“I’m amazed,” Aaron said after the greeter walked away.
“That’s the way it is.”
“Is it just this part of the country?”
“No, it happens in many other places, too.”
Aaron frowned and scratched the side of his head.
Stella touched his arm. “I don’t worry about it, and neither should you. Things will change for the better as time goes by.”
They studied the menu. “I know it’s a steak place, but the grilled chicken is always tasty here, too,” Stella said.
“Sounds good to me. I’ll have the chicken with sautéed broccoli.”
“I will, too.” Stella put down her menu. “Did you see Wanda yesterday?” Stella said.
“I did for a second, through a small opening in her front door. She wouldn’t let me in.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“When she opened the door, the inside smelled like a dirty hospital ward.”
Stella shook her head. “That’s been a nasty situation and probably still is.”
After their meals were served, Aaron glanced up at Stella. “You seem down, like you’ve had a bad day.”
“It’s been a tough week. My husband is in a nursing home. The nurses complained to me several times this week about him.”
“Why is he in a nursing home?”
“He’s got dementia, and sometimes he’s mean to the nurses.”
“Dementia. How old is he?”
“Fifty. He was diagnosed with neurosyphilis a few years ago.”
Aaron sat back. “Syphilis, now there’s a fascinating disease. Historically, it’s been a kind of punishment for a momentary lapse of reason.” Aaron caught his breath and turned to Stella. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
Stella chuckled and held up her hand. “It’s okay. You hit the nail on the head. My husband is living proof of what you just said. He’s a veteran. They said he got syphilis overseas as a young man after playing around with the ladies, but he wasn’t treated for it until it was too late. Now he’s confused all the time and his balance is off and he can’t feel his feet, so walking is difficult. He stumbles and falls a lot.”
Aaron remembered the story of her only son who was killed. He put down his fork. “You’ve had a really rough couple of years.”
“No rougher than anyone else. It’s my lot in life, so I deal with it.” She smiled. “At least I don’t have syphilis.”
“Count your blessings, right?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re amazing. I don’t know if I could handle all that.”
Stella’s eyes burned into his. “Faith and forgiveness.”
“I see.”
She looked down. “It’s easy for me to say those words, but I have to try to renew myself every day. I worry there are some things I can never forgive.”
Stella finished her meal and sat back in her chair. “It’s ironic. My husband’s dementia prevents him from remembering or feeling guilty about the syphilis. He doesn’t even know what happened to him.”
Back at the clinic, Aaron checked information on the next patient. Stella stopped him as he approached the room.
“This is one of our local psych patients with his mother. They’re Cajun. He’s bipolar and usually reasonable, when he takes his medicine. But be on your guard.”
A man sat on the examination table, his short hair wanting to fly away. An older woman sat in a chair at the side of the room.
“I’m Tucker Boudreaux,” the man said. “I heard we had a new doctor in town.” His gaze returned to the ceiling.
Aaron approached the woman, who stood and shook his hand. “I’m his mama.”
Aaron turned to Tucker. “I see it’s your birthday.”
Tucker extended his arms. “I’m thirty, and I’m happy about that, but it doesn’t really matter how old I am. I feel like heaven and earth open up for me, like I can do anything, at any age, any birthday. Birthday party. Party down. Laissez les bon temps rouler.”
“I’m sorry?” Aaron looked at his mother.
“Oh, sometimes he speaks Cajun. He said, ‘Let the good times roll.’ ”
“Okay.” Aaron turned back to Tucker. “Any problems today?”
“No, I’m good. I’m better than ever.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs.
Aaron checked his pupils and reflexes and listened to his heart and lungs. “I’m glad you’re good. You seem happy.”
Stella knocked on the door and walked into the room. She stopped beside Aaron and smiled at Tucker. “Did you tell the doctor who you are today?”
“What do you mean today? You know who I am, every day.”
“Who are you?” Stella said.
Tucker held out his hands. “I’m an angel from God.”
Aaron stepped back. “An angel—”
“I’m sent by le Bon Dieu.” Tucker stared at Aaron. “I know things. I can see the future.” He looked at Stella. “Everyone in this town knows about me.”
Stella nodded. “Yes, they do.”
“Just ask me anything, Doc. The answer will pop into my head. It’s a special gift.”
“Let me think on that.”
Tucker pointed a finger at Aaron. “You don’t have a dog, do you?”
Aaron shrugged his shoulders. “No.”
“I can tell that you need one. You need a dog.”
His mother stood up. “Doctor, tell him he has to take the lithium.”
“Listen to your mom, okay? The medicine is important for you,” Aaron said.
Tucker put his hands to his temples. “So everybody says.”
They walked out into the hall. Tucker’s mother whispered to Aaron, “He’s been almost full-blown manic for a week now. He’s not sleeping much. Sometimes it takes a while for him to come down when he’s like this. So I see that he takes the lithium, but I think sometimes he doesn’t swallow the pill on purpose.”
“You’re doing the best you can. Just let me know if I can help,” Aaron said.
“His psychiatrist is hours away, and he won’t always go with me for appointments.”
