The Perfect Fraud

by Ellen LaCorte

  56

  Rena

  We pull into an all-night truck stop midway. Louis said we need to gas up because there won’t be another chance to do that for a while. During the couple of months I’ve been in Arizona, I never really had a chance to check out the desert. I mean, Phoenix, to me, is like any other city, except much, much hotter. But out here, especially before we came into this town, which is stuck in the middle of nowhere, I begin to understand what I missed.

  On the way, Louis got a phone call and pulled over. He asked me to get out of the car. I guess it was a private conversation or something. But I’m glad it happened, because then I could see the desert. His headlights were on a cactus that looked like it was at least twenty feet high. It had these two huge branches, which Louis told me later are called arms and said it took one hundred years to grow just one of them. Then I heard a coyote and got scared and ran back to the car.

  At the truck stop, me and him have cereal and a grilled cheese and we talk about California. It’s like the weather there is so perfect that anything you want to do, you can do all year-round. Sounds like paradise. I feel like I’m living in a fucking dream.

  When Louis goes to the bathroom, I walk outside and look up at all the stars.

  I check my cell phone. That psychic left me two texts. I turn it off and drop it on the ground. There’s a piece of pipe leaning against the side of the building. I use it to whack the case until it cracks and flattens. Then I walk over to a dumpster by the side of the restaurant, open the top, and toss the phone in.

  57

  Claire

  TWELVE MONTHS LATER

  “They’ll be here soon. Hurry up and get your shoes on,” I shout to Cal, who is barely paying attention to me. He’s preoccupied trying to get a bird feeder to stay attached to the railing on our back porch. Since we moved to Pennsylvania six months ago, he’s become an avid bird-watcher. I tease him about the geekiness of this. I have to admit there seem to be hundreds of different bird varieties here compared to the desert, but this feeder—it’s been an all-consuming project for the past two weeks. It’s good his talents lean toward the human psyche because fix-it-ing is definitely not in his genes.

  My mom and Aunt Frannie arrive right on time, carrying a casserole dish, which smells like my aunt’s famous manicotti, along with a plate of cookies covered in foil. It’s one of the many wonderful things about moving east—having the two of them within walking distance.

  “Mom, are those what I think they are?”

  She grins and says, “Macaroons—chocolate covered, of course. Special cookies for a special day.” She asks, “When do they get here?”

  “Soon. Cal, shoes,” I say as he comes through the back door, still barefoot.

  “Oh yeah.” He goes back outside to retrieve his loafers.

  The doorbell rings, and we all freeze in position, our eyes darting back and forth, like children playing that statue game. Mom starts to giggle, which breaks the spell, and I walk to the front door and swing it open.

  Stephanie is a completely different child from the one I last saw a year ago. Her cheeks are pink, and her pale blue eyes sparkle. Her hair is thicker and curling in tiny ringlets down her back. She must have grown three inches and put on a good ten pounds. She looks . . . healthy. And so happy.

  “Stephanie.” I bend down and wrap my arms around her. She hugs back, arms squeezing my neck. I breathe in the sweetness, the realness of her.

  “Hi, Auntie Claire.” She whispers into my ear, “Guess who’s with me?”

  I lean back and say, “Who?”

  Her grin reveals her two dimples.

  “Jeffrey,” she shouts and runs to retrieve him from the little pink rolling suitcase she brought with her.

  After more hugging and saying hello to (and kissing) Jeffrey, who looks like he’s had a bath since I saw him last, I finally stand and embrace Gary. He too looks much better than when I last saw him. The pinched, stressed forehead has disappeared.

  “How is she? And how are you?”

  “Good—we’re both doing great.”

  Cal comes forward to shake Gary’s hand and hug Stephanie. I introduce them to my mom and aunt, and we move to the back porch for dinner.

  Stephanie eats a little salad and bread but then is so excited to have spotted our cat, Oliver, who’s prowling through my vegetable garden, that she slides from her chair and runs over to make friends. Ollie’s a good sort, and I see him roll onto his back to receive her tentative pats on his stomach.

