Chapter Thirty
Everyone was gone except Adrienne. Kate’s son had picked her up, and Michael had come inside to see if Virginia Mae wanted to follow him back to the city. The older woman brightened, suggesting they stop at the Rappahannock Gourmet store to eat and pick up some cheeses and wine before heading home.
“Whatever.” His glance was cool as he said good-bye to his wife. “If you need anything, Elizabeth, you know how to get in touch.”
“Thank you for everything, Michael,” she said softly and watched them leave. Her mother was trying to plan the rest of the evening for herself and her son-in-law, but was not getting any response.
Elizabeth could hear her mother’s voice getting softer and softer and then the cars were started and first one and then the other pulled away.
Elizabeth and Adrienne sat in the silence of the family room. Slits of western sun lit a wall and for a long moment the room was gentle, toneless. Elizabeth welcomed the emptiness, embraced it as she closed her eyes and tried to shed the pressure of the day.
Eventually Adrienne spoke. “Ian’s supposed to be fishing for dinner right now.” Adrienne eyed the perfect day and the lazy river.
“That’s nice,” Elizabeth said. Adrienne looked at her friend, saw shadows in those blue eyes and waited. If Elizabeth wanted to talk, she would.
Adrienne, for once, was behaving herself and not prying, despite the intense curiosity she was determined to ignore.
Moments floated on and the peace of the house tucked around them like a blanket. Adrienne was almost nodding when Elizabeth finally spoke.
“Kate said I had a choice. She said for me to think this over very carefully because I would be the one who would have to live with the decision.”
Adrienne nodded. That made sense. She wondered what the choices were.
“We can go for the big bang; you know, the medical necessity defense, even though this state doesn’t have one. If we go that way, we will want a jury trial because, well, a jury can come back with any verdict they please. She thinks she could get them feeling sorry for me.” Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at the thought. “And there would be a lot of publicity. Newspaper interviews, television, all aimed at leveraging our side.”
Adrienne cocked her head. “I wonder if we could get Sandra to change her mind? Or if we could use her anonymously, you know, to validate what you, well, what we all did.”
“Kate said it would make my case stronger if she would come out, so to speak.” As she spoke, Elizabeth could feel her shoulders tighten, tension knotting up in her stomach.
Adrienne didn’t notice. Indeed, she was warming with ideas. “I know some people at the Post. We could probably get in there; well, I could write our own press releases. We could make this whole thing a media sensation. I can see it all, the whole thing. We could map out a whole PR campaign. Do you realize by the time this trial is over, you, Elizabeth Whittaker, will be famous? The possibilities are endless.” She shook a fist in the air, a smile of triumph already on her face. And then she looked at Elizabeth.
Her friend’s face had drained of color, a shaking hand was placed against her heart, and her eyes were desperate.
Adrienne, chagrined, immediately reached out a hand. “Or maybe not,” she said soothingly. Her mouth had been in gear before she’d thought twice about how Elizabeth might react. If Ian were here . . . Adrienne shook her head, a faint glimmer of a smile in her eyes as she imagined the lecture she would get.
“You don’t have to do any of that, Elizabeth, absolutely not. You tell your lawyer you don’t want to do that, okay? I’m right behind you. Here, let me get you a drink, maybe some wine. That will calm you down.”
She was back in a moment not only with a glass of wine, but with a basket of crackers with odd bits of cheese. She waited until Elizabeth nibbled some; it was with relief she saw color come back.
“What’s the other option?” Adrienne asked gently. Elizabeth nodded and finished swallowing.
“She can arrange with the commonwealth’s attorney at the preliminary hearing in a few weeks that I plead guilty to a lesser charge, simple possession. Then I can go to some drug classes, keep out of trouble for a year and if I do, I get my record cleared. This will go away easily and simply.”
Elizabeth could tell Adrienne was disappointed in her, although she didn’t say a word. Elizabeth felt the need to explain.
