During the drive home from her meeting with Alexia, Rena glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a dark blue car with heavily tinted windows behind her. A similar car had parked near her when she went into the grocery store the previous day. Santee was small enough that it wasn’t unusual to see the same vehicle several times a week, but Rena suspected the car contained the person or persons Jeffrey had dispatched to keep an eye on her. She reached a traffic light as it turned red and sped through it. The car stopped, and by the time the light changed, Rena had made the turn onto the street that ran in front of her house. She stopped in the middle of the driveway and waited to see if the car appeared. Seeing nothing, she drove slowly into a garage that stood to the left of the house and was connected to it by a short covered walkway. Behind the garage was the cozy, one-bedroom guesthouse where Rena and Baxter had lived for a few weeks while waiting for the renovations on the main house to be completed.
Instead of entering through the side door, Rena walked around to pick up a newspaper that lay on the brick steps in front of the house. When she leaned over, she saw the blue car pass by the driveway. It didn’t stop but appeared to be moving slower than normal. She hurriedly unlocked the door and went inside. She called Jeffrey’s cell phone.
“Can you talk?” she asked.
He answered in a muffled voice. “Just a minute. I’m going to walk into another room.”
While she waited, Rena looked at her face in a gold-framed mirror that hung on the wall of the foyer. The stress of the recent days had taken its toll. The cuts on her face had healed nicely, but there were gray circles under her eyes. She determined to take an afternoon nap.
“Okay,” Jeffrey said.
“Do the people who are watching me drive a dark blue car?” she asked.
“I told you not to worry about it. What do you want?”
“Tell me. It will make me feel better.”
After a few seconds of silence, Jeffrey said, “No.”
Disappointed, Rena asked, “What kind of car do they drive?”
“Different ones. You’re wasting my time. Why did you call?”
“Your father has put all the money back in my checking account.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He doesn’t want you to file the action against him for using the power of attorney. If he hadn’t put back the money, it would have forced you to do something. Nothing has changed. Tell your lawyer to file a complaint attacking the power of attorney.”
“How can I do that if he’s put back the money?” Rena asked in a slightly louder voice.
“How do you know that he hasn’t done something else?”
“I don’t!” Rena retorted. “And unless you help me, there is no way I will be able to find out. I can’t ask Alexia to file a lawsuit without knowing what has happened.”
There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone. “Okay, I can give you something on Monday. My father is going to Greenville this afternoon to spend the weekend visiting Baxter. While he’s gone, I’ll have access to the files I need. I’ll have to give you a little bit of information at a time. Otherwise, he’ll know what I’m doing.”
“Can you tell me anything now?”
“No. And don’t ask.”
Rena started to raise her voice and issue another demand but stopped. There was no point in trying to force Jeffrey to reveal information. She’d pushed as hard as she could.
“Okay, I’ll be here on Monday,” she said. “I won’t be going back to Greenville if your father will be there this weekend.”
Before Rena could hang up, Jeffrey asked, “When are you going to try to cut off Baxter’s life support?”
Caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation, Rena cleared her throat before answering.
“Uh, Alexia and I talked about it today.”
“I’ll need some time before you do it.”
Rena had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’d pushed Alexia without thinking about Jeffrey’s opinion.
“Uh, whenever we do it, I won’t make you testify even though you promised you would,” she said. “The decision to terminate life support depends on what the doctors think.”
Jeffrey wasn’t diverted. “I hope your lawyer isn’t about to file something in court,” he said firmly.
Rena didn’t know what to say. Jeffrey would know sooner or later about the petition. She wasn’t about to call Alexia and stop her. She tried to sound as casual as possible.
“It’s too late. Alexia is going to schedule a hearing as soon as possible.”
“What! That’s not what I told you to do!”
Rena bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I should have let you know.”
“Well, you’re right about one thing. You’re on your own with it. I can’t help.”
