Finding Casey (28 page)

His nametag said Morris J. Armstrong, M.D., and he had white hair but a bright red mustache. His face was long and his teeth reminded me of Brown Horse, and I realized I hadn't thought about her, or my dog, Curly, and I was scared that maybe no one had taken over my chores, and the chickens, what about them? Chickens could live for a long time without food, but not water. I hoped that some of the snow had melted because then they could drink that. “Tell me what's wrong,” I said. “Tell me right now.”

Dr. Armstrong said, “We've been reviewing your daughter's case. The consensus is it's time to disconnect the ventilator. We were just waiting for your permission to move ahead.”

“You mean stop the breathing machine? No.” I turned to
Mrs. Clemmons, who was always on my side. “Can you make them go away? Could we get another doctor?”

She looked at me the way she did some days, like her mind was working on something else and her being in the room, talking to me, was only a small part of a much bigger thing going on. “Laurel, calm down and take a breath. Let's listen to what Dr. Armstrong has to say. Nothing's going to happen without your permission.”

Right there in the hallway with its shiny polished floor and that tart smell of medicine coating everything from Aspen's blankets to the air molecules, the walls closed in until it felt like I was in the back of the van the day the Brothers Grimm took me. Even though that was many years ago, I still remembered it as though it had just happened to me. Later Frances told me the name for the machine was Taser, but I always thought of it as a bolt of lightning, like bright white cracks across the sky before storms. I thought I was going to faint the same way I had back then. I had peed myself and the bones in my legs didn't work, so I couldn't fight back. I just had to let them put me in the van. But this time I had to fight back, because Aspen's life depended on it. Hot tears came into my eyes. “Can't you see how hard she's working to get well? Sleeping so much? She's trying to get better! Why give up on her now?”

Mrs. Clemmons took hold of my shoulders. “Laurel, the doctors want Aspen to recover just as much as you do,” Mrs. Clemmons said. “That's why they became doctors. Let's listen to what they have to say.”

I crossed my arms in front of myself, and the top button of the shirt came unbuttoned. Mrs. Clemmons looked right at it, and I saw the way she looked at me, like I was disgusting and dirty the way that would never wash off. My neck was all hard
muscle, the way it used to get when Abel yelled at me and I would crawl under the table to avoid what might happen next, and which usually happened anyway. He wasn't as big as Seth, but he was stronger and meaner. “I thought you were Aspen's friend,” I said. “I don't believe you anymore.”

Mrs. Clemmons's face went slack, like I had disappointed her after the nice clothes and food, but she wasn't Aspen's mother. I was. I am.

“Intensive care is expensive,” Dr. Armstrong said. He took the finger pincher off Aspen's first finger and my heart beat faster while one of the lines on the machines went flat. “Aspen is stable enough for transport. We're all in agreement. It's time to disconnect these machines. We'll transfer her to a long-term facility, where she'll receive passive physical therapy. In order to do that we need to try to wean her off the machines.”

“Or you could just keep on giving her the medicine,” I said, hot panic filling my chest. “She never had medicine before, so maybe it's just taking her longer to get better than other people.”

The doctors looked at each other and then they looked at Aspen. Not me. This wasn't a good thing, not good at all.

“There's a long-term facility in Roswell that's a perfect environment for Aspen. They can do things for her there that we can't.”

“Why not? You're doctors! You're supposed to make people better.”

“Aspen
is
better,” he said. “Every day she's on the ventilator will make it that much harder for her to live without it. Her illness has subsided. That fever spike resolved as soon as we changed antibiotics. We've been monitoring her blood gases and values. If you'd just listen—”

“Where is this Roswell?” I said. “How much more does it
cost to stay here? I could get a job. I know how to clean houses. I could pay for the extra care and the breathing machine. Roswell—could I walk there every day? Because there are animals on the Farm I have to feed because it's my job and no one else's and I can't just let them die. Isn't that what you're doing to Aspen? Taking away her breathing machine and then seeing if she dies? How much money are we talking about?”

The doctors just looked at me.

“What?” I said. “Why won't you answer me?”

