Temporary medical leave.
More like being put out to pasture. Her sick days had run out, and she still hadn’t been approved for medical disability. Her husband’s illness had used up most of them, not that she regretted using them to take care of him during his last days. Those days had been precious—for both of them.
She forced herself to stay in the moment, instead of her own problems. Involuntarily, her hand strayed towards her lips, her mouth. A speech pathologist whose mouth wouldn’t move the way it was supposed to wasn’t worth much. First, the death of her husband, and then the Bell’s palsy that froze her face and slurred her words. Losing her job had been too much. Now she had nothing good left. Nothing to get up and get dressed for every morning. In less than a year, her life had gone from wonderful to…nothing.
Not wanting to call attention to her drooping mouth, she buried her hands in her lap. “I guess I can give it a try as long as you underst—”
“Wonderful. Wonderful.” He clapped his hands. “Sandy will be so pleased. And, of course, so am I.”
He pulled out a business card. After scribbling on it, he handed it to her. “Here’s our address. I can try to answer your questions. Please ask me anything you like. I’ll tell you what I can.”
Maven tried to think of something to make herself sound more prepared for this new assignment than she actually felt. “How is she doing?”
“Physically, she’s able to take care of her basic needs now. After the coma, she couldn’t take care of herself, but she’s improving. She still has physical and occupational therapy, so her days are fairly busy.”
“Does she attempt to communicate at all with you or the other family members?”
“Not much. It’s almost as if she’s given up.”
“That has to be hard for her and the family.”
Donald nodded. “Especially for her. When she was younger, we called her blabbermouth because she loved to talk. Now she stays up in her room most of the time by herself. Her friends have tried to be supportive, but you know how young people are.”
Life could be so hard. Sometimes it was just easier to give up rather than get knocked down again and again. Maven understood that completely. “When you ask her to do something, will she do it?”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Are you asking if she’s combative with us?”
“No, I mean, do you think she understands you? For example, if you ask her to hand you the remote to the TV, does she pick it up and give it to you? Does she simply stare or maybe even get you the wrong item?”
“Oh, I see. I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. I work a lot of hours. My wife spends more time with her than I do. Perhaps you should talk with Sandra before you actually see Ella.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll figure it out as I go along. The reports, though, are important. I want to see her treatment history and how she responded to physical therapy. The results of any tests they gave her.”
“I’ll be sure to get them to you.” He stood. “Thanks so much.”
She stood as well. “Don’t thank me yet. Like I said, it’s not my area of expertise.”
“I’m sure you’ll do a perfectly wonderful job.” He pulled a check out of his pocket and handed it to her. “This is for the first month of treatment. It’s not an hourly fee so don’t get stuck in that mode. We’re not counting hours and neither should you. Come and work with her. When she gets tired or stressed, stop. All we want is for her to get better.” After making arrangements for the first session, Donald Decker left.
Maven looked at the check. Her mouth dropped open. That couldn’t be right. But the words matched the numbers of zeroes. Well, at least she could pay this month’s mortgage and the next three months as well. Even if she didn’t know what she was doing. “Lizzie, where are you?”
Lizzie popped her head out of Maven’s office. “All done?”
“I’m done with him, but not with you.”
Lizzie walked down the hall and into the living room. “No need to thank me. I was glad to do it.”
Maven glared at her friend. “Believe me, thanking you was not what I had in mind.”
Lizzie flitted her eyelashes, the picture of innocence. “Why? What’s the problem? I thought you’d be thrilled to get a job. All you do anymore is sit around here and feel sorry for yourself.”
“That’s not true.” But even as she protested, she knew Lizzie was right. She’d been throwing a massive pity party for quite some time.
“It is true, and you know it. You refuse to even go to church anymore. I know you have a right to be a little depress—”
“I am not depressed.”
“Whatever. I’m not going to argue, but I thought it might be good for you to focus on something or someone other than your own problems for a change. And as your friend, I’m not afraid to speak the truth.”
4
In spite of not feeling up to keeping the therapy session, Maven forced herself to get dressed, gather up a few materials, and head out. As much as she hated to admit it, Lizzie was right. She did need to focus on someone else’s problems. After doing some research, she had a few ideas of what to do.
Maven stopped her car at the wrought-iron gate in front of the Decker mansion. Pink metal roses sat atop the curly-cued, pristine white iron work. The detail was amazing. There were several different shades of pink flowers and buds of all sizes. Some had huge, dark green leaves as well as lighter, tiny green ones. Little blobs of brown—probably thorns. Did the gate smell like roses? It looked so lifelike that it might.
Maven had never actually been to house with a locked gate before. What was she supposed to do? Blow her horn? There had to be an intercom, right? There always was in the movies. As she reached for the car door, the gate opened. Her gaze traveled around. Were they watching her?
She parked in the circular drive and stepped out, trying very hard not to be intimated by the mansion. People were just people—no matter how much money they had, right? Good, bad, and everything in between, just like everyone else.
Of course, there weren’t many richer or more powerful around Wooster than the Decker family.
