Third Bit

Del wasn’t allowed inside the locked ward, so Lucy was forced to leave her alone in a waiting area on the same floor near a nurses’ station.  The unit secretary promised to keep an eye on her, and that would have to do.

Lucy rang the buzzer and, once her identity was satisfactorily established via intercom, an orderly came and unlocked the door eying her suspiciously as she entered.  Inside, her identity was checked again.  The pictures on her driver’s license and teacher’s ID were scrutinized more carefully than they were at airport security checkpoints.  Finally, after enduring a ‘pat down,’ she was handed a printed list of rules and regulations to be scrupulously observed while on “The Ward.”  She was handed a pen and asked to attest her understanding and acceptance.  As she was led by an orderly down a noisy corridor to a private room, Lucy couldn’t shake the feeling that she was visiting San Quentin.  Furious obscenities, unseen inmates snarling and snapping like rabid dogs at unseen orderlies, emanated from many of the rooms.  Lucy wondered if this went on all night.  She didn’t want her father to have to find out.

Her first glimpse of Max Grace was shocking.  His usually genial expression was overwhelmed by the weight of his emotional pain.  It was like a tsunami of grief had ravaged the well-loved hills and valleys of his face.  His calm confidence had been replaced by irritation, frustration and anger.  But then he saw Lucy standing in the doorway.

She managed a smile and said, “Hello, Dad.”

His face caved in on itself, his eyes filled with tears and he tried to sit upright to catch her in his embrace.

“Lucy!  My baby girl!”

He held her tightly, his mouth against her left ear, whispering how sorry he was, that he hadn’t meant to do it, that it was all a mistake.

“Of course it was.  You were just feeling sad and couldn’t sleep.  I understand.”  Lucy pulled back to look at him.  She tried to chuckle; not easy when you’re seeing your father in a psych ward under partial restraint.  “Believe me, Dad.  I know the feeling.  You just took a few too many pills.  It happens.”

He allowed himself to relax against the bed pillows and began to look more himself.  Relief flooded his face.  “Exactly,” he said emphatically.  “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell these morons!  It was a pure accident.  That’s all.  Your sister –“  His face twisted with anger again.  “She won’t even consider signing the Release.  She wants to punish me.  She wants to keep me in here so she doesn’t have to worry about me.”  Max clutched Lucy’s hand.  “But you can sign the Release, Lucy.  You can get me out.  Tell them it was a mistake, a simple mistake.  I mean, my God, those pills were your mother’s.  They were ancient.  That’s why I took so many.  I didn’t think they’d have any oomph left in them after all these years.  I just wanted to sleep.”

Lucy gave her father’s hand a reassuring pat.  “I’ll go talk to the doctor, if I can find him.  Don’t worry; I’ll find someone, and we’ll get the release process started.”  Lucy noted his expression of profound relief and hated to say anything to change it.  But it had to be said.

“Dad, look.  I understand about the pills.  I really do.  I just don’t understand about the gun.  Why was your service revolver in your hand when Delia found you this morning?”

Lucy had never seen her father’s face set with determination the way it did now.  “It wasn’t what it looked like, Lucy.  I can’t explain it to you.  But there is absolutely no reason to believe that I would have shot myself.  No reason at all.”

Lucy recognized the lie, but she also recognized the truth.  He had considered it, perhaps even planned it, but it wouldn’t happen again.  Still, a man depressed over the sudden death of his wife should not be in possession of a firearm and she would confiscate the gun the second she got him home.  At any rate, she was sure that would be a condition for his release.  Lucy gave her father a wink from the doorway, then headed down the corridor  in search of someone who could start processing the forms that would get her father out of Bedlam.

Second Bit

“Lucy!  Over here, Luce!”

As she emerged from the jet bridge into the terminal with Del in tow, Lucy searched the crowd of faces for the voice that was shouting her name.  Finally, she spotted her sister looking anxious, harried, sober.  Oh, dear, Lucy thought.  Why did the plane have to land?

