Sylvia could never have imagined that happening to him. Anger at the police, their incompetence, their insensitivity made her blood boil. A crusade against gratuitous harassment of the mentally ill surged inside her, and pity for her brother broke her heart. “But why? Why did they come after you?”
“They thought I was somebody else. A criminal. Rapist! I’m not sure. They even called an ambulance to take me to a psych ward!”
“My god, how frightening. I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” Sylvia insisted.
“Naw, it turned out okay,” Steve said. “I was freaked out and couldn’t drive home, so the Silver Lake cop . . . um . . . Paul, that’s it, drove me home in my car. He’s new here. And he showed me how to work the defrost.”
Guilt, she thought. Just trying to make up for his mistake. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Just a little sore and scraped up is all.”
“Something isn’t right. It’s police brutality, plain and simple.”
Their food came, but Sylvia was too upset to be hungry. She drove to the lake, and they found a picnic table. Steve downed both his burgers. Slowly, Sylvia managed to eat hers.
He passed her the fries, “Here, have some.” She took a few.
“Oh. I peed my pants when they threw me down. I put them in the chute.”
Another mystery solved. Good thing he’s not incontinent, yet. “Do you want to see Dr. Nora and talk about this?”
“No, I just want to forget it happened,” he said.
“But didn’t the Silver Lake cop recognize you?”
“Not at first. But when he looked at my license, he told the Falls police that I wasn’t their guy.”
“So he finally did know who you were,” Sylvia said.
“Yeah, I guess.”
The whole village “knew” who Steve was, just not the nature of his problem. Their parents had never divulged his diagnosis to any of their friends—the stigma too shameful to mention, the guilt too great. Somehow their parents, especially their mother, felt to blame, as if they’d caused it, even when the psychiatrist told them otherwise. No one knew what caused schizophrenia.
Sylvia had to think it through—what to do first, or next. Call the Silver Lake police department, she decided. Get a police report. Get the facts. Possible lawsuit? She didn’t want to jump too far ahead of herself, and she’d have to wait until Nancy was out of the house.
When they got home, Nancy was there but apparently no one else. Steve asked if he could go to Pizza Hut, and Sylvia asked if he wanted her to go with him.
“Not really. I’d rather be alone,” he replied.
Not the answer she wanted.
Sylvia found Nancy in the kitchen, fixing a vodka tonic. “It’s five o’clock somewhere!” she said.
“How’s it going?” Sylvia asked.
“Quicker than I thought! They’ll be back for another load, and then we should be done. They took my bed. We’ll be sleeping at Lisa’s tonight, so we’ll be out of your hair.” Her voice had an edge.
“Take all the time you need,” Sylvia said.
“I wanna make it quick, since there’s so much else to organize.”
“I know,” Sylvia said.
“No, you probably don’t. This sudden move has added a lot of stress to what I’ve been going through,” Nancy said.
Uh oh, Sylvia thought. Lisa must’ve gotten to her today. “I’m sure it has.”
“I’ve always thought of Steve, you know. What he needed, making sure he had food, letting him know my schedule, leaving him notes . . . “
Wasn’t that part of the deal? Sylvia thought. “Well, I know you’ve tried, but it’s not easy to put his needs above your own. The past few months have made that pretty clear.”
“You have no idea how difficult it is to live with him!” Nancy insisted.
“I think I do!” Sylvia retorted.
“How could you? You’ve never lived with him.”
Martin-speak, Sylvia thought. She wanted to diffuse the fruitless conversation, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I’ve tried to stay as involved as I can from far away. Of course, it’s difficult. I see that. And you’ve made a big difference for him. I do appreciate that.”
“I’m not sure you do,” Nancy spat.
“I’ve tried to accommodate your changing plans. That’s been stressful for me, you know,” Sylvia paused. “Since Martin.”
“Martin is the first man that cared about me enough to stand up!” Nancy said. “To put me first.”
