Saving Meghan(39)

Two armed and uniformed security guards stood in a corner, animated as statues. They fixed Becky with sober expressions, an obvious warning against any kind of outburst.

“What the hell is going on?” Becky said, preempting Knox Singer, who appeared ready to make some introductory remarks.

“Mrs. Gerard,” Knox Singer said, “let me start by saying how truly sorry I am for keeping you and your husband waiting so long for information.”

Singer’s imperturbable voice made Becky want to scream. He was smug and arrogant, full of himself, she thought. Nothing about him came across as sincere or honest.

“Where is Meghan?” Carl said harshly. “What the hell have you done with her?”

Becky was pleased to see her husband direct his question to Dr. Nash, whom she blamed for this trouble.

“Meghan is fine,” Singer said, still trying out his placating tone. “She’s presently in our Behavioral Health Unit.”

“Doing what?” Becky asked, now in a stare-down with Singer. “Why is she there?”

“She’s resting.”

“Okay,” Carl said, baffled. “Resting from what? Pardon my French, but what the fuck is going on here?”

Singer and Nash exchanged glances.

“We have a serious situation,” Knox Singer said.

“Yes, you told me that in the hall,” Carl said. “I’m asking, what situation do we have?”

Carl directed his question at Nash. Becky set her hand on her husband’s leg, and soon felt the familiar brush of his fingers as he interlaced his with hers, squeezing tight.

The room door opened, ushering in a man with a troubled expression who looked young enough to be Becky’s son. Accompanying the man was an older woman, dressed nattily in business attire. She was in her late fifties, Becky thought. She styled her hair with severe bangs and wore practical shoes that suggested she did lots of walking. Deep worry lines stretched across her forehead, as though she were perpetually dealing with some crisis, seldom getting a reprieve from the tempest of her day.

“Sorry I’m late,” the young man said. “There was an incident. Ms. Hope was there to observe.”

“What kind of incident?” Nash asked warily.

“Who is this?” Becky said, gesturing to the man. She looked around the room as if everyone should share her outrage at how uninformative this meeting had become. “Is this about Meghan? And who are you?” Becky addressed the woman in a voice loud enough to inspire the guards to take a single step away from the wall.

“This is Dr. Peter Levine,” Knox Singer said. “He works with us. And this,” he said, motioning to the woman, “is Ms. Annabel Hope, with the Massachusetts Department of Children and Families. And, yes, this is about your daughter.”

There was only one empty seat at the table, which Annabel Hope took, leaving Dr. Levine to stand. Whatever rodeo this was, it was obvious to Becky that Ms. Hope had ridden her share of horses.

“We had to give her a sedative,” Dr. Levine said, addressing Nash while ignoring Becky. “Five milligrams of haloperidol.”

Becky knew all about the antipsychotic medication haloperidol, or Haldol, as it was marketed under its brand name. Becky was outraged. “You can’t give my daughter a sedative like that without talking to us first,” she said angrily to Levine, who shrank under the weight of her stare.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gerard,” Knox Singer said in an affectless voice. “I don’t know how to tell you this gently, so I’m just going to have to come out and say it: Meghan is now in our temporary custody.”

Carl shot out of his chair like a launched rocket. Pressing his arms against the table, he leaned forward, sending dirty looks at Nash, who did not shrink away. The two guards sprang forward to frame Carl so that if he made any threatening advance, it would be quickly countered.

Becky felt her stomach drop. “What are you talking about?”

Try as she might, Becky could not wrap her mind around what Knox Singer had said, and yet on some primal level, she understood: Her daughter was no longer hers. She belonged to someone else. But why? How could she be in the custody of the hospital? How could they give her drugs without parental permission?

“What do you mean, she’s in your temporary custody?” Carl asked, saying what Becky was thinking. He remained standing, while Becky feared she’d topple over if she tried to join him.

Nash removed her glasses and bit at the tip. She looked at Ms. Hope, who seemed perfectly fine with someone else answering. Nash eyed Becky briefly before turning her attention to Carl. “We believe that your daughter’s illness is primarily psychiatric in nature,” Nash said in a voice that, much like her office, lacked any color or personality.

“No, no, you told me on the phone that you wanted to have Meghan seen to run some kind of tests,” Becky said, seething.

Nash shifted uneasily in her chair.

Ms. Hope looked about as surprised at Nash’s bait-and-switch routine as someone answering the doorbell on Halloween.

“What I told you on the phone,” Nash said, “is that we had to do an emergency exam. Those were my words exactly.”

“Then you tricked us,” Becky said, her voice slipping into a harsh whisper. “How dare you! How could you?”

Again, Becky blamed herself for not thoroughly vetting Levine. Why hadn’t she looked him up in the hospital directory while she was in the waiting room? It would have done her no good anyway, Becky realized now. Megan was in their custody the moment she let her daughter out of her sight.