There had been a moment during the flight, a crushing moment of realization when all of it, every bit of grief and pain, be it speck or boulder, came to rest none to gently on her shoulders.  In pieces she had been able somehow to cope.  But at that moment it all coalesced into a whole, and it was too great to bear.  She had thought of making her way down the plane’s center aisle to the lavatory and downing the entire bottle of sleeping pills she’d been prescribed after David’s death.  It wasn’t the first time the thought had occurred to her, but it was the first time she’d been forced to grip the arms of her seat to keep herself from taking action.

But, alas, she had lived through the flight and, as she hurried toward her sister, the reason for her survival held her tightly by the hand and tried to keep up.

“Del!  Sweetheart!  Come give your Aunt Dee-Dee a big hug!”  Lucy’s sister, Delia, scooped Del into an embrace and held her tightly.  Delia was six feet tall in heels and Lucy watched her lift seven-year-old Del right off the floor.  Del’s body went limp as a rag doll’s as the embrace went on.

Finally, Delia released Del and turned her attention to Lucy.  “You look like hell, Luce.”  She air-kissed in the vicinity of Lucy’s cheek, but Lucy didn’t bother to return the pseudo affection.  They weren’t close.  Never had been.  Never would be.  And now their mother was dead and there was no reason to go on pretending.

Once the “pleasantries” were over, there was nothing to say.  Delia sober was Delia out of her element.  She often turned silent and sullen.  But Lucy preferred sober Delia to drunk Delia any day of the week because Delia was a happy drunk who could turn very quickly into a mean drunk.  Lucy had stopped sympathizing with her sister’s high wire act long ago.  So, an awkward silence descended during the interminable wait at the luggage carousel.  There were a great many bags.  Delia eyed the growing pile of luggage with annoyance, followed by concern and then finally something very close to panic, which involved a great deal of pacing and mutterings of expressions Lucy would have preferred to spare her little girl.

When Delia had called last month to inform Lucy that their mother had died, the trip from Denver had been a quick one, really just a long weekend.  But when Delia had reached her at home this morning, hysterical and nearly incoherent, Lucy had known, even if Delia had not, that this would turn into a lengthy stay.

When they reached the parking lot, Lucy understood her sister’s panic over the luggage.  Instead of the roomy SUV Lucy had expected, Delia had opted to drive her ancient but beautifully preserved Peugeot.

Where’s the Audi? Lucy asked.

Delia’s response was succinct.  “Sold it.“

Conversation over.

Lucy should have recognized the decision to sell the SUV as a giant red flag flapping in the breeze, but she was too busy trying to figure out the logistics of fitting three large suitcases, two carry-ons and one ‘Going to Grandma’s‘ backpack into one sporty little Peugeot.

With the luggage wedged into the trunk and back seat, the passengers were forced to suffer the forty minute drive to the hospital vying for elbow and shoulder position in the front seat until Del, who had been squished into the middle spot, finally climbed onto Lucy’s lap and sat morosely staring out the window at the passing urban sprawl of St. Louis, Missouri.  Home, Lucy thought, as she stared out the window over her daughter’s head.  Why doesn’t it feel like home?  She could see their reflections in the glass, one head above the other, looking like a totem pole rendering of mother and daughter, so alike with round, open faces and chocolate brown hair with bangs falling a bit too far, half obscuring the sadness in their hazel eyes.

Delia dropped her sister and niece off at the main entrance of the hospital saying she would park the car ‘somewhere safe.‘  Lucy knew that meant in front of the nearest watering hole and that she and Del were on their own for this hospital visit and probably would have to arrange for their own transportation when they were ready to leave.  They would not see Delia again today unless they caught the news.

First Bit

Paris Green – A Novel

The Safe Room

“I could have died.  That very first day, I could have died.  I wanted to.  It would have been easy.  But there was Del to think about, and Dad.  And, of course, our family’s idiot savant, Delia.  Who would take care of them all now that Mother, the lynchpin of our family, had taken the easy way out with her massively unexpected coronary?  It was left to little Lucy, the baby of the family, mother to Del, sister to Delia, daughter to Max Grace, the interminable griever, to pull this family back together when one glance at my own life should have warned them I couldn’t do it.

