Here, Home, Hope

by Kaira Rouda

  “Of course,” Beth said, handing me her sleeping baby and giving me a look that asked, “Can I pull off pretending to be this type of doctor?” I just smiled back.

  “What about me?” Bruce said, standing up and charging toward the door.

  “Your daughter does not want to see you right now, sir, and as her doctor, I will be abiding by her wishes,” Dr. Marsh said calmly. Clearly, he’d been through this before. “As I told you, she is stable and I will keep you updated on any issues. We will be recommending to Dr. Merwin that Melanie be placed on the psych ward for evaluation and monitoring. Suicide rates for anorexic women are more than double the rate for the general public. There’s a strong link between the two.”

  He turned and escorted Beth through the magical doors of access at the end of the hall, and Charlotte, Patrick, the sleeping Sarah, and I sat in silence as Bruce paced back and forth in front of us.

  “This is bullshit. I don’t know what you’ve been telling her, Kelly, but I love my daughter more than anything. You’ve turned her against me, and I don’t know why.”

  “Bruce, that’s not fair,” Charlotte said. “Kathryn asked Kelly to take Melanie in. This isn’t her fault at all. In fact, until today, Melanie was doing great.”

  “Oh great, Charlotte, so you’re taking their side, too?” Bruce said, shaking his head and looking disgusted.

  “Calm down, Bruce,” Patrick said, standing. “Your dramatics are adding more stress to an already tense situation. Don’t blame people who love you, who have gone out of their way to help your family. My wife has been taking care of your daughter while you’ve been fucking around, and whatever else. Just calm down and sit down.”

  Bruce shot Patrick his angry look, which made me nervous. Charlotte either didn’t notice or was used to it. Patrick just gave it back to him.

  “I’m going to take the baby for a walk,” I said, leaving the two men in a staredown and cooing to little Sarah as we started down the hallway. This couldn’t be a healthy place for a six-week old, with all the illness and sadness and death.

  Dr. Marsh appeared at my side. I guess it was the rubber-soled shoes, but I hadn’t heard him at all. “Dr. Merwin would like you to join her in the patient’s room, and she said to bring the baby; it’s feeding time. Let’s go through these doors so we don’t stir up the father, shall we?”

  “HI AUNT KELLY,” MELANIE SAID WHEN I WALKED IN THE room. She was lying in the second bed of a double room, the first bed being occupied by a large man with an equally large family. I pushed my way through his crowd to get to her bedside.

  “Hey Mel,” I said, stroking her head. She was so white and frail. Her left arm was hooked up to an IV, and both wrists were wrapped with heavy white bandages. She looked terrible. “You scared me so much. I’m so glad you’re okay, honey.”

  “I’ll be right back, Melanie. Now that Kelly’s here, I’m going to go feed the baby,” Beth said, leaving us alone, except for the large group just on the other side of the curtain. They were all surprisingly quiet, so I decided I had better be, too.

  I pulled up a folding chair and sat so I was right next to Mel’s face. “Do you want to talk about anything?” I asked. Beth hadn’t given me instructions when she left, so I was winging it.

  “Well, just that I feel stupid. Could we not tell Gavin about this? I know he’d give up on me entirely if he knew,” she said.

  “I think if anyone tells him, it should be you. What about your mom? Should we call her?” I didn’t know what to do.

  “No. She needs her time in Montana. I’ll be fine. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just . . . I just feel so hurt, so confused. I had been feeling better about myself, through Beth and all. And then Dad starts telling me how he’s found his soul mate, and I don’t want to hear about that. What about me for a change? What about what I need?” she said, softly.

  “I know. We adults can be really selfish and messed up and needy. We’re supposed to be caring for you, but sometimes we only care about ourselves. Some of us just never learned to give love, just take,” I said. “I guess your dad was anxious to share his happiness, but he picked a bad time, and a terrible way to do it. I know he’s sorry now. I know that, even though I’m not a big fan of your dad. He means well, and he loves you. You’re his only child. It’s the same for your mom. They just get it all wrong sometimes. Heck, so do I; just ask my kids. But you know I am here for you, whatever you need, and we’ll get through this together. Okay?”

