Leaving Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  “This about Phoebe and Andrew?” No twinkling eyes accompanied his words. A touch of sadness often entered our conversations about his favorite Regan child.

  “Partially.”

  “We haven’t really seen Phoebe as herself since she got here, Annie.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “I know Fran thinks she’s got Phoebe all figured out, but I’m sure that that young woman is more grounded than we all see. I don’t know that they’re a match made in heaven, but this world is more about practical than hearts and wishes.”

  “Well, Andrew certainly is practical.”

  “You opened that young man to laughing and singing and feeling safe, Annie. But your son also learned to depend on himself at a young age.” He put a hand over mine. “Before the shooting he came to our house for a talk with Fran and me about Phoebe. His mind is as engaged as his heart.”

  My communicator hummed. “I’ve got to run.” I bent to pick up my tray and he stopped me. “Keep your Saturday mornings free when I’m commuting to Washington. We’ll have breakfast.”

  He’d find out later about Noah’s decision to join the Intellectual Corps. That news could only be shared in truly secured space. The announcement ceremony would take place here with a nauseating amount of federal chest pounding about the dedication and patriotism of Noah in accepting this responsibility. Plans were underway to parade Phoebe, David, and myself in a show of our family’s public service tradition. No one at Ashwood, not even Noah, knew of these plans.

  Two brown suits appeared as I closed Terrell’s door. I suspected that one of them would be all over Terrell’s office by mid-morning to make sure the time I spent there was safe and clear of listening devices. Ms. Commissioner had come home.

  Chapter 40

  Phoebe attempted to kill herself at nine forty that morning. Her timing showed careful coordination of family members’ schedules to take place during a pocket when everyone was engaged. David and John were halfway to a meeting in the metro. A visiting physician had started withdrawing Andrew’s wound drains. Noah and I were in a secured conference room.

  Frances, the only person outside the family given free access to visit Phoebe, was scheduled to assist with Andrew’s procedure. Fortunately the visiting physician brought an associate, so Frances, who heard hacking sounds from Phoebe’s alcove, left. She found Phoebe choking on the last of a small stash of miscellaneous pills.

  Lao followed Intellectual Corps protocol and closed the estate’s perimeter while on his way to collect me. He muscled past the brown suit of the morning to whisper “Phoebe” in my ear. I called the meeting to an end with Lao standing next to me inside the secured room.

  “What’s happened to Phoebe?” I asked as I pushed back my chair. Noah stood as well.

  “Inadvertent medication.” Lao spoke softly.

  “Is she alive?” The other word could not be said.

  “Frances found her in time.” He opened the door. “A cart is waiting outside.”

  The self-fulfilling prophecy, begun by an unknown grandfather, carried through a mother, almost claimed my beloved stepdaughter. The nature versus nurture debate remained unresolved for another generation. The little girl who wished she was dead when her father was missing, the teenager screaming alone in a college dorm, a young woman standing on a chair on a Paris hotel balcony had actually acted on emotions. She waited until she had come home to try a date with death.

  I held out a hand to Noah. “Come with me. David knows?” Lao nodded. “Who else?”

  “John is in the transport. No one else outside the medical team.”

  “What about Andrew?” Noah’s hand remained in mine, strong and cool.

  “He’s sedated for the transfer upstairs that’s happening right now.” Lao pointed to doors opening on the residence’s lower level. “They’re pumping Phoebe’s stomach so you might not be able to enter her room, but Andrew has been moved.”

  Noah jumped to the ground before Lao stopped and ran in the door.

  “Want me to stay?”

  I accepted with a nod of the head. Inside the sick bay calm ruled. It was possible to hear a gagging sound and low voices. I returned to the hall, to stare out a window at the pond where this part of Phoebe’s debacle began. Lao joined me, put one arm around my waist, a rare physical action.

  “She will recover. Frances found her choking on the last pills.” He spoke only facts, gave me a gentle squeeze, and then stepped away.

