Every Waking Moment (26 page)

MIRIAM SAT
with Treha in a conference room at Tucson Medical Center. They were meeting Dr. Melinda Graco, head of the department of neuropsychiatry at the University of Arizona, who was the lead doctor on the team that had studied Treha’s test results. Treha stared at shelves filled with medical journals and reference books. She wore blue-green scrubs and swayed beside the mahogany table.

“Can we see Dr. Crenshaw after we get through here?” Treha said. She wore a blank look, but there was something different about her, Miriam thought. Or perhaps there was something different in the way she saw the girl now. In the hope she had moving forward. That colored everything.

“I’d like that,” Miriam said. Though the thought pained her because she knew Crenshaw’s condition had actually worsened. “You haven’t told me what was in the letter your mother gave you. You’ve read it by now.”

Treha’s eyes wandered and her fingers typed. “No. I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

A shrug.

“Don’t you want to know what she wrote?”

Treha looked down. “I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That she won’t be what I have thought she would be. That maybe she is sick like me. That she didn’t want me because . . . I’m like this. And a thousand other things.”

“Treha, I don’t think there was any way for her to know.” Miriam put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want me to read it for you?”

Treha shook her head. “If I can listen to what a doctor says about me, I can read what my mother wrote.”

Miriam smiled as the doctor entered, followed by two others. She wondered if they were integral to the analysis or if they just wanted to see the anomaly that was Treha.

Dr. Graco shook Miriam’s hand and reached out to Treha, who seemed unable to look at the woman. The doctor had salt-and-pepper hair cut to frame just enough of her face to see she had struggled with acne early on. She was professional but with a circumspect smile.

“I’ve been reading the news about the settlement, Treha. What an adventure. You must be very proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

“I didn’t accomplish anything. I was just living.”

“Yes, but Phutura is going to pay those people who were injured. And it looks like Mr. Hollingsworth will be punished.” She leaned closer. “How do you feel about that? Being responsible for bringing him to justice?”

Treha turned her head slightly and answered toward the wall. “I don’t think I had much to do with it. Devin and Jonah took the video. And Mrs. Howard helped.”

Dr. Graco smiled at Miriam and scooted closer to the table, raising a stack of papers and bringing out bifocals. “Treha, I wanted to share some of the results from your tests. There are
a few that take longer to process, but the blood work and some of the neurological testing, the imaging we’ve done, give us an idea of where to go from here.”

Treha looked at the woman. “Is it good news?”

“Well, let’s see what you think. You were exposed to a drug very early on that damaged your brain. When a child, in utero, encounters such a toxic load of psychotropic drugs, there are consequences. The central nervous system, the liver and its metabolic enzymes
 
—these are not fully developed, so the fetus is affected. That is what happened to you.

“To put it mildly, your brain was subjected to a tsunami at a vulnerable point in your development. A hurricane of chemicals and stimulation. It’s a miracle you survived. That you’ve been able to function with this much impairment is a testament to your heart, your will. You are a very strong young woman, Treha.”

Dr. Graco looked at her pages, then took off the glasses and placed them on the table. “The good news is, I think we can help you.”

“Help me what?”

“Progress. Move further toward becoming connected with the world around you.”

“Heal,” Miriam said.

“I don’t like the term,” Dr. Graco said. “This is not like a surgery on a damaged rotator cuff. The brain is different. Your mental processes are heightened in some areas
 
—like your cognitive ability with words and letters
 
—and in other areas your abilities have been lessened or dulled or are nonexistent. The question is whether we can, through various treatment methods, stimulate the impaired parts of the brain and retrain it to make you function properly. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Treha nodded. “What does treatment mean? Does that mean taking other drugs?”

“With the toxic hit you’ve taken, I wouldn’t suggest it. There are other ways, if you’re open to them, to repair that part of the brain. I won’t lie to you. It will require commitment. It will be a lot of work, a lot of rehabilitation. And there’s no guarantee
 
—”

“How long?” Treha said, interrupting.

“I don’t look at it in terms of time. You can get in a trap that way. But I understand why you would want to know. I think we could see true progress in a year. Perhaps two. The real evaluation will be in five years. But what progress means is different from individual to individual. Some who have neurological impairment respond quickly. For others it takes longer. Some don’t respond at all. And with your history, that is a possibility.”

She inched a little closer. “Treha, with what you’ve been through, you have to understand that this may be the best your brain can get. But my experience is that if you are committed, you’ll look back and compare your brain function and see improvement.”

Miriam studied the girl, who seemed to go away, inside herself, computing something, perhaps running the words around and jumbling them in her mind.

“What do you think, Treha?” the doctor said. “Do you want to give it a try?”

She looked up. “Who will pay for this?”

Dr. Graco folded her hands. “Phutura has agreed to cover all of your treatment. It’s in their best interest from a public-relations standpoint to do so. And speaking on behalf of the team
 
—the endocrinology specialist and the others who will work with you
 
—it would be an honor to help.”

