Bouquet: Sequel to 'In Full Bloom': The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 3) (22 page)

***

Mesmerized by the hypnotic movement of her index finger on the tile, Bob wasn’t aware of the passing of time. He was brought back to the ‘now’ by the appearance of Grace, kneeling by the tub.

“Sweetheart, Mommy’s here,” Grace cried to Tish, who was still stretched out in the tub.

Bob watched for any signs from Tish that she had heard her mother, but after a couple of seconds, it was apparent that she had not.  Grace reached out to touch Tish, but Bob quickly grabbed her arm.  Shocked and stunned, Grace glared at Bob.  “Don’t touch her,” he explained.  “It might draw her away further.” Releasing his grip, Grace lowered her arm.  “I tried that earlier, before she entered into this state,” he continued. “She was in one of those ‘don’t touch me moods’. I think I might have pushed too hard.”

Grace nodded her head, knowing only too well to what he was referring.  “Tish is just like her father in that regard.” She tried to justify to them the cause for this reaction.

“She was in that same mood at lunch today,” Wendy spoke from behind them.  “I tried to reach out to her when we were saying goodbye, but she visibly tensed at the very idea.” Both Bob and Grace nodded in response to her comment.  All three of them had been on the receiving end of Tish’s mood swings numerous times.  “By the way, Bob, when did she get home? When I talked to you at three o’clock, she still wasn’t back,” Wendy asked. 

“She had just gotten home.  .  .  maybe about five or ten minutes before I called you,” he answered, turning and viewing Wendy for the first time since she entered the bathroom.

“Bob!” Wendy gasped when she saw his face. Four, ugly, bleeding scratches marred the left side of his face. She grabbed a nearby washcloth, tossed it into the sink and turned on the water.

“What?” he questioned.

“Your face is bleeding,” Wendy answered, wringing out the water from the cloth.

Grace was on her feet.  “What happened?” she asked anxiously.

“It’s not important.  Besides, it doesn’t hurt,” Bob stated, while Wendy washed off the blood.  Grabbing the washcloth out of her hand, he stood up and turned to the mirror. Placing the phone he still had in his hand on the counter, he viewed his image.  The scratches were long, running from just under his eye to his jaw line, but none were very deep.  His T-shirt was dotted with blood, but he knew it would wash out.  He took his focus off his reflection, and saw the two concerned faces in the mirror. “I’ll be fine,” he stated over his shoulder to them. “Our concern should be on Tish’s welfare, not mine.” In unison, all three turned and faced the bathtub.

“What is she writing?” Wendy voiced the question that all three were thinking.

Holding the cloth to his injured cheek, Bob answered first.  “I haven’t been able to figure it out yet. I’ve been watching her since I called you, and every time I think I have a hint, it would change.  There is no pattern that I can make out.  I don’t believe that she is repeating something over and over.  I’ve even thought about putting a pencil in her hand, but vetoed it when I noticed that she is using her index finger, not a writing grip.”

Grace knelt beside the tub again while he spoke, and concentrated on the patterns her daughter was making.  “You’re right.  She is writing something all in cursive including punctuation, I believe,” she whispered, awed by this ability.  “I’ve seen her do this before, as a child.  I caught her a couple of times doing this trick.  She explained to me that it was her "secret writing" – a way of getting things out of her soul.  She had read somewhere that a way to face your problems was to write them down.  She had liked the idea, but she feared that someone might read it, so she taught herself to do this method.  Knowing that no one would ever be able to read this "writing", she explained. “It helped her cope.”

“Is that what she is doing now? Coping?” Wendy asked.

“I believe so,” Grace answered.  “Yet, I have never seen her shut herself off like this before.”

“So, you don’t know if she will come out of this trance?” Bob asked in a tired voice.

“No, Bob, I’m sorry.  I wish I knew.” She felt his pain as she turned to him.

Bob gave her a weak smile, and he turned his attention to Wendy.  “Can you help her?”

“Me?” Wendy was surprised, placing her right hand on her chest.  “Why ask me?” She glanced at Bob, and then at Grace.

Grace nodded her head.  “Because, dear, you are the only one in this room who is seeing professional help. That, I figure makes you the resident expert in this.”

“Great! I just love pressure,” Wendy retorted. Both Bob and Grace beseeched her with their eyes. “Okay, put me on the spot.” Reacting quickly was one thing when it came to herself, but thinking quickly was a new ball game for her.  “Granted, I’m seeing a psychiatric therapist,” she began slowly, “but our cases are different.”

“You’re making excuses,” Bob pressed.

“Okay, okay,” she sighed.  “I did provide Tish with his card at lunch today.” Turning to Bob, she continued.  “I told you before; she didn’t like the idea, but ended up taking the card with her.” Rotating her head a little to the left, she took in the scene in the bathtub.  “He doesn’t have office hours on the weekend, but I could call his service and have him call me here,” she offered.  “I could ask his advice on what to do.” She spoke her thoughts aloud. 

