Coming Home (25 page)

Jessie sighed into the silence of the car. What difference did it make anyway? Her mother was dead. Case closed.

Nice try,
she thought, unconvinced by her own arguments. It was starting to feel as if she’d found a tiny piece of ice in the ocean, only to discover it was attached to a giant iceberg beneath the black water.

She had no choice now. She
had
to visit the place of her mother’s death.

By now Bill and Andy had settled into a far more benign conversation.

“Do you have family, Bill?” Andy asked.

“A daughter,” Bill replied almost absently. “Ain’t seen her in thirty years.” He shook his head slightly as if trying to rid himself of the memory. “I tried to make contact once she hit her twenties. But she kept hanging up the phone. Returned my letters unopened, as if to make the point as clear as possible.” Bill sighed. “She remembers things I don’t, so I figure it’s only fair. She’s got a stepdad. Guess she only wants one dad at a time, although I can’t say I ever was much of a father.” His last words were spoken as if from a deep well of regret. “She’d be forty by now. I’ve missed her entire life.”

Andy was surprised with how suddenly Bill’s manner had changed, and he was sorry he’d asked the question. Yet he couldn’t help wondering what Bill had meant by “she remembers things I don’t.”

Bill must have read his mind. “I was a drunk,” he finally said. “Plain and simple. Knockdown, pass-out drunk. And I was a
mean
drunk.”

Bill glanced over toward the house, and his face broke into a big grin. Andy followed his gaze. Jessie was just stepping outside and she looked beautiful wearing tan slacks and a colorful shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Doris still hadn’t made an appearance by the time they left. Bill, on the other hand, was like a father hen. He walked them to the door and waved good-bye, grinning from ear to ear.

Taking I-25 north, they turned off the Bijou exit, and in minutes, they were parking on the street in front of the restaurant. It had a long green awning and tall windows looking out toward the mountain range.

After the hostess seated them, Jessie made a face. “Laura called me,” she said and then proceeded to tell the story. In between the details, the waiter came and took their orders. Andy ordered pasta; Jessie, chicken. “I wanted to put the poor girl in my car and just drive,” she told him. “Get her out of there.”

“What would Betty do?” Andy asked.

Jessie bit her lip and the saddest look flickered in her eyes. “Pray.” She took a sip of tea and pursed her lips regretfully.

“So what do
you
think?” he asked.

Jessie shook her head. “Let me put it this way … I’m a good candidate for a millstone around the neck.” She looked away, as if embarrassed.

Andy silently recalled Jesus’ words about the consequences of offending “one of these little ones.”

When their meals arrived, Jessie described her visit to the cemetery and the subsequent phone calls to the cemetery office and the funeral homes.

Weird,
Andy thought,
but not unexplainable.

At some point, she told him about the argument with her grandmother.

“Long time in coming,” he said thoughtfully.

She only shrugged, her manner regretful again, and the more she talked, the more distracted she became.

He told her about his visit with Bill and his church attendance. Jessie’s eyebrows raised. “He never said anything to me.”

As the meal progressed, Andy searched for the right moment. But just exactly how does one broach the subject anyway?
Jessie, I know why you’ve been hallucinating. I know why you’ve been so confused lately. You might be dying.

Over dessert, she invited him to come with her to the institution. Andy had immediate visions of
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
but accepted her invitation, if only to be there if something went wrong. “Think it’s open late?”

She frowned. “I forgot to call and find out.”

“Well, let’s just stop by,” Andy said, thinking that at the very least it would extend their evening, not to mention buy him more time. “So … are you still planning to leave tomorrow?”

A shadow crossed her face. “I think I should, don’t you?”

“Why don’t you move out here?” he suggested. “Finish your master’s degree in Colorado?”

She appeared to consider this, meeting his eyes, as if pondering his intentions. “I’d like that,” she finally said, nodding thoughtfully.

Andy reached for her hand and she seemed nervous and elated at the same time.

“I’d like to see more of you,” he said.

She smiled, blushing. “I’d … like that, too.” Then she chuckled, as if snapping out of her distraction. “Andy, you’re embarrassing me!”

They laughed, but it was a good soul-warming laugh.

“Are you worried about doing this?”

She frowned, confused.

“Going to the hospital?” he added. “We don’t have to …” She shook her head. “Oh no. I
do
have to.”

“But you’re not afraid?”

She paused. “I think I am … a little, but …” Finally she shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”

“That’s okay,” he offered.

They settled into more benign conversation. Andy found himself wondering again if she already knew the truth, but still doubted it. From the quality of their time together, the near intimate discussions, surely she would have mentioned it.

Suddenly she reached over and squeezed
his
hand. “I’m so glad you’ll be with me.”

He knew she was referring to tonight, but he was thinking about the future.
And I’ll stay right with you,
he thought.
No matter what.
He felt his own eyes tear up, but he blinked quickly. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she was too polite.