Miriam leaned close. “What about you, Treha? We’ve been
talking about tests and rehabilitation and work. But you don’t have to change for us to love you.”

“I know that.”

“Good. So the only question is, what do you want?”

Like a river meeting another tributary, something happened in the girl. Miriam sensed the change and watched her eyes fill until one single tear spilled over the edge and ran down her cheek. Treha let it run all the way to her neck before she spoke.

“Can you stop my eyes?”

Dr. Graco’s eyes filled in return. “There’s no harm in trying.”

And at the edge of Treha’s lips, microscopic as it was, there seemed to be a turn, cracks in the cheek, the hint of something coming. Something grand.

After the meeting, Miriam and Treha took the elevator and walked to Dr. Crenshaw’s room. The girl seemed encouraged by the meeting with Dr. Graco, but who could read Treha’s mind?

“What are you thinking?” Miriam said.

“If changes happen, if I get better, maybe I won’t be able to reach people. Maybe I don’t need to change. But I want to.”

“Maybe trying to get better will help you gain something rather than losing.”

“I wish I could know what would happen.”

Miriam took a deep breath. “I think whatever it is, it will be good, my dear. And I want to be there to see it.” She paused at the door. “Would you like to go in alone?”

“No. I’d like you to come.”

Dr. Crenshaw’s heart monitor beeped evenly, but the old man’s mouth was open and there was a patch of blood on the white stubble surrounding it. His lips were chapped and his skin pale.

“He doesn’t look like himself,” Treha said.

“He’s nearing the end of the road, Treha.”

She looked at him, then back at Miriam, a frightened animal. “Why didn’t he tell me? He could have explained all of this at Desert Gardens. Why he searched for me. He could have told me about my mother. He could have explained everything.”

Miriam put an arm around her. “I don’t know, Treha. Perhaps he felt guilty about what you went through. And as he came to know you, he must have been torn. He wanted you to have a normal life.”

“My life will never be normal.”

“I know. But you’ve been able to ask the question. I think that’s a breakthrough.”

Treha turned back to the old man in the bed.

“Talk to him, Treha. Tell him what you’re thinking. Tell him what you want to say.”

She looked at Miriam as if just then comprehending, making the connection between her gift and the unreachable man in the bed.

Treha pulled a chair close to his bed and began massaging his arm and neck, speaking his name softly. Miriam moved behind her and listened.

“Dr. Crenshaw, it’s Treha. I miss your word games. I miss your voice. And I know that you brought me to Desert Gardens. I know what you were trying to tell me. Now I have something to say to you.

“You gave medicine to my mother. And it hurt me. I know you feel bad about this. You feel responsible for me. We found Mr. Davidson and he told us everything. And now I’m going to get help.”

She leaned closer and Miriam thought she heard the girl’s voice crack a little. “So now I want you to wake up for me. I want to thank you. I want you to give me another riddle. You liked that so much, and so did I.”

Miriam watched the rhythm of the man’s breathing. She thought she noticed the beeping of the heart monitor increase slightly. His blood pressure rose as well and there was a slight fluttering of eyelids. But she couldn’t tell if he was reacting to Treha’s words.

The girl was leaning over him now. “I want to tell you something important, Dr. Crenshaw. Listen carefully. I forgive you. I need you to know that. Can you hear me? I want you to wake up now and tell me about my mother. Please wake up.”

She continued massaging, her hands moving in time with the heartbeats. Then she leaned over again.

“If you can’t do that, I understand. You look so peaceful. You have waited for me, haven’t you? I’m here. I’m right here.”

Miriam did a double take at the man’s face. From his left eye, a single tear was running down his cheek.

“If you need to leave, if you need to let go, you can. I’m all right. Mrs. Howard is here and she is all right. And Elsie and Hemingway and the others will be all right. No one wants you to suffer. We are grateful to you. We love you, Dr. Crenshaw.”

Treha sat back and the man’s breathing suddenly became more shallow. It wasn’t instantaneous, but soon the blood pressure level dropped and the heart rate slowed. It was as if he were letting go of life as slowly as a child will release a balloon and watch it rise into the air. As Miriam watched, he slipped from them and the monitor sounded continuously. The line flattened and nurses arrived and stood behind the girl who continued stroking the man’s weathered hand.

THE CALL CAME
the next day, midmorning, as Miriam was finishing her cup of coffee. She had her Bible open, reading in the book of John, marveling at the simple truths she encountered and the questions sprouting like mustard seeds in her soul.

The ring startled her, as did the voice on the other end. It was the chairman of the board of Desert Gardens. They had made a decision regarding the director position. She listened, wondering why he was telling her this.

“Miriam, the feeling on the board was unanimous,” the man said. “We’d like you to come back in the interim, to fill this position and help us transition.”

“What happened with Millstone?” she said. “I mean, Ms. Millstone.”

“It wasn’t as good of a fit as we thought.”

She wanted to tell him,
“I told you so.”
But she bit her tongue. The man’s voice was pleading and a little pathetic.

Instead, she said, “The last thing the residents need is a revolving door with that position.”

