by Ruth Hay
“Portia, this is Wesley. He is a doctor, as am I. Listen to him for a few minutes while I take a rest. Your grandmother is right here with you.”
Marian thought they were dealing with Portia as if she were blind. In some ways she was blind; blind to the present; stuck somewhere in a dark, dismal, painful past.
Wesley began to speak in a soft and soothing tone. He told Portia about the lovely house he and Zoe lived in. How it had been a dreadful wreck of an old church when Zoe found it and how they had renovated it slowly and carefully and finally they had been married within its walls. He was just describing the clock tower and how they made it into an observatory when a tiny voice interrupted.
Marian had been lulled by Wesley’s story as it unfolded and almost forgotten Portia was there.
“What colour are the walls?”
“Why, Portia, the walls are mostly white to catch all the light from the windows but upstairs in the bedrooms we have pastel colours to reflect the trees outside.”
“What fabrics did you choose? I know about fabrics. The patterns and weaving make me feel secure.
Colours make me happy. Is it a happy house?”
Wesley moved an inch or two closer to Portia and began to describe how the home had been the scene of some very happy occasions, including reunions with family and friends. Very, very slowly her eyes rose up to his and she relaxed in her chair. It was a small thing. It was not necessarily a step toward any healing for her but it was assuredly a mark of confidence in the younger man and that was no small achievement in itself.
* * *
Megan Anderson walked for some miles on the wooden boardwalk above the pathways where the electric carts zoomed by. She did not see much of the vibrant foliage around her or feel much of the breeze blowing in from the bay. Her emotions were in turmoil. Part of her was angry with her daughter for causing such disruption in what was supposed to be a family holiday. Part of her was fearful that she might be blamed for the state her child was in. As her feet hit the oiled wooden slats a litany consumed her mind.
It’s not my fault. How could I know? I did not cause this to happen. What am I to do?
She kept imagining the horrified faces of her brother and his wife when they knew about Portia’s breakdown. Even worse would be the condemnation of her mother and father. How could she explain her actions to them when she, herself, could not understand them?
Maurice was another problem. He knew nothing from her of yesterday’s events. How could she expect him to support her when he would likely hate what she had done? She had left their only child to the tender mercies of her elderly parents and fled the scene like an abject coward.
In the midst of this mental stress, a conversation with the ladies at lunch in the Plaza came back to haunt her. She had described her daughter as ‘creative, talented and private. She works constantly and we hardly know she’s around the house. Portia’s so dedicated to her design creations.’
Now that description mocked her. Reading between the lines of these comments now, she could detect obvious neglect and a severe lack of interest in her daughter’s life.
The sharp mind that gave Megan Anderson the ability to rise so fast to the top of the legal profession seemed to have deserted her. Emotions, normally kept under strict control, were waging war with her fears. What would happen to her reputation if her colleagues discovered her abject failure as a mother?
At the moment this latest thought raged through her, she had reached a high point in the walkway system where two paths met in an intersection. There were posts with marker destinations at each juncture. Megan Anderson stood still, transfixed by choices. She could not summon a decision but it was clear she had reached a crossroads far more important than which resort destination she might choose next.
The breeze brought fresh, salty air to her from the sea. She breathed in and out, poised for something to happen but unable to move.
I can’t go on like this. I have to face the consequences of my actions.
The phrase was one she had often heard in the courtroom but never, ever, believed it would be applied to her own life.
The choices were before her.
Stay
Run
Go back
Do nothing
Avoid
Face the consequences
She felt a strong desire to run. She could run to the beach, wade out into the water and swim forever.
It struck her, suddenly, that this must be how Portia felt. She had run from her problems and worries by escaping into a severely depressed state. Oh, God, please let her be wrong about the pregnancy!
For the first time, Megan was looking at this from her daughter’s perspective and with that came tears of shame. She wept for Portia, for herself, for her marriage, for the hard decisions that must be made.
She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her long flowing top. Hard decisions were her stock in trade.
She had never turned back from a difficult case or left a client without hope. This client, her only child, was far more important than any legal case and Portia needed every resource her parents could muster to see her through this crisis.
Megan Anderson turned around and slowly made her way back. She would find Maurice. They would have the most serious talk of their lives and they would be there for whatever her father decided was the best way forward. The decision was made. She would face the consequences.
Chapter 12
Day Six; Wednesday.
Clouds had blown in from the sea overnight, and there was a feeling of changing weather.
The younger Beck family was not overly concerned. They had all enjoyed a great day out on the Tuesday and were content to linger around in the apartment with their coffee until someone suggested another idea. Terrence and Jillian had brought back a huge supply of edibles and the couple were in the kitchen whipping up omelettes with savoury fillings for those who wanted fed, while Abigail and Louise compared suntans or sunburns with their brother.
“Better keep your back covered,” suggested Louise to Devon. “Grandmother told us to be careful near water.”