Aaron whispered to Stella as he watched Tucker’s mother hurry after her son. “They’re not into voodoo, are they? I’ve heard about voodoo over in Louisiana.”
Stella chuckled. “They might be, but they’re Cajun. Voodoo is generally connected with African-American Creoles, who are a different group from the Cajuns.”
“Isn’t voodoo mostly found not far from here, in New Orleans?”
“That’s true these days. Voodoo started in Africa, and it migrated to Haiti and Louisiana and other places.”
“I have visions of evil spells and voodoo dolls that look like pin cushions.”
“That’s from the movies, and it’s not completely accurate. Some folks claim voodoo is a religion for the good. They worship saints and an all-powerful god and they do good works in the community, and it’s not just Creole people. Anyone can practice voodoo.”
“So voodoo might be with us now, right here in East Texas?”
“Honey, you can count on it.”
After closing the clinic, Aaron stopped at his car door. I wonder if Wanda is working. She wouldn’t talk to me at her house. Maybe she will at the restaurant.
He drove to Wanda’s diner and spotted her serving a customer. He waited in a corner by the checkin area.
Wanda turned and walked toward the front. She saw Aaron and stopped. “Hello, Doc. Can I seat you for dinner?”
“No, thanks. I came to your house yesterday. You told me you don’t like visitors.”
“As I said, we’re a private family. If my husband or son needs medical help, I have to take them to a hospital where tests can be done. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Sure, I understand, but just because I’m interested as a doctor, what’s wrong with your husband?”
“I don’t know. They think it’s MS or ALS or some such alphabet soup. I have to take total care of him.”
“He’s not sick like my husband. He keeps to himself. I take care of him, too.”
“Remember I’m available if you need help, and I won’t charge for the first house call.”
Wanda wagged a finger at Aaron. “Don’t you concern yourself about us. We’ll do just fine.” She whirled around and walked away.
She won’t even let me in the house. Aaron shrugged his shoulders. Who would say no to a free house call?
He started up the Volvo. Maybe Wanda is just ornery, but I have a feeling there’s something else. Marley Brighton is worried about them, too.
He nodded. I’ve got to find out more about that family.
Aaron drove to Grant Belkin’s ranch house. He’d called ahead of time and Grant was waiting for him.
“Come on in,” a voice boomed from the front door.
Aaron stepped through the door into a vestibule with a high ceiling that led to an expansive living room, in the middle of which sat a brown couch with a small coffee table facing a fireplace. No other furniture was in the room.
“No TV,” Aaron said.
“Don’t need much.”
Aaron noticed built-in shelves and cabinets filled with books.
Grant motioned to Aaron. “While it’s still light, let me take you around the ranch.”
He led Aaron to a rear door and out to the back yard.
Aaron walked up to a fence. “You’ve got a garden.”
“My vegetables. They keep me healthy.”
“This is one serious garden.”
Grant pointed out the rows of plants. “My tomato plants.” He moved further along the garden fence. “The peas and okra are doin’ well.”
“Okra. I’ll have to try that.”
“I’ll make you some stewed okra sometime. That’s good eatin’. Good for you, too.”
They walked behind the long garden and climbed into Grant’s pickup truck.
Aaron blotted his forehead with his handkerchief. “Will I get used to this heat?”
“You’re from up north. Your blood’s too thick. It’ll thin out over time.”
Grant started the engine. “Ever been to a rodeo?”
“Never,” Aaron said.
“I’ve got some rodeo tickets for next Saturday. Want to come along?”
“Sure thing. Thanks.”
Aaron admired the orange sunset over the horizon as they bounced along the turf away from the ranch house. He lost the border fence for five minutes or so, and then he spotted a faint line of trees approaching. They slowed and stopped before a boundary fence, beyond which a tall row of pine trees extended parallel to the fence as far as Aaron could see. A haze enshrouded the tops of the trees.
Grant turned to him. “The Big Thicket.”
Aaron sat forward. “So that’s the Big Thicket. I saw it on road signs when I drove down here.”
“It’s our own rainforest, right here in East Texas, and it goes on for miles. It’s hard to walk in it because of the thick underbrush. All kinds of critters and strange plants live in there, like plants that eat bugs.”
“Is that why people talk about it?”
“That and its shady history. Folks used to hide in there: outlaws, escaped prisoners, even Civil War dodgers back in the day. Anybody up to no good. Some folks went in and never came out.”
A shiver passed over the back of Aaron’s neck as he studied the forest. An evening breeze bent the tall pine trees toward him.
After a few minutes, Grant turned the truck around and headed back to the ranch house.
Aaron turned to Grant as they walked through the house. “Do you know the Taggetts, the family that lives just across the road from here?”
Grant sighed. “I know they need your help.”
“There’s something strange going on over there.”
Grant touched Aaron’s shoulder. “I’ll help you all I can with them, but it’s up to you.”
“Up to me? So you believe there’s a medical illness in that house that I can help with?”
Grant nodded as he escorted Aaron to the Volvo. He leaned into the driver’s window. “Just look into it. You may be their last chance.”
Aaron frowned as he drove away. Last chance. What does he mean by that?
