Intensive Therapy Part 17

"He says great things about you. We couldn't get Melinda out of her room, so Martin and I met with him alone. Dr. Milroy said we should hospitalize Melinda, but suggested we wait until after Thanksgiving."

"I understand," Jonas said, "but I don't like waiting."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"It's very hard, because no one knows what's going on inside Melinda's mind. Is there any way you can get a look at her, at least for the holiday?"

"We're supposed to go to my in-laws' tomorrow afternoon for dinner. Dr. Milroy said to give her a choice about coming. He doesn't want her feeling excluded. G.o.d knows it'll take an act of Congress to get her out of her room, but we'll try. What are you doing for your holiday?"

"Jennie and I and our children will be with Eddie's and Pete's families. You have my cell phone; call if anything comes up."

"I'll try not to bother you."

"Bother me?"

"Yes, bother you. Sometimes I feel like I'm making this all up, that I have no reason to feel as bad as I do. Look at my life from the outside: handsome husband; fascinating career; gorgeous house; two beautiful children; heading to my in-laws on the Main Line for a holiday feast. Can't you just hear someone saying, 'What's her problem? She has it all.' Meanwhile, inside I feel as if my whole world could crumble any second. You're the only person who understands what's going on, Jonas. The only person."

"Believe me, Victoria. I get it. The outside of a person is like the exterior of a building. It's all a faade until you're invited in to see what really happens inside. I know that if I hear from you before Monday, it won't be because you want to talk about how much fun you had with your sisters-in-law. Let's meet in person as soon as Melinda's situated. Milroy's a good man. Try and have a good holiday, and call me after Melinda's been admitted."

32.

Thursday, November 25, 2004

Gregory wanted to see the Thanksgiving Day parade, a Philadelphia tradition, where Mummers bands strutted and colorful floats brightened the morning. Victoria had barely slept the night before; she asked Martin to take Gregory to the parade. Dinner would begin at three that afternoon. The weather forecast called for a mixture of sleet and freezing rain from a storm moving up the coast, followed by a frigid air ma.s.s moving in from Canada.

Unexpectedly, Melinda agreed when her parents asked if she wanted to go to her grandparents'. She appeared in jeans with holes over both knees, a faded T-shirt, and a red kerchief knotted around her tangled hair. She said little on the ride out of town, having plugged herself into her iPod as soon as she settled in the car.

Melinda's grandparents, Charles and Danielle Braun, lived west of the city on the Main Line, in an historic brick colonial mansion. As Charles welcomed everyone and took their coats, he said, "I can't thank you enough for taking on the Barlow case. Whatever happens, I know you'll do your best, which is all anyone can hope for."

The dining room, with working chimneys at both ends, was furnished opulently. The faces and profiles of former lords and ladies of the manor watched over the meal from ornate picture frames, while the musty odor of fireplace residue permeated the rafters and plaster walls.

Martin's relatives were already there. Everyone except Melinda wore either dresses or jackets and ties, leaving her looking like a mutt brought in from the street.

At dinner, Melinda gobbled her turkey ravenously. Martin's sisters eyed her and Victoria more critically than ever.

Silver-haired Charles Braun had the same oblong face as Martin. Victoria had liked Charles from their first meeting. Impeccably dressed, he was the incarnation of a vigorous man aging well. Morris Schone and his second wife, Carolyn, got on with the senior Brauns splendidly.

With a diplomat's sensitivity to the malaise in the room caused by Melinda, Charles steered the dinner-table discussion to an uncontroversial subject, Pennsylvania's colonization by William Penn.

"Did you know," Charles said after the plates were cleared, "that Penn received huge tracts of land in 1681, from England's King Charles II, in repayment of a large debt owed to Penn's father by the throne? But unlike the Commonwealths of Ma.s.sachusetts and Virginia, Penn paid the Indians for the land."

Preoccupied, Victoria said, "I never realized that."

Charles turned to his granddaughter. "Melinda, you go to Friends Select, a Quaker school. What do they say about how William Penn treated the Native Americans?"

Gregory and his cousins, all younger than Melinda, looked at her wide-eyed.

Melinda rolled up her napkin and flicked it from side to side. "My school is full of hypocrites. The teachers say how important acceptance is, but I see them whispering behind our backs. Those polemicists make William Penn into an icon of religious tolerance, but it's all for show. He f.u.c.ked over the Indians, the indentured servants, the women, and the slaves, with impunity, just like every other colony. William Penn treated the Native Americans the same as. .h.i.tler treated the Jews. Those he couldn't buy off, he had no use for." Melinda stood up abruptly and began swaying back and forth. Victoria cringed.

"Genocide," Melinda continued. "We're still doing the same f.u.c.king thing. Look at what we did in Korea, then Vietnam and Cambodia. Now Afghanistan and Iraq. The government wraps up the package with a red, white, and blue bow, but I know different." Melinda picked up one of the serving plates bearing an image of the Pennsylvania state flag. "Look at this," she said.

