“Will members of this support group be there, too?”
“Later this afternoon, I believe. Elizabeth has it all scheduled. It’s something she’s good at, always has been.” He thought also of the other people who would be there this day, the ones he believed didn’t need to be. Once Carol had found out the lawyer would be coming with him to see Elizabeth, she had invited herself and Gordon. Somehow Virginia Mae had also found out, and decided without discussion that she should be there, too. It would be quite a mix, Michael thought grimly.
Kate Wilkins took a sip of coffee as the car glided safely off the bridge, and she decided to rest her mind before the day of work would begin.
When presented with this case last week, she had been mildly intrigued. Medical marijuana had always interested her—the rights of individuals butting heads with not only state laws but now with federal. And, of course, six states with laws regulating medical marijuana were currently directly clashing with the U.S. Supreme Court ruling declaring there was no such thing.
However, bottom line, Elizabeth Whittaker had broken the law. But these circumstances were extenuating.
Kate Wilkins at this time of her life was quite willing to try stretching and pushing the law to include humanity when it was lacking. It would also make people sit up and take notice, maybe even make them think—really think—about why they believed so adamantly one way or another. How long she would remain intrigued had everything to do with this meeting.
When the knock at the river home broke the quiet, Elizabeth was ready; she was carefully positioned in the family room. With a serene smile pasted on her face, she waited for Mehalia to bring the guests to her. It would save her a little energy, and she took the extra seconds to breathe deeply, to quell last-minute jitters dancing up and down her body like hysterical butterflies with tap shoes.
“Good morning.” Kate Wilkins was surprised. She had not expected this: a regal and erect woman, leaning slightly on two magnificently carved canes. As the lawyer moved closer, she watched as Elizabeth easily moved a cane over to the one hand and held out the other. “I’m Elizabeth Whittaker.”
“Kate Wilkins. So pleased to meet you.” The handshake was strongly received and given, she noticed.
Kate put down her briefcase next to the chair Elizabeth indicated and declined a cup of tea or coffee, instead asking directions to “freshen up, please.”
After she left the room, Elizabeth finally found the courage to glance up at Michael and felt her heart leap. He was looking at her with a smile that in the past had melted her.
But that was then, and so much had changed. “Michael, it’s good of you to come and help,” she murmured as he put one arm around her for a gentle hug. It slid through his mind that she might be bruised so he was careful to be very gentle.
“No place I’d rather be, Elizabeth,” he said, sounding as if he meant it. “You look wonderful. Your face—it’s much better, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “The bruising is almost gone.” His reaction caught her off guard a bit. She was expecting him to be upset because she was back to using two canes, but he was acting as if he hadn’t noticed. Her smile was warmed by his apparent acceptance. What she didn’t know was he was so mesmerized just by seeing her for the first time in several weeks, he had not noticed any changes. There was always that initial gladness between them, that first encounter that only remembered better times.
Within moments, though, his eyes raked over the double set of canes and the frown was firmly creased on his brow. Without comment and only the whisper of a sigh, Elizabeth turned to sit down, telling him to do the same.
“Mehalia has spent all morning baking your favorite pastries.”
The lawyer came back into the room, draping her jacket on the side of the chair. She sat down and opened the briefcase on the ottoman. She smiled brightly at Elizabeth. “I have heard a great deal of complimentary things about you from your husband.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Well, I haven’t heard the first thing about you. As a matter of fact, what I was expecting to see was someone about twice the size of Perry Mason, burdened with the appropriate ego, as well as carting the requisite bad habits—like drinking and smoking.”
Kate’s lips twitched. “Smoking . . . what, exactly?” There was a fraction of a second before shocked silence split with Elizabeth’s laughter. Kate’s smile widened. Elizabeth’s laughter was unrestrained and contagious. Even Michael chuckled a little.
“You’re quick. I like that, Ms. Wilkins—” The lawyer held up a hand. “Kate.” Elizabeth’s voice, still amused, “Kate, then. Can you help me?”
The microcassette recorder was being propped on the table between them. “That’s why I’m here. I need to ask a lot of questions to get a feel for why this happened and how we can put together the best possible defense. Agreed?”
Michael watched his wife pale, then take a deep breath before nodding. “Agreed.”
“Perhaps we should start at the beginning. The diagnosis. Can you tell me about that?” In addition to turning on the recorder, Kate also held the legal pad that was halfway filled with notes from the drive. Before she could even look up from the pad, she felt the atmosphere cooling and wondered why.
“Since Michael was the first to find out, perhaps he should begin,” Elizabeth said briskly, keeping her eyes on Kate.
The lawyer shifted her gaze to Michael and waited. She saw the glance he gave his wife, and saw sadness. After a few moments, presumably gathering his thoughts from the past, he spoke of that night in the hospital, of all the possibilities the doctors had put on the table, all of them awful.
“Then Dr. Gordon Jones came and told me what they had found. What it was, what they could do for it, what they couldn’t, but he also offered a great deal of optimism and hope, as well as sympathy. The next morning I was with Elizabeth when he told her.”
The room was heavy with memories. Michael turned to Elizabeth. “What happened that morning when you woke up? Do you remember?” The look on her face left no doubt that she did.
