“N—no, Mr. Vandersol, I believe she’s in a true psychotic state. She’s obviously delusional, blissfully unaware of her surroundings or the burden her behavior has had on others. I also believe she doesn’t know she’s a mother nor of the fate of her husband.” When Emily shifted, Dr. Fairfield added, “I didn’t ask her those questions specifically. Mrs. Vandersol, your directives were maintained; however, in an effort to assess Mrs. Rawlin—Ms. Nichols, I breached some subjects that had no effect on her. Which I may add, I feel is a shame—”
John interrupted, “Dr. Fairfield, could my wife and I continue this conversation with you in private?”
“Yes, I under—”
Emily stopped his response. “No! I want answers, and I’m sure the others here will need to know. First, is Claire uncomfortable or in pain?”
“Mrs. Vandersol, the patient has been maintained in a static state of comfort—which I believe is the problem.”
Everyone in the room turned toward Emily. To the observers, it was like watching a tennis match: all heads turned one way and then they turned the other.
July 26, 2016
Today, Ms. Bali called and asked me to come in early. Since Claire has been doing well with me bringing her meals—she asked if I’d take her on a walk. Apparently, there was some big meeting regarding her diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment. Everyone associated with her care had to attend. I wish I’d been at the meeting, but Emily was probably there, so it was better I wasn’t.
I know I should write about the walk. That’s the whole point, right? Record my thoughts and comments so that I can later come back and see if any progress was made—have a basis for writing the follow-up to my book. Well, here’s the thing; I don’t want to. Oh, I want to stay with Claire. I want to help her—but for a journalist who’s supposed to be indifferent—I picked the wrong project.
Just in case I don’t remember when I come back to read—on the way home from Everwood, I stopped at the store and bought a bottle of wine. No—it isn’t the normal size—it’s the big one!
I hated it today! I went to her room—and surprise—Claire was sitting in the chair by the window. When she saw me and heard my voice, she went to the table to eat. Keep in mind, she’d just eaten! I explained that I was taking her on her walk. At first, she didn’t budge. I just kept talking about the outside. Finally, she stood. I stepped closer, like I’d seen the other woman do and Emily do. Claire didn’t move. I had to reach for her hand and place it on my arm.
After that, she stayed in step as we walked through the facility. The part that broke my heart was that when we went outside she didn’t look up. She kept her eyes downcast and walked wherever I led. I remember her stories, the ones of her at her lake on the Rawlings Estate. She’d talk about her love of the outside, the breeze in her hair, and the sun on her skin. I think I was expecting to see some sort of recognition or excitement; instead, there was nothing.
I hated that she had to be subdued when our eyes first met in the cafeteria a month ago, but honestly, I’d rather have a negative reaction than none! I think I’m done writing for tonight. I have more wine to drink!
Michael, Nichol, and John finished their dinners while Emily continued to pick at the food on her plate. She heard the chatter, but her mind kept replaying Dr. Fairfield’s words, No, the patient has been maintained in a static state of comfort—which I believe is the problem.
Indignantly, she listened as Dr. Fairfield hypothesized that Claire’s current provisions were too good. In essence, he blamed Emily’s directives on Claire’s compliance. He went on to discuss Claire’s history of compliance and adaptability.
Emily argued internally, too good?! Her sister was detached from the world, living in a place that wasn’t real. How could he possibly think that was too good? Besides, Dr. Fairfield’s resources weren’t primary! Wasn’t that an essential element of research—primary resources? The only way he could’ve learned about Claire’s past, from those who knew first hand, those who were there, would be to interview Claire or Anthony. Obviously, that hadn’t happened. He had to have researched not only Emily’s accounts, which she confessed were second hand, or read Meredith’s book. Yes, the book was relatively accurate, but even that had an element of fiction. The blatant truth would be too difficult for the world to read.
So what? So Claire had survived her ordeal by complying and adapting. That was because if she didn’t, then Anthony would punish her. Claire’s current situation wasn’t even remotely similar. How could he suggest it was?
That was what he’d said—he said, the accommodating surroundings worked to mold Claire’s behavior. By not requiring her to face the consequences of her past, they were allowing Claire to live in her make-believe world.
The way Emily saw it, she was affording her sister the safe haven she’d been denied.
The sound of laughter returned Emily’s thoughts to present. Focusing on the table, she watched Michael giggle as Nichol blew bubbles in her milk.
“Nichol! What are you doing? Don’t teach your cousin those things!” Emily’s unusually harsh tone surprised everyone. She saw the shock in her husband’s eyes.