by Nate Kenyon
“Why don’t we all get together for drinks when this is over?”
“I’ll think about it.”
She hung up smiling, then thought about climbing into bed for just a few more minutes. Maybe there would be a chance for some honest sleep after all.
—23—
Sarah lay on an examining table, arms and legs hanging limp, eyes vague and unfocused. Straps held down her wrists and ankles; Wasserman had insisted upon them, though they were hardly necessary, Jess thought. They had pumped her so full of tranquilizers it would be a wonder if she could move a finger.
“She’d stopped taking her regular medication,” Dr. Wasserman said from their place by the door, as they watched the young doctor do her work. “We found them under her mattress. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”
Jess glanced at him. “I had no idea.”
“That’s how these things happen. The brain is a very delicate thing. The slightest change in chemistry, and you’ve lost all that you’d gained.”
Jess had the feeling that Wasserman was speaking for his own benefit as much as hers. But he seemed to have regained his footing, looking calmer and more self-possessed than the last time she’d seen him. She had expected more resistance from him than she had received; when she had pressed for a fresh opinion on Sarah’s condition, then asked to be present at the exam, he had not only agreed but seemed almost glad to have her. His only requirement was that it occur on-site.
The doctor undid the restraint from Sarah’s right leg, then stretched it and released. Then she tested Sarah’s reflexes lightly, tapping the bottom of her foot with a hammer.
“I want to make something clear,” Wasserman said. “I must admit you seem to have connected with her in some way. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that you’ve gone against my wishes on two separate occasions. I’m only allowing you in here because Jean insisted upon it.”
So that was it. Her urgent phone calls had done some good, after all. Professor Shelley had missed last Thursday’s class, leaving only a note taped to the lecture hall door saying she was ill and giving the week’s reading assignment. Jess had been unable to reach her. She had left several messages on the professor’s machine, but did not know until now whether she had received them.
The doctor looked into Sarah’s eyes with a penlight. She raised Sarah’s lids and lowered them, frowning; flashed the light on and off, on and off. She felt about Sarah’s skull and neck, ran her fingers carefully through the girl’s hair, searching for scars. “We’ll need to do some more scans,” she said. “MRI, EEG, CAT. I want to absolutely rule out a lesion. Are you sure she’s never had a serious fall? Some sort of disease or swelling in childhood, an infection?”
“We’ve tested for all that already, years ago,” Wasserman said. “Do you have a firm medical opinion?”
“Well,” the doctor said, “from what you’ve told me I’d say it was some sort of muscular contractions caused by damage to her temporal lobe. A lesion such as that would explain the schizophenic-type behavior, as well as the seizures. Though I can’t see anything right away that would bear that out…is this level of sedation really necessary?”
“She’s tried to harm herself before. And when I’ve tried to bring her out she’s begun to have the convulsions again. Right now this is the only way I’ve been able to keep her still.”
“All right. It will make testing her more difficult, but not impossible. I’d like to start with the EEG. We’ll look for an abnormal pattern, and then, if nothing shows up, I’d like to go to the CAT scan. Maybe we can uncover a pocket of fluid somewhere that’s causing a pressure.”
They set up an IV glucose drip to deliver a continuous stream of medication and keep her relaxed and docile. Jess requested and received permission to have a cot set up next to Sarah’s bed; for the next several days she left only to go to class, and to go home to shower and feed Otto. She saw Jeffrey during her first visit every morning and evening, when he came through to clean. He would smile at her in that soft, gentle way of his, and it made her feel safe to know he was nearby.
One night she sat in semidarkness. The smell of the fresh flowers she had brought filled the room, but it wasn’t enough to kill the sharp scent of disinfectant. The smell of hospitals. When Michael had been struck down she rode in the back of the ambulance with her mother, screaming through the streets while her brother’s tiny, crushed body lay strapped to the gurney. The EMTs had worked over him like machines, fast and furious and calculating. But she had known even then that it was too late; whatever had lived in him was gone. She had felt it go, like a soft breath of wind.
She reached out and took hold of Sarah’s hand. The flesh was cool and dry. “I know you can hear me. Please, try to come back. I’ll do whatever it takes. Give me one more chance.”
She felt a gentle pressure. Sarah’s hand curled in hers. Her eyes were closed, and now her mouth turned downward in a gentle frown, as if she were puzzling with something.
The next morning Jess woke up to find Sarah looking at her from the bed. She didn’t move for a long moment, and then she rolled over and stood, brushing at her wrinkled clothes. “Look who’s here,” she said lightly, rubbing at her face. Her mouth tasted stale and sour. “I’m glad you could join us.” “I heard you talking to me last night. I just didn’t want to wake up yet.” Sarah’s eyes were bright and clear. A moment later Jess saw the reason; her IV had come loose during the night. Fluid dripped out to stain the sheets.
“You were scared?”
“Just tired. I’m always tired after…you know.”
“Honey” Jess said, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting down, “can you tell me what happened that day we went outside? Do you remember?”
“I don’t want to.”
“It’s important that you try.”
“No!”
