The station cut to an insurance commercial, giving both Jane and Mike a breather.
“That was fun,” Mike said. “We work well together, but then I knew we would. Everything we do together, we do well.” He winked and gave her a sexy look.
“Chili, onions, sauerkraut, mustard. You can barely see the hot dog,” Mike grumbled as he bit into his plain mustard dog. “You’re the only woman I know who would eat something like that and not worry about it dripping on her clothes and getting it all over her face. I love you, Jane Lewis. For being you. I thought you were pretty much a vegetarian like Olive.”
“I am, but when it comes to hot dogs . . . I have absolutely no willpower,” Jane said, licking her lips as she stared across the street. A burgundy Chevy half-ton pickup was pulling away from the curb, tires screeching. She got a glimpse of the driver. Brian Ramsey. Or was it? It looked like Brian, but lately she’d thought she’d seen him every time she turned around, which she knew was impossible.
A woman walking a toy poodle bent down with her pooper scooper in front of the telephone pole. That was ordinary. Sam Wallace sweeping the sidewalk in front of his hardware store was pretty ordinary, too. She waved to Sara Titus, her old first-grade teacher.
She looked up and wondered when the sky had turned so gray. There were storm clouds to the west. It would rain before the end of the day and probably through the evening. She hated the idea of spending the evening alone, especially a rainy evening. What in the world had her evenings been like before Mike came into her life? Maybe she could go to the farm and visit with Trixie and Fred. Maybe they would invite her for supper when she stopped to pick up Olive. On the other hand, she could go home and finish reading Trixie and Fred’s new book, or she could go on the computer and check out Trixie’s snoop file, or go to E-bay and see what was for sale. She looked up at Mike and smiled. “I’m missing you already.”
“Me, too. Listen, I have to run or I’ll be late. I’ll call you tonight.”
Jane half expected Mike to kiss her right there on the street. For a second it looked like he was thinking about it until he saw Jasper Dewey watching them.
“Nice-looking young fella,” Jasper cackled as Mike walked away. “How’s your mama, child?”
“Yes, he is a nice-looking fella, Mr. Dewey, and he’s all mine. Mama passed some time ago, but thank you for asking. You have a nice day now,” Jane said as she turned to walk in the opposite direction. Everyone knew that sweet, kind Jasper Dewey was senile and couldn’t remember anything from one minute to the next. Sooner or later one of the shop owners would take him home and turn him over to his wife, who would profess amazement that he got loose and wandered away. Everyone in town also knew Matilda let it happen so she could have an hour of peace and quiet to watch her soap operas.
Jane used her cell phone to call her office before heading to the clinic and was told things were fine and no, there were no emergencies and her last appointment was at five. She broke the connection and dialed the farm. Trixie picked up on the second ring.
“Is Olive okay, Trixie? She isn’t too much for you, is she?”
“Lord, no. She’s having a ball with Flash.”
“Oh, good.”
“Listen, Janie, I need you to do me a favor while you’re out. Stop by Radio Shack and pick me up a police scanner and a set of two-way radios.”
“Sure. I won’t even ask why you want them.”
“For Flash, of course, as if you didn’t know,” Trixie cackled.
“I’m on my way to the clinic now,” Jane said. “One of my colleagues is in the hospital, so I’m taking over her patients. I’m running late tonight. Save me some leftovers if you cook.”
“Fred’s doing the cooking. Flash and I are going to work. I mean W-O-R-K. Flash knows how to spell, Janie. Olive is going along for the ride, literally rather than figuratively. Call me on my cell phone when you get to the farm, and I’ll run her on in. Don’t forget to stop by Radio Shack.”
“I won’t forget. Give Olive a hug for me.”
“Will do. Over and out.”
Jane closed the phone and tucked it into her purse. Over and out. Obviously, the code words were for Flash’s benefit. Jane giggled all the way to the clinic at the trouble Trixie was going to for that big lug of a dog. But then, Trixie always did have a big heart.