  The July sun was hot over the orchards and open fields where the grass remained crushed from the med copter. We should have been having a family picnic lunch on the patio or planning a special dinner before everyone headed back to his or her work. My mind searched through what I knew for a way to respond to this crisis, to plan the words I would say when Frances pulled back the curtains.

  “I don’t understand why now?” Lao bent his head closer to me as I spoke almost to myself. “When Ahlmet was torturing her I expected something like this. She was in hell. Now her life is smoothing out.”

  “Maybe that’s frightening.” He crossed his arms, turned his back to the window and looked at me. “The lab routine ruled her life. Her mind lived larger than her soul. She may not be as strong as young people who have had to figure out the simple and difficult questions of life.”

  “She was too young when they took her.” I lived in the metro for three years to keep her within the family until she was at least thirteen. Andrew and Noah were not sent to college until they were sixteen, but Phoebe was too bright. “All those emergency trips to Boston when no one could control her.” Tears rolled down my face at the memories. I brushed them away. “Milan himself had to force them to let her come home for the holidays and a few weeks in the summer. She was a young girl studying with twenty-year-olds and faculty.”

  “You did what you could.” He tipped his chin up. “Noah is coming.”

  I rubbed away the last tears as I turned. Noah’s arms wrapped around me. “She’ll be fine, Mom.” He pushed my head into his shoulder, the comforter. “Don’t cry.” Over my head he asked Lao when David would be back and confirmed it could be an hour or more. “Want to see her now?”

  We stepped apart and I patted my pockets for a handkerchief. “Sorry, I just lose all perspective when I think about what the Bureau’s gifted offspring program did to her.”

  “If she stays here, she’ll find her way. You and Terrell give her grounding.” He pulled at my arm. “Please don’t be generalizing and think that I’ll go the same route as Phoebs. I’m in far more control.”

  Lao’s head turned slightly. I held a finger to my lips. Noah flushed, hit his forehead with the palm of one hand.

  “From here to the stairs, the hall is clear,” Lao offered. “It’s been scoured every fifteen minutes since the medical team began setting up sick bay. We’ve been monitoring their scour for any listening or watching devices. So talk. I think I need to know about this.”

  I took the lead, gestured for Noah to be quiet. “You’ll have mail waiting for you regarding a conference call at three this afternoon about revisiting security for the announcement of Noah accepting appointment to the Intellectual Corps. That’s tentatively scheduled for late next week.”

  “Congratulations.” Lao held out his hand and they shook. “A family of honored individuals. My son should take note. And our future son.”

  “Congratulations to you as well. I know you wanted more children,” Noah said and I wondered how they came to have that conversation. “I want to check on Phoebe. Maybe Frances can come out to give you an update.”

  The sick bay door opened. In the seconds before it closed I thought I heard the sound of weak crying. I leaned back against the window ledge, felt the warmth of the sun on my back.

  “One of us should contact Milan,” Lao suggested.

  “Not really. They’ve terminated the e
xtended legal guardian relationship. Milan is now merely a friend of the family. And my boss.” Lao made a small sound. “I know, I’ve traveled across twenty some years to report to the same person.”

  “Regardless of the legal status, he will want to know that Phoebe is not doing well.” He handed me his communicator, the only one on the estate that was always secure from external hacking or interference.

  I held up a hand. “I’d rather you made the contact. I need to think.”

  While he left a terse message, I divided what had to be done into segments, made a few notes for myself on my data pad.

  “After I see Frances and Phoebe, I’m going to talk with Andrew. He’ll probably be out of sedation. I wonder if I should tell Faith or give her this study time?”

  A brown suit approached, holding out a communicator. “Secretary Milan for Ms. Hartford.”

  “Anne, how are you holding up?” The kindness in his voice gave me permission to let my emotions come through. “I’ve been in touch with Dr. Frances and it sounds like Phoebe was a long way from successful.”

