When Joy Came to Stay

by Karen Kingsbury

  Officer Boe shook his head and walked back to his car, the young boys still at his side. There he telephoned Social Services and reported that two of their charges had very nearly been killed in a traffic accident.

  Ben arrived at the hospital and rushed to Maggie’s side just as the doctor was explaining to her the severity of her head injury. Her heart soared at the sound of his voice.

  “Doctor…I’m sorry, I couldn’t get here until now. I’m her husband. What happened? How bad is it?” Ben was breathless and looked several shades paler than he’d that morning. He stood next to Maggie’s bed and intertwined his fingers with hers.

  Warmth washed over her, surprising in its strength. I still love him, Lord…really. Help me understand what’s happening, why I’m acting so strangely.

  For the first time in days, Maggie felt safe. Ben was with her, his hand warm and big enough to cover hers.

  But nothing is big enough to cover the way you lied to him all those years ago. You’re a liar, a hypocrite. A sickening excuse for a wife.

  Maggie closed her eyes. Nothing could make her shake the feeling of dark desperation that seemed to be tightening its grip on her with each passing hour.

  The doctor nodded at Ben and turned his attention back to Maggie. “It isn’t as bad as we first thought.” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and Maggie forced herself to listen. If it wasn’t bad, then there was no reasonable explanation for her behavior. She had sat down with the boys in the middle of the sidewalk thinking that they were at the dining room table. Then she had taken hold of the twin boys who had been trusted to her care and walked directly into oncoming traffic.

  “Do I have a concussion?”

  The doctor glanced down at the X rays in his hands. “No. Doesn’t appear so.” He approached her and ran his hand over a bandage on the back of her head. “The bleeding’s stopped, no stitches needed.”

  Ben’s sigh rattled around the examining room. “Thank God.”

  The doctor shifted his weight and stared first at Maggie, then at Ben. He obviously had something important to say, but instead he slid his hands into the pockets of his white coat and studied Maggie once more. “Officer Boe will be in to see you both in a minute.”

  When they were alone in the examining room, Ben leaned over the bed and kissed Maggie’s forehead. “Honey, I was so afraid…I got the call as soon as I walked in the door. All they said was you’d been in an accident and you had a head injury. I thought…”

  Maggie saw tears form in his eyes, felt his love, his relief, his fear…

  How can I love him so completely and hate him all at the same time?

  “I thought…I was worried that if something happened to your head you might never be the same.” His voice fell to a whisper. “I thought I might have lost you.”

  Maggie stared at him, not sure what she felt. It’s all your fault. You wanted perfection, and I gave it to you…

  Ben bent over and put his face against hers. “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you, Maggie.”

  She waited until he straightened up. “You never had me.” As soon as the bleak, flat words escaped, she chided herself. Ben didn’t need to hear that. He had no idea what she was talking about.

  His eyes clouded and he set his jaw, but before he could speak, Officer Boe entered the room. There was something foreboding in his expression and he waited until he had both their attention. “Mr. and Mrs. Stovall, I need to talk with you about something serious.”

  “Where are the boys?” Maggie’s voice was suddenly shrill with concern. “I thought they were with you.” How could she be a foster mother if she couldn’t even keep track of two well-behaved boys? Weren’t we just about to have hot chocolate?

  The officer nodded toward the hallway. “They’re safe; they’re just outside.”

  Ben crossed his arms and leveled his gaze at the officer. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s about the boys. Social Services is sending someone over to pick them up.”

  Ben cocked his head, his face a mask of confusion. “That won’t be necessary, Officer. I’ll be driving my wife and the boys home as soon as they discharge her.”

  The officer frowned. “Well, that’s just it. The caseworker is concerned, what with Mrs. Stovall’s accident and, well, apparently there’ve been several incidents lately…”

  “What incidents?” Ben turned his focus on Maggie. “What’re you talking about? The boys are fine at our house, right, Maggie?”

  She felt herself breaking into a sweat and she wanted desperately to escape, to run out of the hospital and keep running until she dropped. Keep running until she died from exhaustion. Anything to avoid the scene that was unfolding before her.

