Gone for Good Read online

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he asked. ‘I felt that Ronnie was having some problems – emotional and anger management problems – that would best be addressed by professionals in a controlled setting. It didn’t have to be permanent, but I thought that intervention was needed.’

  ‘But you know that’s not at all what Mom wanted,’ I said. ‘To say that to Mom would be like spitting in her face. You knew that.’

  ‘Sometimes if you care about someone, you have to – and I’m using your indelicate metaphor – spit in their face. I thought I was doing the right thing, the best thing, for everybody.’

  ‘What did she say when you suggested that?’

  ‘About what you’d expect.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘She was angry – very angry. I think she took it as a criticism of her. Criticism of her parenting ability and criticism of her ability to take care of herself. People our age start to get testy when others suggest we may not be in full control of our lives. She said, “No. Never.” ’

  The tea was still too hot to drink. I hadn’t even tried it yet. I shouldn’t have come down to the cafeteria. I shouldn’t have brought anything up. I remembered that Paul said the police would say a lot of things to me, that they might say things meant to upset me. Was this what he’d been talking about?

  ‘Why are you so worked up about this?’ he asked.

  ‘Because …’ But I didn’t have anything else. I couldn’t say why I was angry. I gave it my best shot. ‘It feels like a betrayal.’

  ‘A betrayal? Of whom?’

  ‘Of Mom,’ I said. ‘And Ronnie.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘In a way, yes.’

  A smirk crossed his face. He could be condescending when he wanted to be. The teacher amused by the confusion of the pupil.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Smirk at me like that,’ I said. ‘You look just like Mom when you do it. But she was never as condescending as you can be.’

  I didn’t like where any of this was going, but I also felt powerless to stop myself. It was as though I were outside myself somehow, watching myself have an argument with my beloved uncle during the worst week of our lives.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. He picked up his glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. Then he reached out and started folding up the newspaper. ‘You’re obviously upset, and I understand that. I’m just going to go. I’ve been here all day anyway. There’s no use in both of us being here, especially when they have Ronnie doped up to his eyeballs.’

  I sat still while he gathered his stuff and pulled his coat on.

  Before he stood up, he asked, ‘What would you do with Ronnie?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If Ronnie were placed in your care, what would you do with him? Would you quit school? Hire a babysitter? What?’

  ‘I could make it work. Mom wasn’t tied to Ronnie all day. He worked. He was independent.’

  ‘Ronnie is who he is today because your mom gave up her life for him,’ he said. ‘She was his everything. I don’t think anyone else could do that. I know she wanted me to do that for him, to be his guardian. But I don’t know if I can really do it. And I’m not sure it would be healthy to live that way.’ He stood up and zipped his coat. ‘But I think you knew that without me saying it, right? After all, you didn’t make that promise to your mom, did you?’

  The words entered me like a needle, sharp and stinging.

  He paused a moment. He seemed to be thinking of something else to say. I just wanted him to go. ‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth,’ he said. ‘I just don’t think you’re in a position to judge anybody.’

  And with that, he left the hospital.

  21

  I almost left as well. I only wished I had left before talking to Paul.

  When I returned to Ronnie’s floor, I saw someone talking to the nurse who had sent me to the cafeteria. As I came down the hall, the nurse made a nodding gesture towards me, as though the man wanted to see me. I assumed he was Ronnie’s doctor.

  ‘Ms Hampton?’ he said.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ I said.

  We shook hands. He was a white-haired man in his early sixties. He wore a tie and a sharply pressed shirt and told me his name was Dr Heil. He placed his shiny gold pen in his shirt pocket.

  ‘Is Ronnie okay?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s doing fine,’ he said. ‘Better than yesterday, as I understand.’

  ‘Is there anything I should know?’ I asked.

  ‘Well,’ he said. He pointed to a door that opened off the hallway. It looked like any other patient room, but once we were inside, I saw that it was a consultation room, a place where families gathered with doctors to hear bad news about their loved ones. Dr Heil closed the door and we sat in the upholstered chairs.

