by Paula Boyd
While she batted her eyes, I rolled mine. “You’re going to convince them you had a personality transplant overnight?”
“Now that’s just a plain hateful thing to say to your mother. I’m nice to people all the time, unless, of course, they’re being ignorant and hateful to me, in which case being nice only makes things worse, so I don’t do that.” She paused and frowned at her own logic—or lack thereof. “I’m always nice.”
“Uh huh,” I said, but not in an agreeable way. “What about Medicare and insurance issues? Or the list of doctor’s orders you’ve totally ignored?”
“Oh, I know I’ll have to eat a lot of crow to get them to take me back,” Lucille said, dismissing me and my dose of reality. “But since I’ll be looking so sickly, it’ll be real easy.” She slumped down, coughed and put her hand to her throat. “It was just such an awful mistake leaving yesterday. Oh, good heavens, I just had no idea how much it was going to take out of me.” She took in a ragged breath and sighed. “I’m just so grateful you’re giving me another chance. It’s a real Christian thing you’re doing, understanding and forgiving and all, well, you’re just saving my life, that’s what you’re doing.”
“A stirring performance,” I said. “Maybe you should take your acting talents to the stage.”
She sat up straight and narrowed her eyes at me, trying to decide if I was being hateful again. It was not a tough call. “Well, maybe I will,” she said. “I could be in one of those dinner plays in Redwater that Merline’s always getting some man to take her to. I’ll have to talk to her about that.”
“Miss Lucille,” Melody said, glancing at Travis for support. “You really do need to take it easy.”
Travis nodded in agreement, but said nothing.
Jerry took in a long breath and let it out slowly. “The detective who will be going under cover will be out shortly to interview you. He’ll want to know about schedules, activities and staff, anything that could be helpful.”
“Good, good,” she said, nodding. “Getting that all planned out now will make things a whole lot easier once we’re both on the inside, make it easier to work together.” Then the wheels in her head jerked to a fast and screeching halt. “Wait a minute! Who’s coming out here? Redwater Falls doesn’t have very many detectives and there’s not a single one of them that’s ever been nice to me or Jolene. And that snotty Perez man from before was the worst of the lot. He’s just plain hateful and he better hope I never see him again!”
The muscles in Jerry’s jaw twitched and so did the corner of his eye. “Lieutenant Perez is no happier about the options available to him than you are.”
“Oh, my Lord! Now, that just won’t do. You know how he treated me last time, Jerry Don.” She scowled and pointed a long nail at him. “I know! You just loan them Leroy. He’s dumb as a box of rocks sometimes, but he’s nice to me since we bonded. I’ll tell him what he needs to do and keep an eye on him. Yes, just get Leroy out here. He’ll do fine.”
Jerry pushed away from the table and stood. “Lieutenant Daniel Perez is a good man and fine officer. I’ll let you know what time he’ll be out as soon as I hear from him.”
Lucille gripped her hands on the table and stood as well. “Well, alright then, I suppose I don’t have any choice. I’ll go get my things together and think about what I’m going to do about all this. You just tell that hateful detective that if he wants my help, he better be singing a different tune than before. He needs me a whole lot more than I need him. I know what I’m getting into going back in there. He’s just a rookie.”
No one said anything as she walked away because, as usual, what could you say?
Lucille was trying hard to hide her limp, but there were still obvious twinges and sways in each step.
“She overdid it yesterday,” I said, watching her disappear down the hall. “I don’t want her overdoing it today and it sure seems like that’s where we’re headed.”
“I’ll work with her as much as I can in the next little while,” Melody said, tucking a silver curl behind her ear. She smiled at me. “Your mother’s strong. She’ll be okay.”
I appreciated the hopeful sentiment, but Melody was new to the game. Nothing every turned out okay when my mother was involved. Yes, I was worried about what might happen to her, but I was also worried about what might happen because of her—and there was no separating the two.
“I don’t like this anymore than you do,” Jerry said. He did not wait for me to ask “Like what?” “I still don’t think it’s a good idea, but since Travis confirmed they were giving your mother unauthorized drugs, Perez thinks it could be helpful to see if they will give her the same ones again.”
“Perez wants her to go back in?” I was stunned. There would be no chance of talking Lucille out of going now, not that there ever was one. “What is wrong with him? And you? You sure can’t be going along with it, not after the seven kinds of hell we had getting her out.”
“He’s not suggesting an official capacity and she won’t actually do anything.”
“Of course she will! And Perez knows it!” No matter how green they tried to paint the grass, possibilities for disaster popped up like dandelions. “This is just asking for trouble.”
“With no official duties, as well as the presence of police officers onsite,” Travis said, “the risks would seem to be minimal.”
“Not helpful, Travis,” I said, glaring at him.
“One personal benefit of her readmission,” he said, ignoring my pointed message to shut up, “would be additional physical therapy to accelerate recovery.”
That might be true—probably was true—but it did not outweigh the elephant-sized pitfalls of the plan. And one of those pesky little pitfalls that no one was thinking about was that I was going to get dragged back into it with her.
