‘Doesn’t surprise me to hear that a psychiatrist sees paranoia everywhere,’ I quipped. ‘You probably use it like a flashlight.’ He didn’t laugh at that. ‘Look. I met her for only a short while, but I wouldn’t consider her a very reliable witness to anything.’
‘Could be you’re right. You went on hikes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And do you remember an African American man who worked there?’
‘So?’
‘His name is Henry Rice. He remembers you, of course. He also says you were alone at the cabin, and he says he was a little concerned about you going on the hikes alone. He claims you came upon him while he was cutting firewood and told him there was someone walking behind you. He watched for him, but no one appeared, and there was never anyone with you, even though you seemed to behave as if there was.’
‘I don’t know what he’s talking about. I saw him briefly – twice maybe.’
‘He claims he did see you move into the cabin … alone.’
‘He wasn’t paying attention. I remember now. He was painting something the first time I saw him.’
‘You left a lot of food when you checked out, according to Mrs Lester.’
‘She can consider it a tip,’ I said.
He smiled.
‘You’re right. I had the feeling that whatever you left still in its packaging, she would keep. She said you used only as many towels and things as a single person would. She strikes me as the type that would count, don’t you think?’
‘She struck me as being a lonely, bitter old woman, nothing more.’
‘OK. So, you told your husband that Lancaster’s way of contacting you most of the time was to call you on your cell phone?’
‘That was the number I gave him, yes. Obviously, I didn’t want him calling my home.’
‘Was he ever there?’
‘I think this is getting too personal now,’ I replied.
He pulled out another sheet of paper. It was a cell phone bill.
‘As you can see,’ he said, ‘no calls were made or received on your phone for nearly a month, and very few before that. Your phone was retrieved with your things in the car. Your husband said the battery was still uncharged.’
‘So I forgot. Most women forget to charge their batteries. Just take a poll. Big deal.’
‘Apparently, you haven’t charged it for some time. Just yesterday, he located the charger behind the dresser, on the floor in your bedroom.’
‘It probably just fell there recently. I was in a rush and didn’t notice whether the phone was charged or not.’
‘What about that?’ He nodded at the bill in my hand.
‘It must be counterfeit or something, especially if Ronnie gave it to you.’
‘Easy enough to get a copy directly from the phone company to confirm it one way or the other,’ he said.
I gave him back the bill. My hand was shaking a little.
‘You’re a pretty intelligent woman, Mrs Howard. I’m sure you can help me help you. What’s happened to you isn’t as unusual as it might first seem.’
‘Nothing’s happened to me. I know what you’re doing. I told you as soon as I realized it. You’re calling me a schizophrenic,’ I said.
‘Let’s avoid labels for now.’
‘I’d like to avoid it all. I’m getting tired,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to talk anymore.’
‘Of course. I have a suggestion.’
‘What?’
‘When you’re discharged from the hospital, you continue your recuperation at my facility. You’re going to get top care. I can assure you of that.’
‘What facility?’
‘It’s in a beautiful location – rustic, not that far. Your family can visit easily. However, I don’t see you staying there very long. I’m confident you’ll be well soon.’
‘You’re not just making a suggestion. You’re making a diagnosis. Ronnie won’t get away with this and neither will you. I’ve already contacted my attorney,’ I warned.
He stood up.
‘It’s always better if you give it a chance because you want to, of course.’
‘Forget about it. And tell Ronnie not to bother visiting me. I’ll be by when I’m discharged to pick up the things I want.’
‘Arrangements you’ll make with Lancaster?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Well, let’s leave it like that for the time being. I’ve enjoyed talking to you, by the way.’
‘The feeling isn’t mutual,’ I said, and he laughed.
‘Get some rest,’ he advised.
I watched him leave and then I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think. Remember your Hamlet, I told myself: ‘Nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’ That brought a smile to my face and a soft repose until I sensed he was there. It felt as if he had been there the whole time, watching over me, especially when Dr Pearson was questioning me. I sat up.