“And I’m glad you found him. But that doesn’t change what’s been happening here. And that’s what I have to focus on.” Sylvia wanted to mention Danny staying there. The piles of laundry she’d find when she arrived. And not only had Nancy lived there for free, but she’d received money for groceries. But Sylvia held her tongue. No need to add to the heat, revisiting all the problems under Nancy’s watch.
Nancy was quiet. Sylvia was quiet. Nancy turned her back to face the window, looking out at the backyard. Sylvia opened the fridge and grabbed the open bottle of La Crema Chardonnay. She poured a glass. “I think I’ll join you.”
Nancy turned around and clinked her glass to Sylvia’s. “We’re all moving on.”
Sylvia nodded, “Yes, we are. And that’s life isn’t it? Nothing stays the same.”
“Thank god,” Nancy said.
27
After Nancy left, the house felt more peaceful than ever. Somehow it was easier, just Sylvia and Steve. Their parents’ old bed and dresser were back in their bedroom—her bedroom now. She could think more clearly without accommodating anyone’s needs, aside from Steve’s. Hiring a stranger to live with Steve might be better—their relationship would be strictly a matter of business, with no family dynamics in the way. Sylvia could only hope. The interviews would begin the next day. Right now, she had to address Steve’s altercation with the police. She called the Silver Lake Police Department.
Perhaps predictably, what Sylvia discovered differed greatly from Steve’s story. Trauma distorted truth, and Steve wasn’t that reliable. He’d failed to mention that he’d been pulled over twice and had driven off. She didn’t know why, and she might never know. The police had no option but to stop him from “running,” and his running had implied guilt. No wonder he was mistreated. She’d have to talk to him, to warn him never to drive away from the police. She’d have to wait for the right moment to explain that. But not yet.
First, Sylvia needed to prepare for tomorrow’s interviews. She made up a list—ten basic duties:
1) Clean three main areas: Steve’s bedroom, bath, and kitchen.
2) Laundry: his clothes, bed linens
3) Clean his eating area in dining room (food on floor)
4) Check that his med tray is filled and remind him to take them
5) Grocery shop
6) Prepare meals
7) Dump ashtrays in garage & patio areas
8) Clean fridge and check for spoiled food
9) Set out trash for Friday pick up
10) Extra time: vacuum, dust (cobwebs) living room, family room, upstairs, & basement
Sylvia decided to meet the candidates at a local restaurant, Bob Evans.
An obese, silver-haired woman waddled from her beater car—rusted doors, windows smudged with grime, dented front end—across the parking lot to the entrance of the restaurant where Sylvia was waiting.
“Dolores?” Sylvia asked.
“That’s me,” she breathed heavily.
Sylvia introduced herself, opened the door, and followed Dolores inside.
When they were shown to their table, Dolores tossed her over-sized, cracked, faux-leather purse onto the booth seat and sidled in with a heave of relief. “Why I lug that thing around . . . you’d think I needed it,” she said. Sweat was collecting on her flushed forehead and neck. She dug into her purse, pulled out a dingy gray handkerchief, and wiped her neck and brow. “Exercise sure ain’t a habit of mine!” she guffawed.
>
That’s exercise? Crossing the parking lot? Sylvia blinked in disbelief. How would Dolores ever make it up and down the stairs to do laundry? And Steve—who said he was grossed out by his own belly—would be grossed out looking at her every week. Dolores made him seem fit.
Nevertheless, they were here, so they ordered breakfast. Dolores got pancakes, with whipped cream and strawberries, and sausage. Sylvia ordered a veggie omelet and a side of fresh fruit.
While they waited for their food, Sylvia briefly reviewed her list of tasks, while Dolores hammered her with questions. “How do I pay for groceries? Do I have to use my car? Does Steve help with chores? Does he eat three meals a day? Is he ever violent? Does the job pay?”
Sylvia wanted to give it up right there, but the food hadn’t arrived yet, so she went through the motions, inquiring about Dolores’ previous care-giving experience. She never got a straight answer. Good riddance, Dolores.