“Okay. But you’re not alone. I want you to know that. Maybe I haven’t given you much reason to trust me yet, but I’m on your side.”
Sarah looked intently at her for a moment. “You were thinking about something sad last night.”
“I don’t remember anything like that.”
“It was about your brother.”
“How do you know about Michael?”
“He died a long time ago. I’m not him, you know. He’s not here anymore.”
Jess felt a chill hand against her heart. She couldn’t have overheard anything; she hadn’t been talking to anyone. How long had the IV been disconnected? An hour? All night?
“Well,” she said, “I guess I underestimated you, didn’t I? I suppose Dr. Wasserman knows something about it by now. You overheard him talking, maybe? You can learn a lot by eavesdropping.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. You told me the first time you came to visit.”
Jess sat down on the edge of the bed. “But how did you know I was thinking about him last night?”
“I just knew.” Sarah let her head sink back into the pillow and closed her eyes. Dark circles ringed their edges. “Sometimes these things about you come into my head. It’s like you’re speaking to me, only there’s no sound.”
Poor thing. Jess was overwhelmed with pity. She looked so young. You don’t deserve to be here, she thought. You deserve a family, someone who understands you.
They sat silently for a moment. Jess took her hand. Just as she thought Sarah had drifted off, she spoke in a sleepy voice, her eyes still closed. “Do you have a mom?”
“Sure. She lives in Florida, near the water. It’s where her parents live, so she can be close to them.”
“Do you see her a lot?”
“Not very much. Florida is a long way to go. And we don’t get along very well, Sarah.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we don’t agree on some things. There are parts of her I don’t like very much.”
“Like what?”
“She drinks a lot. And she’s very angry most of the time. Sometimes things happen where it’s nobody’s
fault, but people just can’t accept it that way. And sometimes a person reminds you so much of someone or something else you’ve lost that whenever you’re with them, you get sad.”
“Like what happened with your brother?”
“Yes, exactly like that.”
“Oh. You’re lucky, though,” Sarah said. “I wish I knew my mother.”
“Sometimes parents aren’t what we’d like them to be. They might be too sick to take care of their children, or they might even be dangerous. In that case it’s better if they aren’t around.”
“My mother wanted to keep me with her. I know she did.”
“Do you remember her?”
“Sometimes I do. Sometimes I dream about her. Why did she leave me here? Why doesn’t she come get me?”
“Oh, honey. I’m sure she would if she could.”
“You don’t think she’s scared of me?”
“Why would she be scared of you? I’m not scared of you.”
“I just want to be like everyone else.”
“Being different can be a good thing. If everyone were the same, what a boring world it would be!”
Sarah was quiet for a minute. “Will you go get Connor? I want him to stay with me.”
“Sure I will.”
When she spoke again, her voice came drifting back from the depths of sleep: “I dream about her a lot….”
Jess waited until Sarah’s breathing deepened. She slowly disengaged her hand and stood up.
She was surprised to find herself shaking. Whether it was from anger, sadness, or something else, she couldn’t tell.
—24—
Shelley still wasn’t in class the next day. The guest lecturer told them she would be out for at least another week. After the session ended, Jess reached her by telephone. “I’m sorry to bother you at home, but it’s important.”
She thought she sensed a moment’s hesitation. “All right,” Shelley said. “I’m feeling a bit better today. It’s time we met again anyway. Why don’t you come here? It’s a nice day and the leaves are turning. We’ll sit out on the deck and have a drink.”
She jotted down the address. Charlie was using her car to go shopping in Natick, and so Jess took a taxi into Chestnut Hill. She knew the neighborhood, and was prepared for the quiet, tree-lined streets and stately homes tucked among the gentle hills; but she was nevertheless surprised when the taxi turned into the driveway of what was obviously an estate of considerable size. Iron gates swung open to admit them up a gently sweeping drive, and around tumbling juniper and rock displays to a sprawling Tudor mansion with perfectly manicured lawns and flower gardens that were just beginning to droop and curl in the crisp fall air.
She avoided the imposing front entrance as Shelley had instructed over the phone, instead following a flagstone path that led down a slight slope and around the side of the house. Several big hunks of rough-hewn granite formed steps that ended at a rear door.
Feeling out of place, she hesitated before ringing the bell, half expecting a somber-faced maid or English butler. But Shelley herself answered, looking as if she’d just splashed her face with cold water. Her flesh was puffy and very pale. “Come on in,” she said, “I was just making something to eat. Are you hungry?”
The house held a deep, expectant silence. They walked through a hallway lined with a patterned wine runner and hung with oil paintings, into a spacious, well-lighted kitchen. Stainless steel Viking appliances offset warm wood tones, and an oak-topped island in the middle of the room kept a sink and dishwasher.
But what held Jess’s attention was the contents of the full-length granite counter to the right of the cooktop: whole oat bread, a cube of white, fleshy tofu on a cutting block, a container of what looked like seaweed, and a plastic bottle full of greenish liquid.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Shelley said, busy inside the huge refrigerator, “how you managed to pay for school. It doesn’t sound like you had much help from your parents.”
“A full scholarship to the University of Connecticut. I waited tables there for spending money.”