  ‘There really isn’t much for me to say right now. My role is to examine your brother and make a report available to the police. I’m going to write that up in the next day or two.’

  ‘A report about what?’ I asked. ‘If Ronnie is a killer?’

  ‘That’s not my job,’ he said. ‘I’m not a police officer. No, I’m just here to offer my medical opinion on your brother. And I pass that on to the police. How they decide to act is up to them.’

  ‘Is there anything you can tell me?’ I asked. ‘He’s been in here a few days already. I don’t know what’s been happening.’

  He smiled at me, a comforting grandfatherly smile. He wanted to put me at ease without saying anything he wasn’t allowed to say. ‘As I’m sure you know, your brother is quite high functioning for someone with Down’s syndrome. It’s obvious that someone has taken a great deal of care with him over the years. I’m guessing that’s your mother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s what Ronnie said as well. He’s smart, and a good communicator. And understandably, he’s a bit overwhelmed by all of this.’ He leaned forward. ‘He needs you to be his sister right now. He needs someone just to talk to him and treat him normally. I think you’d be good for that. He thinks very highly of you.’

  ‘Does he?’ I asked.

  I assumed Ronnie didn’t think much of me at all, mainly because I knew I had my own wall up with him. I’d let him be Mom’s concern over the years and kept my distance, even going so far as to withdraw and stay far away whenever Ronnie had an issue of any kind. I figured he’d picked up on that – he was too smart not to – and took the same approach with me.

  ‘He spoke glowingly of you today,’ Dr Heil said. ‘I think he recognizes what has happened to your family and the position that puts the two of you in.’ Then he made the simplest statement of all, and perhaps the one I most needed to hear. And maybe I heard it better because it came from someone outside the family, an independent authority figure. ‘You’re his closest relative.’

  I nodded, letting his wisdom sink in.

  ‘I understand what you’re saying,’ I said.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You never know how bumpy the road ahead is going to get.’

  When Dr Heil was gone, I went in and sat with Ronnie. He was asleep, either as the result of the medication or just because being examined by a head shrinker was enough to wear anyone out. And Ronnie’s reserves must have been pretty low at that point.

  Even though he didn’t know I was there, I felt an obligation to stay a while. But ‘obligation’ wasn’t the right word. I wanted to stay. I wanted to know he was safe, that no one else was going to come in and bother him or interrogate him. Not as long as I had anything to say about it.

  I graded papers while Ronnie slept. The time passed quickly. My phone rang not long after I started grading. It was my landlord informing me that I had a new door and a dead bolt.

  ‘You should be fine,’ he told me. He agreed to come by the hospital and bring me the new key, which he did, meeting me at the front door.

  Was it just that easy? Bolt the door and sleep tight? My mother’s house had more locks than Buc
kingham Palace and look what they had done for her. Sure, I wanted to be there for Ronnie. But I was avoiding something as well. I wasn’t looking forward to going home and sleeping in that apartment. I couldn’t imagine closing my eyes and not dreaming of someone breaking in again. I wanted to protect Ronnie, but who was going to protect me?

  I kept on grading. They brought a tray of food for Ronnie. Some processed meat smothered in gravy, mashed potatoes, sliced pears, and a chocolate milk. Ronnie woke up, probably because he smelled the food. He wasn’t a picky eater. I knew he’d love the meat and potatoes, even though the thought of it made my stomach turn a little. And I hadn’t eaten much all day.

  Ronnie looked surprised to see me. He looked groggy, his eyes heavy lidded and bloodshot. His hair stood up in a swirl as if someone had given it a going-over with an electric mixer. I decided to comb it down for him, but I let him eat first.

