The Missing Year

by Belinda Frisch

  “Where you lived with Blake?” Ross called up the real estate listing bookmarked on his cell phone. “This home?” He showed Lila the screen, the picture as much of the For Sale sign as it was of the house behind it.

  “What the hell?” Lila had no way of knowing her house was on the market.

  “Did you sign anything when you were admitted?” Ross asked. “Did you maybe give Ruth power of attorney?”

  “I don’t think so.” Lila shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know. Maybe?”

  “She’s dismantling your life. We have to leave now if I’m going to help you out of this.” Ross signed the visitation form and handed Lila the paper and pen.

  She signed and handed it back.

  Ross scribbled a note to Mark that said, “Sorry. Be back soon.” and left the paperwork on Lila’s nightstand.

  “Do you have a jacket?”

  Lila nodded.

  “Put it on and pull up the hood.” Ross looked both ways before heading into the hallway.

  “Dr. Reeves?” Eddie came around the corner wheeling the dinner cart. “Dr. Reeves, wait.”

  “What do we do?” Lila said.

  “Keep going. Come on, this way.” Ross swiped his keycard, hurried down a flight of stairs, and slammed his palms into the bar of the emergency door that, thankfully, didn’t alarm. “My car’s this way.” Ross fumbled for the key fob and hit the unlock button twice. He had his hand on the passenger’s door handle when Guy came running out of the building, red-faced and out of breath.

  “Ross, wait!”

  “Lila, get in,” Ross said.

  Lila’s hood had fallen off. Her black hair blew in the breeze.

  “Ross, please,” Guy said.

  Lila got in and fastened her seatbelt.

  Ross rolled down the window as he pulled out of the driveway. “I’m sorry, Doc. The paperwork’s in Lila’s room. We’ll be back. Both of us, I promise.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Ross took Lila to the Downtowner, the only safe place he could think of to talk. Round white bulbs illuminated the row of trees out front, reflecting off the metal diner. The parking lot brimmed with Cadillacs, Lincolns, and Buicks, and the room bustled with an elderly early bird crowd.

  Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill” came from the jukebox.

  “I like this song.” Lila swayed to the music while they waited to be seated.

  “Can I help you?” A pretty waitress, maybe as young as late teens, with a high ponytail and a round belly greeted them. She wore the same vintage uniform as the older waitresses except for that she also wore a white pocketed apron that was stained, no doubt, where she couldn’t see.

  “Two, please,” Ross said. “Someplace quiet if at all possible.” The latter seemed unlikely, but worth the shot.

  The waitress took two menus from behind the counter and waved for Ross and Lila to follow her.

  “This way.” She led them to a narrow galley between the kitchen and the dining room where only one of four booths was occupied. The couple of men sitting there haggled over tipping percentages, and after settling on an amount, left. “Is this all right?”

  “Perfect,” Ross said.

  Lila sat across from him. “When are you due?” she asked the waitress.

  Ross remembered that Lila had wanted children, but had given up on having them to be with Blake.

  The waitress smoothed her hand over her apron. “Three weeks, two days.”

  “Your first?” Lila asked.

  “Third time’s a charm.”

  The waitress looked too young for a single child, let alone three, and either she didn’t wear a wedding ring or she didn’t have a husband.

  “Wow,” Lila said.

  “Wow is right. My mother and I are officially outnumbered.” The waitress’s gaze connected with one of the others, her mother, it seemed, who appeared to be checking up on her. The two exchanged strained smiles before the waitress produced a pen and small pad from her pocket. “My name’s Morgan, if you need anything. What can I get you to drink?”

  Lila looked at Ross and then back at Morgan. “I’ll take a glass of Merlot, please.”

  “Seltzer with a twist of lime for me.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Morgan didn’t so much walk away as she did waddle. Her wide-legged stance and the low position of her belly had Ross wondering if someone hadn’t miscalculated a date somewhere along the line.

  “Merlot?” Ross said.

  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a glass of wine and dinner that didn’t come from a meal cart?”

  “A year, give or take.”

  “Then you know why I could use a drink.” Lila unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. “Mind telling me what happened back there? I feel like a fugitive.”

  “You know I helped Joshua after that incident in the community room, right?”

  Lila nodded. “I had heard.”

  “Apparently my hire paperwork wasn’t thoroughly completed. I was brought on in a hurry and a couple of things got missed. The screwdriver thing has me on the state’s radar. I’m not in trouble, per se, but it is better if I don’t talk to them directly until things get cleared up.”

  “Then this is my fault. You were brought on so quickly because of me.”

  “It’s nothing, Lila. Don’t worry about it. I have everything the investigators want, just not the time to pull it all together. I have to go to Chicago.”

  “You said. Why? Are you coming back?”

  “It’s personal and I’m not sure, which is why I need you to be absolutely honest with me if I’m going to help you. Everything has to be out in the open, and I mean everything. Deal?”

  “Of course.” Lila said it as though she never lied to him.

  “Why did you pretend not to know Jeremy Davis?”

  “Who?”

  “Jeremy. Davis.”

