south, white bellies filled with dark patches of moisture that would soon be pelting down on their heads.
A Sundog Moment Page 27