‘I wish you were here sooner. Ronnie sent this psychiatrist.’
‘I saw him. Nice-looking man. I bet some women feign insanity to get into his clinic.’
‘It’s not funny. Don’t you see what they’re doing?’
‘Yes. I’ll give you some advice. Don’t fight them.’
‘What?’
‘Fighting them only validates them. Go along with them. Be cooperative. After a while, they’ll see they can’t change things and we’ll be fine.’
‘I wish I had your confidence.’
‘You will,’ he said. ‘For now, I think it’s better if I stay in the background a bit.’
‘Not too far in the background and not too much of a bit,’ I replied.
He smiled, rose, took my hand and said, ‘I’ll always be with you, Clea.’
He kissed me the way I wanted him to kiss me and then softly started out. He paused in the doorway to cast that smile into my eyes, where it would stay forever.
I settled back, contented and, despite all that had occurred, remarkably unafraid.
Kelly appeared.
She stood in the doorway as if she was uncertain she had come to the right room.
‘You saw him leave?’ I asked.
‘Who?’
‘Never mind. Where’s your father?’
She came in and stood by the bed.
‘He said it would be better if I came without him today.’
‘Did he? So what else did he say?’
‘He says you’re not well, and he doesn’t mean because of the accident.’
‘Your father’s good at convincing people of things. He should work for the State Department.’
‘Did you tell him you were in love with someone else?’ she asked, her eyes glassy with threatening tears. I didn’t answer. ‘And that you want to leave him – leave me, too?’
‘Sometimes, we can’t help what happens to us, Kelly. Someday, you’ll understand.’
‘But this man you’re in love with … you’re making him up.’
‘That’s what he wants to believe and wants you to believe, and why he sent that hired psychological gun here.’
‘I don’t want you to leave us, Mom. I’m sorry if you think I do. I know I don’t spend enough time with you, but I want to. I really do. And I like talking to you very much. I don’t want you to leave,’ she emphasized.
‘I won’t leave forever,’ I said. I looked away. When I heard her voice now, I didn’t hear the voice of a sixteen-year-old. She sounded more like she had been when she was seven or eight, her voice smaller, more fragile. I could hear the fear and the need for reassurance.
‘You’re not a child anymore,’ I said, more to convince myself than her.
‘Maybe, but I’m not someone who doesn’t want her mother around,’ she said. I looked at her. Without her earphones and her distractions, she did look younger, more innocent. ‘I don’t have anyone else. You’re supposed to be my sister, too,’ she said.
She had never said anything like that, at least anything I could remember.
‘I know you haven’t been happy, Mom. I ignored it. I didn’t know what to do, so I pretended you were just being you. It’s my fault, too. I should have cared more. I’m sorry.’
‘Stop it, Kelly.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said and hugged me. She held me so tight I couldn’t turn away if I wanted to, but I didn’t want to. What I wanted to do finally was just cry.
Which was what I did.
What we did together.
EPILOGUE
Dr Pearson’s psychiatric retreat consisted of three Spanish-style structures with that familiar light tangerine stucco exterior. They were connected with Spanish-tiled walkways. As he had promised, the retreat did have beautiful grounds, set on a little over twenty acres, with great care taken in the design of the landscaping. There were hedge-bordered pathways that wove around ponds and fountains, flowers and an assortment of trees, including olive and jacaranda. Along the way there were dark-stained wooden benches evenly spaced.
The day I was brought there, I saw about a half-dozen gardeners at work and what looked like three residents enjoying the property. I never really knew exactly how many other clients, as he insisted on calling them, were being treated. Some refused to come out of their rooms.
