Admissions (19 page)

“Parents kept it out, probably,” Estee says.

“I just keep thinking about her. Trying to imagine what happened.” I can feel my lips quiver. “You know, something passes between people who suffer together. It forms a bond, like a sister.”

“I sure miss her,” Autumn says.

Isabel takes a long drag, noisily exhales, looks out over the lawn. “When you know somebody in their worst moments …and yours too, I guess . . .” Isabel wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I got a sick feeling she starved herself to death,” Heidi says.

Chapter 38

I
received a letter Tuesday. It’s from Beth’s mother. She wants it read in group.”

“A letter? Her mother wrote it?” Isabel asks.

“Yes. It’s more like a story. But Mrs. Shaffer called it a letter, and asked me to share it with you.”

Dear Friends:

I would like to tell you a story. I hope this will help you grieve for my beautiful daughter, Elizabeth.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young girl named Elizabeth. She was entranced by a magic spell and slumbered in a deep sleep—like Snow White. Her mother looked down at her as she slept. Her thick lashes almost to her cheeks. Shiny dark hair framed her face, draped luxuriantly across her shoulders. She wore an antique brooch pinned at her throat, centered on the high collar of her ivory silk dress.

Her mother bowed her head. No sorrowful dwarfs would file past Beth’s coffin, no Prince Charming would kiss her awake.

A spray of red roses and baby’s breath with a wide gold ribbon, Beloved Daughter, rested on the mahogany. Her parents had chosen the Sunshine Chapel in Cross Village just north of Harbor Springs for Beth’s final appearance. They sat side by side on a velvet settee pulled up close, near their daughter’s head. The pews were empty.

Elizabeth was interred at Lakeside Cemetery. The blue granite headstone etched with angels was especially designed by Wally Garner, the renowned stone mason and artist, now retired to his cottage on Walloon Lake.

A HEAVENLY ANGEL FLOWN AWAY TOO SOON

 

Beloved Daughter, We miss you.

Elizabeth Ann Shaffer

Born: August 12, l950 Died: August 12, l969

 

Her mother smoothed the cuffs of her daughter’s dress down over her thin wrists. She kissed her forehead. My beautiful daughter—flawless. The funeral director had done a good job, despite all his complaints.

“Isn’t she stunning dear?” Beth’s mother said to her husband. “She hasn’t looked this good in a long time.” Satisfied, proud even, she knew it would turn out all right. The last few days had been difficult, but now her daughter slept peacefully.

May she rest in peace.

Sincerely,

Dorothy Shaffer.

“Okay, now that pisses me right off.” Isabel crosses her arms.

“Why is that?”

“My god. Her daughter kills herself, and this woman makes it all about her and how beautiful her daughter is. That’s sick.”

“It doesn’t sound right to me either,” I say. “Beth was having a terrible time with her parents’ expectations. Now her mother acts like they were all in some kind of fairy tale?”

“Dr. Murray, if a person dies, do you still have confidentiality?” Heidi squirms and crosses her legs.

“What do you mean?”

“Can you tell somebody else what they told you?”

“I think so. As long as it isn’t malicious, and isn’t gossip. This group is ruled by confidentiality, too. If you want to share something about Beth in this group, I think that will be fine.”

“Beth told me she tried to kill herself last year. Her family was up here for the summer. It was right after her birthday party. She took a neighbor’s dinghy—she said that’s a small boat—and jumped overboard. She wanted to drown, but a guy—a captain from the Maritime academy—saved her. I guess the neighbor was gonna press charges against Beth. Her parents hired a lawyer. He said get her to the closest hospital, so they sent her here. Parents were so afraid of what their friends might think.”

“I see.”

“Before she left for home visit last time, she said goodbye to me. Said she saved up enough pills to kill herself. I begged her not to. She made me promise not to tell. I …I didn’t think she’d do it. Now I feel like shit.”

“If somebody wishes to end their life, there really isn’t anything we can do. I feel badly, too, Heidi. I’m her therapist. Maybe I could have helped her more. I’m so very sad. Such a wonderful girl with a promising future …” Dr. Murray wipes her eyes with a Kleenex.

“She told me her mother was a drunk,” Isabel says. Well, she didn’t use those words, but I know a drunk when I see one.”