Mrs. Clemmons—how did she stay calm like that—placed her hand on my arm. “Money isn't the central issue here,” she said. “There are programs Aspen would qualify for, so don't give that another thought. As soon as we're done talking here, I'll be happy to drive you to the Farm myself to check on your animals. Roswell is in the southern part of the state. You can't walk there, but there are other ways to get there, and if you decide that's where to go, I'm sure we can find someone to look after your animals here. Everyone here can see how much you love Aspen. You're a good mother. I don't think you heard what the doctor said. Aspen
is
better. She's well enough to be moved. Everyone in this room wants to see Aspen get well. Won't you listen to the doctors for a few minutes? I promise you, nothing will change until we're all in agreement as to Aspen's best interests.”

That was the most amount of words Mrs. Clemmons had ever said to me, and I was having trouble working them out, separating them into categories, finding the stories in them. All I could remember was her last sentence.
Set. Rest. Trees.
“What do you mean, ‘best interests'?”

Dr. Armstrong made a noise. I couldn't tell if he was clearing his throat or being disgusted, the way Seth got whenever I said more than a sentence.

Mrs. Clemmons looked at him the same way Abel used to look at me. She said, “Dr. Armstrong, I think now would be a good time to continue your rounds so that Mrs. Smith and I can talk this over.”

“Ardith,” he said, taking a step toward her and making his voice all nice. “I don't understand what the problem is here. Her stats are within normal range. Her heart rate is normal, except for the murmur, and that can be handled with medication. The pneumonia is gone, she's responding to stimuli; this is the protocol. Disconnecting the vent is a long process and carefully monitored every step of the way. Clearly if the mother can't grasp what we're saying perhaps there are competency issues—” he said, but she interrupted him again.

“Mrs. Smith and I will talk
privately
and get right back to you.”

Dr. Armstrong didn't like that, I could tell, because his jaw flexed the same way Seth's did when he was going to lock me in the barn, or back in California, in the shack. Already I knew Mrs. Clemmons was smart, but now I saw she was also powerful, because the doctors left the room. Power was something I'd never had. Abel and Seth made all the decisions for me. The Brothers Grimm.

We went into Aspen's room that felt like home to me now, the way everything was the same every day. The whiteboard that said the name of her nurse in red marker, Susie or Phyllis or Carolyn or Ana or Leilah. The white blinds kept the light from bothering Aspen's eyes, and gave me a place to look out of so I didn't feel locked up. The clean restroom she'd never used yet and I wasn't allowed to use because I wasn't the patient. The janitor cleaned it every day anyway. Aspen was in the bed, still breathing from the machines that beeped fast when something
was wrong and beeped more slowly when nothing was wrong.
Puh-shoo-up.
The feeding tube went down her nose feeding her. Cream-colored nutrition. She hadn't had it long enough to gain any weight, but she hadn't lost any either. I stroked her hair and wished I could wash it in the Waterfall Mist shampoo and conditioner. We only ever used bar soap on it at the Farm.
So, sop, sap.
Washing her hair would make her feel like the princess in my story.
Leaves, save, leave.
“In a little while, I'll tell you more of the story,” I whispered to her. Then I asked Mrs. Clemmons, “Are you the Elder of this hospital? Do the doctors have to mind what you say or receive consequences when they don't?”

She looked out the window and then back at me. “I'm not sure I understand what you're asking me, Laurel. I work here,” she said, “but I'm not in charge of anyone. We're part of a team. You know how I explained ‘best interests' to you? I wonder if you could explain to me what you mean by ‘receive consequences'?”

I petted Aspen's arms and legs and she twitched and frowned around her tubes. All she had to do was wake up and then we could go home. Wake up wake up wake up. “You know, receiving punishment or extra chores. Sometimes staying in the barn overnight, other times cleaning the already clean floor. Sometimes hitting.”

“That doesn't sound pleasant or fair.”

“It wasn't bad. In the barn I could hear Brown Horse making noises right outside, and after Aspen was born, she'd be there with me.”

“What about the hitting, and the chores?”