  “I told you. I don’t know who that is.”

  Ross slapped the table hard enough to make his utensils jump. “Damn it. You agreed to tell me the truth.”

  Morgan had been heading toward them, but turned around.

  Lila was stunned speechless.

  “I can’t help you if you won’t work with me,” Ross said. “There are pictures of you and Blake with Jeremy all over the internet. Why are you protecting him?”

  “I’m not protecting him. There are some things I can’t talk about.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “You asked me back at Lakeside how I know about your house being for sale.”

  “What does that have to do with Jeremy?”

  “I knew you were lying about knowing him. I figured the only way to know for sure was to go to Edinburgh and prove it.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I knew if I didn’t confront you with facts, you’d never open up.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about me,” Lila said through clenched teeth.

  “I know you loved your husband too much to let him die for no reason. I also know Blake was dying, no matter what choice you made about his life support. You kept that from everyone, including Ruth. I spoke with Jeremy and Ruth, Lila. What neither of them would tell me is why you’re so willing to take the blame for something that was never going to end any other way.”

  “You have some nerve.” Lila stood to leave.

  Ross grabbed her wrist, hard enough to stop her, but gently enough that she could have easily pulled away if she wanted to. “Please, don’t make a scene.”

  “I’ll do whatever the hell I want to.”

  “You’re out on visitation, Lila. I’m responsible for you. I don’t want to have to explain to our very pregnant waitress or the police, who she’ll have no choice but to call, where you came from and why. Please sit down.” After a long pause, she did. “That drinking day you told me about, the one when you got hurt. Blake didn’t mean to push you, did he?” He waited for her to answer bef
ore continuing. “Huntington’s-induced cognitive impairment affects everything from recall, to concentration, to temper control. But you know that, don’t you? Blake didn’t mean to lash out. He couldn’t help himself. And he was as afraid of that as you were, wasn’t he?”

  A tear rolled down Lila’s cheek as she nodded. “Jeremy told you Blake tested positive?”

  “Jeremy confirmed it, but that wasn’t how I found out.”

  “Blake made us promise not to say anything. He begged us not to tell.”

  “There were other things happening, too, weren’t there? Things outside of your control?”

  “Nothing was outside our control.”

  Ross knew that particular lie well. “I used to tell myself the same thing with Sarah. Each time a new symptom popped up, it was like we had dealt with so many up to that point, what was one more? We fooled ourselves into thinking we could handle anything, and we could for a while, until us became me. When I had to handle things alone—feeding, care, medication, decisions—the pressure took its toll. Everything was on me, and even being a doctor, there are things you never want to have to do to your spouse. Sarah couldn’t talk at the end, but I could see the shame on her face as I changed her colostomy bag.”

  “I was going to take care of Blake,” Lila said. “I’m not a doctor, but I had Jeremy if I needed him and I was going to nursing school. We could have handled him.”

  “Wanting to do something and having to do it are two different things. I thought I had Sarah handled, too. By the time I realized I’d been lying to myself, I was committed to round-the-clock care, barely able to keep her alive. Terminal illness is brutal, Lila. If you don’t let anyone in, it’s the loneliest, most painful purgatory you can imagine. You become so engrossed in the day-to-day tasks that you are consumed by them. It’s all the life you know. When Sarah died, it was as if I had no reason to keep living. That feeling passed, eventually, as much as I think it’s ever going to. The question is, if you did everything you could for Blake, why do you feel so guilty?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Morgan made her way back to Ross and Lila’s table. She refilled Blake’s Seltzer and looked at Lila’s untouched wine glass.

  “Is there something wrong with the wine?”

  “No, nothing.” Lila leered at Ross. “I’m suddenly not in the mood.”

  “I’ll leave it in case you change your mind, but can I get you something else?”

  “Unsweetened iced tea, please.”

  “Are you ready to order?”

  “Just the tea for now, thank you.” Lila waited for Morgan to leave and said, “Did your wife want to stay at home, you know—?”

  “Until the end?” Blake said. Lila nodded. “She did. Sarah hated hospitals. We went over everything before she got too sick. I needed to know what she wanted.”

  “Then she said things to you in confidence? Things she’d only say to you?”

  “She did. Sarah always said she could tell me anything.”

  “Even if it hurt you? I mean, do you think sometimes she tried to spare your feelings?”

  “Probably, though less so than others. She was most protective of her mom at the end. Sarah felt that there were things she couldn’t handle.”

  “Like the fact that she was suffering?”

  “Eventually,” Ross said. “Sure.”

  “Then you understand why Blake wanted things kept from Ruth, and why maybe I knew things about him she didn’t?”

  “I guess so,” he said.

  “Did Sarah ever ask you to end her suffering?”

  “No, never,” Ross said, but it was a lie.

  “If she had, could you have done it?”

  Ross shook his head. He had asked himself the same question, nearly crossing the line on several occasions in those final painful days. Accepting Sarah’s death was inevitable. Ending her suffering seemed the humane thing to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Do you remember in the news a couple years back, the woman who was on life support for something like ten years because her husband and parents were fighting over whether or not to take her off the machines? The husband wanted to let his wife die in peace.”