  Over the pasta, I finally ask the question we’ve all been wondering about. “Anyone hear from her?”

  Gary wipes the corners of his mouth and says, “She hasn’t been in contact at all with her sister or her mother, although I’m really not surprised she hasn’t called her mom. They never had a great relationship. But Janet’s another thing. She’s beside herself with worry. And . . . she’s shocked and feels extremely guilty. She said she would never have imagined Rena could do something like that to Stephanie.”

  “Rena seemed to be amazingly good at impersonating the model mother,” says Cal.

  Gary says, “Yeah, she fooled me, for sure. When I look back, I realize now she did everything she could to keep me away from Stephanie, I guess so I couldn’t catch on to what she was doing. Then I started remembering things. Like how Rena would change doctors, and at least three times, she checked Stephanie out of the hospital against medical advice.” He looks down at his plate. “I guess I share a lot of those same guilty feelings Janet has.”

  “How could you know? All those doctors didn’t know,” I say, patting his hand.

  “These women are really hard to catch,” adds Cal. “From what I’ve read, some mothers with Munchausen by proxy get away with this multiple times, with multiple children. So don’t beat yourself up.”

  Gary nods and reaches for a piece of bread. “It’s such a strange name, isn’t it?”

  “It was named after a German officer who told really outrageous lies about his life and adventures,” says Cal. “Actually, there’s an updated name for it: factitious disorder imposed on another.”

  “Cal’s considering writing about it for his master’s thesis,” I say. “And the police? They haven’t been able to find her?”

  “Nope. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the planet. But then last week I heard from Detective Larson. There might be a small break in the case.”

  “What? Does he know where she is?” I ask.

  “Not yet, but remember the neighbor, Mrs. Lupito? She told Larson that Rena was working at Bert’s Pharmacy, which was around the corner from the place where Rena and Stephanie lived. Larson talked to the manager there, Joe something, who said he thought Rena was seeing some guy who came into the pharmacy a lot. In fact, Joe remembered this guy getting a prescription right around the time Rena disappeared, so he checked through his records and identified the prescriptions that were picked up during that time period.”

  “And he found the guy?” Cal asks, waving to Stephanie, who is now sitting next to Ollie, tickling his whiskers with a piece of parsley.

  “Well, Larson’s narrowed it down to two possibilities. Some guy named Dean Phillips from Colorado, who was visiting Arizona with his family, and another man, Louis Castle. Turns out this Louis guy recently moved to California—like, just left Arizona one night and never came back.”

  “How’d Larson find that out?” Cal asks.

  “Said he talked to Castle’s wife. She didn’t have much good to say about him, but did tell Larson that he just disappeared and supposedly was going to California on business, but she’s not exactly sure where in California. She couldn’t even tell Larson what kind of work Louis did. Said that he was an accountant but had changed jobs and never told her much. Apparently, they’re going through a real nasty divorce. He calls to talk to his kids but never from the same phone number, according to her. Anyway, Larson’s still checking it out.”

  “I sure hope they catch her,” I s
ay, passing the green bean salad to him. “And Stephanie? She looks wonderful. Is she doing as well as she looks?”

  “Thank you. Everything’s delicious. She’s good, really good. Steph and I are both going to counseling. But it was pretty scary for a while there, as you know.”

  That night is never far from my conscious thoughts and probably colors more of my unconscious life than I even realize. The picture of that tiny child lying crumpled on the floor, a tube attached to her, filling her with what we found out later was a concentration of salt and water that nearly did its intended job of killing her. It seemed to take forever for the ambulance to arrive. I kept holding Stephanie’s limp body and whispering until I was hoarse, “Hang in there, honey. Help’s coming. It’ll be okay. Stay with us.”

  Cal told me the EMT had to pry my arms from around her in order to check her vitals.

  “When I think of how close I came to losing her, I . . .” Gary can’t finish the sentence.