“Beth faced a lot of challenges. I wish she could have made it. Anorexia is a very, very stubborn and deadly disorder.”

“You said we’d all make it,” Estee screams. “Now will you believe me? Who’s next?”

Chapter 39

THE OBSERVER
            
August 13, 1969

Page 7

THE LAUNDRY SCENE

The laundry workers are proud of the equipment they have. They have two shirt presses, one flat work ironer for sheets and bedspreads, one flat work ironer for smaller items, five 400 pound washers, one press, one 100 pound washer, two extractors, ten dryers, one set of uniform presses and three sets of dress presses.

Some interesting statistics: They do 1,390 pairs of pants, 14 thousand sheets and spreads, 12,884 bath towels, 9,114 washcloths, 10,097 dishtowels, 5,939 bed pads, 2,538 pillow slips, 1,165 men’s handkerchiefs, 3,200 dresses and 2,600 shirts per average week.

Summer drags its sticky feet—August in the laundry is like being dropped down an active volcano. Today, I work one of the extractors, taking over for Barbara who’s sick.

Autumn is
behind the eight ball—
working the eight-roll flatwork ironer. The sweat slowly creeps from our armpits and necks, joins up at the center of our blouses. By midday our soggy clothes will stick to our bodies like cellophane. Autumn is one of ninety-five patients and eleven employees who got the short end of the stick and ended up in the laundry. I’ve only worked there a couple of times, and that’s enough.

The bell for morning break vibrates above the clanking and groaning of the monstrous washers and dryers. I wait for Autumn as she takes her knee from the press lever, scoots aside while her replacement slides in behind the massive machine, the rollers whirring as the steam hisses and sighs. We hurry out the back door where workers gather on the porch. We crowd around the attendant with the lighter like pigeons in Central Park. The lucky frontrunners will squeeze in two cigarettes in the ten minute break.

I notice Autumn looking around the crowd, her glance falling on a handsome attendant. He winks and smiles.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Attendant.”

“Well, I know that. But he winked at you.”

“Shhhhh. It’s Rudy,” Autumn whispers. “I’ll tell you later.”

I light a second cigarette and hang back to smoke as much of it as I can before the break ends. I watch as Autumn inches her way toward Rudy. She drops her hand and turns it palm up behind her back. Rudy presses a note into her hand; she closes her fingers around it.

When the three o’clock bell rings, I wait for Autumn by the front door of the laundry. I lean close. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“We keep our distance on the job, but we’ve been sneaking around most of the summer.”

“Are you nuts?” I say it, then pause, and we both laugh.

“We have a system.”

“What does that mean?”

“He gives me a note. Tonight we’ll meet behind the machine shop.”

“Are you …is he like a boyfriend?”

“I love him.”

“He’ll lose his job.”

“That’s what I told him. He said he doesn’t care.”

“What about you? They could keep you in here longer.”

“But if I didn’t have Rudy, I don’t think I could make it at all.”

“You have us.”

“But I fell in love.”

“How?”

“We met on break. There are a lot of private places around the grounds. We meet in privacy …”

“Oh, I get it.”

“He loves me.”

“Wow. If you’re happy, I’m happy for you. I just worry.”

“That’s what I said to Rudy,
Please don’t break my heart
.”

“What did he say?”

“
Not a chance. I’m going to take you out of here and marry you.
”

“He sounds serious.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how long they’ll keep me here.”

“Well?”

“He says he’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Please be happy for me. I’ve found somebody who really loves me, no matter what.”

“I
am
happy for you.” I stop and give Autumn a hug. “And I know you had to kill your bastard husband. You had no choice. You deserve some happiness.”

Chapter 40

I
walk along with Carl through the cemetery. He limps gingerly, taking care to walk a straight path approximately eight feet from the rows of headstones. Carl pulls off his cap, holds it in front of him. “Hi, Judy. Garden’s lookin’ pretty droopy.”

Briarwood is old, crumbling stones dating back to the early eighteen hundreds, a cool spot shaded by maples and beeches sitting on a slight hill on an acre just outside Lake Ann. The cemetery is small, and all the graves are full. Carl tells me he and Judy have the last reservations in the Reinbold family plot.