  “Okay, and I’m sorry,” she whispered and gave me a smile. Then she fell asleep.

  Beth joined me a little while later at Melanie’s bedside.

  “I’m not a medical doctor, Kelly,” she said, a little too loudly, I thought.

  “I know,” I whispered, “but you have a lot more clout as a doctor at a hospital than as my formerly anorexic best friend who I abandoned when she needed me most and who is now the parent of an adorable newborn and who is considering starting a counseling center for troubled teens with eating disorders because that’s what she studied and got her doctorate in. So I sort of stretched the truth when I explained your credentials. But it worked. We’re here.”

  “I know. It was a good call; I just felt a little self-conscious. I would’ve been a great doctor,” she whispered back while burping Sarah over her shoulder.

  “Yes, you would’ve been.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Melanie sleep. “Did you ever try to commit suicide?” I asked, an odd thing to ask a woman cradling her infant daughter.

  “I thought about it, a lot. The closest I got to creating this much drama was hitting myself with a hammer, trying to create really big bruises on my arms and hands and legs so my parents would notice.”

  “Oh my God, Beth!”

  “They didn’t notice,” she said, and smiled down at Sarah, asleep in her lap. “What Mel did today was very dramatic. It was in response to a deep ache inside that she just couldn’t handle. I think it was more of a cry for help than a true suicide attempt. Think about it: she found the old sleeping bag to lie down on; she was being really careful not to mess up her room—your property. She wasn’t checking out for good. She was angry and hurt and she didn’t know what to do,” Beth said. “I thought she was ready to hear the truth from him, but I guess not. This will be a turning point in her treatment, though. In my case, I had underlying depression. Fortunately, I’ve been on meds since graduating from college. I’m going to talk to Dr. Marsh about evaluating Melanie for depression. I had suspected she might be suffering from it, but she had been making such good progress until now.”

  “I’m suffering from depression,” I said. There, it was out.

  “What?”

  “This isn’t about me, but I thought I should tell you, since you’ve shared so much about yourself and it might help Mel. I’m seeing a psychiatrist, and she has diagnosed me with depression,” I said.

  “Kelly, I just now realized that I never ask you about you. I assume that everything is going along perfectly for you. Perfect home, perfect husband and kids. You know: lovely flowers, the adorable dog, plenty of friends, new business. I’m so sorry that I’ve never stopped to find out about you.”

  I squeezed her hand and smiled. “Thank you. I’m doing really well. I am. And you?”

  “Good. Better than ever in my life,” she answered, smiling at me and then looking down at Sarah. “Really good.”

  We sat there, quietly, watching Melanie sleep. After awhile, I said, “It’s hard to accept that she did this on purpose, that she planned it out with the sleeping bag and everything.” I realized I’d talked too loudly. Mel stirred in her bed, but her eyes didn’t open.

  “No, she didn’t plan it out, Kelly; she was just careful to not make a mess. I would never blame Melanie for any of this. It’s just that she got so upset today and didn’t know how to deal with it. She couldn’t starve herself anymore and feel the hunger; that didn’t hurt enough. So she went a little deeper, cutting and t
rying to feel more pain. She doesn’t realize this fully yet, though it is what we’ve been working on, journaling about. It takes years to recover from an eating disorder this severe. But we are making progress. She’s eating, and until now, we were moving forward.”

  “I know. I wanted to explain to you what happened this morning after I called you about Bruce’s appearance on my doorstep. Charlotte telephoned and I went over to confront her. I didn’t realize I was gone that long, but when I got back, Bruce was gone and I found Melanie upstairs.” Suddenly it hit me, and I blurted out: “The scene I walked into was all my fault, Beth. If I had stayed there and watched over Mel, kept things calm as you had advised me to do, instead of fighting with Charlotte, Melanie would be okay right now.”

  “No, stop. This isn’t your fault, Kelly. Even if you hadn’t gone over to see Charlotte, she could have done it when you were saying good-bye to Bruce, or cleaning the kitchen, or even taking Oreo for a walk. Neither of us can watch Melanie 24/7. She loves you and loves living with you. None of this is your fault.”

