by David Lewis
“I guess you could say that.”
“Why?”
“Because they made a mistake.” Mrs. Robinette cleared her throat. “But we made the biggest mistake. Oh, honey, we should never have let you …” Betty’s voice trailed off.
A third of the way down the hallway, Jessie paused in front of the room. She turned around; Andy was just catching up with her. She gestured toward the number and then toward the death certificate he was still holding.
“I went in alone, didn’t I?” Jessie said into the cell phone, trying to catch her breath.
“You begged to …”
… Doris had discovered a madhouse upon walking into the institution that day. The orderlies had been trying to restore order to the front room. Papers and files were strewn about the front desk. The receptionist was trying to field questions and provide assistance to nearly half a dozen people. The chaos nearly unhinged her. Her daughter had just died, and the place was in chaos. Her peace-loving daughter had died in the midst of a cacophonous zoo! The indignity—the cruel mockery!
Doris stormed past the reception desk, but the receptionist must have seen her, because she called out, “Mrs. Crenshaw?” When Doris turned, the woman stepped around the desk and thrust a piece of paper into her hand, mumbling only, “Sorry,” before returning to her work. Mutely, Doris looked down at the paper. Certificate of Death. Some attending doctor whose name she didn’t recognize had signed it. She began to tremble. She walked toward her daughter’s room on spongy legs. Why had she come alone? She had to concentrate on the direction—which way? Which hallway? Past the chipped walls, the urine smell, the trash in the hallway, the walls unpainted, cracking, the tile chipped and stained. The indecency!
When she found her daughter’s room, the door was closed. She pushed herself forward—Don’t think! Just do it!—and walked in, covering her mouth with her hands.
There she was, lying there, peaceful, now restful, looking as she once had when Doris watched her sleep as a child. They hadn’t had the civility to cover her dead body yet. Doris let out a sob, holding her hand to her mouth again.
Her daughter was at peace, finally. The pain, the confusion, the heartbreak was past. She was home. Selfish thoughts of her own redemption vanished. She slowly lifted the sheet to cover her daughter’s still face and then she shrank back in horror, nearly tripping over a tray that had been left beside the bed….
Standing before that door was a watershed moment for Jessie. The memories, long blocked, began to pour back. She said goodbye to Betty, hit the End button on the phone, and pointed to the door.
“This is the room,” Andy said.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.” He showed her the certificate.
“But that wasn’t my mother’s room. That was …” Jessie shuddered. “They got it wrong.”
Slowly Jessie backed up against the wall. The terrible memory played over and over in her mind. She was only twelve. All three of them—her father, her grandmother, and Mrs. Robinette—waited for her outside the door.
Another glimpse. The name Olive on the door. Olive? We figured the name was a mistake, she thought. The whole place was inept, after all. Of course it was her mother’s room. Someone had spelled it wrong. And then Jessie went inside, alone, and approached the bedside. Her mom’s back was turned to the door and she was covered with a white sheet. She tapped the shrouded body on the back, but her mother didn’t budge. She ran around the other side of the bed and the woman’s eyes were open … her face a pasty white … her hair also blond. If she hadn’t looked so much like her mother it wouldn’t have mattered. This woman bore at least a passing resemblance, only about fifty pounds heavier. The woman on the bed opened her eyes wider, flew up to a sitting position, and began screaming.
And then the woman jumped to her feet on the bed and began flailing her arms and jumping up and down and screaming … and Jessie didn’t make the connection that this woman wasn’t her mother. She never had time; it all happened so fast. Jessie collapsed, falling to the speckled tile floor, and apparently her father responded to the screams, and they found her seconds later and carried her away to the car.
A terrible mistake had been made.
Doris had crept closer again, placing her fingers over her daughter’s face, and a gasp escaped her lips. She hadn’t been imagining it. She reached for her daughter’s hand. It was warm to the touch. She touched Olivia’s face. Again, warm. Her own body was racked by shudders. This was impossible! She brought her face to within inches of Olivia’s face and once again felt the faint whisper of breath.
She turned and from that angle she saw what she hadn’t seen before—hadn’t been looking for—the subtle rise and fall of her daughter’s chest. How could it have happened? Who would have made such an error? But she knew the answer. As sure as the sun rose in the east, she knew.
Her mind began spinning. What do I do now? She should find an orderly. Go to the front desk and complain to high heavens. Call the authorities. But suddenly her soul split in half and a sense of despair overwhelmed her once again. Olivia would only continue to suffer in this horrible place. She was sure to die soon. Until then, her pain would continue.
Doris glanced at the death certificate in her hands. They had declared her daughter dead. As far as they were concerned, Olivia Lehman had passed away.
The suffering would only continue….
This barn couldn’t save her daughter.
But she could.
The madness must end. If she’d ever done anything for Olivia, she must do it now.
I have the death certificate, she thought. “Dear God, forgive me,” she whispered, drawing closer to Olivia. Slowly she lifted the covers again, this time completely covering her daughter’s face. The weight of her world was upon her, crushing her, but she had no choice….