  We followed behind the ambulance to the hospital, the same one Rena had taken Stephanie to for her recent ER admission and her appointments with Dr. Norton. The action in the emergency room was frenetic. There were so many white coats around her, we couldn’t tell what was going on, or even if Stephanie was still alive.

  When they took her away to a private room, Cal, Gary, Detective Larson, and I huddled together in the waiting area. I don’t know about them, but I assumed from all the bent heads and closed eyes they were doing exactly what I was: praying hard.

  When a young woman entered the room and called out “Mr. Cole,” we all stood as a unit. She walked toward us, and Gary held out his hand, introduced himself, and confirmed he was Stephanie’s father.

  She said, “I’m Dr. Norton. Please, let’s all sit down.”

  She told us Stephanie was still in critical condition. That she was suffering from hypernatremia, with a serum sodium level of 182. She explained this was the equivalent of almost seventy packs of salt, a life-threatening amount. Stephanie was having trouble breathing, so they’d inserted a tube and also administered medication to stop the seizures.

  “We’re attempting to equalize the amount of salt in her system through an intravenous drip of normal saline and five percent dextrose. This has to be done very, very slowly so as not to further tax her body.” Dr. Norton placed a hand on Gary’s arm and said, “We won’t know until later whether or not she’s suffered neurological damage.” I saw him shudder, and then tears rolled down his cheeks.

  I was trying hard to concentrate on each of her words, but they only swirled over and around my head, with a notable exception: life-threatening. Those landed with the ferocity of a boulder and took up residence on my shoulders for those next torturous hours.

  I couldn’t say what actually happened during the wait. I remember drinking lukewarm tea that tasted a lot like coffee, probably because the water had been filtered through the same pipe as coffee in the machine. I remember Detective Larson was in and out, having called for an all-points bulletin, which included the picture Gary provided of Rena and Stephanie he had in his wallet. But this seemed like shooting blind. There was no real direction for the search since nobody had a clue where she could have gone and how. Because Rena didn’t have a car, Larson told the police to check airports, train stations, and bus depots. Attempts to track her through her cell phone were also unsuccessful.

  I know I eventually fell into a fitful sleep. My head was in Cal’s lap, and his head was flung back on the top of the small plastic bench. He was snoring loudly. Every now and then, I’d open my eyes to find Gary sitting stiffly in a chair, staring straight ahead, like a seventh grader who’d been given detention. As far as I know, he never closed his eyes at all during that interminable night.

  Finally, as the sun was rising and sending a shock of light into the waiting area, Dr. Norton came to see us again, a tentative smile on her face. Collectively, we all breathed, not realizing we’d not been inhaling and exhaling in a normal fashion for many hours.

  “She’s doing much better,” said the doctor. “The sodium levels have finally started to normalize and we were able to remove the breathing tube. Obviously, we’ll keep monitoring, but you can see her in another half hour or so.”

  “Brain damage?” Gary asked, his voice shaking with exhaustion and fear.

  Dr. Norton took his hands in hers and said, “I think she’s going to be fine. She’s a very lucky little girl.”

  I look at her now, racing up and down the rows of tomatoes and basil, trying to play a game of hide-and-seek with Oliver, whose version is slightly different from hers and amounts to staying completely still while she skips around and over him. The sun glints off her golden hair, and her giggles sound like tinkling glass. She’s incandescent.

  “Where are you guys living now?” asks Cal.

  “We’re still in the house Rena and I owned, but I’m thinking we might move down south. Away from the winters here. Fresh start, you know.”

  My mother nods, looks at me, and smiles.

  We know about fresh starts.

  After we saw Stephanie and were sure she would recover, Cal and I started our drive back to Sedona from Phoenix. I had a lot of time to think about what had happened. One surprising realization was that I no longer felt guilty about my dad. It was as if the rotations on some giant cosmic Rubik’s Cube had snapped into place and, somehow helping to save Stephanie had absolved me. Once that guilt was finally out of the way, I felt myself unburdened, and as a consequence, more willing to become burdened. I actually felt the need to be needed, to be depended upon, to take responsibility for someone other than myself. To be a part of something bigger than myself.