“When I opened my eyes the world had stopped revolving, and I discovered I could move my legs. It was wonderful. Then I fell back asleep. Michael came and, as he said, Gordon came in later and told me.” She shrugged, thinking but not saying anything about that little bit of light that had mesmerized her that same morning.
“What happened afterward? Were there any impairments?”
“A little weakness that didn’t last very long. I was fine for a long while.” Elizabeth wouldn’t talk about the occasional problem or other things that kept happening intermittently. If it wasn’t permanent it didn’t count.
“It must have been hard to believe you were sick, I would think?”
“Absolutely. The doctors kept saying all these things, but I was in the hospital only once and very briefly and then everything was back to normal.”
“Not exactly back to normal,” Michael interrupted, not sharing that memory. “You had some trouble with high heels, as I recall.” He turned to Kate. “The day she was due to be released she was wearing very high heels, and when I opened the door to her room I caught her before she hit the floor.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I stumbled on something. I told you that then, Michael.” She turned to Kate. “It was nothing. Nothing. And later—”
“And later, the very next day to be precise, she could barely walk because her left foot kept twisting back.”
Elizabeth sighed. “But it got better the very next day. And I was fine for several more months—why, until the next year. Then it crept up on me. These little things that would come and go ganged up to become a problem.”
“Don’t forget the fatigue,” Michael interjected. Mehalia brought in a plate of steaming scones with honey butter. “Thanks, this is wonderful.” He smiled at the housekeeper, who nodded and left.
“Fatigue?” Kate made a note.
“Being very, very tired. It comes and goes and it’s unpredictable.
It’s why I don’t commit to anything anymore. I never know how I’ll be feeling.”
“But you are committed to this support group,” Michael was quick to point out, deaf to the resentment in his own voice.
“It’s not the same. We—the people in my support group, they understand. They don’t make you feel like you have to live up to . . .” She paused and looked away.
“Live up to what?” Kate asked gently.
“Live up to expectations,” she said softly, not looking at Michael. Then she sat up, sipped her coffee. “Any other questions?” Elizabeth asked in a voice that invited none.
While Kate was forming several, Michael surprised even himself when he said, “I have one, Elizabeth. What did you mean by expectations? I’ve never expected anything of you; you know that.”
Elizabeth saw that he already knew the answer to his own question and wondered why he even bothered to ask. Well, since he asked, she emphatically shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
“What do you mean?” This time it was Kate who wanted to know, and Elizabeth wondered why something so obvious had to be explained. How could she find the words to really explain when they had no reference point to understand?
She took a breath of resolution and tried. “Expectations of the way life used to be. If you’re tired, then you rest and become refreshed; isn’t that what you think, Michael? But it doesn’t work that way for me anymore. I can sleep all night and wake up in the morning as exhausted as when I went to bed.”
Mouth compressed into a thin line, Michael shook his head, thinking this was so unfair. She didn’t know what he was thinking. When she was tired he never bothered her. When she slept he checked on her countless times because he was concerned, but he never expected anything from her.
Elizabeth turned to Kate. “I need to have a lot of empty spaces to maintain my energy, so I can do the things I want—like being a part of this support group. We usually meet once a month, that’s all. I can rest up enough for that. Although I do have limitations, I don’t dwell on them. As long as I’m careful, this illness takes up a very, very small part of my life.”
Kate was impressed, but still pushed. “That’s admirable. But do I detect a slight bit of denial there? How can it take up only a tiny part of your life when it’s changed so much?”
“If that’s what you think you’re hearing,” Elizabeth said archly, “I would suggest you have your ears checked.”
Kate chuckled. “Just wanted to be sure. Frankly, I’m impressed.”
“Perhaps you can explain it a little better to me, then, because I don’t think I understand too well,” Michael said impatiently.
Elizabeth pushed back into her chair, finding comfort in the softness of the upholstered cushions. “I’m not in denial about anything. Good Lord, every time I take a step I’m reminded of its presence. But my way of handling it is to limit . . . the emotional impact. To push it away, Michael. I can’t explain it any better than that.”
“She makes fun of it. She turns everything into one colossal joke, and she doesn’t care who she laughs at either,” a new voice sniffed.
“Mother, I didn’t hear you come in.” Elizabeth’s voice was a murmur as Virginia Mae Bartlette swept into the room, her face reflecting her mission—to make her daughter see the truth as only a mother can do.
“I came in through the kitchen. I quietly crept in to surprise you. Did I manage it?” Her mother bent down and gave her daughter a kiss.
“Totally. Did you get some of Mehalia’s pastries?”
“Do fish swim? Of course, they’re divine.”
Elizabeth introduced her mother to the lawyer, who asked, “What did you mean she makes fun of the whole thing?”
Virginia Mae shook her head, disapproval creasing her face. “She certainly doesn’t take it seriously, like a normal person. Several weeks ago she came to Richmond to do some shopping. It was a few weeks after I had sprained my ankle; I was using a cane myself. Do you remember what you said, Elizabeth?” Her mother frowned at the smile lifting her daughter’s lips.