Jessie would never have understood. No one would have understood. So no one must know, because if they did, they would forever look at her in abhorrence and wonder how she could have done such a thing.
All of her friends who worshiped the ground she walked on—her piano association friends, her bridge club friends, her country club friends, her church friends, and not to mention her piano students—hundreds of them through the years who counted on her to reflect the standards of excellence—they would all abandon her. If the truth emerged, her legacy would be destroyed, like a tiny crack in a crystal heirloom destroys its worth as soon as it’s discovered. Then they would haul her off to jail. Isn’t that what happens?
Jessica would gladly dial the number. “Hello, I’d like to report a crime.” While they waited for the police, Jessica would spit out, “How could you have done this?” They would encircle her wrists with handcuffs and take her off to jail. Cart her out to the squad car in front of Mrs. McBride’s outstretched wave, whose face would melt into puzzlement. “Where are they taking you, Doris? Did you do something wrong?”
“I intended to help her,” she would cry.
Mrs. McBride would be on the phone in minutes. Jessica would whisper in her ear what she already knew—indeed, what she had known for years: “The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Grandmother.”
Jessie was leaning against the wall, shaken. Andy looked worried. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and pointed toward the reception area. Let’s go.
They headed back, taking the other hallway to the west. Once again, Jessie led the way, this time following the instructions Betty had given, to a room next to a broom closet, a room she’d never seen or visited. When they reached it, Jessica pronounced, “This is it. This was my mother’s room.”
Andy checked the death certificate. “Not according to this,” he repeated.
“Well, it is according to Betty.” Jessie slumped against the opposite wall, facing the room. So what now? What did it all mean? A woman named Olive. The wrong room on the death certificate. Andy approached her, placing a gentle arm on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
&
nbsp; Chapter Twenty-Eight
THEY SAT IN HER CAR for an hour. Jessie’s mind was a mingling of disconnected thoughts, but one kept breaking through, “Something went wrong here,” she whispered, her words coming out slow and deliberate. “Very wrong.”
“Obviously the place was, and still is, a mess,” Andy observed. “They probably didn’t file the death certificate properly. Couple that with two blond women, one Olive and another Olivia, and because of their disorganization, they confused the names and the room records.”
Jessie shook her head. “No … there’s more to it.” In her mind’s eye, she saw the demented woman, larger than her mother, standing up on the bed and screaming.
She took a deep breath and sighed. “I had no idea I’d come to this moment.”
Andy seemed exasperated, but Jessie only shook her head again. “The more I find, the more questions I have.”
“Questions about what?”
Jessie shrugged. “Isn’t it strange? Nothing on public record. My grandmother seems to hold the only certificate. She never buried the urn.” She looked at him closely, “And today she referred to my mother … as if she were still alive.”
Andy’s eyes held a look of incredulity, and she wanted to ask, Why do you keep looking at me like that?
“Jessie, what’re you suggesting?”
The streetlamp was still flickering, and the shadows on the window danced. She remembered the first day at Grandmother’s, overhearing the strange conversation between her and Bill. “When are you going to tell her?” She related it to Andy, who didn’t seem impressed. “It’s probably about the house, right?”
“Sounded too important for that,” Jessie said. “Andy, something is terribly wrong.”
That look was in his eyes again and this time she couldn’t help herself. “What aren’t you telling me, Andy?” She held his gaze as she said it, but he looked away. “What is your explanation for all this?”
He shrugged, still looking out the window. He seemed lost in mental deliberation.
She’d had enough. “You’ve been wanting to tell me something since the night on the hill.”
“Jessie—”
“What about your little speech at the fair about honesty? Can’t I expect the same from you?” A look of resignation.
She made a repeated attempt at humor. “Ve have vays, you know.” She playfully punched his shoulder, but he didn’t respond in kind. It was then that she realized she was right. He was hiding something, and it must be something bad. She bit her lip and braced herself.
He cleared his throat.
“C’mon, Andy,” she said.
He finally turned to her. “I know what they were talking about.”
“Who?”
“Your grandmother and Bill.”
Jessie was confused. “She has a right to know,” Bill had said.
“I’ll lose her for sure,” her grandmother had replied. But how could Andy know?
“How much do you know about your mother’s illness?” Andy asked finally.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“About how it’s … transmitted.”
Her mind leapt forward like a gazelle. While she wasn’t that fast on the uptake, she knew how to put two and two together. His father must have told him something, she thought suddenly.
Jessie leaned back in her seat, taking several deep breaths. She felt Andy’s hand resting on her shoulder. “You mean it’s … genetic?”
“There’s only a fifty-fifty chance,” Andy said, his tone reassuring. “All it means is you have to be tested.”
Fifty-fifty, she thought.
He began talking again, but she looked out the windshield, shutting him out. Fifty-fifty? Fifty-fifty chance of not only dying, but dying the way her mother had. The years before her would be more like death than life. Her entire body was going numb.