That afternoon, Sylvia met with a psychiatric nurse, who looked to be in her early thirties. She had a hot body, wearing a provocative, low-cut silk blouse that accentuated her large, firm breasts, tight jeans, and strap heels. She had hot pink toenail polish, acrylic fingernails to match, long blond hair, and heavy make-up. Steve’s fantasy personified: the Playboy Bunny. Her credentials were promising, but she was too pretty.
The following morning, Sylvia met candidate number three, a middle-aged man, a nurse practitioner at the local VA hospital, who never cracked a smile. This no-nonsense, Vietnam vet was used to dealing with damaged souls and knew what they needed. As he described it, “In short, to be kept busy with regular chores, eat balanced meals, early to bed, early to rise.” The military approach, Sylvia thought. Steve’s fears about men brought to life.
Sylvia was beginning to wonder if she’d have to live there indefinitely. And then, the biggest surprise. When Steve asked about the interviews, Sylvia told him she didn’t like anyone so far, but she’d keep trying.
“Well, I know you probably won’t let me,” he began. “But I was wondering if I could live independently.” Social worker speak.
Sylvia was taken aback. “I never thought about that,” she said.
“I think I could try,” Steve ventured.
Sylvia had to process this. Was he able? Better equipped now? Was this possible? “Maybe I’ll speak to Dr. Nora about that. And Marcie, your new living specialist.” They’d met Marcie soon after the library interview. Steve seemed to like her, probably because she was pretty and young—a pleasant surprise for him. “And I’ll call Scott,” Sylvia said.
“Okay. I like being here by myself.”
“I bet,” she agreed. “I have to say I like it better with no one else here, too.”
28
SEPTEMBER 2002
September was hot and humid, and the locusts hadn’t stopped buzzing since August. Sylvia recalled the stifling classrooms in grade school. It didn’t help that she wore sweaters and wool pleated skirts with knee socks, because she couldn’t wait to wear fall clothes. How silly. Like not wearing white after Labor Day. Sylvia longed for October weather, when the air was crisp and cool, but she’d be back home in Los Angeles by then. And it’d be hot there, too, through November. After ten years, she still couldn’t get used to that. Thank god the home in Ohio was air-conditioned. She stayed inside most of the time, unless she went to the lake—a great comfort.
When Sylvia told Scott about Steve’s request to live alone, he was as surprised as she was. “Oh boy, that seems a reach. But kind of good that he’d even ask. Shows gumption,” he said, using one of their dad’s favorite words.
Sylvia laughed. “It does. When I checked with Dr. Nora and Marcie, his new living specialist, they both thought it was a good sign and worth a try.”
“What’s a living specialist?”
“They don’t call themselves case managers anymore,” she said. “Anyway, they said that the optimal situation is to live independently.”
“Sounds like psychobabble to me,” Scott said.
“But if we lay down some conditions for Steve, it might work,” Sylvia said.
“Like what?”
“Like we set up a housekeeper to come several times a week, to clean and do laundry, to check that his med tray is filled—stuff like that.”
“Where do you find one?”
“Marcie said that Medicaid can provide an aide fourteen hours a week, so it’s free.”
“That’s great. But wouldn’t you have to train the person?” Scott asked.
“Of course. Maybe another condition should be that he has to take his meds to live here on his own,” she said.
“For sure. But we’ll never know if he has.”
“We’ve never really known. All he wants is to live by himself. His heart is in it.”
“But it takes consistency, which we can never count on,” Scott said. “It seems like more is needed to make it work.”
“We’ll only know if we try,” Sylvia replied. “But I’m hoping you can be more involved.”
“I’m not sure how I can with work and all,” Scott said begrudgingly.
Why wouldn’t he know how? Sylvia wondered. In her mind, this was a family situation that required close monitoring by both of them. She needed Scott to be there for her and for Steve. “Right now,” she suggested, “it seems an occasional trip here, with me, would be what I’d need from you.”
“Yeah, I s’pose so,” Steve relented. “It’s just hard with a young family.”