“And now?”
“The man who taught me to fly airplanes died when I was a junior. He left me his plane, along with his wishes that it be sold and the proceeds set up as a scholarship fund.”
“You were close?”
“He was the only person I trusted as a child.”
On afternoons after school, when she knew her mother would be drinking, she would listen at the foot of the driveway for the sound of the plane. She would linger at the farm down the street, watching him do his graceful loops and spins, wishing she could be up there too. Sometimes, if she was lucky, he would land and take her up again.
“I hope I’m not being too personal. I just wondered.” Shelley had turned from the open refrigerator with a container of orange juice. She looked very frail in the yellow light, years older. Jess caught a glimpse of the swelling showing in her wrist, and what looked like a particularly nasty rash up the inside of her arm. Something clicked like tumblers falling into place inside her head, and she wondered how she hadn’t seen it before.
“It’s not important,” was all she said.
“As a matter of fact, it is. Evan and I were very concerned with who we picked to help with Sarah. It’s important for us to know what makes you tick. To be perfectly blunt.”
“She’s not a schizophrenic.”
“I know.” Shelley put the juice down on the counter, turning away from the sudden silence. “Actually, I’m not very hungry after all. Why don’t we go out and sit on the patio?”
They walked through a room dominated by a huge Steinway grand piano, decorated with an antique oriental rug in deep earth tones, a Chippendale walnut chest and china cabinet, a Tiffany clock, through French doors, and onto a stone deck that overlooked the lawn and gardens. The air was pleasant but cool, the distant trees peppered with orange and yellow leaves.
“That’s better. A little sun always lifts my mood.” Shelley settled into a cushioned deck chair. “Have a seat.”
Jess took a chair opposite. “What was all that on the counter?”
“Macrobiotics. It’s supposed to help clean out my system.” She waved her hand. “Diet, meditation. You try something new. I have good days and bad days. More lately of the latter, I’m afraid.”
“You’re sick, aren’t you? Is it cancer?”
“Acute lymphocytic leukemia. You know, I never thought I would go this way. It’s not the kind of exit you wish for when you’re a little girl. And I thought, if I could cleanse myself, if I eat well and pray…it sounds silly when I say it out loud.”
“Not at all.”
“I won’t go without a fight,” Shelley said. “I’ve been living with this for ten years now, and it doesn’t get any easier. My father was CEO for the largest steel company in the country. I’ve seen the best specialists in the world. But money can’t solve everything. You go into remission, you think you’ve beaten it, and then it comes back to bite you harder than ever.”
“I’m sorry.”
They sat in silence while a gentle breeze rustled the leaves at a distant edge of lawn, while flowers bobbed their multicolored heads. There had been a frost last night; when Jess woke up it had been written across the window, the crust of ice on the inside so that when she’d dragged a nail across the pane it had come back flaked with snow.
“I’ve tried to keep this as quiet as possible. I like my privacy. I assume you’ll respect my confidence.”
“Of course.”
“Anyway, enough of all that. You didn’t come to talk about my life. You’re here to talk about Sarah.” Shelley turned to look at her, and for a moment the pain was so naked, so obvious, Jess had to keep herself from flinching.
“I always knew it would come to this,” Shelley said. “That’s one reason I fought Evan so hard to bring you into our confidence. I needed someone to uncover everything, bring it into the light, and you were the perfect choice, for a number of
reasons. But I hope you don’t blame me too much for letting you in slowly. You had to do it on your own terms, in your own way. Do you understand what I mean? When you’re faced with the fact that something you’ve believed all your life is a fiction, a silly superstition…the belief dies hard. It did for me.”
“I deserve to know the whole truth. You owe me that.”
“And you’ll get it.”
“If you knew that what her family said was true, why did you let Dr. Wasserman lock her up? Drug her? Treat her for a disability that didn’t exist?”
“It wasn’t that simple. Remember that there is a history of mental illness in her family, she did show many of the classic indications—”
“With all due respect, that’s bullshit. And you know it.”
Shelley stared out over gently rustling leaves. “There are other factors involved here. I truly wanted to help her. I thought maybe we could help each other. But there are things you can’t know, things that make it all but impossible. Especially now.”
“Then tell me.”
But Shelley was no longer listening. “I’ve spent ten years trying to forget that night, the night she was born. I was the first thing she saw, coming into this world…. Can you imagine what a doctor looks like to a child coming into the light for the first time? Hooded and gowned, mask covering her face? What a human being looks like to someone who has never seen one before? I know because she let me see. I saw through her eyes.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I don’t know how she did it, how it happened. But I can’t ever forget that. It isn’t easy seeing yourself as a freak. Huge. Misshapen. All those features you look at in the mirror each day, turned into something alien. The next thing I remember was the firemen pulling me out, the hospital coming down, and I kept asking them where was the monster, where was that thing?”
They had gone all that way to New York, they had spoken with the family, they had listened to the stories that seemed too fantastic for belief, and never once had Shelley said a word about any of this. All Jess could think of now was Maria’s voice on the phone; Sarah, inside her head. Embrujado. Haunted.