Rena tried to salvage something. “Will you still call on Monday and let me know what you find out?”
“Maybe. Bye.”
The phone clicked off.
After she said good-bye, Rena stared out the front windows for several seconds. She hated having to rely on Jeffrey. She set her jaw. For now, she was trapped and had to rely on her brother-in-law, but when the opportunity came, she would grab her freedom and not let go. Neither Jeffrey nor any other man would stop her. She turned away from the window just before a dark blue car drove past the end of the driveway.
Rena put her cell phone on the kitchen counter and trudged upstairs to attempt a nap. She’d been sleeping with the bedroom door locked and a chair in front of the door to Baxter’s closet. The sight of her husband’s shirts, belts, shoes, and other personal belongings was troubling, and she’d considered moving into one of the guest bedrooms. Kicking off her shoes, she lay down on top of the bedspread, closed her eyes, and fell into an uneasy sleep. A half-hour later, she rolled over to change position and barely opened her eyes.
Baxter was lying beside her.
His back was to her, and he was wearing his favorite brown-and-green shirt with khaki slacks. Stifling a scream, she stared at his sleeping form. His head was turned away from her so that she could just see the top of his brown hair. His side was moving up and down in regular rhythm. With her heart pounding loudly in her ears, Rena moved her hand slowly toward his body. If she could thrust her hand through him, it would confirm to her senses that he wasn’t any more real than an image on a TV screen. Just as her hand came within an inch of his back, she blinked, and he disappeared.
Rena stared intently for several seconds at the now smooth place on the covers. Then she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. In a few moments her heart rate slowed. She glanced apprehensively to the side, but the bed remained empty. The fact that she had been able to maintain her composure during the encounter was a major triumph. Baxter was an illusion, and the fact that she could exert her will in the midst of the experience was encouraging. Of course, she didn’t want to see him, but if it was an unavoidable part of her future, the ability to respond in a way that maintained her sanity was a huge step forward.
She closed her eyes again to sleep with less fear of who might appear when she awoke.
31
You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.
MATTHEW 5:14 (NKJV)
Holding the service copy of the petition in an unsealed envelope, Alexia debated whether to go through the main entrance to Leggitt &Freeman or use the familiar side entrance that bypassed the gatekeeper in the reception area. Sooner or later Alexia would have to discard any remaining vestiges of her employment with the firm, but today she rationalized use of the side entrance by the fact that she needed to drop a list of files she’d taken to her new office by Vicky’s desk. Gwen wasn’t in sight, and Alexia went directly to Leggitt’s secretary. If the senior partner wasn’t in his office, she could leave the petition with the secretary and address the fallout over the telephone. Vicky was coming out of Ralph Leggitt’s office when Alexia walked up.
“Here is the list of fi
les I’ve taken,” Alexia said as she handed the sheets to Vicky. “Is he busy?”
“Not really. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Vicky went back into the office and returned in a few seconds. “He’ll be with you shortly. He needs to make a quick phone call.”
Alexia sat in one of two leather chairs that served as a secondary reception area for those waiting to enter the office. Leggitt’s secretary was typing dictation and ignored her. The phone call stretched to several minutes, and Alexia began to fidget. She loved to relax at home, but inactivity during the workday was a pet peeve. Waiting was an unavoidable part of law practice, but it was impossible to avoid a feeling of frustrated tension when she was forced to delay. It was hardest when she was waiting for a trial to start and had to sit quietly across a courtroom from her opponent like a prizefighter waiting for the opening bell. The phone on the secretary’s desk buzzed. She picked up the receiver and turned to Alexia.
“You can go in.”
Dressed casually for Friday afternoon, Ralph Leggitt was sitting behind his desk. He stood up when Alexia entered.
“Have a seat,” he said. “I was talking to Ezra Richardson. He made a deposit to Rena’s checking account yesterday afternoon.”
Alexia sat down. “She confirmed it with me this morning.”
