Saving Meghan(68)

“I do,” Carl admitted, slightly sheepish.

“Why is that?” Kelly asked. “If I’m going to be of value, I need everything put on the table. No secrets, no hidden agendas. Those won’t help your cause.”

“What do you know about Munchausen syndrome by proxy?” Carl asked.

Kelly gave a rote answer, a textbook definition of the mental health disorder.

“What do you know of the psychology—the background of the illness?”

Color flushed across Becky’s cheeks, as she knew exactly where this was headed—to Sammy, Cora, to her life.

“Not as much as you, I suppose,” Kelly offered.

“You see, I didn’t know much about the condition myself until my wife was accused of it,” Carl said harshly. “But I went online, did my research, and found some common characteristics.”

“Such as?” Kelly’s eyebrows were raised.

“Grief,” Carl said. “The loss of a loved one. We had a son, Samuel. He died at fourteen weeks of SIDS.”

Kelly’s hand reflexively went to her mouth. “I’m so very sorry,” she said. Becky noted that her sympathy came across as genuine.

“But that’s not all,” Carl continued. Becky clenched her jaw. “Mental health professionals have compiled something of a profile of these mothers—it’s almost always mothers, you see—who use their children to gain attention from medical professionals. And—surprise, surprise—these women had childhoods not too dissimilar from my wife’s.”

“Carl, please.” Becky pursed her lips, feeling the blood throbbing in her veins.

“No, sweetheart,” Carl answered coolly. “Ms. London encouraged us to be honest, so let’s try that for a change. Let’s be honest.”

Kelly shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “It is important,” she said, directing her attention to Becky. “Better the issues come out here than some other way.”

But there would be no other way to find out, thought Becky, not without Carl volunteering it.

“All these mothers have attachment issues,” Carl continued unabashed. “They have an insecure or ambivalent attachment to or are estranged from a parent. Becky’s mother is dying in California, but my wife won’t go to visit her.”

“Because of Meghan,” Becky said.

“No, it’s because of Cora,” Carl shot back. “She was a terrible mother—abusive, if you ask me.”

“My father died when my sister and I were very young,” Becky said, unsure why she felt a sudden compulsion to defend her mother. “It was difficult. We didn’t have much money. My mother, Cora, did the best she could.”

“She faked disability to get money from the government,” Carl said flatly. “She taught her kids how to lie for her, how to trick the system, and when the kids didn’t live up to her expectations, she hit them.”

Becky’s face burned as if Cora herself had reached across the country to smack her with the cane she pretended to need. She could see her mother in that ratty, pit-stained nightgown she always wore; heard her voice, coarse from the cough she’d been feigning for years.

“If they don’t believe you, we don’t eat,” Cora had said prior to the social worker’s arrival. “Make them believe. Make them believe!”

Becky snapped back into herself as Kelly pursed her lips, perhaps in an attempt to hide a grimace. Becky nervously pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She hated talking about her mother, but she hated even more that Carl had shared her painful secrets so willingly.

“When you add it all up,” Carl said, “why wouldn’t you suspect my wife? Becky stopped working when Meghan was born because she got physically ill when someone else looked after her daughter. To call her an attentive parent would be like saying the Secret Service pays attention to the president.

“When Meghan got sick a few years back, my wife took her to see doctor after doctor, never getting any diagnosis. Mito is just the latest in a string of possibilities that have all been disproved.”

Becky returned a strained smile. “Do you feel happy getting all that off your chest?” she asked, making her resentment clear.

“It would all have come up in my investigation,” Kelly offered, making an effort to dress the fresh wounds. “I’m honestly glad you shared. The question now is what to do going forward.”

“We have to get Meghan tested,” Becky said with authority. “It’s our best hope.”

Kelly took down some notes on her legal pad while Becky sent Carl a withering stare.

“And you, Carl,” Becky said, “need to decide whose side you’re on here. Don’t make me choose, because it won’t be a choice.”

Before Carl could rebut, the doorbell rang again. He looked at Becky, confused.

“Are you expecting someone else?” Kelly asked.

“No,” said Becky, wondering if Veronica had gotten word out to the media, if it might be the press already chasing the story. She got up to find out, with Carl falling in behind her while Kelly London waited in the living room. Becky opened the front door, and was mildly surprised to see two men in suits who looked nothing like reporters.

“Becky Gerard?” one man said.

“Yes?”