Aaron drove a circuitous route home to pick up a to-go order of chicken quesadillas with rice and black beans. After dinner, he paced around his house. He held up jittery hands. Maybe I had too much coffee today.
His heart was beating faster than usual. Okay, from now on, no caffeine after three in the afternoon for me.
Later in bed, Aaron took deep breaths and concentrated on pleasant thoughts, like an image of Marley, but her smiling face would dissolve into the strange waving trees he’d seen earlier with Grant Belkin. He pulled the sheet up to his chin, but that didn’t prevent the return of the shivers he’d felt near the Big Thicket.
****
After her shift at the diner, Wanda Taggett drove home with a beef taco meal from a local fast food restaurant. She would enjoy that for her dinner later. First, she had to feed her husband, Sid.
“Are you awake?” she asked Sid. He didn’t respond.
She pushed her hand under Sid’s pillow, nodding as she felt the cloth pouch containing various objects, then she walked to the kitchen to unlock a cabinet. She pulled out a box and poured some white powder from the box into a glass, taking care not to touch the powder herself. After adding milk and chocolate syrup to the glass, she stirred the liquid into a dark brown mix and placed the glass on a small table by Sid’s bed. She shook Sid and shouted in his ear.
“Wake up. It’s time for dinner.”
Sid moaned and opened his eyes. Wanda helped him sit up in bed and handed him the glass. He began to sip the liquid.
After several swallows, he looked at her. “Tastes good.”
She smiled. “Sure it does. Just give it a little more time to help.”
Sid sighed. “All right. I guess you know best.”
“Trust me. Everything will work out just fine.”
Wanda bared her teeth as she walked away. And, you’ll never cheat on me again.
Chapter 7
Aaron yawned and rolled out of bed Saturday morning.
“Today’s the day.” He pumped his fist in the air. “I start jogging again.”
He donned his old running shoes, socks, shorts and shirt, and stretched out his hamstrings and calves for several minutes. After gulping down a large glass of water, he grabbed a key and locked the front door behind him.
Now start slow and work up to a decent distance over a few weeks. Don’t overdo it.
He took a deep breath and broke into a gentle jog down his street. Marley was in her front yard and Aaron waved at her as he jogged by. She smiled at him and he picked up his speed, turning right at the intersection. Slow down, she’s not watching now.
He was able to make it as far as the trailer home of his alcoholic patient Rocky Donnigan, where he turned around and walked back to his house.
That felt good. I’ll have that pleasant muscle soreness later.
After throwing off his soggy shirt and showering off the sweat, Aaron drove from his house in the direction of a large hospital about forty-five minutes away. He cranked up the radio.
After a while, he smiled. “I’m beginning to recognize some of these country songs. That’s ‘People Are Crazy,’ by Billy Currington.”
He parked in the main lot at the front, walked through the entrance, and studied the directory on a wall by the front lobby elevators. After a few turns down hallways on the first floor, he came to a nursing administration office.
He knocked and a woman appeared at the door. “Are you Dr. Rovsing?” she said.
“Yes, thanks for seeing me.”
“My pleasure. I’m Rachel. Please have a seat.” Rachel sat down in a chair behind her desk. “You wanted some information about a patient?”
Aaron handed her a piece of paper. “I’d app
reciate whatever you can tell me about this patient. He lives near my clinic, and I’d like to find out if I can help him in any way.”
She smiled at him. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I just moved here from the Northeast.”
“Well then, welcome to Texas.”
“I imagine I’ll pick up a little of the Southern drawl over time.”
“Most people do.”
Rachel typed on her computer keyboard and studied the monitor. “Sid Taggett. He was admitted three times over the last six months or so. The doctors suspected a neurologic disease of some sort, but no specific diagnosis was given. They considered amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, ALS.”
“Some neurologic diseases can be difficult to pinpoint, and it may take time. If you don’t think of an unusual diagnosis, you may not order the right tests.”
Rachel looked up. “How’s he doing now?”
“He’s mostly bedridden. His wife takes care of him.”
She opened more records on the computer screen. “There’s something else here, an interesting note in the past medical history from one of the doctors.”
She summarized the report. “The wife, Mrs. Taggett, brought her son to the hospital multiple times. This was years ago, when her son was a toddler and a preschooler. One of the doctors mentioned the possibility of child abuse. Then the son’s hospital visits stopped.”
“Can I read some of the notes?”
“No problem. Pull a chair around.”
Aaron sat at the computer beside Rachel and scanned medical reports on the computer screen for several minutes.
“Look at this,” he said. “One of the consultant reports mentions Munchausen by Proxy. They thought she might’ve been hurting her son on purpose to gain sympathy and attention from her friends and doctors.”
“I’ve heard of that.”
“It’s a rare psychiatric disease. As I recall from medical school, it can be hard to treat, and the children can develop psych problems of their own.”
“How do they treat it?”
“Mainly psychotherapy and counseling, I think. I’m pretty sure there’s no specific medication for treating it.”
“I thought by now we had medicines for everything,” Rachel said.
“Unfortunately not. To make matters worse, some patients with these types of illnesses don’t even believe they’re sick and don’t follow through with any kind of therapy.”
Fractured Eden Page 5