Victoria, who knew the true value of the antique plate, was terrified.

"Melinda, I-"

"Just look at this place," she interrupted Charles, pointing around the room with the plate. "William Penn got the merchant cla.s.s to build manors like this, but slaves did all the heavy lifting. He didn't give two s.h.i.ts about how many of them died from yellow fever. You don't think someone constructed this house for union wages?"

Victoria reached for the plate. "Please, honey, let's calm down. Your grandfather didn't mean anything."

Melinda jerked the plate away. "I know exactly what he meant. That we have so much to be thankful for, just like you're always saying I'm such an ungrateful b.i.t.c.h."

Victoria said to everyone. "I'm so sorry, so sorry."

"That's right," Melinda said. "Apologize, because you're ashamed of me. I can't say what I really feel without you thinking I'm wrong."

"Please give me the plate, Melinda. Just put it down," Victoria said. She counted to ten and remembered the plan she and Martin had discussed with Dr. Milroy. "Can we go home now, Melinda? It's been a long day for everyone."

"It's quite all right," Charles said to Melinda, like an amba.s.sador dealing with squabbling dignitaries. "I had very strong opinions myself when I was young. They didn't endear me to everyone, but I earned a lot of respect." He nodded to his children. "It turned out okay, didn't it? Let me tell you something about that plate, Melinda, my dear. It has been in our family for many generations, and as the oldest grandchild, it will be yours some day. Your great-grandmother received it from Benjamin Franklin's family. Let me show you something interesting about the inscription on the back. You'll appreciate the calligraphy."

As Charles diffused the situation, Victoria wondered about her father-in-law's calming influence. How did he do that? she asked herself. He had appealed to Melinda's intelligence and curiosity. He made her feel special, something Victoria wished she could do.

With Melinda quieted down, Charles and Danielle led the six grandchildren on a tour of the house. As darkness overtook the landscape, thick wet snow began falling rapidly, forming a layer of mushy slush on the roads and sidewalks.

When the adults adjourned to the library, Victoria implored Martin to leave before Melinda could make another scene. She just wanted to get home.

Martin's sisters, Lydia and Sophia, began to talk about their holiday vacation. "I hope it won't be too much of a rush to get to Pier 26 the day we leave for the BVIs."

Victoria could tell how relieved they were that they wouldn't have to deal with Melinda. Sophia whispered to Martin, infuriating Victoria so much she wanted to slap him. Unable to stand her sisters-in-law another minute, Victoria said, "I'm going to check on the children," and left the room abruptly.

She headed for the center-hall spiral staircase, at the base of which stood a nineteenth-century grandfather clock enclosed in an ornately carved, sharply pedimented cabinet. She could hear Gregory and her nephews talking, out of sight on the second-floor landing. The others must have stepped away.

Lydia's son Mark said, "She's so weird. There's a kid in my cla.s.s like that. He needs a teacher's aide with him to keep him from going off. I think they called him autotic."

"Did you see the way she's dressed?" his cousin Richard said. "She looks like one of those orphan kids in old movies, and she uses the F word every other sentence, like rappers. What's the matter with her?"

Gregory said, "I don't know what's wrong, but she's not well. My parents are worried about her. They went to see a doctor about it. Don't be so hard on her-she's your cousin, you know. Families are supposed to help each other when someone's sick."

Victoria broke into tears. He's so compa.s.sionate, she thought. She took her shoes off, so she could creep closer undetected.

"I didn't mean it that way," Richard said.

"What way?" Gregory said.

"That she was psycho or something."

Gregory said, "Suppose someone called you weird?"

"He is weird," Mark said. The boys giggled.

"Watch this!" Mark said. The next thing Victoria knew, Mark, legs astride the mahogany banister, flew around its curved railing. Coming out of the curve, Mark yelled, "Wheee!" just before nearly decapitating Victoria, who was midway around the turn. Soon the other boys came barreling after him. Gregory, the last, lost his balance when he plowed into them, but he recovered in time to avoid plunging over the side and impaling himself on the clock case. Everyone had a good laugh except for Victoria.

"What were you boys thinking?" she said harshly. "Someone could have fallen over the side!"

Gregory said, "You worry too much, Mother. Remember? We talked about this." He told his cousins, "That was fun. Let's do it again."

Victoria said, "No way, boys. It's too dangerous. Besides," she fibbed, "tomorrow is a work day. We have to get home soon."

When at last it was time to go home, Victoria stormed to the car, dreading the call to Dr. Milroy she would have to make in the morning. Just get me home in one piece before anything else happens, she prayed, fixating on the sickening image of Gregory impaled on the clock.

33.