  Officer Boe glanced at his notes. “Apparently the school reported that the boys were sent to school without lunches three times last week. Then yesterday the boys were left at the bus stop. Someone, a neighbor most likely, called the school, and the boys were picked up again and brought to the principal’s office where—” he looked up at Ben—“your wife picked them up nearly an hour late.”

  Ben’s eyes grew wide and he stared at her. “Maggie?”

  She had the unnerving feeling that something was crawling on her face and she realized it was her perspiration forming drops and rolling off her forehead. Ben was waiting for an answer, but she had no idea what to say. The conversation was headed someplace that terrified her. They can’t take the boys, God, no. Please, no! She closed her eyes and nodded.

  “Yes? You forgot the boys at the bus stop?”

  Opening her eyes, she nodded again. Officer Boe closed his notebook and stared at them, making eye contact only occasionally, as though he were uncomfortable with the awkwardness of the moment.

  Maggie realized with surprise that her eyes were dry. What had happened to her ability to cry? Didn’t she care about this? Wasn’t she upset that the boys weren’t coming home with her? She noticed her legs stretched out on the hospital bed and she bit her lip. What am I doing here?

  When the officer saw that neither of them was going to speak, he continued. “Either way…” He paused and appeared to be searching for the right words. “Either way someone from the department is coming to take the boys.” He looked at Ben. “If you could go home and collect their things, that’d make the transition a lot easier for the children.”

  “No!” Maggie screamed the word and threw the hospital sheets off her body Before anyone could stop her, she was out in the hallway. “Casey! Cameron!” Everything seemed to be tilting. “Where are my children?” She turned on the nurses who had stopped working and were now staring at her. “What have you done with them?”

  Officer Boe was there almost instantly. He shot the nurses an apologetic look and forcefully took Maggie’s arm. “Mrs. Stovall, if you don’t come with me I’m going to have to place you under arrest.”

  Ben appeared at her other side, and together the men led her back to the hospital bed. A minute later, a nurse gave her a shot and she felt herself losing consciousness.

  They’ve killed me. Good. I don’t want to live anyway. I want my boys. “Casey…Cameron…” Her voice was weak, and she could no longer open her eyelids.

  Then there was nothing but all-consuming silence and deep, utter darkness.

  When Maggie woke up she was in her own bed, and Ben was asleep beside her. Images flashed in her mind. She had banged her head on the sidewalk and walked into traffic with the boys and gone to the hospital and someone had taken the boys and…

  She sat straight up in bed. The boys! Were they really gone or had the entire ordeal been a crazy nightmare? She moved slowly out of bed and crept down the hallway until she reached the boys’ room. They’re here; of course they’re here. She looked inside and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The bunkbeds were empty; everything that had belonged to Cameron and Casey was gone.

  Maggie collapsed slowly onto the floor outside their room. So it was true, all of it. They were gone; her boys were gone. She fe
lt her shoulders hunch forward with the weight of the truth. The nightmare was real, and it wasn’t her dreams that were crazy.

  It was her.

  Minutes passed until she formed a plan. Moving quietly she made her way back to bed and crawled in next to Ben, where she pretended to sleep until he left for work. When she was sure he was gone, she got up, packed a suitcase, and wrote her husband a letter.

  Then, at eleven o’clock that morning she did something she never in all her life thought she’d do. Something she was sure her Christian friends would consider shameful, a sure sign that perhaps she wasn’t a believer after all. Or if she was, the sin in her life was so severe that God had abandoned her.

  Maggie drove to Orchards Psychiatric Hospital.