  We didn’t say much to each other initially. As Ronnie ate, he reached for the remote control and turned on the TV. A news show played, a recap of all the disasters in the world. Ronnie watched it while he ploughed through the meat and potatoes. He could be like that sometimes – intently focused on the task in front of him, a little removed from the people around him. I don’t think it had anything to do with the Down’s syndrome. I could be the exact same way.

  At the first commercial, he turned to me. ‘You look tired, sis.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You need to sleep,’ he said.

  ‘I will. I’m trying to get caught up on paper grading.’

  ‘Work, work, work,’ he said, smiling a little. It was good to see that. ‘Is Paul coming back?’ he asked.

  ‘I think he went home for the night,’ I said. ‘He was here while the doctor was with you.’

  ‘I know. I saw him.’

  ‘Did you like talking to the doctor today?’ I asked. ‘Dr Heil?’

  ‘He was nice.’

  ‘What did you two talk about?’ I asked.

  Ronnie shrugged. The news came back on, a story about wildlife in Africa. Ronnie’s eyes were glued to the screen.

  ‘What did he ask you about?’

  ‘A bunch of questions.’

  ‘Were they about Mom?’

  Ronnie didn’t answer. He watched the TV. I thought about reaching for the remote and turning it off. If we were teenagers, I would have done that very thing. But I didn’t want to get him angry or upset. He’d had a hellish day as well. But still, I wanted to know what they’d talked about. I felt I had a right. And I remembered what Dr Heil had said to me just a little bit earlier. It could be a bumpy ride ahead.

  Did Ronnie know that?

  ‘And that’s it?’ I asked. ‘Nothing else?’

  Agitation crept into his voice. ‘He was nice, sis. I liked him. It’s fine.’

  He turned his attention back to the TV and drank his milk.

  I wished I could believe him.

  22

  I thought of calling Paul as I left Dover Community. It felt too much like those last six weeks with Mom – something unresolved hanging between us. But I was still angry. Just thinking about it – thinking about him – stirred the anger almost to a boil. I’d trusted him, and so had Mom. Would he really just hand Ronnie over to an institution or a home? Is that why he had been so cavalier about sending Ronnie to the hospital? And when I’d suggested we get a lawyer, that we work to get Ronnie out, Paul was dismissive of the idea.

  The sun was setting as I drove to my apartment. The clouds from earlier in the day had parted. A band of orange marked the horizon, and flocks of birds, black specks against the darkening sky, swept past in the distance. Halfway home, I almost picked up the phone and called Dan. I told myself I didn’t need him. I just wanted him – or someone – to be there with me when I went to the apartment. I tried to convince myself I would have settled for Jeff, the astronomy nerd downstairs. But I knew the truth. I really did want Dan to be there. After the whole long day and the fight with Paul, I wanted Dan to be around.

  But I didn’t call him. I put the phone down.

  I needed to go in alone.

  I hurried to make it home before darkness fully fell. I parked the car, but before climbing out I looked all around me. Two runners jogged by. The night looked normal, and when I stepped out, it felt normal. Cool and crisp, but normal. I hustled up the stairs. I felt some comfort when I passed Jeff’s apartment; a light glowed in the window. I wasn’t completely alone. There were other people in the world, people sharing the spaces I inhabited. I just needed to notice them.

  The key the landlord gave me worked like a charm. I slipped inside as quickly as I could, locking the dead bolt behind me before I even hit the light. When I turned it on, I saw the mess. I hadn’t been home since the night before. I’d forgotten about the condition of the place, the things strewn around, the up-ended drawers.

  I dropped my bag to the floor, overwhelmed by it all.

  I’d proved my point to myself. I’d made it home. I felt tears coming again. I didn’t want to give in to them.

  But I also needed help. I found the phone and called Dan.

  True to form, Dan arrived about thirty minutes after I called. And he didn’t arrive unarmed. When I undid my new dead bolt lock and opened the door for him, he stood there on my stoop carrying a bag of food from our favourite Thai restaurant. Why did I think I didn’t have room in my life for this man? Why did I think I couldn’t balance a career and a love life?