“Well, I could hardly avoid the sun out on a boat and snorkelling for hours,” moaned Devon. “I’m not used to any amount of sun exposure at all.”
His sisters laughed with him. It was true. His basement life had been turned around in this resort holiday and, as a result, the three siblings had spent more fun time together than any of them could remember since their childhood. Louise had stated the best part was they had not been saddled with the horrible Portia, which they had fully expected would happen. This morning, none of the Andersons had appeared as yet. In fact, when they arrived back last evening, Portia was not around. Neither the girls nor Devon had seen her at all.
“Dad, have you seen the grandparents this morning? I guess golf is out of the question with rain on the way.”
“I am just going to check upstairs”, said Jillian. “I’ll take their omelette orders and you can help me deliver.”
“Sure!” replied Louise, with her mouth full of toast and cream cheese. She thought how nice it was to see her parents working side by side so comfortably. There was a whole new atmosphere of contentment between them and it was such an improvement over the armed conflict that normally existed whenever she visited her old home.
Jillian practically danced up the stairs to the upper level. Her heart was lighter than she could remember for years. Yesterday, alone with Terry, had been nothing short of wonderful and last night had been the natural conclusion to a day when they had drawn closer as each hour progressed. She felt young, happy and hopeful again. With those emotions came deep gratitude for Terry’s parents and their generosity. She determined to make the remainder of their holiday as smooth and relaxing as she could. Breakfast in their apartment was only the first step in that process.
Jillian arrived at the top of the stairs to be met by Marian who took hold of her arm and pulled her out to the balcony, past a sleeping Por
tia, while urging her to say nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Jillian’s euphoria was dissipating rapidly. There was a sense of despair in her mother-in-law that was highly unusual in this normally sedate and composed lady.
“I’ve been waiting for someone to arrive,” she whispered. “Your grandfather is still asleep and I want him to get as much rest as possible after yesterday.”
“What happened yesterday?”
Clearly, whatever Marian Beck was about to say, was not going to be good news.
“All of you were away for the day so you missed the drama for which I am grateful, but now you need to be aware of what was happening. First of all, Portia is staying here with us. She’s asleep in the big padded loungechair and needs to stay there quietly. I’m afraid she’s had a breakdown and it’s very serious. Your grandfather has been working with her and also a colleague who just happens to be staying in this building. Our main worry is that she will be too fragile to get back to Canada for the intensive treatment she needs. Every hour until we leave is crucial to her mental health. This means complete quiet, with good food to tempt her to eat. Can I count on you and Terrence to help?”
“Of course you can! We will do anything we can to help. We have a full kitchen downstairs and we’ll send the family out somewhere so there is no noise. What about Megan and Maurice? Are they up here with their daughter? They must be worried sick for her.”
Marian sighed deeply and pulled her towelling robe closer to her body. Jillian suddenly saw how small her mother-in-law looked, enfolded in the robe that was much too large. She was too old to be faced with this crisis in what was intended to be a blissful holiday.
“That’s another problem, I’m afraid. Portia is not able to connect with her parents at the moment. It’s best they stay apart for now.”
It was obvious to Jillian that Marian Beck was not telling the whole story. What little she had said was enough to be alarming and Jillian was determined to try to take over some of the weight that was on her husband’s parents. Her management skills came to the fore at once with a rush of energy.
“Marian, I want you to have a shower and get dressed while I watch over Portia. Just give me a minute to go down and bring Terry up to date and we’ll take care of everything. We’ll send our three off for the day and monitor the door for you. We’ll also keep food coming. When the Andersons emerge, we’ll deal with them too. Don’t fret, there will be no arguments. Everything will be quiet and calm. This has been a huge strain for you and Aylward. Let us help. Please.”
Marian felt slow tears roll down her cheeks. She dared not speak. It was true she had not allowed herself to fully experience the worry and strain of the last days. It was only when there was a chance of laying down some of the burden, that she could let go a little.
Jillian was shocked. She automatically wrapped her arms around her mother-in-law and murmured in her ear. “You two have done so much for us. I am glad to be able to help. I’ll be back in a moment or two. Don’t worry!”
* * *
Wesley Philips had a long talk with his wife on Tuesday evening. She had waited by the pool for her husband to return but soon decided something untoward had happened in the Becks’ apartment. A quick ‘meet and greet’ could not possibly take this amount of time. She was curious, but her trust in Wesley’s reliability was secure.
After an hour had passed she decided to return to their own apartment. She remembered the number Marian had given them but her instincts warned her not to intrude. She made a snack and sat on the balcony admiring the view as the sun began to sink and the birds gathered noisily for their evening foraging.
Wesley’s eventual return was her introduction to another insight into her husband as a professional healer. He rarely, if ever, discussed anything about his work with her. Professional discretion constrained him from revealing any details about his patients. In this unusual case, however, Wesley Philips was not the physician of record, or even an official associate and he felt it appropriate, and necessary, to unburden himself. Zoe was ready and eager to hear his story. Her curiosity had been growing for hours.