  Refusing to think or feel or do anything more than survive moment by moment, Maggie stared at the building. It was over now: her life with Ben, her dreams of being a mother. No need to run from the darkness anymore. She went over her game plan and refused to give in to her desire to flee. It was this or…

  She shook off the thought. No, she would not flee. She would check herself in, and when the admitting nurse asked her to describe her current mental status, Maggie Stovall, popular columnist and formerly sane person, would have just one word:

  Suicidal

  Eight

  ORCHARDS PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL WAS A PRIVATELY RUN FACILITY supported almost entirely by donations and money paid out by insurance companies. The building was set back from the road and was difficult to see because of an imposing brick wall and a row of elm trees that lined the front of the property The arch that ran over the paved roadway leading into the facility said only Orchards. As though the grounds might house a stately bed-and-breakfast or perhaps a fine dining establishment.

  Red brick made up much of the exterior of the three-story structure, and a covered walkway led to heavy French doors and an impressive foyer filled with old English furnishings and, in one corner, a Steinway baby grand piano. Only the white uniformed nurse stationed behind the admitting desk gave visitors any indication that the nature of business conducted at Orchards might somehow pertain to the field of medicine.

  Maggie waited for the woman to complete her paperwork and a sense of devastating shame washed over her. How had things gotten so bad? Why had it come to this?

  “What religious preference are you, Mrs. Stovall?” The nurse’s voice was soothing, like honey melting into hot lemon tea.

  “Does it matter?” Maggie knew the nurse meant well, but she was terrified of making this decision. What would the people at the Gazette say? What would her readers think? She couldn’t do this!

  She started to stand up.

  “Sit down, Mrs. Stovall.”

  Maggie did as she was told.

  “Orchards is a Christian-based hospital. We need to know for the records if that is something you’re okay with.”

  “What? I thought it was for anyone…” She had to force herself to stay in her seat. A Christian facility? They would kick her out as soon as they learned the truth. How could she bare her soul to a hospital full of Christian counselors and expect to get any real answers?

  The nurse smiled patiently. “Orchards is for anyone. We can make a note that you don’t want any Christian counseling if that’s the case—”

  “No!” Maggie’s heart was pounding again. And He shall be called Wonderful Counselor… “I mean, yes. Christian counseling is okay I just…that’s not what I expected here.”

  “Are you a Christian, Mrs. Stovall?” Somehow Maggie knew in that moment that the nurse was a believer.

  “Yes…but not a very good one.” She muttered the last part, and the nurse put a comforting hand over hers.

  “That’s okay. None of us is, really.”

  Another nurse appeared and smiled down at Maggie. “Ready?”

  Run! Get out of here before they lock you up and throw away the key…

  My peace I give you, My peace I leave you…do not let your heart he troubled, daughter. Do not be afraid.

  Run! Leave now before—

  The warring voices echoed loudly in her mind, and Maggie gulped, not sure what to say. Not sure even what the nurse had asked her.

  The admitting nurse patted Maggie’s hand again. “My name is Tani, and I can answer any questions you have now or later.” She hesitated. “Do you have any questions, Mrs. Stovall?”

  Maggie shook her head and looked from Tani to the new nurse, still waiting expectantly beside her. “What’s going to happen to me?” Her voice sounded different, like a lost child’s, and Maggie felt the now familiar confusion clouding her thinking. The new nurse leaned down and gently took her arm.

  Don’t arrest me, please! Maggie flinched at the woman’s touch and then realized it was time to go.

  “We’ve got your room ready, Mrs. Stovall. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Everything’s going to be okay, everything’s going to be okay, everything’s going to be…

  Maggie repeated the words to herself as she allowed the nurse to lead her down the hallway In her free hand, Maggie carried her suitcase, which was stuffed with all that she had left of the life she once lived.

  The life that was over now.

  The nurse escorted Maggie down a series of halls and into a room. “This is where you’ll stay. We’ll be notifying your insurance carrier later today and seeking approval. Generally, we get permission for a two-month inpatient stay if that much time is required.

  Panic pulsed through Maggie’s veins. What if I need three months? What if I can never live on my own again? The questions assaulted her like so many hand grenades but she nodded helplessly at the nurse.

  “Here…” She handed Maggie a glass of water and two capsules.

  Maggie took tiny steps backwards, shaking her head at the nurse. “No. I don’t want to sleep.” The nightmares will be too much tonight.