Refusing to be intimidated, she grabbed her therapy bag from the passenger seat, took a deep breath, and walked towards the door. She’d felt frumpy when she met with Donald Decker.
Hoping to avoid that same feeling today, she’d taken more time with her appearance. She’d chosen a long brown skirt with a layered top, and boots. Her long black curls were pulled back into a manageable ponytail. Maven liked her look even if it was a bit dated. The clothes also hid the twenty-five pounds she needed to lose.
Sandra Decker opened the door.
It had been years since Maven had their son Micah in therapy at school, but she’d seen Sandra in the newspaper, and even the occasional TV appearance. The woman was still slim, blonde, and beautiful.
Maven pasted a bright smile on her face.
Sandra walked out to greet her. So much for fashion. Sandra hadn’t dressed up for the occasion. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, she grinned at Maven. “It’s been a long time, Mrs. Morris.”
Maven pushed out her hand. “Maven is fine. I only make my students call me Mrs. Morris, and since I don’t have them any longer, Maven’s the name, Mrs. Decker.”
The two women shook hands.
“Call me Sandra. Maven is a very unusual name.”
“My mother was a very unusual woman, Sandra.”
“Aren’t they all?” Sandra stopped at the door, motioning for Maven to go in first. Obviously well-mannered and gracious, she exuded an air of confidence. “So, how did your mother come up with the name?”
“The story goes that a nurse in the delivery room said something about the snow-white baby with bright blue eyes and raven black hair. My mother, who was sort of out of it from the drugs, started singing, ‘my raven-haired maven.’ And then insisted that was my name.”
Sandra laughed, a sweet and gentle tinkle. �
�As far as I’m concerned, it’s a great name and a great fit. I think she got it right.”
“Well, they’d already decided my name would be…” She paused with drama. “Are you ready for this? Hazel. Can you imagine? Hazel. After my grandmother, whom I loved very much. But really—Hazel?”
“Lucky your mother took the drugs, huh?” Sandra grinned.
Yes, siree, indeed.” Maven stepped in the foyer, trying not to let her jaw drop. She turned to Sandra. “Nice digs.”
More laughter.
Maven liked this woman. There was nothing pretentious about her.
“So, would you like some coffee or tea, and we can talk about the accident and her progress? Or what?”
“Coffee would be great. Does Ella know I’m coming today?”
“I told her.”
“Did you explain the reason for the visit?”
“I did, and I think she understood.” Sandra turned towards Maven, her gaze skittered a bit. “But, of course, I can’t be sure one way or the other.”
They walked into a kitchen that was easily three times the size of Maven’s and much shinier. All the appliances were silver—and not a fingerprint on any of them.
“Of course, I understand that.”
Sandra motioned to the kitchen island in the center.
Maven sat down.
Sandra poured coffee and then placed a plate of Danish pastries on the counter. “Try one. I made them myself.”
Maven looked down at the plate. “You made them. From scratch? I’m impressed.”
“It’s not that hard. It just takes a long time for the dough to rise and then rise again. And I have plenty of time these days. I don’t like to leave Ella alone so I’ve cut back on my schedule.”
Maven picked up a pastry filled with cherries and cheese. “I really shouldn’t. I need to lose some weight. I’m always on a diet.”
“I can’t imagine why. You don’t need to lose any weight.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “It’s because the media is so focused on an ideal body type that has nothing to do with reality. You look just right to me.”
Maven took a bite of the Danish. Very tasty. The tartness of the cherries mingled with the sweetness of the cream cheese filling was perfect. “Tastes wonderful.”
“Thanks.” Sandra smiled as she nibbled on one.
“It must be a difficult situation for you.”
“We are so thankful to God for sparing Ella’s life. Nothing else matters.”
Thankful to God? Maven stared at Sandra Decker. Did she really mean those words?
Sandra Decker obviously still had faith in God.
“But Ella might never be the same person she used to be.”
“Then she’ll be the best she can be, considering the circumstances. At this point, all we want is for her to be happy. And besides, we believe in miracles.”
Miracles. There was that word Maven hated. “Well, as long as you understand that I am not the miracle worker. That was a movie. And not a very realistic one.”
“Oh, I understand that. God is the only miracle worker we need.”
When they’d finished their coffee and pastry, Maven turned to business. “I’ll just meet with her for a few minutes today and gather up those reports after we set up a schedule for the next week. I don’t want to intrude on your life any more than necessary. How’s that sound?”
Sandra placed a hand on her arm. “Of course, any way you want to do it is fine. And you are not an intrusion. You are a godsend.”
“I hope you’re husband explained my reluctance to take the job. You really need to understand, this is definitely out of my area of expertise.”
“He did tell me, but we believe in you. You did such a wonderful job with Micah, and we know you’ll do the same for Ella. We’re so grateful you’re helping us.”
“That’s very sweet. I can’t make any promises. It’s all about hard work—not mine, but Ella’s, and a lot of it. If we can make some progress, it won’t be easy. Or quick.”