“I wish you could see the poor girl, Zoe. She’s so pale and thin and in such a deep depression that it was a triumph just to get her to look up and speak to me. Aylward agrees with me that she needs a course of CBT.”
He noticed his wife’s confused expression and quickly clarified. “It means Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, our branch of psychotherapy that challenges the patient’s negative thought patterns to change their behaviour. All those are connected, of course.”
Zoe was impressed by the jargon but much more interested in the girl patient.
“What was her name again?”
“She’s called Portia. It’s a sad case, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to delve too deeply as she is a granddaughter of Aylward and Marian, but it seems the young woman’s parents are a part of the problem rather than a possible solution. All the responsibility has been on the older couple’s shoulders. Quite frankly, Zoe, I believe it is too much for them. Aylward Beck is well into his eighties and although his mind is as sharp as ever, he shows signs of physical stress.”
“So what are we going to do?”
Wesley smiled at his lovely wife and removed his horn-rimmed glasses to reveal, fully, the eyes of the compassionate man she loved. He was responding to her use of the plural.
“Well, I feel I must continue with the attempt at therapy for as long as I can. This will impact on our holiday, my darling, and I am sorry.”
“Don’t even think of it, Wes! We have had countless hours of sun, sand and sea to remember. This girl is much more important. I have been wondering if there might be something I could do to help out?”
“You always manage to surprise me, Zoe Morton.” He bent down for a kiss. “What do you have in mind?”
“It was what you said about the connection between thoughts and feelings affecting behaviours.
I know it must be early days for Portia and she has a long way to go toward healthy thinking, but is it possible she would feel better about herself if she actually looked better? Before you answer, Wes, I am concerned about her return journey on the plane. If she looks as out of place as you suggest, she will likely draw unwelcome attention and that will be traumatic for her.”
There was a long silence while Wesley gazed into his wife’s face and tried to understand how he had been so lucky as to have met her in a professional capacity that eventually translated into a personal relationship. To observers, they might look like an unlikely match. She was a gorgeous and successful business woman and he an academic with average appearance, but she had just demonstrated again what a perfect pairing could mean. For Zoe, it was always ‘us’, never ‘I’. They had very different separate lives for much of the work day but each supported the other to the maximum, and their marriage was a true partnership of mutual appreciation.
He gulped.
“I hardly know how to respond to that. My darling wife, I am overwhelmed by your kindness to a stranger. You may be on to a good thing. If I can get Portia to accept you as part of this team approach, I know your magic touch will transform her. You are a world expert in the field of cosmetics, after all. It’s really a hopeful idea.”
They decided it was too late to go out to eat so they made snacks and went to bed to watch television for a while. Zoe knew it would be wise to distract her conscientious husband from his concerns about Portia, if he wanted to get any sleep at all.
When Wednesday dawned, it would be time to see how the situation in the Beck apartment had developed.
* * *
Early in the morning on Wednesday, Wesley phoned the number Aylward had supplied and was invited to come downstairs as soon as he could. He left Zoe tucked up in bed with her e reader. The weather had turned dull and cool with rain on the wind, and she was content to relax there. A late rise in the morning was a new experience for her.
Aylward met him at the apartment’s main door a
nd brought him up to date with events. First, he introduced his son, Terrence, and wife Jillian who were in charge of food supplies for the day.
“Portia had a better night of fairly restful sleep. She has had a full breakfast and is napping with blankets around her on our bed. We decided it would be helpful if the apartment was cleared out for the day. Marian has agreed to take the Beck children to a special session indoors. It’s for owners and their guests and is basically a hard sell opportunity for the resort managers. It should be interesting for the youngsters and if the weather clears they will go to a secluded pool near the beach, exclusively for Grand Luxxe patrons. I think Marian needs to get right away from this worry for a while which leaves us in charge, Wesley. I can’t tell you what a relief it is for me to know you are by my side, young man.”
“It’s my privilege, sir, I assure you.”
They spent the time waiting for Portia to wake up, discussing the next steps in the therapy.
“I observed her reaction and response to you, Wesley. I admit I was surprised. Previously, she has been most comfortable with Marian. From that, I presumed she preferred females, which wouldn’t be unlikely. Obviously she enjoyed your personal storytelling style and you keyed into her love of design. I think you should continue with that approach.”
“I agree. What is our immediate objective now that some confidence has been gained?”
Wesley deferred to his mentor’s expertise in this situation. In no way did he wish to cause a regression by rushing ahead. The pressure of time was on both their minds.
“It would be beneficial if she could talk about the supposed sexual assault. However, I think that topic will be revealed to a female first and we should just continue with gently acquiring her trust. If she chooses to talk, go with whatever she decides to share.”