Because of the fracture of the tibia in my right leg, I walked with a crutch or moved about in a wheelchair. Ronnie and Kelly brought me two suitcases of clothes and shoes, as well as my travel bag of makeup and toiletries. I had to say that Pearson’s facility was quite comfortable. There was even a beautician to wash and cut and style your hair, if you wanted. There were six rotating nurses and at least ten aides, as well as two other psychiatrists and three interns.
I don’t know whether it was his psychiatric technique or what, but the first day I arrived, he stopped by to see if I was comfortable and didn’t talk about anything remotely associated with what he would eventually politely refer to as my condition. Instead, he talked about the facility, how he had come to buy the property, and how it had been one of his dreams to have a state-of-the-art facility – ‘a place where people found their own way to stable mental health.’
‘I’m one of those who believes in the healing power of nature,’ he added.
All the rooms for clients, as far as I could tell, were designed to look like bedrooms in some house, rather than some facility. The furniture was upscale and warm, some rustic, some more on the modern side. Paintings, vases, all seemed well coordinated. I wasn’t sure how he knew where to place each of his clients. Mine was contemporary with a sleigh bed. The dark brown finish was accented with a subtle golden-brown brushing. There were upholstered faux-leather panels adjoining the bed and mirror. I asked him about it and he revealed his wife was an interior decorator and responsible for everything at the clinic.
He asked about the work I had done on our house, and then he went on to talk about his coming from the East Coast and the differences in furniture styles, as well as lifestyles. Our conversation was so casual that I did feel myself relaxing and almost congratulated him on the way he had settled me into the situation. He mentioned some medication he was going to prescribe, almost as an afterthought.
It wasn’t long after that the nurse, a Mrs Tyler, who looked old enough to be my mother, brought my dosage. She wasn’t cold, but she was almost military in her demeanor. There was never an uncrossed T in her life, I thought. For now, I wasn’t interested in her friendship anyway.
Moments after she left, I wheeled myself to the window to look out at the front of the property. All was quiet; in fact, it was if I was gazing at a large painting. There was hardly a breeze and for the moment there were no birds flitting about or signs of any life. I wondered if I had somehow put the world on hold.
I sensed he was standing behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I thought he might have been there quite a while without speaking. I wondered why I didn’t turn around quickly. Was I afraid to look at him now? Did I worry that he would see this as a betrayal? After all, that was really what it was.
‘You have nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about,’ he said.
‘It’s not that. I think I’m a little afraid.’
‘Don’t be. I’ll never be far away.’
‘But you’ll be away.’
‘I told you from the beginning that I wasn’t the type to make long-term commitments. You accepted that.’
‘I will always wonder when you’ll be passing through again.’
‘Maybe not always,’ he said.
‘When will you leave now?’
‘I’ll leave softly. More like fade away. It started when you took that pill a little while ago. I think you knew that.’
I nodded, my eyes still on the world on pause.
‘You told me to cooperate; you told me to come here,’ I said.
‘It’s the easiest way. I hate long goodbyes with the smoke of regret trailing behind them. Neither of us needs to be that dramatic about it anyway.’
‘So you think I’ll be all right?’
‘You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.’
‘As it could be?’
‘It’s always as it could be. Don’t look for perfection. Look for—’
‘Survival with a touch of pleasure, a touch of happiness?’
‘It’s all anyone can expect.’
‘Even you?’
‘Especially me.’
I felt his hand on my shoulder and I closed my eyes. He kissed me lovingly on the top of my head and then grazed my right cheek with his lips. I kept my eyes closed. There was a heaviness around me. It was as if some curtain was slowly being dropped.
I took a deep breath and turned.
He was gone.
For now, maybe forever.
I looked back through the window.
The birds were flying about now, moving from tree limbs to tree limbs. I caught sight of a squirrel sprinting toward a hedge.
Through the entryway gate, I saw my husband and my daughter coming to visit.
Off in the distance, the clouds seemed to part to make way for a commercial jet. People on board were getting excited. They were probably coming home.
What feeling could match that? I thought.
Lost in His Eyes Page 24