And who will care for me? she thought, staring at the hospital building now obscured in darkness. Would she die in an institution? Or would she be cared for by someone who didn’t deserve the burden?
“Let’s get through the first part,” Andy said, his hand touching her arm.
Let’s? As in, let us? Her throat closed up. “This is not your problem,” she managed to say.
“I’m making it mine.”
She turned to him. “You can’t just do that. You can’t just invade my life.”
“Jess …”
“I can’t become a burden.”
“Jess, first things first… .”
Jessie sighed, still peering into the years, a future she’d seen once before. “And no matter what, I will never stay with my grandmother.”
“Jessie,” Andy began again, exasperated, “let me say this, okay?”
She shrugged her left shoulder and he removed his hand.
“If you won’t let me help you, then your grandmother is the best choice, but we’re still way ahead—”
“I’d rather die in there,” Jessie whispered, glancing over at the institution.
“Jess, that doesn’t make sense. Can’t you just drop your …” He stopped.
Jessie came undone. “Drop what? My ego?” She pointed to the institution. “My grandmother is why my mom died there. My grandmother is why I never had the chance to say good-bye to my mother.” She was losing control of her emotions, her voice rising, but she couldn’t stop. “My mom always said that someday I would know my father as she knew him, but my grandmother denied me that chance. As far as I’m concerned, she killed him.”
Andy’s soft words broke through her frenzy. “Your father’s death was probably an accident, Jess.”
She glared at him. “What are you talking about?”
He took a deep breath. “My father called me this afternoon… .”
Incredulous, she listened as Andy explained.
“Your dad never told my dad that he was drinking, Jess—”
“But—”
“His depression pills aren’t even prescribed anymore because they were so volatile. When you combine them with alcohol—lots of alcohol—it can lead to respiratory failure.”
She shuddered. She’d done nearly everything to make sure her dad was taking those pills every day—short of grinding them up and putting them in his soup.
“It wasn’t your fault, Jess,” Andy assured her, as if reading her mind. “You didn’t know any better. Neither did my father.”
Jessie should have been relieved, but she felt a sharp pain in her stomach. She had spent a lifetime blaming her father for abandoning her and her grandmother for driving him to it. But … maybe her father hadn’t checked out by his own hand after all.
She felt like an overloaded electrical circuit. Too much, too fast. I’m dying. My father didn’t commit suicide. And something very wrong happened to my mother… .
“Andy,” Jessie said abruptly. “I need to get back.” And rearrange everything I’ve believed for the last dozen years.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she replied.
Andy put the car into gear, and they drove into the night. The lights of the city blazed before them and the cool summer night blew in through the partially open window. Neither spoke as they continued what seemed like a long trek back to her grandmother’s home. Jessie closed her eyes and tried to stop trembling.
When Andy pulled into the driveway, he shifted into park and gave her another sorry look.
“I’m okay, Andy.”
“Can I do—”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, getting out of his car. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Jess …”
“And everything else.”
Their eyes met, and he seemed to understand that she needed time to sort things out. Andy nodded regretfully. She shut the door abruptly and headed toward the house. She heard his car pulling out of the driveway and felt she might collapse. Every time he left it felt as if the wind were being removed from her sails. She stood on the porch, watching as his car disappear
ed around the bend. She might never see him again.
At the restaurant, Andy had intimated a romantic interest in her, but she’d been too distracted to respond. Any other time in her life, it would have seemed like a dream come true. But tonight she’d learned any future between them was doomed. She didn’t need a neurological test to reveal her personal destiny. Maybe that’s what her dreams were all about—a warning from her subconscious. A sign of her impending death.
If she had any courage, any decency, any love for him at all, she must never see him again.
“Good-bye, my old friend,” she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE HOUSE WAS QUIET and dark inside, as dark as a house with a white interior and tall windows could get, considering the generous display of moonlight. Jessie stood in the entryway for a moment, letting the silence swirl around her. She wasn’t surprised that no one had stayed up to welcome her back, but surely they’d welcome her exit. If she left before daybreak, she could avoid her grandmother but still say good-bye to Bill.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Andy had said.
No wonder her dad hadn’t left a note. The original autopsy report had indicated an overdose, which according to Andy’s explanation, would be true. Surely Andy’s father would have seen the blood alcohol level and suspected an accident, or maybe he just didn’t read the autopsy report. Maybe he took the coroner’s word for it and didn’t investigate further.
Jessie headed up the steps. When she passed her mom’s room, the door was unlocked, and not just cracked but wide open. She stood there for a moment, staring at it. Are we done with secrets? Is that it?
She considered going in, then hesitated. If she did so, she might never get to sleep tonight. She pulled the door shut instead, then went to her own room and sank onto the bed, covering her eyes with her arm. Andy thinks I’m crazy, too, she realized. No wonder he paid little attention to the accumulating clues. He’d lumped everything into his theory of her mental instability—either that or he thought she was already well on her way to full-blown dementia.