Carl stops at a long-handled green pump. He leans into the handle, the loud braying finally brings up a trickle of water which grows to a stream, falling on river rocks at the base. He grabs hold of the galvanized pail with his left hand, sticks it under the spout. Then he hands it to me while he fills a second pail.

Hobbling back across the lawn, the cold water splashing from the pail, Carl stops in front of Judy’s headstone. He has planted the flowers around Judy’s grave, and I help him maintain the little garden through the hottest part of the summer.

“Well, honey, the new children’s hospital opened. It was a big deal. Governor Milliken came up.” Carl stoops and rations the water around each plant. “Luanne’s here with me today. You remember her, don’t ya? We been spendin’ quite a lot of time together.” He smiles and sits back on the grass. “She’d be about the right age for our daughter, wouldn’t she, darlin’? She’s a fine young woman, just havin’ a hard time.” He chuckles to himself. “She’s quite the little gardener. Gettin’ better every day.”

After deadheading the petunias, I sit under a maple to give Carl his privacy. He leans back on his elbows, stretching his bad leg with a groan. A breeze moves through the trees. He closes his eyes. He rolls onto one hip to pull his handkerchief from his back pocket.

It isn’t easy for Carl to get up from the ground. But I know from experience, he doesn’t want help. He leans against the stone and uses his arms and his good leg to push himself to a stand. “Guess you’re still helping me, honey. Somebody I can lean on.” He wipes his eyes and walks to the truck, bends over the tailgate. I start to get up to help Carl load when I see a man coming behind him. Carl turns just as the guy steps up. Carl seems to know the man. They start talking. I sit back down and listen.

“Joe. What are you doing here?” Carl asks.

“Wanted to catch you alone.”

“You followin’ me?”

“I know you come out to the cemetery every day.”

“You got somebody here, Doremire?”

“No.”

“Why you here then?”

“Like I said, I want to talk to you alone.”

“Coulda’ talked at work …Okay, what you got to say?”

“I know what you did.”

“What?”

“Oh, the superintendent didn’t say who told him, but it was you, I know it.” Joe Doremire’s lip curls. “Trying to get me fired this time, Carl?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that. You told the boss I screwed that retard.”

“You’re nuts. I didn’t tell the superintendent anything.”

“You ratted on me, Carl, just like before.”

Carl pushes past Joe, walks back toward Judy’s grave with the clippers in his hand. “You better go, Joe.”

“If you say a word about our little deal.”

“Don’t bring that mess to the cemetery,” Carl snaps.

“Now you listen to me, Reinbold. You open your mouth, you’re the one’s goin’ to prison. Let’s not forget that.” Joe pokes Carl’s chest.

“Rapin’ somebody could get you in prison,” Carl says.

“Now let’s be clear on this. That’s not gonna happen. Nobody cares about that girl. Besides, she wanted it.”

“Bullcrap!”

“I’m due to retire. I could lose my job.”

“You get fired, it’ll be your own fault. You pulled so much crap over the years; they could’ve fired you a hundred times over.”

“We don’t need tattletales like you around. You’d think you woulda’ learned your lesson.”

“What’re you sayin’? You mean turnin’ you in for stealin’ them calves?” Carl stops and turns toward Joe.

“It was pretty quick after you finked out on us that you had that accident in the tunnel, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah …when the patient attacked me?”

“It wasn’t no patient, Carl.” Joe steps back a couple of steps.

“What are you saying?” Carl’s voice climbs.

“You figure it out, you fuckin’ snitch.” Joe points his finger. “Now you listen to me. If you so much as mention my name …you’ll be sorry.” He pokes his finger into the air. “This time you won’t get off so easy.”

Carl brings the clippers up in front of him. “You? It was you?”

“I ain’t sayin’ that …but things happen to people like you—Mr. and Mrs. High and Mighty. You ain’t so smug now, limpin’ around like a cripple and your wife, there, in the ground.”

Carl brings the clippers up over his shoulder, steps toward Joe. I rise to my feet.

“Judy?”

“Calm down there, partner. I don’t know anything about Judy. I’m sayin’ to keep your mouth shut. If you don’t, you’ll be sorry. That’s all I’m sayin’.”