After they finished dinner, Jessie gave Bill a quick call to ask for directions. Bill offered her the information without asking any questions, for which Jessie seemed grateful. Then they headed south into the darkness of post-twilight.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ANDY PARKED at the outer edge of the parking lot, beneath a buzzing, flickering streetlamp. The redbrick three-story building sat on the side of a ridge, surrounded by an assortment of conifer trees. A wire fence circled the perimeter of the roof, and bars covered the windows. In the parking lot, a small island of grass harbored a simple flagpole with a wooden sign and white painted lettering: Colorado State Hospital. Despite the trees, there was little aesthetic value to the appearance. No bright flowers. No lavish design.

Andy said he would go in alone to check it out and see if they could gain admittance. As she waited, Jessie leaned back in her seat and rested her eyes. Light shadows danced on her eyelids from the streetlight like a strobe. Brooks and Dunn were crooning in the background: “There ain’t nothing about you that don’t do something for me… .” The music lent an eerie contrast to the dismal surroundings.

Gently, she allowed her mind to focus on the single strand of memory, slipping into it, like putting her foot into a sock, following it where it led … but it led nowhere. What could this visit accomplish? She sighed.
I’m getting closure.

What have I closed so far?
She ticked it off in her mind: The Social Security Administration had no record of her mother’s death. Her grandmother had referred to her mother in the present tense.
Big deal
. And her mother’s urn had never been buried.
So?

She opened her right eye and peered ahead. Just look at this place.
I’ve got a real bad case of imagination,
she thought.
So tell it to my dreams. If you don’t mind, I’d like to try drugs and needles first, before we transition to the straitjacket and the padded walls
.

She was awakened by a gentle rapping on her window. Blinking her eyes, she saw Andy leaning over, smiling.

She opened the door and swung her legs out.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Andy said, crouching down. “You were smiling with your eyes closed. What’s so funny?”

“The smile of insanity,” she whispered, opening her eyes ghoulishly and then laughing.

Andy’s return chuckle seemed forced. Jessie ignored it and asked, “Can we go in?”

Andy shrugged, “The door’s open. I would have asked permission, but no one was at the front desk.”

“I think this is all the permission we need,” Jessie said, placing the certificate in his hand.

Andy studied it carefully. “Very sloppy. Handwritten. That’s rare.” He pointed to a line. “Your mother’s place of death is given as room 116. That’s just plain weird. Normally they just list the institution.”

Jessie hesitated for a moment, gathering her wits about her. An unexplainable sense of cold embraced her, and she looked at the building and cringed. “My father hated coming here. He said it was dirty, disorganized, and overcrowded, like a holding cell for the living dead.”

“Do you remember anything yet?” Andy asked.

Jessie shrugged. “Little pieces. I remember getting here. I remember meeting with Mrs. Robinette, my grandmother, and my father.”

“All three of them?” he asked. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head.

He whistled. “The mystery deepens.”

“I’m sure it was nothing. Maybe they just wanted to prepare me or something.”

“Tell me again how your mother ended up here?” Andy asked.

“The judge placed her here until a final decision could be made. Grandmother had been fighting to put her in a nursing home for Alzheimer’s patients, but Dad and I wanted to keep Mom at home.”

Jessie’s head was already pounding. As she told the story it seemed so clear, as if it had happened yesterday—a dreary Saturday morning. They had been watching cartoons in the bedroom and the men just walked in, like in the movies, two men in white jackets, along with a sheriff and his deputy, and they carted her mother out. Jessie was screaming bloody murder. Her father tried putting up a fight, but he was nothing against the four of them. Jessie finally escaped the goons and ran outside and by then she was nearly hysterical. She reached the gurney just as they were opening the door to the ambulance.

One of the guys grabbed her, but another pushed him aside, saying,
“Let her say good-bye,”
and that
really
freaked her out. She was thinking
good-bye forever
. When she finally squirmed her way to the top of the gurney, her mother’s eyes were afraid, but she forced a smile.
“Are we going to the park, sweetie?”
Then she frowned.
“Why are you so sad?” “I’m scared, Mom.” “Just pray, sweetie.” “Will I see you again?”
Her mother smiled again.
“Sure.”
That was the last thing her mother said before they pushed her into the vehicle.

Andy was silent for a moment, digesting her story. When he glanced back at the institution, he asked, “After you visited this place, did you ever ask what happened?”

“Dad said I totally lost it,” she admitted. “I was lying in bed that afternoon, or maybe I was napping or something. It was dark out. Dad came in with soup. I asked him why we hadn’t gone to see Mom and he just stared at me.”

“We can still change our mind,” Andy offered, bringing her back to the moment at hand.

“No … let’s finish this.”

“Why don’t we call Betty? Now that we know she was here with you.”

Jessie shook her head. “I’m leery of how she remembers the past. I want to get my own impressions first.”