  Beth smiled sweetly and handed me the baby. “And now,” she said, “wish me luck. I’m going to have the talk.”

  “What talk?” I asked.

  “The talk with Mr. Majors about the fact we’re committing his daughter to the psych ward for observation, probably for up to a week. Dr. Marsh asked me to come along because he thinks the dad is—what was his word? Ah, yes: volatile.”

  “That Dr. Marsh is a sharp cookie. I’ll stay here by Mel, if that’s okay. Could Patrick come here to Mel’s room? I know he’s worried to death.”

  “I’ll try to sneak him in for you.”

  “Thanks, doctor.” I looked down into Sarah’s tiny, innocent face, snuggled in her blanket, pressed up against the dried blood smeared across my white tee shirt. Be happy, baby, I thought. Be happy.

  I awoke to Patrick hugging me around the shoulders. Somehow I’d fallen asleep while cradling Sarah on my lap and resting my head next to Melanie’s. I don’t know how long I had napped in that position, but I’d had time to drool and get a major crick in my neck.

  “Sweetheart, she’s going to be okay,” Patrick said. “The doctor said Melanie will pull through just fine and will have a couple of faint scars to remember all of this by. Now, how about you? Are you going to be okay?”

  “I will be, once we get Mel back home, she gets better, and I punch Bruce Majors,” I whispered. As I sat up I noticed the curtain was open and the large man’s bed was empty, his family dispersed. “Where’d he go?”

  “Who?” Patrick asked.

  Jeez, I hope he didn’t die while I was sleeping right next to him, I thought. The idea gave me the creeps.

  Melanie stirred and her eyes blinked open. She smiled shyly at Patrick.

  “Hi Mel, so glad you’re doing alright,” he said, smiling at her. “You sure did give us a big scare. You rest and heal, and we’ll be back tomorrow. I need to get Kelly home.” He gave Melanie a tender kiss on her forehead. He was the best guy ever.

  “Bye, baby Sarah,” Mel whispered, as I carried the baby from the room. “Remember, Aunt Kelly. Please don’t tell Gavin.”

  I’D COME HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL AND TAKEN A LONG, HOT shower. Patrick had decided to handle cleaning up Mel’s room; he had it back to normal by the time I finished my shower. Except Melanie wasn’t in it. I doubted it would ever feel the same. I untied the backup carp from the doorknob; I didn’t want it associated with the room, either.

  The next task was to talk to Kathryn. Maybe I’d just drive to Montana, I thought, until I checked the distance: two thousand miles, or about thirty hours. I’d keep calling. I had called her direct dial number at the retail giant’s corporate office but her voice mail was a strange, non-personalized computer voice that simply said, “Leave a message for the person you are calling, thank you.” I tried the number three times and got the same robotic snub each time.

  I called Kathryn’s cell phone again and left a friendlier, though more urgent, message. “Hi Kathryn. It’s me, Kelly. So, hey, I need you to call me immediately. There’s been an accident. Mel is okay now, but I need to fill you in. Call me ASAP.”

  Then I called the main number and asked for Kathryn Majors’ assistant. There was what can only be described as a pregnant pause, and then the receptionist put me on hold. A few seconds later, I heard a slight click, then:

  “This is Susan Standon, Human Resources Director. I am unable to come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I’ll return your call promptly.”

  I left her a message, too, saying I was trying to connect with Kathryn Majors’ office. Fortunately, this time I remembered to leave my phone number.

  Then I called the main number again.

  “Look, I called a couple of minutes ago and asked for Kathryn Majors’s office, but you put me through to the HR director. Please connect me to Ms. Majors’s assistant.”

  Susan Standon’s voice assaulted my ears.

  “ARGH!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, causing Patrick to yell back from the laundry room.

  “Are you okay?”

  “NO! I am incapable of getting in touch with Kathryn, her assistant, or even a live human being at the corporate office. Every time I call, they put me into the HR director’s voice mail.”