  “I haven’t seen her yet. David has always been afraid this day would come and I really believed it wouldn’t. Phoebe promised me that she would call for help.” It was impossible to push aside guilt, but mostly I shook with anger at those who damaged the woman known as Phoebe. Lao put his arm back around me.

  “She’ll be okay, Annie.” Milan spoke quickly. “Frances will be her constant companion and she has the family for support. This is an unfortunate medication mix up that someone should have noticed.”

  I handed the communicator to Lao, unable to listen as Milan spun lies to cover his Bureau. Lao stepped away. I waved the brown suit back. “You’ll get your damn communicator back,” I hissed. “Give us some space.”

  Lao spoke with Milan, ended the call, and pocketed the brown suit’s communicator. “He directed me to have Frances give you a sedative.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  The sick bay door opened. Frances appeared, her usual calm physician exterior replaced with fierceness. She closed the door before walking the short distance to where we waited. I motioned toward where the brown suit lurked.

  “Leave,” she said pointing toward the guard. “I want you no closer to this door than the staircase or I will enter your name in the case notes as contributing to the stress of my patient.”

  He held up his hands, raised his shoulders as if caught in a lose-lose situation. She held her ground. With one more gesture of confusion, he wandered away.

  “Phoebe is fine physically. Her throat and nasal passages are uncomfortable, her stomach upset. She is hysterical so she has been sedated and very gently restrained. Noah is with her now, but she isn’t making sense.” Frances exhaled loudly. “She did not take enough medication to kill herself. In fact the pills she had secreted were an assortment of painkillers, sleeping aids and antibiotics. Nonsense.”

  “Thank God you were here.” I took her hands in mine.

  She smiled, a little upturning of her lips, squeezed my hands then pulled hers back. “We’ll keep someone on a twenty-four-hour watch of her as long as I feel that’s necessary.” Her hands slipped into the pockets of her physician coat. “I understand I’m being ordered to provide direct psychiatric care for ninety days and my regular clinic practice will be covered.”

  “Milan?” The plan was beyond common sense and I could see that Frances was angry. “Maybe in a day or so you can talk him into reason.”

  “Annie, I’m going to be straight with you.” Frances brought her hands out, swiped one through the air as she spoke. “This was just another dramatic search for attention. All Phoebe’s handlers jump when she wobbles off center. Something bothers her. She doesn’t have to stop and think, she throws out flares and others figure out how to make her feel secure again. They’ve supported a whole set of rewarded dangerous behaviors.”

  David called us from farther down the hall. Frances reached for me. “She wants to see you. Go ahead. No sympathy, no tears. Be calm. Follow Noah’s lead.” She bent her head toward the sick bay door. “Go ahead. I’ll update David and let him know that Phoebe will see him later, when she’s ready.”

  The alcove had been cleared of everything except Phoebe’s bed, a lamp, a monitor and two chairs. Noah leaned against the foot of the bed looking at his sister. He pointed for me to stand next to him.

  “Phoebe, Mom’s here. Talk to her. You scared her to hell.” He spoke with authority as if directing a less-experienced sibling. “Wake up, Phoebe.”

  Her eyelids twitched, one hand clenched the edge of a blanket a bit tighter. Clearly she could hear her brother and didn’t choose to acknowledge my presence.

  “Frances said you wanted to see me, Phoebs.” I left Noah’s side and smoothed the blanket away from her hand. I said two things that would provoke reaction. “I only have a few minutes to make sure you’re comfortable and check on Andrew before another meeting. You know how Clarissa manages my schedule.”

  Her eyes opened, all drugged and sad and irritated. “Not even life and death stop work.”

  “Harsh, Phoebe, you of all people,” I responded. “The whole family is here to,” the right word escaped my mind, “help you,” I finished.

  “What will you tell Andrew?” The words came out rugged.

  “What would you like me to tell him?”