“Did you receive my letter about dismissal of the criminal charges?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Good. What’s on your mind?”
Alexia held the envelope lightly in her hand. “Baxter’s doctors requested a consultation with a neurologist who specializes in traumatic head injuries. He has evaluated Baxter and believes it would be appropriate to terminate life support.”
Leggitt took out a pen. “What’s his name?”
“Dr. Vince Draughton,” Alexia replied, spelling the doctor’s last name.
“Do you have a report?”
“I’ve talked to him but don’t have anything in writing. When I was in Greenville, it was obvious that Ezra and Rena had different opinions about maintaining life support, but Rena was willing to hope for the best. Over the past few days Baxter has not made any progress, and according to Dr. Draughton, there is no medical reason to keep him going.”
Mr. Leggitt tapped his fingers on the surface of his desk. “Ezra was on his way to Greenville when I called him. He didn’t mention anything about deterioration of Baxter’s condition. In fact, one of the neurosurgeons told him this morning that Baxter was stable.”
“I realize there may be different opinions from the doctors, but Rena believes Baxter would not want to be kept alive hooked up to feeding tubes and dependent on a ventilator. You and I know the law gives Ezra priority in directing Baxter’s medical care unless his condition meets the criteria for the declaration of desire for a natural death.”
Alexia paused, but Ralph Leggitt didn’t respond. She knew he was waiting for her to reveal her plan. She kept her tone of voice matter-of-fact.
“Rena instructed me to prepare a petition to terminate Baxter’s life support. A hearing is set in front of a judge in Greenville for next Friday afternoon beginning at one o’clock.” Alexia put the envelope on the edge of Mr. Leggitt’s desk. “Here are the papers. It should be filed in Greenville on Monday. There is also an acknowledgment of service for you to sign as Ezra’s attorney.”
Ralph Leggitt didn’t pick up the envelope. His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
Alexia remained steady. “It’s what my client wants to do, and there is medical justification for her request.”
“Did you tell her how this might affect the cooperation she’s received from her father-in-law?”
“Yes.”
His face grim, Leggitt put his pen down on his desk. “After our conversation the other day, I thought we were moving toward family harmony, not conflict. Ezra is going to be very upset when he finds out about this, and it makes my advice that he be generous toward Rena look foolish.”
“You told Ezra to do the right thing, and even though he had no business taking the money out of Rena’s checking account and filing criminal charges against her, his change of heart didn’t go unappreciated. Rena thought about calling him, but I suggested she wait because of their differences about maintaining Baxter’s life support. Even now, we’re willing to discuss the situation with him and try to come to an agreement.”
Leggitt snorted. “Do you expect Ezra Richardson to speed up his son’s death when the doctors still hold out hope of a recovery?”
“We could arrange a conference call or meeting with Dr. Draughton. I’ve talked to him, and he can explain the situation in a way that’s easy to understand.”
The cloud over Ralph Leggitt darkened. “Don’t patronize me or my client, Alexia. You sandbagged me, and now I’m going to look like an idiot.”
Alexia flushed slightly. “Uh, I didn’t mislead you. We didn’t talk about—”
The older lawyer interrupted. “You knew all along that Rena wanted to pull the plug on Baxter, but you waited until you got what you wanted before filing the petition. I told Ezra I could trust you to be honest with me. I was wrong.”
Mr. Leggitt stood up. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Alexia remained seated. “If I were in your place, I’d be mad, too. But there is medical support for Rena’s request, and it deserves a hearing in front of a judge.”
“Save your arguments. I know what’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
Leggitt didn’t answer. “We’ll acknowledge service for Mr. Richardson.”
Alexia stood. Leggitt didn’t make a move to escort her out of his office.
He spoke in a low voice. “Your client has chosen the hard way, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure she regrets it,” he said.
Alexia didn’t respond. She had a policy not to engage in verbal threats before going to court. It sapped her energy.