Andy gave her that worried look again.
What is it?
she almost asked.

He let out a long sigh. “So … what’s the plan?”

“We go in and find room 116,” she announced with bright bravado.

“Seriously?” he said, looking at the death certificate again.

“I’m making this up as I go.” They stood at the entrance. Two steps from the threshold.

“What if … something happens?” Andy asked, and his concern seemed to be growing before her eyes.

“You mean if I weird out?”

“No. I mean … if you faint or something.”

“Then you catch me. Can you handle that?”

Andy grinned. “I’m all over it.”

Doris lounged on a chair in her master bedroom, looking out over the backyard. The sun had fallen behind the trees at the back fence. In a few minutes, the gazebo lights would illuminate Bill’s handiwork. Shadows were longer now, drawn across the lawn, but shadows of the past threatened to bury her in darkness.

Bill kept peeking in, and she kept waving him off. “Want some iced tea?” he said at one point, and she declined.

“Ice cream?”

“No.”

“Coffee?”

“No.”

“Swift kick?”

“Bill, so help me.”

All evening he kept wandering back to her door. Finally he asked her outright, “Do you want to talk, Dory?”

“I want to
think,
” she insisted. “Hard to do in this place.” He headed back down the hall.

Doris felt she might sink into the very depression she’d never allowed to defeat her before. She thought of all that needed to be done—her latest needlepoint, endless correspondence, her duties for several organizations …
Never ending …
The thought of filling up every second of her life had always been so comforting, so important … so narcotic.

She leaned forward, intending to head for her husband’s study, but couldn’t get up. The pointlessness of it all struck her deeply, and she sank back into the chair.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,”
Jessica had said.

“Oh, Jessica,” she whispered into the growing darkness. “I’m so sorry.”

Bill was back again. Doris sighed.

“You oughta know that Jessie just called to ask for directions. She and Andy are going to the mental health hospital.” He said it softly, with an almost grave tone.

“What on earth for?”

Bill shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”

Surely she doesn’t suspect?
Doris thought.

Bill took another step into her room. “Are you okay?”

Downward she descended, into her own private pain, realizing that a lifetime of hope was finished. Perhaps it had never existed. Perhaps hope had only been an illusion.
Jessica will never forgive me
.

Bill was helping her get out of her chair. She felt numb, barely coherent.

“I’m calling the doctor.”

“No!” she hissed, and Bill nearly jumped. “I’m sorry,” she added softly.

“Then get some rest,” Bill said as he helped her to the bed. “Lie down.”

“I need to put on my …” She couldn’t finish her sentence. The words were caught in her throat. She began weeping and allowed herself to fall backward onto her bed.

Bill’s voice became a distant whisper and …

… she remembered putting the phone down, surrounded by an emotional haze. Maria was standing near, her hands on Doris’s arm. Floating in slow motion, as if she were moving underwater. Maria, who had heard her side of the phone call, was now crying. Doris finally recovered enough to hug her dear maid, who kept repeating over and over, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Crenshaw. Is there anything I can do?”

She remembered letting go. Shaking her head. It was like a dream and yet, at the same time, so clear. Finding her keys. Maria offering, “May I drive you?” Shaking her head no. Walking to the car, closing the door behind her. Her next-door neighbor, Mrs. McBride, waving. Waving back, and actually smiling while she did it, because she was so good at this sort of thing. Her daughter was dead, but she was still maintaining appearances. Starting the car, backing out of the driveway, driving down Lake Avenue, turning off the radio because she couldn’t bear the additional stimulus, couldn’t bear evidence that the world continued to function as normal when, in fact, her world had ceased to be.

Taking Nevada to I-25, driving south. And then suddenly she was there—how she got there is still a big mystery—and loathing for that place exploded from every pore of her body. They had killed her daughter, and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to begin screaming the moment she walked in the door. It was going to require every ounce of discipline she owned to stay quiet. Then realizing she had made a mistake by coming here alone, because nothing was going to keep her from falling apart. Absolutely nothing.

Her daughter had just died. The daughter who had called her at age thirty-three to apologize for all the pain of their past. To apologize for everything that had, indeed, been Doris’s fault. Her stern upbringing had hindered Livvy. Some might say tortured. But Olivia was unusual. She was nothing like her mother, and she had thrived in spite of it. Now, after all these years, when Doris finally realized what a horrible mother she had been, when it was time to find a small measure of redemption, to mend those fences, and to finally make up for the past, Olivia was dead.

All hope was gone. Any possibility of a genuine relationship was also gone and
that
was all she could think about as she walked up to the receptionist’s desk. She was overwhelmed with a wave of pure revulsion with her own selfishness. Her daughter’s life had been cut short, her son-in-law was deprived of the woman who had loved him, and her granddaughter was left to flounder, and all Doris could think about was her own redemption….