Bebe Moore Campbell (20 page)

I liked it.

Orlando fell asleep on the couch. Toward midnight, and still with energy to spare, I approached the pile of unopened mail and magazines, letter opener in hand. Five days’ worth of mail. But what was this?

Dear Keri,

Happy birthday! Sorry this is late. I know you think I wasn’t
the greatest mother, but I have always loved you. I am trying to
make amends for the past. I just wish that you could find it in
your heart to . . .

I crushed the paper in my hand. My fist closed over it and smashed down some more.

Later, when I’d try to remember exactly what propelled me over the edge, I could never say with any degree of certainty what final wind blew me there. All I knew was, my child would never be able to say I didn’t try hard enough. A click went off in my mind, and I was racing across the plantation in the dark.

16

THERE WAS NO TIME TO MULL THINGS OVER THE NEXT morning. Five minutes after I told Bethany my decision, we were on a three-way phone call with Brad. Thirty minutes later, I was seated on the same oceanfront bench where I’d heard the first testimonial. Bethany sat on one side of me and Brad on the other. I handed him a check for twenty-five hundred dollars, what he’d determined I needed to pay each month.

“Tell me what will happen,” I said to him.

“Tonight I’ll meet you in the parking lot of the hospital. You need to arrive there by cab. Tell your daughter that your car is in the shop and a friend will be taking you home. Bethany and Angelica will already be with me. I’ll drive everyone to one of our houses. Your daughter will meet with a psychiatrist while she’s there. You’ll stay at the first house for a few days and then move on to another and then another until you reach the destination. When you’re almost there, someone will take your daughter the rest of the way alone, and you’ll return home.”

“Like the underground railroad,” I said.

Brad smiled. “Actually, that’s the model.”

“What do you know about the underground railroad? ” I asked.

Brad hesitated. “I’m not much of a history buff. It was a means of freeing slaves, getting them north to Canada. Harriet Tubman was the most famous conductor on the railroad. I know that much,” he said. “It seemed an appropriate model for what we do. Mental illness is a kind of slavery. Our movement is about freeing people too. We won’t always have to hide and run and do our work in the dark. The day is coming when people with brain diseases won’t be written off or warehoused, when everyone will know that recovery is possible.”

He seemed to be speaking only to me.

“Where is the place? How far away?”

“Can’t tell you that. It’s for everyone’s protection.”

“How will I be able to contact her?”

“Someone will call you twice a week. You can talk with your daughter then.”

Before I responded, Bethany chimed in. “Think of how many times you haven’t known where Trina was. There have been weeks when Angelica was missing. At least, this time around, you’ll know she’s getting help.”

That made sense.

“You came to us for a reason,” Brad said, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. His touch surprised me; it was so unyielding. “If we go away, that reason will still be here. You have a mentally ill daughter with a history of noncompliance with her medication regimen and all the concomitant chaos this usually entails. There is no end in sight. You can start again with the SMART people and seventy-two-hour holds, or you can try us. We will not wait for her to hit bottom. We’ll reeducate her so she accepts her diagnosis, takes her meds, and gets therapy. There’s no guarantee that what we do will work for your daughter, but we’re used to success.”

He let go of my wrist, but, looking into his eyes, I felt he was still holding me.

“If she could just get back to being who she really is. Everything is waiting for her. She can start where she left off. She can still have the life I dreamed of for her.”

“Or maybe she’ll have a new dream.” He spoke in a gentle voice.

“So many things could go wrong.”

“Look,” Brad said. “Everyone who will be with you is trained in worst-case scenarios. I personally transported three people with their parents at one time.”

“Have you ever lost anyone?” I asked.

“No one has ever died under our care, if that’s what you mean.”

“What’s the worst thing that ever happened?”

“On the road?”

I nodded.

“A patient with schizophrenia got a knife and assaulted his father and the person from the program. They both had to have stitches.”

“What happened to the patient?”