The clinic was a small red brick building with ivy growing up the front. Six thousand square feet of ten-by-ten rooms and one huge reception area. At best it was spartan. A few prints or watercolors and some green plants would make a world of difference. How could people with mental problems be expected to feel anything but depressed in this gun-metal gray atmosphere? Free clinics had no money for extra trappings, as Trixie put it. She was right, too.
Jane signed in, aware that the waiting room was filled to overflowing with six people standing in the narrow hallway. She was escorted to a small windowless room with a desk, a swivel chair, a wastebasket, and a patient chair. She opened her briefcase and withdrew Dr. Thomas’s file folders. She stacked them neatly in front of her, her pen and yellow legal pad next to them, and waited for her first patient.
For an hour and a half she talked, listened, and made copious notes on each patient’s half-hour session. She opened the last file folder, Betty Vance’s, and prepared herself to meet her troubled patient.
Jane tried to cover her stunned surprise by turning her head and coughing when Betty Vance entered the room ten minutes late for her appointment. She could have posed for Connie Bryan’s double if she’d taken the time to wash and blow out her hair, apply makeup, and dress in something that hadn’t been slept in. Everything about her was lifeless and worn-looking. She was also much too thin, and her eyes were dull and lifeless. Her hands played with a wad of tissue.
“I’m Dr. Lewis. I’d like you to call me Jane and do you mind if I call you Betty? I’m taking over for Dr. Thomas because she’s in the hospital. They explained that to you at the desk when you came in, didn’t they?”
“They called me at home to tell me. Actually, it isn’t my home. I’m staying with a friend. My legal name is Elizabeth Marie Vance and, yes, you can call me Betty.”
“Did your friend bring you here today?”
“Yes. The medication makes me groggy, and I don’t like to drive when I take it.”
“Show me what it is you’re taking.” Jane frowned at the way the young woman’s hands twitched as she tried to open her purse.
Betty rummaged in her purse. She handed over three bottles of pills. Jane winced when she looked at them and then at the file on her desk. “You’re only supposed to be taking the Valium. Taking these others with the Valium is the reason you’re so shaky. This is too much medication. You could do yourself serious harm.” Jane put the medications aside. “You’re not to take any more medication, Betty. I’ve read your file, and I think we can do other things to help you.”
“Not take my medication? I need them to sleep. Otherwise, all I do is sit and think.”
“When was the last time you went for a walk? When was the last time you styled your hair? When was the last time you did anything for yourself? How much weight have you lost? Don’t you care if you get well?” Jane asked sharply but not unkindly.
“Of course I care.” The young woman appeared stunned by the question, then her expression softened. “Maybe that’s not really true. Some days I care, and other days I don’t care. Most of the time I wish I was dead. I can’t . . . I don’t . . . why are you being so hard on me? I’m trying.”
Jane leaned forward, her hands on the edge of her desk. “You were trying six months ago, but according to this file you are in exactly the same place you were then. While you’re under my care there will be no drugs unless they are absolutely necessary. If that angers you, you can get up and go if you want, but you won’t get better. That much I can guarantee. I’d like us to talk. I want you to tell me what happened to you, painful as that may be. I know you told Dr. Thomas, and I know it’s all here in
the file, but I want to hear you tell me. I can help you if you let me, Betty.”
It was Connie Bryan’s story all over again. The only difference was, this girl was alive to tell her story. When she finished her painful narrative, Betty stared at Jane, her eyes dull and glazed.
Jane licked at her lips. She had to tread carefully. Did she dare gamble with Sharon’s patient? Sharon said she was fragile. Not as fragile as Connie, Jane thought. Betty has hung in, sought professional help. That has to mean she has some guts, some spirit, a will to survive.