  He stepped inside and assessed the damage. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ he said.

  ‘Nothing is as bad as this looks.’

  First, we ate. He knew what to get me – shrimp fried rice, spring rolls – and I loved every bite. I went to the kitchen and opened beers for us. It was easy to find the opener with the contents of the drawers scattered across the linoleum.

  For a few minutes, the food and the drink and the company helped me forget the crappy twenty-four hours I had been through. Dan gave me my space. He didn’t ask me a lot of questions, and he avoided the subject of my family and all of their drama. He avoided it so much and so skillfully that I found myself wanting him to ask. As I finished my last bite of food, I tried to send telepathic messages to his brain encouraging him to ask me about my day. About Ronnie. About Paul.

  But he didn’t know those people. Dan was right. I’d kept the two halves of my life – school and family – separated as if they were warring factions. Yet they weren’t – they couldn’t be, because they didn’t know each other. And if they had met, it would have been fine. My family – especially my mother – would have been thrilled if I’d brought a nice, normal-looking guy home to meet her. She would have been glad there was a chance I might not spend my life alone. Mom was a little old-fashioned and worried about those things. But it didn’t matter to me. I tried to keep things simple and easy. For me, if not for anyone else. Now Mom would never meet that man, whoever he turned out to be. I tried not to think of that either.

  When we were finished eating, Dan, ever the chipper taskmaster, stood up. ‘Want to get started on this mess?’ he asked.

  He didn’t wait for a response. I suspected he was trying to keep the evening’s momentum moving forward. He probably feared a pause, a moment in which I could turn to him and announce that it was time for him to go. He didn’t know how happy I was to see him there.

  And he had been right about the mess. It wasn’t as bad as it looked. It was a mess, but it was a simple mess. Hardly anything was broken. Things just needed to be put back in their places, which we managed to do, working together. We still didn’t say much, except when Dan asked me questions about where to put things. It took about an hour. A lamp I had purchased from Goodwill had its bulb broken. An old calculator I used to figure grades was smashed. And near the end, right when everything was pretty much put back in order, Dan handed me a framed photo. It showed Mom, Paul, Ronnie, and me. The glass was shattered. It looked as if someone had dropped a brick on it. I shook the shards o
f glass loose. We all looked happy for some reason. I remembered the photo being taken about three years earlier, not long after I had graduated from college and a couple of years after Dad had died.

  ‘Be careful,’ Dan said.

  I stared at the photo a long time, felt the tears starting to come, and fought them off. But I couldn’t hide it from Dan.

  ‘It doesn’t look like the photo’s damaged,’ he said. ‘And we can buy a new frame for it.’

  We, he said. Always willing to share the load.

  ‘It’s not this,’ I said.

  ‘What isn’t?’ he asked.

  ‘Everything.’ I put the photo down. ‘Remember that talk we had on the night of the funeral? The one about how cut off I was from my family?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not getting any better,’ I said. ‘I’m getting worse.’

  ‘In two days? You can’t expect –’

  I cut him off. I didn’t want to be encouraged or placated. I took him by the hand, and we went over to the couch. After we sat down and got settled, I told him about Paul encouraging my mom to have Ronnie put somewhere and how that led to the argument I had with Paul at the hospital. Dan listened patiently, nodding as I went through it blow by blow. When I was finished, he didn’t say anything. He sipped from his beer.

  ‘Well?’ I said.

  ‘You’re both under a lot of stress,’ he said. ‘It’s no surprise you might blow up at each other. Families fight.’

  ‘You’re not getting it,’ I said.

  ‘Okay. What am I not getting?’

  I started to say it, then stopped. Then I went ahead and said it. ‘This is something else about my family I’m learning after the fact. Isn’t that crazy?’

  ‘Like I said, it’s only been a couple of days you’ve been thinking about this.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking about this a long time. Maybe since I was in high school. Or when my dad died.’

  ‘Thinking about what?’