  Patrick came into our bedroom and wrapped his arms around me. “Hey, calm down, Kelly. You’ve left messages all over the place. Kathryn will be in touch. Mel’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “You’re right, Patrick, but I can’t shake the need to connect with Kathryn. She’s in the dark about so many things. Come on Oreo,” I said, “let’s go do a Google search of guest ranches in Montana. I’m sure we could call a few and ask for her.”

  “Great idea,” Patrick agreed as he followed my loyal companion and me downstairs.

  For a state with a population under a million, there sure were a wagonload of guest ranches. About 178,000 Google search results to be exact, leaving me with a big list and no clue how to narrow it down. Oreo looked uncomfortable on the hard floor so I brought over a cushion from the couch for him to lie down on. This could take awhile.

  According to the Montana Dude Ranchers’ Association, “Once you cross the bridge to a Montana guest ranch, the rest of the world disappears. Reconnect with nature, the cowboy culture, and each other. Warm hellos . . . tearful good-byes.” That certainly seemed to be the case for Kathryn. In fact, I wondered if she would cross the bridge back to her real life?

  I read on. “The scenery is spectacular in Montana, the kind that restores the soul. Create precious moments of discovery and learning that will always be with you, whether from the back of a horse, hiking on a mountain trail, or with the fish rising to your fly in a rushing stream.” Well, good, she was restoring, learning, and discovering too.

  There are three types of these guest ranches: working dude ranches, where visitors actually work with cattle and sheep along with real-live cowboys; dude ranches, where folks do a lot of Western style horseback riding and outdoor activities, even square dancing; and resort dude ranches, which are larger ranches with lots of on-site facilities. I was guessing Kathryn would be at a resort ranch where guests could horseback ride a little and relax a lot. Problem was, which one? There was no way to tell.

  All I could do at this point was wait. Maybe Melanie would remember the name of the city her mom flew into or the name of the ranch itself. But that discussion would have to wait until tomorrow, too.

  It was 8:00 pm and I still hadn’t heard from Kathryn. Melanie’s bedroom was back to normal, but I still got the chills when I walked past the doorway. Bruce, Charlotte, Beth, Beth’s husband, Ryan—who seemed nice, dressed metrosexually, and was not necessarily gay, I decided—Patrick, and I sat in the living room of my house, a room we had rarely used until this week, it seemed. Of course, baby Sarah and Oreo were included, but they weren’t adding much to the conversation. Beth was attempting to explain why the father of the patient wa
s not being allowed to see the patient; legally, we actually couldn’t keep him away, but we were trying to, for Melanie’s mental health.

  “I know Bruce appreciates everything all of you have done,” Charlotte was saying. Why she didn’t keep her mouth shut was beyond me. “But you have to understand how much he loves his daughter, and he feels so responsible for what happened today.”

  Bruce shot her that Bruce evil eye, and she stopped talking or even looking at us.

  “I understand what you are saying, Beth,” Bruce began. “I fucked up. It won’t happen again. I’ll be there tomorrow and I will see Melanie. And I will be there for her when she comes home. You’re right. Her mother and I have been selfish, and in our efforts to avoid each other, we’ve avoided our daughter.”

  “You might have avoided her, Bruce, but Kathryn’s been a great single parent while you’ve been doing, well, whatever it is you’ve been doing,” I said. Kathryn wasn’t here to defend herself, so I would.

  “I’ve been building an international company, that’s what I’ve been doing,” he said, glaring at me.

  “Let’s stick to Melanie and her needs,” Beth interjected. “If you insist on visiting Melanie tomorrow, I insist on going with you. She trusts me. She needs me.”

  “You realize, Bruce, that Beth has been volunteering her time, every day, to care for your daughter?” I asked.

  “No, I didn’t know that. I will pay you for your time and your help with Mel. But I don’t need an escort,” Bruce said, and with that he stood up. “Charlotte, let’s go.”

  “I’ll be there, waiting for you tomorrow morning when you arrive, Mr. Majors. Mel’s situation is too fragile just now to leave you two alone. I insist on being there to supervise your visit,” Beth said. She was standing, facing Bruce with as much resolve on her face as he had on his.