“Adrienne, I just can’t do it. I could not live with that sort of notoriety you were talking about, which is just what Kate said earlier. I shudder every time I think of that picture in the paper. It’s horrible; I abhor it. I’m a very private person.” She finished those last words with her chin up. It was short-lived bravado. Tears started welling up, her shoulders sagged, and a tremulous sigh escaped.
Immediately Adrienne offered complete support. “Then you are doing exactly the right thing.”
“But it’s not what you would do,” Elizabeth said glumly. Why couldn’t she be a stronger person?
“No, it’s not, but that’s why you are you and I am me. Or is it I? I need Ian.” Elizabeth didn’t share her laugh, so Adrienne pointed out what was so obvious.
“Elizabeth, I don’t get one-hundredth as tired as you do and you know it. If I knew, from the start, that I would have to handle not only all the details of a media campaign where I was the center of attention, but also do it knowing I would have to live with the kind of fatigue I have seen drain you . . . Well, let me tell you, I would simply crawl under the bed and stay there. No one would be able to get me out.”
Elizabeth’s face finally held a tentative but sad smile. Or was it just relief? “Not even Ian?”
“Especially not Ian,” declared Adrienne. “Now, why don’t I scoot and let you get some rest? I’m going to stop at the hospital and see Carl.”
“Let me know how he is. Tell him I said hello,” Elizabeth said, walking Adrienne to the front door.
Elizabeth watched her friend roll to the van and leave. The silence was welcome, she was grateful for the respite from this relentless day. Elizabeth closed the door and then sagged against it as the heavy press of tension rolled off. Now that the decision had been made to take the easy way out, she marveled at how limp she felt. Relaxing for the first time since the deputy had stopped her, she went to her room and snuggled into bed, asleep almost before her head met the pillow.
Chapter Thirty-one
The irony wasn’t lost on Carl Sanders, and in brief painless moments he could almost chuckle. Hospitals were buildings dedicated to making sick people get better.
He had come here to die.
It was that plain and simple. At least now it was. It had taken him a while to puzzle out why he did not want to die alone. He marked himself an atheist and he believed that death ended life and that was all there was to it. But without at first understanding he knew he did not want to die alone.
It had taken several weeks of inspecting that feeling to figure it out. And his answer had come in, of all things, a dream a few nights ago. A smile tightened his face as he thought of Nicole Anderson. The difference there, he knew, was that he could trust his subconscious mind. It made perfect sense.
He had seen too many bloated dead bodies; he had seen what insects and roaming animals could do to dead human meat. He had lived in this body for over fifty years. Although he believed after his death there would be nothing, he wasn’t about to let the physical part of him die alone.
It was as simple as that.
The pain roared through again, like a cat clawing out his insides, and Sanders caught his breath to wait it out. The only reason he wasn’t screaming was that this long spasm would not allow speech. The disks in his lower back were wearing away, so he had been told, but not the nerves, no. They were very much alive.
After Elizabeth had been caught and the supply of marijuana cut off, the pain, which had been dulled for the past month, began screaming almost nonstop. There were occasional moments when the pain stilled and he could almost think clearly.
It was during one of these moments he had made his decision, irrevocable and precise. He could no longer live like this.
He wanted to die. He was glad he had no family. Old friends had fallen away over the years due to his inattention. As his health worsened, he pushed the rest away; he simply shut them out. So now here he was at this stage of his life, and glad he could take complete control over its ending.
That’s why he had insisted the doctors put him in the hospital. The pain was unbearable, they had to do something, he insisted.
“Hello, Carl.” Adrienne wheeled into the room. She kept a bright smile pasted on, trying hard not to allow her face to reflect her shock. Carl Sanders looked awful. What had the hospital done to him? His face was lined, haggard as if he had not slept in days, darkened with stubble.
“Is there anything I can do for you, get for you?” Adrienne wished there were something tangible she could do for this man; it broke her heart. God, why?
She already knew an answer would come in its own time. She just wished . . .
