Doris closed the door to the kitchen and Claire took a seat. She accepted the coffee he offered but refused sugar and cream.
“You young girls nowadays keep too thin,” Doc said. “Have a cinnamon roll; they’re from your Aunt Bonnie.”
“No,” Claire said. “I’ve had a queasy stomach all week. I’d better not.”
Doc immediately snapped into physician mode. He stood, went over to the sideboard, and retrieved his battered leather doctor’s bag.
“Tell me what’s been going on with your stomach,” he said.
He pulled a chair over next to Claire’s, and sat down. While she talked, he looked in her eyes and ears, listened to her heart and lungs, and then asked her to lie down on the floor so he could palpate her stomach.
“Are your periods regular?” he asked her.
“Kind of,” she said as she stood back up and then sat back on the chair.
He fixed her with a stern stare.
“Any chance you could be kind of pregnant?” he asked.
“It’s unlikely,” she said. “It’s been almost four months since I had, well, since I was with anybody.”
“You’re so thin,” he said. “You might not even show until the fifth month.”
“I really want you to tell me it’s something else,” she said.
“Well,” Doc said. “You’re almost forty, so it could be perimenopause. It takes some people that way. The hormone changes can make you feel unwell, unable to sleep. I’d like you to see a proper OB-GYN, to rule out any more serious issue. But first, I think you should take a pregnancy test. I have some at the office if you’d like me to go get one.”
“No,” Claire said. “I can get one at the drugstore. I really came up here to talk to you about my dad.”
Claire told Doc what was going on now, about the paranoia, and the hallucinations. Doc looked pained and sad, which made him look older.
“Your mother told me about his paranoia,” he said. “It’s very sad but not at all unusual. With dementia patients it seems to always be about either money or sex. Either they think their loved ones are stealing from them or cheating on them. I’m so sorry to hear it’s gotten to that stage. I’ll be honest with you, it’s not going to get any better. In fact, it will probably get a lot worse.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Claire said, wiping the tears that fell.
He handed her a clean handkerchief from his pocket.
“I’m going to refer you to a geriatric dementia specialist in Morgantown,” he said. “I’ll call and make the appointment and then you call me early next week to find out when it is. I won’t call the house or stop by; no point in making it worse.”
“How long do you think we can keep him at home?” Claire said. “This is going to make my mother ill before too long.”
“Getting other people to distract and entertain him, keep him busy, may help during the day,” he said. “The problem is there’s something called ‘sundowner syndrome.’ As the evening comes on, these dementia patients tend to get agitated, and start imagining things. Their paranoia increases. They hallucinate. There are medications for this, but they often have a sedative effect.”
“So he won’t be angry but he’ll be a zombie.”
“At some point you may have to decide between him and your mother,” Doc said.
“I feel so helpless,” Claire said.
“See this doctor,” he said. “See how Ian does on medication; there are several you can try and it may take a while to find the right combination. The truth is these drugs are all new and we don’t have long-term studies to go by. Every person may react differently and things that work for others may not work for your father. We’ll just have to try a few things and see. Meanwhile, you come see me whenever you like. Keep me posted. This specialist and I can help you know when it’s time to do something more drastic.”
“The first time he gets violent,” Claire said, “he’ll have to go.”
“I want to warn you,” Doc said, “about something else that might happen. Just so you aren’t taken by surprise.”
“What’s that?” Claire said.
“Remember I said it’s always about sex or money?”
“Yes,” Claire said. “You mean he might accuse me of stealing from him?”
“Yes, he very well may,” Doc said. “I also mean he might make sexual advances.”
“Toward me?” Claire said. “Oh, Lord, I am so not ready to deal with that.”
“I know everyone tells you not to take it personally,” Doc said. “And that’s difficult to do. He may get to a point where he doesn’t know who you are, or even who he is. And there’s you still thinking of him as your father, the person he was when he was sane.”
“No, I won’t,” Claire said. “I don’t know who he is, but my Dad’s already gone.”
“Then you might not realize it, but you’re already grieving that loss,” Doc said. “That may be part of your tummy trouble. Don’t forget what I said before about antidepressants. There’s no shame in asking for help to get through a tough time. What you and your mother are doing is one of the hardest things a family has to go through. Please don’t hesitate to call me. Your mother probably won’t, and she’ll need the help before you do, and long after you don’t.”
After Claire left Doc Machalvie’s house, she went downtown to Sunshine Florist, where owner Erma Cook was working on a beautiful and elaborate arrangement of flowers, including sweet pea, lily of the valley, heirloom roses, and fragrant peonies.
“Erma, that’s gorgeous,” Claire said. “You’re a floral artiste.”
“Well, seeing as how it’s for the Chief and Maggie,” she said. “I wanted it to be extra special.”
Claire ground her teeth together.
“Did Hannah tell you it was really for a wedding?” she asked. “It was supposed to be a secret.”