My second child, David, lived four days, did you know that?  My marriage died shortly thereafter.  My ex-husband wrapped his Jaguar around a telephone pole on I-70 east of Denver four days after the divorce was final.  Four days, get it?  One day for each of the days of our son’s short life, to remind me, I suppose, that I killed that tiny child because I was too weak to give up cigarettes during the gestation period.  Too weak.  So my philandering husband divorced me, got loaded and headed for a telephone pole at approximately 90 mph, according to the official  report.  And I’m the one who’s weak.

His name was . . .   Oh, God!  I can’t remember his name!  I can’t remember my ex-husband’s name!  That’s impossible.  What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

Lucy Grace shrugged and eased her shoulders back into the white cushions of the modular couch.  “I suppose it means that I need a shrink more than I thought I did.”  But then she watched a crease appear in the face of the man sitting behind that large expanse of white desk, a crease right at that point where the bridge of the nose meets the forehead and announces the arrival of middle-age.  So she felt chastened, and determined to try to give him a serious answer to his serious question.

“Perhaps he doesn’t deserve to be remembered,” she mused aloud.  “Perhaps I have a lot of unresolved guilt and anger, and remembering his name would make him real.  That would mean it all happened and then I would have to deal with it — real events in the real world.”

She closed her eyes and tried to picture the name on the grave next to David‘s.  Nothing.  Just a gray, blank slab.  David‘s tiny headstone was crystal clear, though.  Beautiful in its simplicity, it read only his first name “David – Beloved Son and Brother.  Then the dates of his birth and death.  Four days.

She smiled at him, this shrink who insisted on being called Brian.  She wasn’t comfortable with the familiarity so she decided to call him Dr. Brian.  But there was no denying her comfort in his presence.  He had one of those faces that always reminds you of someone you know, someone you can trust.  She looked around at the comfortably appointed office.  All the furniture was the same, molded and cushioned  to the natural curve of the spine, encouraging Dr. Brian’s patients to relax and spill their guts.  She didn’t care anymore.  She’d lost so much.  She felt eviscerated, as if her guts had already spilled out all over the soft white carpet of Dr. Brian’s office.  White furniture, white walls, white carpet.  Is this doctor really so unimaginative or is it me? she wondered.  Has all the color drained from my life, leaving me unable to perceive anything but the purity of my own pain?

“How often would you like to meet, Lucy?”

She felt a sense of ennui permeate her body.  She leaned back against the cushions and allowed her head to loll sideways.  The only window in the room was closed but instead of making her feel claustrophobic as a closed window usually did, it made her feel safe and secure.  She turned to look at Dr. Brian.  “I don’t care.  Any time.  Any day.  Every day, if you like.”

Dr. Brian chuckled.  “I’m glad you’re so ready to dive into deep water.  No sticking a toe in at the shallow end for you.”

The deep end.  That’s where I live.  I’ve grown gills.  

I think we’ve talked enough for our first session, Lucy.  But before you go, I’d like you to tell me what you meant when you first sat down.”

She couldn’t remember sitting down or speaking, so he prompted her.

“You know, that comment you made about how you could have died on the very first day.  That you actually wanted to, and that it would have been easy.  Can you tell me what you were referring to when you said that?  What you were thinking of?  Was it a particular moment in time, or a place, where it all began?”

She was sleepy now, unable to focus, unable to even keep her eyes open.  She wondered how she would manage to drive home and then realized she couldn’t remember arriving.  Perhaps her father was waiting to take her home, just on the other side of the white door.  She hoped so.  All she wanted to do was sleep, but not to dream.

Welcome

Hello, and welcome.

I’m writing a novel and I’ve decided to blog it, writing a “bit” at a time.  I hope you’ll enjoy the process along with me.  Please feel free to comment, critique, or just keep coming back to find out what happens next.  I will try my best to keep the “bits” coming as frequently as possible.

I can’t tell you exactly what the novel is about because it defies genre.  It’s not quite a pure mystery, or a pure thriller, or a pure anything else.  I can only promise that it won’t turn out to be pure drivel.  Stick with me to the end, and I think you’ll be glad you did.  Give up before the end and you’ll never know who Lucy is and what she’s doing in the “white room.”

Marianne

P.S.  For those who have noticed the domain name, Delajus is a family name.  It means “of the juice,” as in wine, as in let’s have a good time!