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“Because the man I was seeing said . . . he said . . . it wouldn’t look good for him. We’d just moved in together. It’s a small town. People talk in small towns. They point fingers and whisper. I listened to him. I shouldn’t have. He turned on me, too. He wouldn’t come near me. I could tell that I revolted him. He never said it, but I could see it on his face. So I moved out. But he wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m afraid of him. He’s older than I am. Not that age makes a difference but—I packed up my stuff and drove to my aunt’s in New Orleans, but she has teenagers. I couldn’t handle it, and neither could she. I called my friend, and he came and got me. I’m staying at his house. All I do is cry and think. He’s going to get disgusted with me, too. I had a good job in Lafayette that I lost because I was such a basket case. My savings are almost gone, and pretty soon my insurance will run out. I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid all the time. I can’t stand being alone.”
Jane watched as the young woman wept into the wad of tissues in her hand. “Do you think it’s time to pull up your socks and try to get your life back? You cannot Windex what happened to you. It happened, and you have to deal with it. The first thing you need to do is file a police report. Then you have to talk to the people at the crisis center no matter how agonizing that may be. I realize it is six months later and all the evidence is gone, but your word is good enough. None of this is going to be easy. If you want your life back, then you have to fight for it. I’ll help you in any way I can. No more drugs. Can you handle that?”
“I don’t know. All I can do is try. What if . . . what if he calls or wants to see me?”
“Are you talking about the man you were living with?” Jane asked, perplexed at the question.
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand why you’re afraid of him. Call him up, tell him you don’t want to see him anymore. Tell him it’s over. People do that every day of the week. Is he a violent person? You said he didn’t want to be near you or to touch you. That tells me it’s over. Are you in love with him? You need to help me out here.”
Betty leaned back in the chair. She appeared exhausted. Talking seemed an effort.
“Brian was never physical with me. He does have a temper, though. He loses patience really quick when something doesn’t go his way. No, I am not in love with him. I don’t think I ever was. For a while he . . . dazzled me with gifts, flowers, and fancy dinners. He’s incredibly smart. Book smart. He wanted me to marry him, but I wasn’t ready. I’m twenty-nine, and I haven’t done half the things I said I would do before I settled down. I agreed to move in and try it out. I think I knew it wouldn’t work from the beginning. He tried to change me. He didn’t like my clothes, didn’t like my hair, didn’t like the way I drove. I can’t really cook, so he picked on that. I throw my clothes around, and he’s a neat freak. I like to dance, and he doesn’t. He flattered me, flashed his money, and I fell for it. The truth is, we had nothing in common. None of my friends liked him. I don’t have those friends anymore, thanks to him. Except Chuck.”
Jane sucked in her breath. If she asked Betty now if the Brian they were discussing was Brian Ramsey, she would have to excuse herself somehow. Her mind went totally blank as she tried to remember what the professional rule was. She could feel the tremor in her legs start to work upward. If she didn’t get hold of herself, she would fall apart in front of her patient. Don’t ask. Pretend you didn’t hear the name, she told herself. It wasn’t the same Brian. Brian Ramsey was married. His problem was his wife. This girl wasn’t married. There had to be hundreds of Brians in the three surrounding parishes. Don’t read something into this that isn’t there. Move on, Jane.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, Betty?”
“I think I covered it all.”
“Was there anything familiar about your attackers? Anything at all? Think. Was it hot or cold? What did they smell like? Did you feel the material of any of their clothes? Did any of them say anything or gesture in any way that you can remember? Was there anything about their hands that struck you? You don’t have to come up with anything right now. But I would like you to think about it. If you’re comfortable with your friend, talk about it with him. He’s a guy and might be able to offer up some valuable input. You are going to have to relive it. I told you, this isn’t going to be easy, but you have to do it. I’m going to give you my card. You can always reach me, day or night. If you need me, I’ll be there for you. That’s a promise. And, if you like, I can schedule you into my appointment schedule every single day. It might be at the end of the day or it might be the first thing in the morning or during the lunch break. No charge. Will you agree to that?”
“Why are you doing this for me? I’m not even your patient.”