“Adrienne.” The voice was a harsh whisper and she saw the effort he made to get it out.
“Oh, Carl, dear, I wish—isn’t there anything they can do for you?”
As if on cue, a nurse came in wielding a needle “Why hi, Mrs. Moore,” she greeted Adrienne with ease. Marianne went to Adrienne’s church.
“Marianne.” Adrienne tried to smile but couldn’t get past her concern for Carl. “Please, isn’t there anything more you can do to make my friend comfortable?”
“You bet.” She grinned and then addressed Carl. “Good news, we finally caught up with him on the golf course.”
“What was the score?” he rasped, knowing his doctor’s lack of skill. They had actually joked about it in another lifetime. Hell, they had played together then, too.
She cocked her head at him while rubbing alcohol on his arm. “He told me I couldn’t tell you and since he wouldn’t tell me, he made it a moot point. But he did say we could increase the dosage throughout the night and he would be by to see you bright and early tomorrow.”
Carl grunted, the pain of the needle sharpened by so many out-of-control nerves screaming for attention.
“Marianne, how long will it be before it takes effect?” Adrienne asked anxiously. Carl looked in such distress.
“Oh, about twenty minutes or so, not too long,” Marianne assured cheerfully, and then trotted off to fulfill a myriad of duties before she came back to check on him.
After she slipped out of the room, Adrienne rolled close and put a gentle hand on his, eyes warm with compassion. “Carl, is there anything, anything I can do for you, anything at all?” She felt so helpless; his suffering was so immense she could almost feel it herself. She could not understand why he had to suffer like this. Why couldn’t they just give him something to let him sleep? At least then he wouldn’t have to feel the pain.
“As a matter of fact,” he began and then clenched his teeth through a bad one. When it was over he breathed out all the words in a rush. “Could you go to the front and buy me some bottled water? The water here smells like bleach and tastes as bad.”
“Of course I can,” Adrienne said, turning the chair around eagerly, thankful he had asked.
He motioned to the small metal bureau near the bed. “There’s money in there,” he bit out as she shushed him.
“My treat, I’ll be right back.”
He heard the humming of the cart’s motor, the soft tread of her wheels as she left.
From underneath the sheets he pulled out a vial, an old prescription container he had brought with him when he checked in. In it he had smashed more than enough pills to end his suffering. He carefully unscrewed the top. A multicolored array of pills he had taken throughout the last months, leftovers as the doctors tried first one medication, then another that did little to quell the pain.
His right hand began raising this promise to his lips. He wanted all of this in his mouth before Adrienne got back, then he’d drink them all down with the water.
Closer and closer his hand moved toward its final destination when suddenly a spasm of pain shot through him, paralyzing him. “Dammit,” he swore, and watched helplessly as his right hand, no longer under his control, began to tilt and push toward the side of the bed. And he couldn’t make it come back.
Sweat broke out, the pain lingered, drifting lazily away, as slowly as it could. His hand was precariously tilting ever so slightly and he knew his one chance was slipping away. He wasn’t going to be able to pull it back before all those damn pills were on the floor instead of his mouth.
He was helpless, desperate; amid scattered thoughts he suddenly recalled the story of the sun dogs Adrienne had shared with him. There had been long talks between the two of them, philosophical discussions, the premise being they agreed to disagree. She had also told him about her godchild, Thomas. He had talked of coincidences, of seeing what you wanted to see . . .
Now he was seeing his only hope of leaving this life slipping away from him. Seized with an urgency, his eyes squeezed shut, he shouted a silent challenge: Dammit, God! If You really exist, You will let me do this one thing. If You are real, You will—”
Before his mind had finished the thought, his eyes opened and he watched his hand, still not under his control, suddenly right itself. Hardly daring to breathe, he watched it turn and move toward his face.
Tears of relief sparkled his eyes as every last pill was dumped into his mouth just as he heard Adrienne greet someone right outside his door. He slid the empty bottle under the covers.
