“With Callie,” I say, giving him a break from talking about Ted, “what’s scary is how quiet and under control she is until something just, like, grabs her.”
So I go on and tell him how her body is calm, but her eyes look to me like she wants to escape. But maybe “escape” isn’t the right word. It’s more like she’s running from something, but she doesn’t know what it is, or if she does know she’s afraid to think about it, and she can’t escape it, and it’s everywhere. And it’s like I think that maybe when I’m feeling like everything is calm and under control, maybe it actually isn’t. I tell him how sometimes I feel like maybe she’s always fighting this thing.
I stop talking, and he just looks at me. I don’t know what to say. I want to ask him for his number, so we can keep talking like this. Before I can think more about it, I’m handing him my phone to have him put his number in it. Just as he’s finishing up, I hear someone saying something about needing a turkey wrap on rye with pastrami instead of turkey. Someone else says, “That’s not a real thing,” and then the first person responds, in vaguely threatening overtones, saying something along the lines of “You know what will happen if she finds out failure is even on the table as an option.”
All of which seems pretty extreme for a hospital, let alone a dinner order. Who gets that serious about dinner? Then Jane comes striding through those doors to that hallway.
She beckons me over, as if I’m simultaneously her best friend and a worker minion over whom she can exert some ominous administrative authority. I got my phone back from Stan just before she walked through the doors, but she’s still looking at it in my hand like she wants to ask me about it. But she doesn’t.
“Lorna, dear,” she says instead, “has Callie been acting . . . strange? Lately?”
Whenever Jane calls me “dear,” I feel like a deer, in that I feel like she is trying to trap me or track me. I am not completely certain about this metaphor, but I am certain about this feeling.
I try to look thoughtful before telling her no, and then I put on a face of sincere determination to make sure she knows I have nothing more to say on the matter. “Things are fine, you know, other than the fits.”
“She hasn’t seemed . . . I don’t know . . . anxious to travel or leave the house or anything like that?” Her face, while she’s saying this, looks totally inquisitive, but like she’s acting. Like she wants this answer from me, an answer she already knows, and for a minute I want to give it to her.
“I mean,” I say and then stop, because I haven’t thought my answer through, and I’m starting to think that I need to start being more cautious around Jane. “No.”
“Okay!” says Jane. She says it like Wow, what a relief! And there’s this flicker of something on her face for an instant. As if she’s silently trying to tell me how no is totally a good answer to give and I did a great job giving it. “Well, long story short, Callie’s fine. Nothing to worry about! I know it was scary, but it was nothing major. We still don’t know exactly what happened to those poor children abandoned up there like that. All of us involved just shudder to think . . .” And her words trail off as she actually shudders here. “Anyway. It’s clear your sister loves you very much, Lorna. You’re such a genuinely calming presence to her.” She puts her hand on my shoulder again, just a beat faster than last time.
THREE
“SO . . . SHE’S FINE?” I ask. “I can see her?”
“All of Callie’s treatments are closed to friends and family,” Jane says. “You know that, Lorna.”
Right. I do. Because of “the rules.”
So, pretty much right after the babies were brought back from the Arctic, the government came up with a guide for adoptive families about the care and treatment of Arctic Recovery Orphans. Some of the more memorable selections are as follows:
-To ease the transition to American culture, and to ensure companionship, only those adoptive parent(s) with at least one existing biological child no more than one year older than the Arctic Recovery Orphans (AROs) are eligible to participate in the Arctic Recovery Orphan Adoption Program (AROAP).
-Before taking AROs on extended (three days or longer) trips or vacations, doctors and caseworkers must give medical clearance and assign in-network care providers in areas of travel, in case of emergencies.
-All adoptive parents must sign a medical waiver stating that the government-appointed caseworker—not the adoptive parents/legal guardians—will serve as medical proxy and/or in loco parentis decision-maker regarding all medical issues and emergencies.
-Make sure AROs stay hydrated, as they will easily become dehydrated, exhibiting such symptoms as fatigue, jaundiced and flaky skin, and a generally depressed disposition.
-Conniptions are common and expected in AROs. Conniptions, however, should always be reported. Not all conniptions are alike, but common symptoms are as follows:
The ARO appears to be in distress.
His or her eyes may be rolling up in his or her head.