Scott’s daughter was ten years old, an only child. She was a gem— never a problem. Sweet-natured, lovely, a good student, and eager to please. Why would it be so hard for Scott to come to Ohio for a few days, once or twice a year? And his wife didn’t work, so she was home and super dedicated to raising their daughter with good values, activities, and community involvement. After what Sylvia went through as a single parent for twelve years, working full-time, she couldn’t imagine why Scott couldn’t manage this small request. “I don’t see why it would be so hard,” Sylvia said. “I thought you might want to.”
“I do want to, sort of. You know how I hate going back there. Too many bad memories when Steve went off the grid. And I also just started a different career, which takes a lot of time.”
Scott had quit modeling full-time to train as a stockbroker. He was burned out from traveling and bored with the scene. He said he didn’t want to go back to chemical engineering, his first career, so he took his chances and started over. More money in brokerage, he’d said.
Sylvia tried to understand. She knew how Scott’s life had changed overnight after Steve’s first psychotic break, and it only became worse throughout Scott’s high school years. Scott had lived through it all, and Sylvia hadn’t. But now more than ever, it seemed to her an unavoidable responsibility that they should share. “Well, I hope you’ll try for my sake. And you won’t be here by yourself,” she offered. “You’ll be with me.” Scott had visited Steve twice without her, but it hadn’t gone well, even though Nancy was there, too. One never knew with Steve—mood swings were inevitable.
“I’d only be there when you’re there anyway. Steve is always better with you.” He sighed, “You know I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I ask.”
The next morning, Sylvia made bacon, scrambled eggs, and English muffins for breakfast. She and Steve sat together at the dining room table, and she told him the good news.
Steve was elated. “Really? You’ll let me live by myself?”
She chuckled. “Yes.” She explained the basic conditions, and he seemed amenable. “We’ll meet with Marcie this afternoon to talk about the arrangements.”
“What time?” Steve asked.
“One o’clock.”
“Can I go to Pizza Hut now? I’ll be back by one.”
Steve actually showed up ahead of time. He was sweating. “It’s so hot out!”
“Why don’t you wear shorts? And a short-sleeved shirt? You’d feel better,” Sylvia said.
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“My legs are too white.” Steve headed to his room.
Marcie arrived, and Steve joined them in the living room. He’d changed clothes—short-sleeved shirt but not shorts.
Sylvia began to outline the conditions, mentioning that the housekeeper or aide should come three times a week, for two hours.
Steve balked. “I don’t need someone here that much. I can do that stuff.”
Here we go, Sylvia thought. He’s already digging in his heels. “No, we have to keep the house in good shape. You don’t do your laundry.”
“Oh, right.”
“Or dust or vacuum or wash dishes, change sheets or—”
“Okay, okay,” he relented.
“These are the conditions we already discussed for you to live independently,” Sylvia reminded him.
“Who’s going to come?” he asked.
“I’ll arrange for someone,” Marcie said. “It’ll probably take about ten days before someone can start.” She looked at Sylvia. “Will you still be here?”
“I’ll be here until mid-September.”
“It might be close,” she considered. “It takes time to get it processed. And, Steve, you need to be here while the aide is here.”
“I do?”
“Yes. It’s the law. She’ll come at exact times, so you’ll know when you have to be here to let her in.”
This was news to Sylvia, but it made sense. She couldn’t imagine that Steve would keep track of a schedule. He never had one. Except for his one hour at the library, one day a week. “Can someone call him the night before to remind him? Like they call to remind him to take his meds?”
“That’s changing,” Marcie said. “Steve hasn’t answered the phone when they’ve called, so they won’t continue to remind him of his meds anymore.”
“Oh dear. No med reminder call anymore?” Sylvia wondered if she should call him about his meds. A big undertaking.
“I don’t need a call about my meds,” Steve said. “I always take my meds.”
“Well, sometimes you fall asleep and forget,” Sylvia said.
Steve rolled his eyes. “I take them, Sylvia.”
Just In Time Page 20