“I understand, and you need to know we all feel terrible. We made an error in judgment. We’d like you to come back.”

“For a week, a month? How long?”

“For as long as you want. You set the agenda as far as the next transition. If it’s a year, two years, five
 
—whatever you think is what we’ll go with, Miriam. We trust you.”

“I’ll need to think about this,” she said. “I’ve made plans. Charlie and I have made plans.” That wasn’t completely the truth, but the chairman said he understood.

“Take as long as you need to decide. A few days? A week? Ms. Millstone is gone effective immediately. She’s gathering her things. Perhaps if you went over there to calm the residents, no matter what you decide. I know you care about them.”

After Miriam hung up, she stared at her reflection in the black coffee. She hadn’t wanted retirement, hadn’t desired leaving Desert Gardens. She had been forced out. The opportunity to return should have sent her clicking her heels. She should have said yes right away. But something held her back.

Charlie walked into the room and poured coffee. “Who was that?”

She told him.

“What did he want?”

She held the mug with both hands and something inside her trembled. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the questions that came from the pages in front of her.

“Charlie, how would you feel if I went back to work at Desert Gardens?”

“You don’t need my permission. You can do what you want.”

“I know that. Thank you.” It took everything in her to say that. And then a Herculean effort overcame the resentment and pain and disillusionment of life with her husband and she said, “I really want to know what you think.”

“If they’ve tossed Millstone out on her keister, which is what they should have done to begin with, it makes sense. You put
your heart and soul into that place. The people love you. You love them. It’s a no-brainer. The only question is whether you want to keep working or not. You don’t have to.”

“Thank you for that,” she said. And was surprised to find that she really meant it. “But what about you and me?”

He sat and cradled his mug with wrinkled hands. “What do you mean?”

She wanted to say they had an opportunity to grow together. To do more than just exist. She wanted to tell him so much. But she couldn’t. Not yet. It was too soon. She’d have to ease into it.

So instead of saying any of that, she said, “I mean lunch. Would you like me to make you a sandwich?”

He pulled his head back like she had just spoken a new language. “Well, sure. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Miriam met Elsie and Buck at the front of the building and both of them beamed. The mood inside was one of muted celebration.

“You should have seen Miss Elsie stand up to her,” Buck said. “You would have been so proud.”

“It wasn’t anything,” Elsie said, waving him off. “He’s the one who took the chance. This fellow here is the real deal, putting his career on the line.”

“Is she still here?” Miriam said.

“Everything’s about loaded up on the truck out there,” Buck said. “I’ve been helping the movers a little to keep things rolling.”

“Did you hear we had a prospective resident come through yesterday?” Elsie said. “Name’s Davidson.”

Miriam smiled. “I was hoping he would take my advice and join us.”

“Us?” Buck said. “Does that mean you’re coming back?”

“Where else would I go? I belong here. Just don’t tell the board. I have a couple of staff positions I’d like to create. One that will bring back a previous employee and another to make room for a single mother I’ve met. Plus, I’m holding out for repavement of the parking lot.”

The two laughed as Miriam walked toward the office, waving at several of the old faces. It felt like coming home. It felt like coming alive. How strange to feel so vibrant in such a place.

Millstone was exiting the office with a box under one arm and a picture under the other. The one about
Excellence
. When she saw Miriam, she stopped and cocked her head. “I suppose you’ve come back to tell me how right you were. To rub it in.”

Miriam shook her head. “Not at all. I’m sorry this didn’t work out for you. I really am. You are a gifted administrator.”

“Gifted? That’s not how the board described it.”

“I hope you find something that’s a better fit.”

“Like a prison? Is that what you’re thinking?” Millstone walked past her, then turned. “To show I’m not a complete washout as a human being, there’s something for you on the desk. I’m not an evil person, you know.”

“I never thought you were. I’m sorry it had to . . . I’m sorry.”

“Good-bye, Mrs. Howard.”

Miriam entered the empty room, the carpet and paint still fresh from the previous tenant. On the empty desk was a single manila folder. And on the top was written
Treha
.

She picked it up and held it like it was some lost manuscript, a family heirloom that had washed up on the shore of her life. She sat and opened to the first page. Notes scribbled by Dr. Crenshaw. Observations about Treha and her abilities to solve word puzzles. Riddles of his own heart, almost like a medical
diary, explaining her condition and what the drug had done, the devastation, but also the gift.

Miriam found medical records for Treha in the back, photocopies of hospital forms blacked out in certain sections. She would give all of these to Treha’s medical team.

She went through the file from front to back three times before she closed it. There was nothing on the medical forms or in Dr. Crenshaw’s notes about the name of the mother. Nothing about why Treha had been placed for adoption. Nothing about the circumstances surrounding the birth. They had answered so many questions about the girl, but this one piece of the puzzle had fallen out of the box.

Perhaps the letter from Treha’s mother would give them something to work with. Or they might never find the woman. They might never know.

Miriam stood and tucked the folder under her arm. That would be okay. If this was as much as they discovered, that would be okay. It would have to be enough.