  “And her parents said it was because he was covering something up, right? Harrow, or Harris, wasn’t that her name?” Ross would have had to be living under a rock not to have heard about her.

  The woman’s husband eventually won in court.

  “Nelda Harris,” Lila said. “She was about Blake’s age when she died. I always felt bad for the things the media said about her husband.”

  “You believe he had nothing to do with her injuries?”

  “I think the media likes juicy stories. The case made good television. You ever tell yourself you can handle anything, but when you see someone else go through it, you wonder, could I actually do that?”

  Ross nodded.

  “Blake had watched his father die a horrible drawn-out death. He didn’t talk much about it until the Harris case came up, but he said he was always thinking of him, not how he was when he was alive and healthy, but how he was at the end. Blake said his mother had done the wrong thing, trying to hold on to his father when he didn’t want to be held on to. Did you know suicide is the third leading cause of death in Huntington’s patients, after aspiration pneumonia and heart failure?”

  Ross shook his head. “I probably should know that.”

  “Blake said his father had wanted to go to a long-term care facility, but his mother insisted on keeping him home. I don’t know if that was for his benefit or hers. Ruth became the round-the-clock caregiver; everything from feedings to changing adult diapers. When her husband died, Ruth died with him. She’d been taking care of him for so long that she didn’t spend time with anyone else. She used to quilt, play Bridge, and go to Bingo. Her friends tried to have her back, to do things with her again, but Ruth wanted to be left to her suffering. Blake said he didn’t want that for me, or for himself. He didn’t want anyone to remember him the way he remembered his father. He knew, eventually, he’d become like Nelda Harris—suffering, unable to communicate—and everyone who loved him would be too damn selfish to let him go. For Blake, Nelda Harris being removed from life support was a victory. That night he asked me if it were him, would I make sure he was never kept alive by machines?”

  “That’s a lot of pressure to put on someone.”

  “It is, but I didn’t think it would come to that, so I agreed. I had done enough research to know Huntington’s didn’t end with the patient on life support. Blake knew that too, when he made me promise. I should have known something was wrong then, that Blake was worried, but him ever getting sick at that point was only a possibility. He knew, Ross. He was waiting.”

  “We’ve been over this, Lila. There was no way Blake could have predicted the shooting.”

  “He couldn’t have, no. But he was smart enough to recognize a window of opportunity when he saw one.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Lila picked up the glass of wine she had been ignoring and polished it off in a few long sips. A familiar look came over her, the same confessional expression Ross had seen on Arlene Pope’s face before she admitted to murdering her infant in cold blood. In Ross’s experience, there came a point when people needed to unburden themselves. He could see Lila was there.

  “The local papers called Blake a hero for saving that family,” she said. “By all accounts he took a bullet that could have been for any of them. The shooter was out of his mind.”

  “How did you even get to the paper?” Psychiatric inpatients were generally kept away from the news.

  “The articles started long before I went into the hospital. But it wasn’t the paper, or the news reports, or the people calling my house, or the memorial on my front lawn that reminded me of Blake throwing himself at a strung-out eighteen-year-old. It was seeing the goddamned tape, over and over again in my head. ”

  “Tape
?”

  Lila raised her hand to catch Morgan’s attention.

  “What can I get for you?” Morgan said.

  “Another glass of wine, please, and an order of spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “Make that two of each,” Ross said.

  Morgan smiled. “I knew you’d come around.”

  “Nothing goes with a glass of Merlot like a plate of spaghetti,” Lila said.

  Morgan rubbed her stomach. “Remind me of that in another few weeks.” She walked away chuckling, and picked up the billfold off a recently cleared table.

  “What tape?” Ross said.

  “The convenience store surveillance tape from that night. I shouldn’t have watched it, but I had this sick feeling in my stomach that Blake’s shooting wasn’t an accident.”

  “You’re saying that Blake tried to get himself shot?”

  “Blake was smart enough to recognize someone not in their right mind, Dr. Reeves. He knew what would happen. The kid’s name was Garrett Wade. I looked him up on Facebook when Blake was in the hospital and found a picture of a teenage boy hugging a Yellow Lab. I wouldn’t have believed it was the same person that was in the video. The Garrett Wade I saw was thin and strung out. He later admitted he was on PCP and something else he didn’t know, something his dealer had given him. Stupid kid didn’t even ask what it was. He said shooting Blake was the only way out of that store. He was desperate. There’s no way Blake didn’t see that.”

  “How did Jeremy get involved?”

  “I called him. Blake was taken to Merrick Memorial, but I had no idea how bad things were. I didn’t want to believe the worst, and if Blake could get better, if the gunshot wasn’t fatal, I didn’t want to expose the fact that he was sick. Jeremy had staff privileges, unlike you at Lakeside.”

  Ross’s incomplete paperwork reared its ugly head. Without a completed file, he didn’t have treating privileges. He should have known that Lila, having been married to a surgeon, would have understood that if he told her.

  “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was talking over your head.”