“Oh, honey, you’re so funny,” Erma said. “Keep a secret in Rose Hill? That’s hilarious. And no, Hannah didn’t tell me. And I’m not going to tell you who did. Just relax and rest assured that this wedding is going to be gorgeous. Hannah said you wanted me to spare no expense. I never get to go all out like that; everyone’s so budget conscious. I’m having so much fun right now I can’t tell you how much. I’ve dreamed about making arrangements like the ones I’m making today. I’m having a ball!”
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Claire said. “Can I prevail upon you to make the bouquet?”
“I’d really like to see the dress first,” Erma said.
Claire took out her phone and showed Erma a photo of Maggie in the wedding dress at the bridal store.
“Will you look at that,” Erma said. “Maggie was always such a tomboy I never dreamed she could look like that. That’s gorgeous. Is it from Starlina’s?”
“It is,” Claire said.
“Well, that explains how I found out,” Erma said. “Did you really think Dreama would believe that size wedding gown was for you?”
“I hadn’t really thought about that,” Claire said. “Dammit.”
“Never you mind, honey,” Erma said. “The only people who know are the ones who care the most. The others won’t know about it until they show up for the christening.”
Claire went down to Fitzpatrick’s Bakery to check on the sheet cakes, and found Bonnie and Melissa in the kitchen, decorating a five-tiered wedding cake. When Bonnie saw Claire, she laughed, clapped her hands together, and then ran forward to hug her.
“There’s my favorite niece,” she said.
“What’s going on, Bonnie?” Claire asked. “Melissa?”
“This ain’t my fault,” Melissa said.
“Oh, Claire Bear, look at my beautiful cake,” Bonnie said. “I’ve been up since two o’clock this morning baking the thing, and then I had to put it in the walk-in for several hours to cool it enough to stack it.”
The cake was gorgeous. She had piped pearls around the edges, and there were tiny lily of the valley flowers all
around the sides.
“That’s Maggie’s favorite flower,” Bonnie said.
“I didn’t know that,” Claire said. “I need to tell Erma.”
“She knows,” Bonnie said. “Everything’s going to be perfect.”
Claire had never seen her Aunt Bonnie so animated, so smiley, so, well, not irritated about everything. It was kind of scary.
“How did you find out?” Claire asked her, and then looked at Melissa.
“It wasn’t me,” Melissa said. “I swear on a stack of Bibles.”
Bonnie laughed.
“Dreama told her mama, Starlina told her mama, and her mama’s one of my dearest friends. Wyvonne and I went to Rose Hill High School together,” Bonnie said. “When Melissa asked me to make sheet cakes for Sammy’s christening, of all things, I said to myself, ‘No daughter of mine is going to be married with plain sheet cakes in the basement of Sacred Heart.’ It would be a shame from which I’d never recover.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Claire said. “You haven’t told Maggie you know about it, have you?”
“Heavens, no,” Bonnie said. “I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing. I love Scott like a son, you know, and how else were we ever going to get that stubborn girl down the aisle unless it was to fool her into doing it? I can’t wait to see her face when she gets to the church and sees what’s been done for her. And more importantly, I want to see her face when she sees this cake.”
Bonnie had tears in her eyes, and she hugged Claire again. Claire looked over her shoulder at Melissa, who shrugged. Claire didn’t think her aunt had ever hugged her before in her life, and now she’d done it twice in five minutes.
“I’m so glad you’re happy,” Claire said when Bonnie finally let go.
“Happy? Happy, she says?” Bonnie said. “Claire Bear, what I am is elated. This is the most fun I’ve had in I can’t tell you when. For years I’ve had brides telling me what the cake has to look like, and taste like. Finally, I can make the cake I have always wanted to make, for my only daughter’s wedding. It just doesn’t get any better than this.”
“I’m so glad,” Claire said. “And relieved.”
“Now, you get on out of here,” Bonnie said. “Melissa and I still have a lot of work to do, and I’m sure you do, too. We’ll see you at the church.”
Claire left the bakery and turned right, to go see Ed next door in the newspaper office. She felt kind of unreal, having just seen her fierce Aunt Bonnie cackling like a happy hen. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and it still didn’t seem quite real.
Ed was at the computer, still working on the layout for the Sunday Sentinel.
“Hey,” he said when he saw her enter the office, but he didn’t seem to quite see her. He turned back to his computer, and she could see he was having trouble tearing his eyes away from the screen.
“You’re busy,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, turning from the computer screen toward her and back again, twice.
Finally he jumped up and pulled her toward him, gave her a hug and a quick kiss, and pulled her over to the screen.
“Look at this,” he said. “I can’t decide if Anne Marie should be above the fold on the front page, or Marigold. The Anne Marie story may get picked up by the national media, and the Marigold story is strictly local interest. What do you think?”
“National trumps local,” Claire said. “Every PR person knows that.”
“Yeah, but is it right to do that?” Ed said. “Isn’t my duty more to the people of Rose Hill and the upcoming mayoral election? This will definitely influence the vote. In her interview Marigold portrays herself as the holiest of candidates, chosen by God, Himself, called upon to save Rose Hill from the evildoers who would undermine its family values. She holds up her son as an example of a good Christian upbringing, her family a role model for the community. Then here’s the sidebar featuring his arrest, and photos of what he and his friends wrote on the houses. I won’t even need to write an editorial trying to sway anybody; Marigold’s done all the heavy lifting.”