“Our person managed to subdue him and take the weapon. He called for backup, who came, gave the patient a sedative, and took parent and driver to the emergency room.”

“How did you get into this?” I asked Brad.

“The hard way.”

I knew what that meant. “How long would I be gone?”

“Three to four weeks.”

“When would I have to leave?”

Brad looked at his watch. “What time are you going to pick up your daughter at the hospital?”

“Around seven o’clock, assuming she’ll still be there. The last time she just left without me.”

“Then we’d go to Plan B,” Brad said.

“Will it just be you, Bethany, and me?”

“Don’t know yet. This afternoon I’ll call someone at the hospital for an assessment of your daughter.” Seeing my surprise, he added, “We have people everywhere.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot at ten after seven. Be packed and ready to go. Make sure your daughter’s been to the bathroom. Bring as much medication as you have. You can get more on the road. Need to ask you a few things.” He looked at me sternly. “Will you be able to be away for four weeks?”

I nodded.

“Do you or your daughter have any physical problems that I should know about?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been arrested for or convicted of a felony?”

“No.”

“Do you have a plausible excuse for being away that you can tell anyone you feel needs to know?”

“Yes.”

“Have you told anyone about this?”

“No.”

“Don’t.”

IT WAS NEARLY ELEVEN O’CLOCK BY THE TIME I REACHED the store. In the trunk of my car were three suitcases, one filled with enough of my mix-and-match clothes to last for several weeks. Two others contained a summer and fall wardrobe for Trina. Adriana was at the register, and Frances was in the back, altering a woman’s dress that had come in yesterday. In my office I busied myself with payroll and writing checks, but still I heard the familiar voices.

Juicy and Coco and Spirit were standing near the purse display, chatting with Adriana. Juicy seemed to be telling a story, one she acted out in pantomime. When she finished, the other women roared with laughter. I’d never heard Adriana laugh so exuberantly. Customers in the store turned to stare at them. I did too. Spirit’s arm was on one of Adriana’s shoulder’s and Coco’s was around the other. Juicy pressed against her. They formed a tight circle. Family.

They could reclaim her, I thought. They wouldn’t have to promise her anything but their arms around her shoulders. I’d been thinking that Adriana had been saved, that I had saved her. That was my delusion.

“Adriana,” I said, after Frances had helped the other customers, “I need you.”

Keeping an eye on the girls, I called Frances over and led her and Adriana to the office.

“I’ve made arrangements for Trina to stay in a mental health facility for a while. I’m going to take some time off.”

“You going back east?” Frances asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You want us to go visit her at the hospital?” Adriana asked.

“No. She’s not in any shape to see anyone. I’ll tell you when.” Peering out the door, I saw Coco waiting near the register. “Frances, go help Coco.” As soon as Frances left I turned to Adriana. “Cut them off,” I said.

“What?”

I nodded toward her friends. “They want to bring you back down to their level. They don’t want to see you living clean. That’s why they keep coming here.”

“I’m through with all that.”

“Stop seeing them,” I said.

She stared at me for a very long time. “I can’t do that,” she said. “They’re still my friends. I’m not like them, but I can’t just dump them.”

I wanted to tell her that she couldn’t trust them. I wanted to grab her by her shoulders and shake and shake until she got it. But I had a hard row to hoe ahead of me, and I needed all my strength. “They’re not your friends. They don’t love you. They can’t even love themselves,” I said.

But she didn’t believe me.

TRINA WAS WAITING FOR ME AT THE HOSPITAL, PACING BACK and forth in front of the nurses’ station. Her face was scrubbed clean; her smile was subdued. She called me Mommy and kissed my cheek. I wanted Clyde with me. Here’s our kid, I’d say, the wonderful one, not the other one. She was utterly compliant and controllable, not a person in need of an intervention. But I knew things could change in two seconds.

Puff. Puff.

“Go to the bathroom,” I said.

“Why?”

“We’re not going straight home. My car’s in the shop, and a friend is picking us up.”