  Midway back to Sedona, Cal and I stopped at a tiny chapel along the side of the highway. It’s not a formal church at all, only a wooden structure, maybe ten feet square. It’s been there for years, and people stop to put their prayers up on its interior walls. The only light is what comes from the two small windows along one side. The surfaces of all four walls are filled with torn scraps of paper, pieces of clothing, remnants of paper towels, and even some toilet paper bits. Some people write directly on the walls in colorful markers, but most of the time, the words are scribbled on whatever someone had handy at the moment. They’re affixed with thumbtacks, for those who remembered to bring them, but most often with tape, gum, or toothpaste.

  Please help my dog, Trixie. She’s having surgery tomorrow.

  My mom needs prayers bad. She real sic with the diabetes. Losing her leg.

  I pray for the world, for our leaders to keep peace, and for people to love each other.

  Make Jeremy ask me to the prom.

  I took the receipt from the Taco Bell we stopped at an hour before, wrote on it, and placed it on the wall with the end of a paper clip I had in my purse that I unbent, poked through the paper, and inserted in a knothole. It was wedged between I’m so scared, please give me strength and Dad has to stop drinking. Help now!!!

  Cal walked up behind me and asked, “What are you doing?” and I pointed to my note, which he read out loud.

  Please help Stephanie to recover fully, put all this pain behind her, and live happily.

  And please, please have Cal marry me, soon and forever.

  He turned me to him and kissed me for a long time. We were married the next spring in my mother’s backyard, among her blooms and herbs and butterflies. Cal was able to transfer his credits, and his company, not wanting to lose him, offered him a part-time position at one of their stores nearby.

  It’s taken some time, but my mom and I are slowly building our relationship. She frequently reminds me that I am not the mother, she is. When I see her doing so well, happy and independent, I feel like I’m finally taking full breaths, emotionally speaking.

  “Hey, do you think you’ll ever work on another case? You know, use your psychic skills to help the police?” Gary asks.

  “Who knows? Maybe,” I say, but I’m thinking, No time soon. I’m still trying to find w
ays to channel my gift so I can provide the most helpful and accurate information to my clients but not be swept away in the sometimes overwhelming vortex of messages.

  I look around the table at my mom, Aunt Frannie, Cal, and Gary and as I watch Stephanie in the garden, I realize how truly happy I am. Right now, I need nothing more. All that happened this past year—it was like white light going into a prism and coming out a gorgeous spectrum of colors.

  58

  Rena

  Another beautiful day in California. Actually, there are only beautiful days here. Not that I’m bitching about it. I’d be very happy to never shovel another flake of snow for the rest of my life. And the weather here has sure helped my knee.

  This place isn’t exactly the bungalow I dreamed about, but it’s okay for now. We’re only fifteen miles or so from the beach in an apartment complex with a lot of loud college kids. I keep telling Louis I can’t have his children or Stephanie visit us until we get a bigger place. He understands I don’t need any extra stress during my pregnancy. It’s only temporary, this apartment, just until Louis’s divorce is finalized.

  Which, he says, should be real soon. Hopefully, before the baby is born. Then we can get married, and he can put me on his health insurance, like pronto.

  When we came here that first weekend to find this place, I immediately fell in love with California. I told Louis that Gary and I had been talking about joint custody for a really long time. That he had been begging me to have Stephanie for half the year and I could have her for the other half and that he wanted to start this arrangement right away. Louis put down the deposit on the apartment, and him and me got busy setting up the place.

  Louis still has to travel all the time for business. I’m having a blast checking out the area and going to the beach nearly every day. There’s a bus stop right outside our apartment. I even joined a gym and have been working out three days a week.

  Louis was pretty surprised when I told him I was pregnant, but eventually, he was real happy about it. I rub my stomach. It’s a boy. I’m so excited. I even found out that the local library, which isn’t too far away from us, has weekly Mommy Loves Baby meetings.