“Here you are, Carl,” she said brightly, bringing two bottles toward him. “I brought you back another one in case you get thirsty later on.”
Without waiting for him to ask, she unscrewed one, put a straw in it and held it up to him. With relief, he was able to lift it with his left hand and drink greedily, feeling the clump of tablets vying for space in his throat. By the time the last one had slid down into place, he had finished the entire bottle.
“My goodness, maybe I better go and buy you a case.” Adrienne immediately wondered if this man was becoming dehydrated. She would have to ask before she left.
Concern turned to astonishment as he put the bottle down and gave her a smile that immediately softened his face, and she felt a little blip of hope for him. Maybe things would turn out all right. She had never really seen Carl smile before.
“That shot must be working, Carl. You look like you’re feeling a whole lot better,” she exclaimed, encouraged for him. “Are you?”
“Yes. I am,” he said, easing back into the pillows. “Everything’s going to be just fine now. Thank you, Adrienne. You’ve been a good friend. Would you do me one last favor?”
“Of course, Carl, as many as you need!” she said without hesitation. She was so glad the pain finally seemed to be slipping away, she would do anything she could for him. And if she couldn’t, she’d call Ian. “What do you want me to do?”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Would you stay here until I fall asleep? It won’t take long, I just took a sleeping pill.” Already his words were slurring slightly.
He felt the brief touch of her hand as she said softly, “Of course I’ll stay. Sleep well. I’ll stay here, and then I’ll come back to see you tomorrow.”
He smiled. There would be no tomorrows, thank God or whatever. As he slowly felt the pain dissolve and his body begin to relax, he thought fuzzily that she would never know. Was this one of those sundog moments she had talked to him about? Or more likely a coincidence . . . But then again, if she were right, maybe she would find out, and he could tell her . . . much later. With a sigh of contentment, he sank deeper and deeper into the blessed relief of a dreamless eternal sleep . . .
Chapter Thirty-two
For over an hour, Carol sat on the small faded couch, waiting for Serenity to come home and talking to Mehalia King.
Gordon listened silently, his long limbs folded under a very uncomfortable kitchen chai
r. Once again Mehalia was shaking her head, clearly disgusted.
“You are trying to tell me you think what my granddaughter did was wonderful?”
Carol closed her eyes at the shocked and outraged voice, trying to think of another, gentler, way to say the same thing to this conflicted woman.
“No. What Serenity did was wrong; I agree with you on that. But what I’m saying is the way she did it was . . . extraordinary.” Carol looked at Gordon. “You tell her.”
He half smiled and looked at the agitated old woman. “What Serenity did was wrong, but the way she did it was marvelous. And marketable.” He saw Carol’s frown and merely smiled in her direction. Then he sat up, elbows resting on his knees and focused completely on Mehalia. “Mrs. King, from what I’ve seen your granddaughter is like a lot of teenagers these days—mixed up, wanting everything they can get their hands on, too young to realize that won’t make them happy. So Serenity is pretty normal in that regard. What we saw her do at Elizabeth’s was, yes, morally reprehensible, but her acting ability was . . . extraordinary in someone that young. You’ve watched television. You know what most actors on TV are like today—not very good. Given the right material and a little training, I think Serenity could really make a success of her life.”
Mehalia’s sigh was deep and long, full of confusion and despair. “I don’t think that child knows where playacting lets go and reality begins.” She was weary in every bone in her body. Her sorrow was deep over the fact that this child, this beautiful young woman, was heading straight to hell. She looked at the doctor again. He was a good man, he was a doctor helping people, and she felt she could trust him. He knew a lot more than she did.
“What would you do, Doctor?” Mehalia asked, her voice catching.
He looked deep into those worried eyes and was as honest and direct as he could be. “I’d let Carol talk to her. Carol would not let anything bad happen to her, rest assured. As a matter of fact, if Serenity decides to say yes”—he glanced at Carol—“I see no reason why you couldn’t go to New York with them both, keep an eye on Serenity and assure yourself everything is as it should be.”
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