She walked back to her room and as soon as she disappeared my phone rang. It was Orlando—himself, not in character.

“Where you been, baby? I’ve been trying to catch up with you all day.”

“Orlando, I really can’t talk right now. I’m running. I put Trina in a mental health facility, and I’m taking off. I need to get away. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Where you going? Are you coming to the opening?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

I could see his face, the dejection in his eyes. I was his favorite audience. Trina was walking toward me. Orlando’s next question was forming in his mind.

“Orlando, I have to go. Talk to PJ, okay? He really needs you. I’ll call.”

Elijah was sitting behind the sign-in desk. “Young lady,” he said, smiling at both of us, “you take care of yourself. Do what you need to do. I don’t want to see you back here again.”

Trina giggled.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You won’t.”

17

THE EVENING AIR WAS CHILLY. HOSPITAL STAFF AND VISItors milled about. Across the street the emergency room was packed. Brad was standing in front of the door that led from the hospital to the parking lot. When he saw us he said, “There you are,” grabbed Trina’s hand, and shook it. “Brad,” he said, “your mom’s friend.”

“Brad who?” she asked, and I thought,
We’re not ready for her.

“Sebastian.” The name slipped off his tongue so easily, I almost thought it was real.

Trina gave me a look, and I knew she was trying to figure out who Brad was and how he fit into my life.

“This way,” Brad said, leading us across the parking lot, down a dark row of cars until we were in front of his blue Explorer.

He held open the door. In the backseat, I could see Bethany and Angelica, who sat apart from her mother. Trina looked at Brad and then at me. She didn’t move. She looked from me to Brad and then back to me again.

“Why didn’t you drive? I don’t want to be with a stranger.”

There was outrage in her voice, the two-year-old who would scream until she turned blue. Had she taken her evening pills?

“I don’t want to go with him,” she said.

Above us, the sky was cloudy and dull; the sun had disappeared. Behind us a siren cut through the air.

“Trina,” I said, “you’re being rude. Brad is doing me a favor. My car is—”

“There’s nothing wrong with your car. Why didn’t you ask Adriana or Frances? You could have called Orlando.”

She began backing away. I wanted to reach for her, but I couldn’t feel my arms. Nothing on my body seemed to work. I had a fleeting vision of Brad dragging her to the car as Trina screamed her head off.

Brad pulled out a pack of Marlboros and offered one to her. “When you get in, I’ll explain everything,” he said.

“I can smoke in the car?” Trina asked, taking a cigarette. She was looking at me.

Brad nodded. I nodded.

Trina climbed into the seat behind Brad, the middle row. When she saw Bethany and Angelica her body jerked, and I could tell she remembered the older woman.

“They’re friends of mine,” Brad said.

I sat beside Trina, and Brad got behind the wheel. Click! Click! The power locks sounded. I glanced behind me. The locks were childproof. Only the driver could open them. Moments later, cigarette smoke wafted throughout the car.

“Who are these people? Where are we going?” Trina asked, exhaling the words with the smoke. She stiffened as we turned onto the freeway.

“Trina, your mom has been really worried about you,” Brad said. His voice sounded reassuring. “She doesn’t think you’re getting the kind of help that you need at the hospital. I suggested that she take you someplace where you can get proper treatment.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Her tone was high-pitched and frantic.

“Trina!” I said. She’d made outlandish, paranoid statements before, so I wasn’t completely surprised.

“We’re not going to kill you. Your mother and I want to help you.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a place where you can get help,” Brad said.

“I don’t want to go. You can’t make me go. I’m over eighteen.” Her head twisted from left to right, from Brad to me. “Take me home. You have to take me home.”

“Trina,” Brad said.

“No. I don’t want you talking to me. I don’t know you. Mommy, make him take us home.”

“I love you very much. You have to trust that I’m doing what’s best for you. I want you to have a good life. You haven’t been having a good life recently. You’re sick, honey.”

I looked at Brad. Does he know what he’s doing? Can he handle her? Trina reached for the door.