“Chores don't bother me. Hitting only hurts for a while.”

“I see,” she said in a voice that reminded me of mine, raspy, choking, like she was trying not to yell and I wondered how I
had made her mad at me. “Is that how you got the scar on your neck?”

My hand went right to it. No need to cover it now. “It doesn't hurt anymore. It's just ugly, and that's why no one else would want me.”

“Seth told you that?”

I nodded.

“May I ask what you did while you were in the barn? Did you sleep?”

“Sometimes,” I said, “unless Seth wanted—mostly I told her the story.”

“Yes, the Princess of Leaves story. You have a vivid imagination, Laurel. I think you could be a writer.”

“I'm not very good at writing things down.”

“Is that because you didn't finish school?”

“Um. Yes.”

“Who would lock you into the barn? Was it Seth?”

“Of course. He's the Elder. You know, in charge of everyone, especially me.”

“Why you, ‘especially'?”

I didn't know how to answer her. “Before Seth, it was Abel and Seth, then when Abel wasn't there anymore, it had to be Seth.” I started to say more, then decided that wasn't safe because what if he heard? “Seth is in charge of everyone at the Farm. Most people are Sinful and Wayward. Seth helps them find their way if they're spiritually lost. Consequences are teachings.”

“Someday I hope you'll trust me enough to tell me about the scar on your neck. I'm assuming it was the result of punishment.”

The faintness came back, like when Curly got too playful and jumped at the back of my knees. “Please don't ask me.”

“Why not? Will Seth punish you for telling?”

“He would kill me,” I whispered, but she heard me all the same.

She turned around and looked at me. “Laurel, I'm going to ask you something difficult, and I want you to try to answer. I know you don't like to talk about it, but I think it's important, all right?”

I was sweating in the new clothes, and they itched so bad I wanted to rip them off. “All right.”

“Is Laurel Smith your real name?”

The ocean, I remembered it. It roared in my ears. Waves on top of waves. Coming at me one-two-three, too fast to get my breath before I went under. Not dolphins: whales, big and gray and crowding me. My heart thudded so hard I thought I might need Aspen's breathing machine. My voice came out of me in stops and starts. “Whu-whu-why do you want to know that?”

“Because I've become quite fond of you and your little girl. I want to help you. You're a wonderful mother, and I am impressed with the things you've told me.”

“You're going to call the cops or a social worker, aren't you? Please don't. Please, just forget about me and Aspen. We're not important. Thank you for your help and the clothes and food. I'll pay you back and we'll be even.”

“Calling the police hadn't even crossed my mind. Is there a reason I should call the police?”

“No. Everything will be fine when Aspen wakes up. We'll go home to the Farm. I'll do extra chores. I don't mind sleeping in the barn, really.”

“It's snowing out.”

“I know how to keep Aspen warm. Don't worry about us.”

Mrs. Clemmons turned and looked out the window. When
she turned back, she said, “Let's put all that aside for now. I know you don't want to hear this, but I think the doctors know best on this ventilator issue. I've seen it done before. The weaning process may look frightening, but what if it means Aspen could breathe on her own, and get strong again?”

“That would be good.” But inside me I was thinking, What if she can't?

“There you go. We have some common ground here, Laurel. Understand, the doctors will reconnect her immediately if she can't breathe on her own. Laurel, is Seth Aspen's biological father?”

My mind had always felt like a shut curtain, as if I could only be in one part of it at a time. I liked it that way, because it meant I only had to think from here to there and I could stop thinking before it got too hard. I made words smaller so that I could see their stories in the same way. Safety:
safe, tea, say
. Silence was safety's partner. Together they had a bigger story, one in which I could
sail, listen,
or
flee.
But now Mrs. Clemmons was putting a knife through the curtain, and I couldn't duck quick enough for it to miss my neck. I knew about knives and broken bottles and bleeding and feeling like you couldn't breathe and holding your hands over the tear to stop the bleeding. But it was hard to find the tear here. “Seth is a good Elder,” I said. “He found me. He allowed me to choose my own name.”