“I have already given Dan my opinion that involving her in any way—or even hinting that she’s involved—is a bad idea. But he’s under a lot of pressure to drop the case, so he’s got move fast and thinks her history there could be helpful.” Jerry sighed. “Besides, she’ll do it anyway. You aren’t going to stop her.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. I can create a lockdown here so fast it will make her head spin. And all that guardianship stuff you threatened me with before, well, bring it on.”
He took another long deep breath and let it out slowly. “There’s no time.”
Maybe not for legalities or building Lucille-proof cages, but surely we had time for sanity. “Of all people, Perez should know better. Forget about her personal safety—which I am not—he knows firsthand what she’s like and what kind of crap she can pull. Why would he ask for that?”
“I think he’s counting on it,” Jerry said, sighing again. “That’s why he wants her there.”
“Well, then he’s an idiot.”
The phone on Jerry’s hip beeped, so he grabbed it and read the message. “He’s headed this way.”
Chapter 23
I will spare you the tedious details of the meeting with Lieutenant Daniel Perez, because even I got tired of hearing myself say, “Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Equally tedious was Lucille’s glee and enthusiasm for her unofficial assignment. Ditto for her vehement determination to make the scumsuckers pay. Adding even more tedium were the repetitive—and guaranteed prophetic—statements from both Jerry and me that the whole thing was a very bad plan. Perez’s assurance that Lucille was only there for medication comparison purposes and to observe from a distance, did not change my opinion. You don’t turn a kid loose on the playground and expect her not to swing on the monkey bars.
Given all that, I still found myself standing in the office of the director of the Redwater Falls Rehabilitation Hospital, explaining why my mother needed to be readmitted.
Mrs. Paula Hall sat behind her desk—and her matrimonially-defined name plate—peering over the reading glasses perched on her nose. Lucille’s chart lay open before her.
I had just begun trying to explain away our po
or lapses in judgment yesterday. However, the runaround we’d endured to get to this point—and the frosty reception here—was tempting me to make new and bigger bad choices now. My mother wasn’t doing any better.
To the untrained eye, Lucille appeared nervous and contrite, sitting in the wheelchair, dressed in a deep purple track suit, clutching the handles of her purse. Spitting mad was more the case. Her penitent patient ruse was hanging by a thread. The thread for my role was even thinner, since I possessed neither the theatrical flair nor the skill for subterfuge as my mother. I was giving it my best shot though.
“Yesterday is just such a blur,” I said, trying not to throw up at the pathetic tone in my voice. “I realize now that just because she wanted to leave didn’t mean it was best for her. But, well, she was just so insistent.”
Lucille coughed and sputtered. “Oh, my Lord…”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said soothingly, cooingly even. I hoped my seriously syrupy tone was enough to keep her quiet since I couldn’t exactly say, “It’s a good lie, don’t screw it up.” “And Miz Hall, after all that she’s been through, well, I was really afraid she might have a breakdown if I didn’t do what she wanted.”
Lucille gasped and glared that I would dare suggest such a thing, but kept her mouth shut by twisting the handles of her purse into tight little knots.
“Your mother is not the first to become discouraged and overwhelmed, Miss Jackson,” the director said tersely. “We are quite well equipped to handle such things had we been made aware of the problem.”
Yeah, I knew exactly how they handled problems—pills and lies. Feeling my lips curl into an involuntary snarl, I pressed them together then said, “I know it was kind of crazy, but it’s my mother,” I said plaintively. “You understand. I was only doing what I thought best and, well, I do admit I get a little crazy where she’s concerned.”
Lucille dropped the purse hands and covered her face with her hands as if holding back sobs. After a moment, she looked up, blinking back tears—tears probably created from digging her fingers into her eyeballs. “I feel like such a fool,” she said, cutting her eyes at me. “No sooner had I left here than I started feeling woozy.”
“Woozy,” Director Hall repeated.
She nodded, digging in her purse for a tissue. “Jolene wouldn’t even let me walk across the room without having a hold of my arm. I knew right away it had been a big mistake to leave here.”
The director looked at Lucille then down at the open chart before her then back at Lucille. “There are multiple notes on noncompliance in your chart, Misses Jackson, including your refusal to use a walker or cane. Was that true at home as well?”
“I’m not using something I don’t need!” Lucille snapped, breaking character. “And I very well did use that awful walker that first week because they made me, and those crab claw canes are just silly looking.”
“They are very stable though, Mother,” I said, glaring pointedly at Lucille. “Remember, we took one home with us.”
“But you didn’t use it,” Director Hall said, stating the obvious. “The therapists’ comments on your sessions also seem to have a common theme—uncooperative, obstinate, belligerent, combative and so forth.”
Lucille tipped her nose up. “Well, I don’t know why they’d write such awful things. That had to be back when they had me hopped up on all those pain pills.”
“The last notation was yesterday morning,” the director said. Then, she turned a deliberate “it’s your fault” glare on me. “You’re just lucky she hasn’t fallen again and done worse damage.”
Lucille slammed her hands down to the arms of the chair. “I didn’t fall the first time!”