“We hadn’t gone to the first store when she started to simply dissolve into laughter, saying, ‘Good Lord, Mother, we look like runaways from the nursing home; keep your eye out for the cops.’ Nursing home indeed,” Virginia snorted, clearly displeased.
“Mother thought I was vulgar for suggesting she might be an inmate at a nursing home,” Elizabeth tried to explain through a sputter of laughter.
“They are not called inmates! Really, Elizabeth,” Virginia Mae scolded, helping herself to some coffee from the carafe. “You don’t take any of this a bit seriously. You joke and jeer about it; you make it all—”
“Harmless.”
Elizabeth’s word hung awkwardly in the air like a crooked picture in an otherwise well-appointed room.
Virginia Mae shook her head, pity pulling down her lips in dismay. “Oh, Elizabeth, is that what you think you’re doing? Open your eyes, child.” To emphasize this, she put down the almond tart she had just picked up and felt tears begin to swell.
The lawyer cleared her throat, a smile playing about her mouth. She looked at her client with respect.
“Tell me, Elizabeth, if you can, how has this affected you emotionally?”
Elizabeth tried to remain neutral and not let her eyes roll, although an ironic smile hovered. “I know exactly how it has affected me emotionally, physically, every which way. I have this wonderful friend who has taught me to put things in perspective.” She wanted to change the subject “Now, tell me, has Michael mentioned the babies?”
Her husband made an impatient sound. “For God’s sake, Elizabeth. We did it because we knew you wouldn’t. And it was not only for your sake, but those babies’, too. Everyone agreed on that.”
His reaction was familiar and easier to take than being told she wasn’t handling her own life appropriately.
“Babies?” Kate asked, frowning. “I thought you had only one child, a daughter.”
“Mehalia,” Elizabeth suddenly called, “may I have some iced tea?” She waited the few moments it took the housekeeper to bring her a tall glass clinking with ice. Not until she had taken several sips did she begin to speak.
She told about being there for the babies, how important that had become to her. “I missed it very much while I was in the hospital. After I got home, it took a while to get my energy level up, so weeks went by before I was able to get back to them.” She smiled at the excitement she felt, the anticipation on the day she knew she could resume that part of her life. “Imagine my shock when I got there to be informed that my services were no longer needed. My husband and doctor had decided for me that I should no longer do this thing I loved.” The hurt was a subtle, silky thread that wove easily through her voice, almost overshadowed by the harshness of the words. “They took my babies away without asking.”
Every person in the peaceful sunroom of the river house could feel the hushed silence pulsing around; no one felt inclined to say a word, instead replaying the story Elizabeth had just told so poignantly.
“Excuse me,” Elizabeth said, standing up in a smooth fluid movement, using the canes as an extension of herself. No one spoke until she left the room.
Virginia Mae reached over and touched her son-in-law’s arm. “She’s so lucky to have you, Michael, always looking out for her. She worries me to death, that child. I just wish she would listen to reason.” The older woman blinked away the sudden moisture blurring her vision and lapsed back into her own thoughts.
“Is she in remission now?” Kate finally asked Michael.
A jaw muscle tensed. “I don’t know about now. After the diagnosis, she was seemingly fine for the first several months. Then there was this painful numbness. It weakened her foot; ergo the brace and cane. But she would get a little better, then relapse a little. After that she began refusing the steroid treatments.”
“Why?”
“She said it was because she was scared to use them, afraid of what
they were doing to her. The side effects. I think it was mainly because it made her puff up so. These drugs tend to make you retain fluids and often give what the doctors call a ‘moon face’; the whole body becomes puffy.”
“Have the attacks continued?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s when she stopped talking. I think probably so. Sometimes she wouldn’t need any assistance; then she would, sometimes all in the same day. I started noticing bruises on her legs and arms. Her explanation was either that she didn’t know how she had gotten them or she must have walked into the corner of something, or bumped her shoulder going through a doorway. I was damn worried. I still am.” The anger simmering under the surface was controlled. Its focus was only partly his wife but more so himself. For not being able to do anything. For not being able to make his own wife better. Even he didn’t realize what a burden it was.
Kate had another question. “Do you make most of the decisions for your wife?”
“No, of course not,” Michael said, his voice adamant. He turned as he heard Carol’s snort of astonishment as she came into the room. “How long have you been here?” He frowned at her as she walked in with Gordon right behind her. He nodded in his friend’s direction.
“I’ve been here long enough to know you’re not telling the truth,” Carol said, ignoring Michael’s glare. She held out her hand to the lawyer, introducing herself and Gordon.
“I’ve read a lot about you, Ms. Stephens; nice to meet you,” Kate said formally and also shook Gordon’s hand. “Doctor.”
Michael waited until the two had barely sat down before he demanded to know, “What the hell was that comment supposed to mean?”
“It means you make all the decisions concerning your wife. You always have. Have you forgotten the shoes?” Carol glared right back at him.
“That wasn’t just my idea. Virginia Mae and I both wanted—”
He stopped as Virginia Mae waved a hand, interrupting. “Actually, as I recall, Michael, it really was your idea and I thought it a good one, after all, but for the most part, yours.” She said this softly, avoiding his eyes.
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