“Take your hand off the handle. I control the locks. You may not know me, but you need to trust that your mother has your best interests at heart,” Brad said.

His voice was Papa Bear strong. In the dim car, Goldilocks scowled and raised up from her seat.

“It would be a mistake for you to try to run.”

Trina slid back into her seat behind the driver.

“Other side,” Brad said. Trina slid over.

What was in his voice that made her do that?

In the rearview mirror, Brad smiled. I felt Bethany’s hand squeezing my shoulder. I turned my head to acknowledge her. Angelica stared at me. The light from the parking lot revealed a thin, hollow-eyed young woman who might have been pretty at one time. Her lips were moving rapidly, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

“There are some rules,” he said. “I want us all to be safe. Number one, you cannot leave this car for any reason. Number two, you must take your medicine. Number three, you must do everything I tell you to do.”

What kind of training did he receive? What courses did he take? Did he make A’s? Why didn’t I ask more questions? What made me trust him?

“You’re the devil, and you’re trying to kill me,” Trina said. She turned to me. “And you want him to do it.”

She glared at me. The meds hadn’t fully kicked in yet. Trina was still manic, and I was still her enemy.

At the first red light, I saw Brad reach into his glove compartment and pull something out. With quick, deft movements, he turned around to face Trina, then leaned over.

“Ow!”

Bethany began patting me. Beside her, Angelica sat as though frozen.

Passing streetlights revealed a flash of something shiny. I could see the needle in Brad’s hand. His jab into Trina’s bare upper arm had been deliberate and quick. Trina started crying after she got over the shock, which was before I got over it.

“Trina, that was Haldol I gave you. You’ve probably gotten it before at the hospital. It will calm you down and make you sleep,” Brad said.

She looked at me. “It was poison. Why are you letting this man kill me?”

“Trina, I want you to get well,” I said.

Twenty minutes passed before I heard the soft snuffling sound that Trina makes when she’s asleep. By that time I was calmer, more in control.

“Why did you give her that shot without even asking me?” I asked, my voice low. “How did you know that the hospital hadn’t already given her something?”

“I’m a psychologist, Keri. I can tell when a patient is manic. If she’d been sedated, your daughter wouldn’t have been acting like that.”

“They give the kids shots at the hospital, and they don’t tell us a thing,” Bethany whispered.

I wasn’t used to this new Bethany, who rubbed my shoulders and whispered. I liked the less subdued version, the woman with a butcher’s knife of a mouth.

“Listen, let’s get one thing straight: I don’t want you giving anything to my child unless you clear it with me first.” I looked from Brad to Bethany.

“From time to time, I’ll have to make decisions quickly. You are going to have to trust me,” Brad said.

“How many times have you done this?” I asked.

“Enough times,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I know what I’m doing. I’m not a novice. I’m not interning. Been through this process dozens of times. And whether you want to or not, you’re going to have to trust me. Period. If you can’t do that, Keri, I can drive you home or wherever you want to go, right now.”

I couldn’t go home, and he knew it.

“Going to need your wallet, your money, and your cell phone, Keri.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not giving you—”

“It’s for our protection, Keri,” Bethany said.

“So I’m walking around with no money and no ID. How does that protect me?”

“We’ve had cases where patients have stolen their parents’ wallets and identification in an attempt to leave the program. They call people on the cell phones. I keep the wallets and phones in a safe place, and at the end of the trip I return them.”

“I have a business. I have to be in contact with people. I always answer my cell phone. If they don’t hear from me, they might report me missing.”

“Keep your phone for now. We’ll work something out. But I’d like your wallet.”

I fished around in my purse and handed Brad my wallet. He glanced at me and kept driving. He’d called my bluff, and I’d caved. His profile as we drove was resolute, his chin strong and determined: the hero under pressure.

I was the runaway, hidden in the back of the wagon under the hay. That was me, holding my breath, saying my prayers, trying to make it to a safe haven.