“It’s okay, Mother.” I tried to say it soothingly, but I was starting to panic. Clearly, Lucille was tired of playing the game, but the game was not yet won. I reached over and patted her shoulder. She tried to swat me away, but I held tight and squeezed, hoping she’d get the message and keep her mouth shut. “Now, Mom, remember how we’ve talked about you not always remembering everything and how it gets you upset sometimes.” Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. I squeezed harder. Turning back to the director, I said, “It’s just very frustrating for her. You understand.”
“It’s frustrating for everyone,” she said, looking down her nose at me. “Hip fractures in the elderly are unfortunately quite common—and quite serious.” Clasping her hands and leaping up on her high horse, she continued, “The factors affecting recovery are complex and confusing, as are the complications that can arise. Regaining mobility and independence is a difficult under the best of conditions. Without full cooperation and commitment from both patient and family, returning to full capacity functioning is simply impossible.”
Lucille sucked in a deep gulp of air and dug her fingers into the side of her purse, her arms shaking. The director was about one condescending comment from having a purse smack her in the head to show her how wrong she was.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” I said, patting her shoulder. “You’re going to be just fine.”
“Well, she’s not,” Lucille muttered, jerking her shoulder out of my grip. Straightening herself in the chair, she crossed her arms and tipped up her nose again. “I am ready to get to my room now.”
The director closed Lucille’s chart and set it aside. Living the papers that had been beneath it, she said, “You’re fortunate that I hadn’t submitted these yet.”
“Is that going to make it easier to get readmitted?” I asked.
“It makes it possible,” she said, staring at me in a way I did not like at all. “That and it’s been less than twenty-four hours.”
In spite of all the antagonistic chatter and threatening glares, I got the feeling that the director was actually relieved she wasn’t going to have to report yet another runaway. I didn’t know what that meant for the facility, for the insurance company paying for it or for us, for that matter, but pretending it never happened was looking like the most desirable option for all concerned.
“The room is still available,” the director said, reaching for the phone and punching a button. “Please come to my office to take Misses Jackson back to her room. We have a chair.” She hung up and looked at Lucille. “Under the circumstances, you will need to be reevaluated by the team to determine if changes need to be made to your treatment plan. We’ll get started after you’re settled in your room.”
Lucille pressed her lips together and gave a sharp nod of agreement.
Figuring that was our cue to leave, I stood.
Director Hall took off her glasses and tossed them on the desk. “How is Misses Nichols doing?”
A chill went through me and I froze. “Who?”
“Doris Nichols, the woman you wheeled out of her room and placed in a car to leave the facility. How is she doing?”
The chill turned to panic. “I…”
“She means Melody’s mother, Jolene,” Lucille said. “You remember Melody, the young silver-haired girl with the long skirt who was in my room when you got in from Colorado. You know how I told you she’d been helping me since you weren’t around.”
“Oh, of course,” I said, sending Mother a “good save” glance. “Really nice woman. Her mother seemed very sweet too. She asked me to give her a hand getting to the car.” I smiled. “I was happy to do it. Is there a problem?”
“Anytime someone leaves our facility before they are ready to do so it is a problem,” she said. “Misses Nichols was not authorized to leave the facility. So when we found her missing, we checked the surveillance videos and saw you.”
Oh shit. Of course they had surveillance cameras—probably freakin’ everywhere. And that meant Director Hall knew about my adventures in the lab as well. But, if she did, why wasn’t she nailing me on that too? Or was it going to be a surprise attack too? Whatever. I wasn’t confessing until I had to. “Again, I apologize. I was just trying to help.” I said it like I meant it, but she eyed me like she didn’t believe a word
of it—good call on her part. “I just hope the woman is okay.”
“We were able to follow up with her the next morning,” Miz Director said. “However we haven’t been able to make contact since. The nurse who evaluated her was quite concerned.” She leaned forward and stared directly into my eyes. “We take elderly endangerment very seriously.”
The term had sounded bad when Melody had relayed the nurse’s threat over the phone. It sounded a whole lot worse now, particularly since it was being directed at me, not to mention that I was also harboring the fugitives. “I had no idea…”
“Well, look who’s back,” a voice said from the door. A short, stocky woman with close-cropped dark hair walked into the room.
Lucille gritted her teeth. “Christine.”
The therapist walked over to Lucille and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. “I missed you in therapy this morning,” she said, her fake cheerfulness as obvious as the lie told.
I heard Lucille mumble “hateful hussy,” and from the way Christine’s eyes narrowed, I’m pretty sure she heard it too. I’d also bet it wasn’t the first time.
“Christine,” Director Hall said, “after you’ve finished your evaluation, please report back to me. Ask the rest of the team do so as well. I want to monitor this case personally.”
Well, of course, she did. And under other circumstances, I’d be honored. Under these particular circumstances, however, I was just plain scared. “I appreciate your efforts to help my mother,” I said, trying to pick words that didn’t seem like blatant lies. “I know she’s going to do amazingly well.”
“We’ll see,” Mrs. Hall said standing and dismissing us.