Jane almost blurted out Connie’s story. Instead she bit down on her tongue. “Because I want to help you. I want to see you get your life back. I want to see you go dancing again. I want to know you wake up with a smile on your face. The bad times are behind you. You have to go forward now. Your life is whatever you’re going to make of it. You. Only you. I can help you, the women at the crisis center can help you, but you have to do the work. The fact that you’re here tells me you don’t like the way you’re living. People care. They really do, Betty.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday and then it’s Sunday. Weekends are bad. I don’t know why that is.”
“Because families are together. Couples do things together. Everyone seems to be paired up. The weekends are two days of free time. I can open up my office tomorrow and you can come for a session. We can talk some more. How about if I go with you to the police station? I have to stop by Radio Shack and pick up something for my godmother first, but then we can go by the police station. I’ll stay with you while you file the report. I can go with you to the crisis center and wait while they register you and assign a counselor to you. Then I can drop you off at home. Here’s my card. Remember now, you can call me anytime, day or night.”
Betty reached for the card. Jane watched her as she eyed the three pill bottles.
“They’re a crutch, Betty. Eventually you would have to throw away a crutch if you wanted to walk again on your own. I’ll keep them for you. If you want them back, I’ll give them back.”
“How long is this going to take?” Betty asked listlessly.
“I don’t know, Betty. It’s up to you and how hard you’re willing to work.”
“Okay.”
“I have one last question. In your opinion, did Br . . . did the man you lived with love you?”
“I think so. He said I reminded him of someone. Someone he used to know. Is it important?”
Jane thought for one wild, crazy instant that she could feel the blood start to bubble in her veins. “I’m not sure.” Don’t ask any more questions, Jane. Don’t go down that road.
“I’ll tell Chuck you’re going to take me home. Would you like to meet him?”
“Yes. Yes, I would, Betty. He must be a pretty special friend to take care of you like he does.”
“He’s a good friend. Once I file the report, everyone in town is going to know,” Betty said, starting to cry.
“There’s a good chance a lot of people will find out. But you have to remember that you didn’t do anything wrong, Betty. I have an idea. See what you think about this. How about after the crisis center, we stop at the SPCA and get you a dog. A nice big one who will be grateful
to you for taking him out of a cage and giving him a new life. Just the way you’re going to get a new life. You know what else? I know just the person who can help you train the dog, but you’re going to have to drive there. Every single day. The road to a new life takes many twists and turns. You up for this?”
“I’ll give it my best shot. I really will. Promise me you’ll stay with me while I make the report.”
“Every step of the way. And the crisis center? You can handle it?”
“Yes.”
“The dog?”
“That’s the easy part. Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
7
It was ten o’clock when Jane let herself into the house, every nerve in her body twanging and twitching. She bolted for the kitchen and gulped from Trixie’s bottle of Kentucky bourbon. Her eyes watered as she coughed and sputtered. Olive whined at her feet. The minute she stopped coughing, she fired up one of Fred’s cigarettes and started to cough all over again. Olive pawed her legs in distress. “It’s okay, Olive,” she choked. “I’m just going through a bad time. I need to unwind and settle down. I’ll make some tea and we’ll sit in my crooked living room and I’ll tell you about my day.”
Olive lowered herself to the floor, her brown eyes never leaving Jane as she moved around the kitchen.
The kitchen was Jane’s favorite room. It was a big, old-fashioned kitchen with little nooks and crannies that Jane thought were quaint and cozy. Today, however, all the quaint and cozy in the world wouldn’t help her feel better.
She wondered if she should throw some logs into the fireplace or just go to bed. It would be nice to sit by the fire in the old rocker Trixie had bought her at a garage sale, sip herbal tea, and watch the flames. The rocker was big enough to hold both her and Olive. They could cuddle up together. All she had to do was fluff up the bright red cushions, and she would be set. To do what? her mind screamed.
To read and reread Betty Vance’s file.
Plain Jane Page 13