  “The truth.” She cleared her throat, her face showed discomfort. She reached for a cup of water.

  “I don’t really know what that is, sweet one, but I will tell him what happened here.”

  “Just pull the curtain.” Again she swallowed water. “I’ll tell him myself.”

  “He’s been moved upstairs. Remember, that was the plan.” I moved my hand to her thin arm.

  She merely shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Shhh, Phoebe.” I gestured for Noah to hand me tissues, wiped her cheeks. She leaned into my hand in an odd, needy way that stopped me. “Dr. Frances says you need to sleep. We’ll visit more later.”

  I handed the tissue to Noah, bent to kiss her forehead, then left. Outside the door I leaned against the wall, struggling with the emotional game of tug and run in my mind.

  “How is she?” Sun shining through the window accentuated the lines and creases of my husband’s worried face. I walked a delicate high wire between love of the mentally ill woman in the room behind me and this man who had already walked through the torture of a woman intent on ending her own life.

  “Frances took good care of her, David.” I told him nothing new while taking care to not poison the waters with my reaction to her finely tuned hooks into our emotions. “She’s tired and kind of a mess. Noah is amazing.”

  “I’m going in to see for myself. I need to see her.” David was through the door before Frances could step in.

  She shrugged as the door closed. “Good a time as any. Everything is being monitored.”

  Lao and John were gone. Down the hall I saw the shadow of the brown suit guard. I lowered my voice. “This may have been the first time I felt a kind of revulsion to her naming me as the one who must be by her side. Tell me what to think about that.”

  “That’s healthy, Annie. It will be good that this new Washington job demands your attention. You’re her emotional cares in the absence of an assigned gofer.” She checked her watch. “When David comes out I want you to return to whatever you planned to be doing. I’ll be directing all future contact with her. I assume you’ll tell Andrew?”

  I nodded.

  “Be honest with him. Tell him what physically happened. I wouldn’t suggest you pass on your emotional response unless he asks.” She checked her watch again. “Andrew is an insightful man who grew up with an emotionally impacted first mother. He’ll ask whatever questions he needs answered. Now I’ve got to ask David to le
ave so I can take care of the patient.”

  Chapter 41

  David and I walked slowly down the long hallway, holding hands, but not speaking. I turned abruptly, waved the brown suit to join us.

  “When we get upstairs, I am going to speak with my son. In private.” I struggled to keep my voice polite. “I am not happy about your presence and will be filing a request to restrict the presence of the entire brown suit work group within this home. From discussions with other commissioners I understand there are alternative electronic security methods.” I checked to see if he understood what I was asking from him. “So I’m directing you to monitor all entrances and exits from whatever building I might be in while we are in Minnesota, but to not in any way trail me inside the buildings.”

  “Ms. Hartford, I am following directives.” His shoulders did not lower, his eyes bored into mine.

  “Thank you, but I just told you that from what I have discovered, your crew is being overly intrusive in a perimeter already operating under Intellectual Corps security protocols. You need to back down.”

  I turned away. David squeezed my hand. “It’s true. I’ve send Lao a bulletin distributed in Washington about potential abuse by this security group. I should have waited for him to take action, but this particular young man has been like an unnecessary shadow. I’m not in the mood to play along.”

  “I’d like to visit Andrew with you.” David sounded uncertain.

  “Of course. Then we’ll have coffee in the secured conference room. By the way, Lao scoured Andrew’s room so we can talk openly.”

  The suite where Andrew would recover was bathed in sun filtered through soft blinds. He rested on a recliner, covered by light blankets, and once again monitored. Otis, Paul’s former medical assistant, recorded information by Andrew’s side.

  “Good timing,” he said as we entered. “Andrew’s doing well. There’s a bit of drainage I’m watching, but that’s expected. His temperature is a bit elevated, again the doctor said that would be normal.” He closed his data pad. “I’ll get out of here and come back in about thirty minutes. He can have water or juice.”