“Then lead with that,” Claire said.
“I know, it’s what I want to do,” he said. “But this Anne Marie story will get more attention from the national press. It may get picked up and re-published in major newspapers across the country.”
“So lead with that.”
“I’m torn,” he said. “How do I decide?”
“Well,” Claire said. “When you’re an old man, and Tommy’s son is sitting on your knee, what do you want to be able to tell him?”
“You’re right,” Ed said. “You’re absolutely right.”
He put his arm around her and hugged her from the side, kissed the side of her face.
“I still have a lot to do,” he said. “I promise I’ll be at the church on time, but I have to get this to Pendleton Press within the hour.”
“Get to it, then,” Claire said. “I’ll get out of your way.”
“Promise me something,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Promise me you’ll dance with me first and last tonight, and I won’t care who you dance with in between.”
“That’s easy,” Claire said. “Done.”
Claire was amused by how fast he turned back to his computer screen, before she was even out the door. It was great to see all these people in town doing things they loved to do, and having a blast doing them. It also made Claire wonder what it was she could do that would feel like that, like she was doing the thing she loved most, and having a ball doing it. She had felt like that several times while working for Sloan, especially after Sloan got famous, and her roles became more prestigious. The accommodations got better, the travel was more exciting, and the food was definitely better. Ultimately, however, the bad moments had outweighed the good.
As Claire reached the corner of Rose Hill Avenue and Pine Mountain Road, the main streets that intersected in the center of town, her cell phone rang.
“The packages you thought might need to be taken to the airport are in my backroom,” Maggie said.
“Did you get ahold of Elbie?”
“He’s on his way,” Maggie said.
Claire ran back down the hill to the newspaper office and told Ed if he wanted to interview the spa staff he had better come with her. Ed grabbed his small digital voice recorder, and together they ran up the hill and down the alley to the back door of the Little Bear bookstore.
In the backroom of Maggie’s store sat the massage therapists and the Reiki Master. They looked scared. As soon as they saw Claire, they all started talking at once.
“Wait, wait,” Ed begged. “One at a time, please, and give me your names and phone numbers.”
Claire put the names and phone numbers into the contacts list of her phone. As Ed interviewed each woman, others chimed in with more details and related incidents. The gist of their complaint was how the seminar participants were being treated, and how emotionally damaging it was to their psyches. They were also privy to quite a bit of staff complaining and infighting, which taken together, painted a picture of a brain-washed crew working too many hours on too little sleep, and paying for the privilege.
Claire was impressed by the questions Ed asked. By the time Elbie arrived with the church van in the back alley, Ed had broken into a sweat, and Claire could almost see the gears whirring in his mind. Maggie, Claire, and Ed helped the spa staff members load their luggage onto the church van, and then waved as Elbie pulled away. Ed turned to Claire.
“I need more time!” Ed said.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Claire asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Email those contact names and numbers to me. I have to go now.”
He left at a run. Claire went back inside, collapsed onto a chair, and began doing as Ed requested.
“You know,” Maggie said from the doorway. “Anne Marie gave me a reading, or whatever you call it, right after she left rehab. She was very religious at that point. She got i
n a fight with a little kid over a Harry Potter book in my children’s section. I had to call Knox to come get her.”
“What was that like?” Claire said.
“She had this wild, crazy look on her face,” Maggie said. “And then it turned into a hundred-yard stare; you know what I mean. She told me my sin was pride, which, pardon me, but anyone who has ever met me could tell you that. She also said I should watch out for a snake disguised as an angel.”
“What was that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “I dismissed it at the time; and I still think it’s all hokum. But then Gabe came back, and he had a snake tattoo on his arm.”
“And Gabriel is an angel’s name,” Claire said.
“A coincidence, I’m sure,” Maggie said. “I think what’s scariest about Anne Marie is that she really believes she’s getting information from an infallible source, and that makes her more dangerous than if it were all a con. Con artists know they’re doing wrong; they just don’t care. But Anne Marie actually believes everything she does is God’s work here on earth.”
“Who would have thought she and Marigold Larson would have so much in common?”
“And yet each would think the other was the crazy one,” Maggie said.
Claire’s cell phone rang as she left the bookstore. It was Pip’s mother, Frieda.
“You’ve got to come,” she said. “He’s in a horrible way; I think he may do himself harm.”
“I’ll be right there,” Claire said.
Claire ran home, got the family car, and then drove up Peony Street to the library, where a left took her onto a rutted gravel road known as Possum Holler. As she drove slowly up the road, she could see the orange spray-painted graffiti that had been scrawled on every house. Most of it was crude and profane, but some of it was downright evil. It clearly illustrated a willful, depraved ignorance, the kind that feeds race, sexual, and class prejudice. She was appalled that there were young people in Rose Hill capable of writing such awful things on their neighbor’s homes.
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