  “They’re not sleeping pills, Mrs. Stovall. They’re relaxants. To help ease your anxiety.”

  What’s wrong with me, God? What happened to the days when Your Word was all I needed to feel peace? She took stock of her trembling legs and clammy hands and the way her heart bounced about in irregular patterns. Then without another word she reached out and took the water and pills. She swallowed them quickly before she could change her mind.

  “Very good, you should feel better in no time.” The nurse glanced at Maggie’s belongings on the bed. “Why don’t you open your suitcase? We like to check the belongings when a patient is first admitted. Certain items are not allowed in the private rooms.”

  Maggie stepped back and watched in horror as the nurse removed a blow-dryer and a leather belt from her things. “Very well.” The nurse’s tone was cheerful, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary about sifting through someone’s suitcase and taking away various personal items. “Go ahead and put the other things away. After that you can take a nap for an hour or so. Your first session will be an evaluation with Dr. Camas at two o’clock.”

  The nurse left, and Maggie felt the darkness close in around her like a shroud. She was dead, wrapped in grave clothes made up of the very blackest doom, and there was no way out. She was no longer the proud Maggie Stovall, author of “Maggie’s Mind,” conservative columnist and local celebrity.

  She was just another mental patient.

  Maggie stared at what was left of her things and it dawned on her why the nurse had taken the blow-dryer and belt.

  Both items could be used to kill herself.

  Two o’clock came quickly, and a nurse appeared to escort Maggie to her appointment with Dr. Camas. Maggie sat up and stretched. For a moment she wasn’t sure whether she was at a hotel or in the hospital. Then she remembered. It was the middle of the day, the first day of the rest of her life. And she had an appointment with a psychiatrist.

  She moved slowly down the hallway to Dr. Camas’s office. The moment she stepped inside Maggie knew she was going to like him. He had a warm glow about his face, short wh
ite hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. He smiled with his eyes when she walked in and sat down.

  “Mrs. Stovall?” He rose and held his hand out to her. His handshake was firm and something about it made her feel safe. Maggie relished the feeling. How long had it been since she’d felt that way? Not long, really. She’d felt safe in the hospital, with Ben at her side, holding her hand…

  “Dr. Camas, I’m…it’s just…I’m sorry to bother you…” Maggie stumbled over her words, apologetic and relieved at the same time. At least she wasn’t like the typical patient at a hospital like this. Whatever was wrong with her probably didn’t require a lobotomy or a straight jacket, and Maggie didn’t want the doctor to think she was wasting his time. After all, she wasn’t really crazy.

  Her mind filled with the image of herself sitting on the sidewalk by the bus stop. Who was she kidding? The doctor had probably never counseled anyone as crazy as she was.

  “No apology needed.” He paused, and Maggie relaxed into her chair. The pills must still be working. Dr. Camas looked calm and unhurried. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s been going on?”

  She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. When she opened them, she saw the unmistakable look of Christ in Dr. Camas’s eyes. “It’s sort of a long story.”

  He leaned back and folded his fingers over his waist. “I’ve got time, Mrs. Stovall. Go ahead.”

  Where to begin? Yesterday? The day before? Eight years ago? Her eyes grew wet and her vision blurred with unshed tears. She blinked, and several tumbled onto her cheeks. Maggie studied Dr. Camas and somehow knew she could trust him. “One thing first…”

  “Very well.”

  “I don’t want my husband to see me. I…he isn’t welcome here.”

  A troubled look crossed Dr. Camas’s face. “Are you in danger, Mrs. Stovall? Has he hurt you or threatened you?”

  Maggie shook her head, remembering again the warmth of Ben’s hand the day before. “Nothing like that. It’s just…our marriage is finished and I need to go forward. Seeing him would only make matters worse.”

  Dr. Camas jotted something down on a pad of paper. “Very well, I’ll inform the desk of your wishes. We can intercept phone calls and personal visits, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about written correspondence. Perhaps you can tell him yourself if he writes.”