“Do you think he would mind?” Grace asked, concerned.

“I don’t think so,” Wendy answered honestly.  “He has told me many times that if I ever needed him, to call.”

“Yeah, that might be true, Wendy, but this isn’t about you,” Bob reminded her.

“You’re wrong, Bob.  This does affect me,” she cried, glaring at him.

“Sorry, Wendy, that didn’t come out right,” Bob apologized quickly.

“It’s okay, I understand,” she fumed, mentally counting to ten. Turning, she rushed out of the room, calling over her shoulder, “I’m going to call.”

“Wendy,” Bob called out after her, as he picked up the phone from the counter, “the phone is right here.”

His words abruptly stopped her forward movement. Dropping her head, she did an about-face. Embarrassed by her rash and daring behavior, she slowly brought her eyes up until she spotted the bloodied phone. With her focus on the phone, and avoiding eye contact, she snatched the phone from Bob’s hand, backing out of the room slowly. “I’ll call from out here,” she told them before disappearing from sight.

***

After Wendy’s second departure, this time with the phone in hand, Bob turned back to Tish. “Where are you?” his words were heavy with confusion.

“Bob, do you know what started this episode?” Grace asked him, fixing her gaze on her daughter.

“You mean today?” he answered her question with one of his own.

“No, I mean this general downward swing of hers.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” he whispered, shaking his head slowly back and forth. “I began to notice that small things upset her, probably as early as last week, but I can’t figure out what was the cause,” he continued.  He felt Grace’s stare and looked directly at her.  “No, I didn’t do anything to upset her, if that is what you are thinking.  I’ve been good.  I mean real good!”

Grace felt a blush redden her cheeks. “Thank you for telling me,” she acknowledged his confession, and lowered her eyes to her clenched hands. “Your track record hasn’t been the best in that regard.”

“I know,” Bob stressed, “but, I’m trying to right that situation.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Grace confided.

Both of their attentions were suddenly switched to the ringing of the phone.  Grace glanced at Bob and wordlessly directed him to go while she stayed with Tish.  Getting to his feet, he headed out of the room. 

Entering the main room, he realized that Wendy had answered the phone.  Stopping, he leaned up against the wall, watching her actions.  Her back was to him while he listened to the one-sided conversation. He heard four words, basically intermixed with others, and repeated several times: sorry, need, help, and please. Smiling, he was amazed at Wendy’s ability to grovel and sound pathetic at the same time.  He wished that she were facing him so he could see her face, believing that her expression would match her words. 

It dawned on him that he was thankful she was there. Surprised by this realization, he closed his eyes and directed his thoughts inward.  He and Wendy had rarely seen things the same way.  When he thought about it, he realized that he had never liked her before now. He had always tolerated her for Tish’s sake.  Analyzing his feelings, he became aware that he never liked her because of her influence on Tish. 
You’re a selfish man
, he screamed to himself. 
You’re jealous
. 
You’re unable to handle the idea of Tish having a relationship with anyone beside yourself.  You have kept Tish on a short rope
.  In their life together, Tish had never been far from his side. 
It’s not my fault
, he consoled his male ego. 
She was and is free to do what she wished
.  Now pleased with himself, he opened his eyes and was startled to see Wendy, standing in front of him.

“Bob?” Wendy asked, reaching out her hand to touch his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” he answered, righting himself quickly.  “What did the doctor say?”

Wendy removed her hand from Bob’s shoulder, rubbing her thumb across her fingertips as if they were singed from contact with him.  “He will be here in about an hour.  He is out, having dinner with his family, but will swing by here on his way home,” she reported.

“What exactly did you tell him?” Bob asked.

A look of confusion crossed Wendy’s face. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Nope,” he responded, “must have been lost in thought.”

That’s par for the course
, Wendy thought, as she turned and walked in the direction of the bathroom. “Might as well tell both you and Grace at the same time,” Wendy suggested, not looking at him.

Bob followed her, wondering why her tone had become so stern all of a sudden.

As they entered the bathroom, Grace glanced up at them.  “Well?” she asked.

“He will be here in about an hour,” Wendy repeated for Grace, as she seated herself on the counter top.

Bob passed in front of her and resumed his position on the closed commode.  He glanced briefly at Tish and saw that she was still writing on the wall. Shaking his head, he turned to Wendy.  “Continue,” he directed.

Glancing back and forth between the two faces, Wendy opted to direct her focus on Grace.  “I gave him a limited detail of her condition.  I asked him for his advice.  He was pleased that I contacted him instead of calling for an ambulance, as long as she wasn’t physically hurt.  He doesn’t want her moved.”

Grace turned her gaze to her daughter and frowned. “Does he normally make house calls?” she asked, not taking her eyes off Tish.