By the time the family left, several gelid inches had acc.u.mulated, and the temperature had plummeted into the low teens. Since Lancaster Pike hadn't been salted and plowed, the road was a patchwork of shards and ruts of ice mixed with puddles. The cars ahead of Martin's Mercedes churned up opaque slushy liquid that coated his windshield. When he tried the windshield washer, a warning light blinked, indicating that the washer fluid had run low. The wipers left smeared arcs nearly impossible to see through. With the glare from oncoming vehicles nearly blinding, Martin squinted as he drove.

"Dammit," he said. "I should have filled up on washer fluid. I can barely see." Martin pulled into an abandoned gas station and tried to clear the windshield with a wad of slush. The freezing liquid penetrated Martin's gloves and loafers. Back in the car, he winced in agony.

"What's wrong?" Victoria said.

"My toes feel like they're encased in ice."

"This should help," she said, turning the heat on full blast and directing it downward.

By the time they got under way again, the windshield was smearing up. Martin turned left at City Line Avenue. "I'm going to take the Schuylkill Expressway. It has to be better than this."

A high-pitched noise sounding like a beehive emerged from Melinda's half of the backseat. Her iPod was overflowing its headphones.

Trying to avoid another rampage, Victoria told Gregory, "Tell your sister to lower the volume. Your father needs to focus on the road."

Gregory shouted, "Melinda," but she remained oblivious. "Muh-linn-dah," he yelled louder.

As Martin approached Center City, the light from the Art Museum intensified the glare. "I can't have all this noise," Martin said. "The driving is treacherous. I have to concentrate. Gregory, please. Make her stop."

Gregory poked Melinda's thigh. It took three tries to get her attention.

"What do you want?" she snarled.

Gregory pulled the plugs from her ears. "Melinda," he shouted. "Martin needs you to lower the volume, so he can concentrate on the road."

"Go f.u.c.k yourself," she said, repositioning her earpieces.

Gregory s.n.a.t.c.hed them and disconnected the iPod with a jerk. "Listen, Melinda. Cut it out! You want to get us all killed?"

As the sparring escalated, Victoria hollered, "Stop it, you two. Don't miss the exit, Martin. We're almost there."

Melinda said, "Keep your f.u.c.king hands off my headphones." She grabbed for them.

Something hit the hood and windshield with a heavy thud, sending Victoria and Martin into a panic. A huge wad of slush had dislodged from an overpa.s.s and pelted the car like a missile.

"Jesus, Melinda," Gregory yelled. "How can you behave this way? After I just stuck up for you with Mark and Richard."

"Give them to me!

"How much longer?" Victoria asked Martin.

"Only a couple more blocks. s.h.i.t! The light at Market Street is red." Martin looked both ways, then ran the stoplight in desperation.

Melinda tried to slap Gregory's face. He parried most of the blows, but not the last, which reddened his right cheek. Victoria turned around and tried but couldn't grab Melinda's flailing arms.

Gregory screamed at his sister, "You a.s.shole, crazy a.s.shole! Nothing matters to you except what you want."

Martin turned left onto Rittenhouse Square South and pulled up in front of their house. A blast of frigid air hit Victoria's face when she opened her door. In a rush to open the rear door and separate the combatants, she slipped and twisted her ankle on the slippery street. Gregory got out, key in hand, and ran up the eight ice-caked steps to the house, trying to get away from his rabid sister.

Melinda tore after him. Victoria tried to regain her footing but went down on her other knee. When her hand reached the pavement, she heard the snap of her wrist bones breaking. Searing pain radiated up her arm. Looking up from the curb, Victoria saw Gregory frantically trying to unlock the door.

Melinda charged up the ice-coated steps after Gregory. Martin, whose thin-soled shoes had little traction on the icy pavement, tried to catch up with her.

Gregory lurched to the left to avoid Melinda, as she tried to wrench the key out of his hand, but his right foot slid on the ice and he fell over backwards, smacking his head on the top step. Stunned, he careened down the steps feet-first, but at the bottom step his body cartwheeled around, cracking the left side of his head violently against the point of the granite threshold.

Unable to get up from her fall, Victoria saw it all unfold as if in slow motion. Cradling her broken wrist in her left arm, she scrambled to her feet and minced her way to where Gregory lay lifeless, blood oozing from his ear and his nose.

"Oh my G.o.d!" Victoria cried. "Oh my G.o.d! No, please, no. Not my Gregory. Oh my G.o.d. Oh my G.o.d." Victoria cradled Gregory in her good arm and rocked him, wailing, "Gregory, Gregory."

Victoria looked up the steps at Melinda, who was staring back down at the carnage. "You!" Victoria hissed. "What did you do to my Gregory?"

It took all of Martin's strength to restrain Victoria from going after Melinda, who fled into the frigid night.

"Call the police! Call an ambulance! Call an ambulance!" Victoria pleaded. "Call an ambulance, call an ambulance," she continued, until the sounds came out as throaty whispers.