“I understand, but I know you’ll be able to help.” Sandra’s voice was soft and a bit shaky. “It’s horrible for her not being able to communicate. She’s shut herself off from everyone and everything except for her immediate family.”
Maven had agreed to the job, and she needed to make a commitment to do the best she could. This family had more than their fair share of negativity and problems since their daughter got hit by a truck in the middle of the night.
“Well, hopefully that will start to change.”
5
Sandra escorted Maven up the stairs. ‘Stairs’ was an understatement; they were more like a work of art. One side hugged a pristine white wall as it gently wound its way up to the second floor. The steps were a lustrous mahogany with a beautiful patterned carpet as a runner. The railings were an intricate pattern of black wrought iron.
“Is this Persian?” Maven motioned to the runner.
“No way.” Sandra laughed. “Not with kids. I saw the pattern on a trip and loved it. So I had it made into a much more durable runner.”
“Makes sense.”
They stopped at a door.
“Shall I go in and make the introductions?” Sandra asked.
Maven half-smiled. It still felt more like a twisted grimace as far as she was concerned, no matter what anybody told her. More than six months since the Bell’s palsy and still no visible recovery. It wasn’t going to happen, and that meant she’d never return to her job.
She pushed the negative thoughts away. No sense dwelling on that right now. She needed to focus on Ella. “No, we’ll be fine. I don’t expect to be here for very long today. I’m just going to do a little talking and a little assessing, and I’ll be on my way. I think we came up with a good schedule for the rest of the week.”
“Start small and go from there.” Sandra repeated the words Maven had spoken a few minutes earlier as they’d written in the schedule on their respective calendars. Sandra looked as if she wanted to say something. Instead, she gave a nervous smile and shrugged. “See you tomorrow, then.”
Maven knocked on the door and waited.
No response.
She knocked once more.
Moments later, the door opened.
Ella Decker was half-leaning against the door, her sandy blonde hair in a simple chin-length bob. She looked a lot like her mother except she was painfully thin without a hint of muscle tone she’d surely had as a swimmer destined for the Olympics. That dream was gone now.
“Good morning, Ella. I’m Maven, or you might remember me as Mrs. Morris from school. I was the speech pathologist there. But from now on, you can call me Maven. You’re not a student, and I’m not the teacher.”
There didn’t appear to be even a glimmer of recognition, but Ella opened the door wider.
Maven walked in. “Oh, what a nice room.”
It was huge. One side of the space looked like a typical bedroom, but the other side had been arranged as a sitting room. A small love seat with a chair on each side. A coffee table with a few books and a ton of magazines. A flat screen plasma TV was attached to the wall directly opposite the sofa. To the side was a small refrigerator.
All the comforts of home without Ella having to leave the room if she didn’t want to. As if she were Rapunzel, high in the tower. No one to see her and no one to demand anything of her. It probably made life a lot easier for Ella that way. Perhaps too easy? Why make the effort to talk if one didn’t have to?
And this way the rest of the family didn’t have to deal with Ella and her handicap. Her parents could pretend their life was still picture perfect.
Knowing that was an unfair supposition, Maven pushed the thought away. She was ashamed of herself. She had no right to make such a judgment. She turned towards Ella with a smile.
Ella stood by the closed door. She stared at Maven with light blue eyes—the color of a pale spring day’s sky. Her face showed no sign of what she might be feeling.
“Anyway…your parents
want to see if I can help you get a better handle on this communicating thing. What do you say?”
No response.
Maven’s stomach did a little butterfly dance, but she forged ahead. “Why don’t you sit down beside me?” Maven walked to the sofa and sat. Very deliberately, she moved to her therapy bag and took out some pictures she’d brought.
A moment later, Ella joined her.
Maven looked up with a smile. “OK, let’s get started. Your mom says you don’t talk much and that’s OK with me, because I love to talk. But can you nod your head for me?”
No response.
“Go ahead. Nod for me.” Maven nodded.
Ella nodded.
“Great. How about a shake of the head?” Maven shook her head.
Ella shook her head.
Good, now what should she do? She felt the panic oozing up to the surface. What had made her think she could do this? Stop it. Do your job. “Now which one means yes?”
A nod.
“And which one means no?”
A shake.
“Great. Can you say yes for me?”
Ella’s pale blue eyes stared into Maven’s. She shook her head.
Maven forced a chuckle. “OK, well that was clear enough for me. So, I’m thinking you aren’t ready to talk with me, yet?”
A nod. And then a shake and another nod. Then a small smile.
Maven laughed. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Ella. A sense of humor will get you through some pretty dark days. I know; I’ve been there.” She didn’t add that she was still there.
Maven lifted her finger to her lip, slid it across the cheek area, up to her eye, and then ended at the eyebrow. “Can you see how this side of my face looks different from the other side?”
Ella nodded.
“Well, I developed something called Bell’s palsy. Ever hear of it?”
Ella gave a slight shake of the head.
A small surge of excitement went through Maven. Ella did understand, at least some of it. “It’s usually caused from an inflammation of some sort to the facial nerve. In other words, my facial nerve swelled up, and then it stopped working.”
Deadly Communications Page 2