“Thanks for seeing me,” she said as she walked from the office.
In the hallway outside, Alexia took a deep breath and exhaled. In some ways she preferred Ralph Leggitt as an adversary rather than an ally. As an enemy, his actions were unerringly predictable—whatever served his self-interest was the unfailing principle.
Ted Morgan had returned to work at Marylou Hobart’s house Friday afternoon. In the heat of the summer she relied on two single-room air conditioners to stay comfortable, but it wouldn’t be hot again for many months, and the old woman wanted to put screens in her windows so she could enjoy the fall breeze. Ted found the screens in a shed behind the house and cleaned them with a hose and soapy water. He didn’t think it would be a difficult job, but when he attempted to install the first screen, it didn’t fit.
“There’s a problem,” he told Mrs. Hobart, who was standing inside the house on the opposite side of the open window and peering out at him.
“I’m not upset,” she answered. “I know you came as soon as you could.”
Ted pushed on the screen, but it was a half-inch too long. Mrs. Hobart tapped the window sill.
“Oh, that one must go somewheres else,” she said. “Each one is different. They’re customer made.”
Ted nodded. The house was so old and the windows so irregular that Mrs. Hobart’s mother must have ordered custom-made screens. None of the screens or windows had been labeled by the last person who had removed them. The result was a giant jigsaw puzzle. Ted took all the screens to the first window and tried each one until he found the matching piece. He repeated the process as he moved from window to window until he finished the downstairs.
The second story of the house had six windows. Ted was used to scrambling up and down ladders, but the prospect of doing so repeatedly on Mrs. Hobart’s rickety ladder with an armload of screens was not a pleasant prospect.
“You don’t use the upstairs, do you?” he called to Mrs. Hobart, who was sitting in a rocking chair on her back porch.
“I haven’t been sta
ring at you. I trust you to do a good job.”
Ted came closer and repeated his question. The old woman smiled.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t been up the steps in ages. No need to risk breaking your neck on the ladder. What you’ve done is just fine. Come inside and have a glass of tea. It’ll perk you up.”
Mrs. Hobart’s tea was so sweet it could have been used for pancake syrup. Ted liked sweet drinks, but he filled his tea glass to the top and added extra water as soon as the old woman’s back was turned. Even then, it was not a drink for those on a low carbohydrate diet. Ted took a tentative sip. It tasted great. Mrs. Hobart must have forgotten and cut the amount of sugar in half.
“This is good,” he said, holding up his glass.
She smiled at the compliment. “It could be sweeter.”
“Do you remember talking about the woman I wanted to invite over to my house for supper?” Ted called out.
“Delores?” the old woman replied.
“No. Her name is Alexia.”
As soon as he said it, Ted realized his mistake. Mrs. Hobart gave him a strange look that let him know she’d heard him clearly. She shook her head.
“I don’t agree with the women who are trying to be men. I never told anyone to call me Lou. My name has always been Marylou.”
“Alexia is her nickname,” Ted responded in a loud voice. “Her real name is Alexia. Her mother is Russian.”
Mrs. Hobart’s frown deepened. “Can you understand her when she talks to you?”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s lived in the United States all her life.”
Mrs. Hobart sighed. “I know you’re a preacher, but I’m going to pray for you myself. Most men don’t understand the first thing about women. It took me years to get Harry straightened out. You’re too good a man to get trapped by the wrong person.”
Ted had an old-fashioned charcoal grill. He preferred genuine smoked flavor in the food he cooked for the same reasons he appreciated the nuances produced by his Steinway over the sounds generated by a mass-produced piano. He set up the grill in a shaded grassy area behind the house. Several older trees kept most of the yard in perpetual shadow, and sometimes Ted would sit in a lounge chair in the backyard and read. It was a peaceful place. The residents of the nearby cemetery were quiet neighbors, and the nearest houses to the church were several hundred yards away.
Life Support Page 29