The Mother-in-Law(70)

“And how was that?”

Diana looks out the window. “It was all right, I suppose.”

As we chat, Rosie wraps a blood pressure strap around Diana’s arm and the machine starts pumping it up. Diana barely notices.

“Has your mood been low in general?” Dr. Paisley asks her.

“You could say that.”

“Any issues with memory?”

“I don’t remember,” Diana says, deadpan, and I chuckle.

Rosie asks a few more questions, nodding at each answer as though it makes perfect sense.

“Well,” she says finally, “I think it might be a good idea to do some blood tests.”

Diana raises an eyebrow. “Blood tests for what?”

“Several things. Anemia. Thyroid. Plus the usual standard things.” She types into her computer and a blue referral paper spits out of her printer. “But from what you’ve said, Diana, there’s no question in my mind that you’re suffering from depression. And so, I have to ask . . . have you had any thoughts about suicide?”

Diana doesn’t answer. After a moment, Dr. Paisley’s eyes move to me.

“Would you prefer if we talked without your daughter in the room, Diana? Sometimes it’s easier to be frank if—”

“I don’t need to speak privately,” Diana said. “No, I haven’t thought about suicide.”

“Good. Good.”

Dr. Paisley recommends a good psychologist and prescribes some antidepressant medication, and we make an appointment to come back in a week. It’s not until we get out of there that it occurs to me that the doctor called me Diana’s daughter. And Diana didn’t correct her.





46: LUCY


THE PRESENT . . .

“Ollie,” I say as the landline starts ringing. “The day your mother died. Were you at her house?”

He sits forward, resting his hands on his knees, and takes a deep breath. “I was.”

“Why?” I say, a moment before the more important question comes. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

The phone keeps ringing, a loud, shrill interruption. I want to pull the damn thing out of the wall.

“I’ll just answer it,” Ollie says, walking over to the phone.

“Ollie, no! Just leave—”

But he’s already snatching up the receiver. “Hello?”

I swear under my breath.

“It’s Ollie.” He’s quiet for a moment, then his eyes find mine. “Yes. Just a minute.” He holds the phone out to me. “It’s Jones.”

“For me?” I feel a pinch of worry as I take the phone. “Lucy speaking?”

“Lucy, it’s Detective Jones. Ahmed and I need to speak to you as a matter of urgency.” Jones’s voice sounds clipped. “Do you think you could come down to the station?”

“What for?” I say. I want to say that I’ve had enough of the police calling at ridiculous hours of the night, hauling Ollie or me down to the station. I want to tell Jones that we have little children who are asleep, and that unless I’m under arrest, she’ll have to wait until the morning. But I don’t say any of this. Because I have a feeling my ability to be outraged may have just been compromised.

“We want to talk to you about an organization called VEI. It stands for Voluntary Euthanasia International. We’ve received information that indicates your mother in law was a member of this organization . . . and we have reason to believe that you have knowledge of this.”

I tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can.





47: LUCY


THE PAST . . .

When I arrive home after Diana’s doctor’s appointment, Patrick and Nettie are pulling up out front.

“Hi,” I say, emerging from the car. “This is a surprise.”

“We called Ollie,” Nettie says. “He said we could come on over.”

“Oh. Well, good. Actually, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Us too,” Nettie says, oddly chipper. Patrick, to the contrary, seems a little down. He takes his time locking up the car, then slopes up the path a few paces behind us.

“How has your day been?” Nettie asks.

I let them in with my key. “Actually it’s been a little strange. Which is why I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you about Diana.”

We walk into the kitchen and living area where Ollie is standing at the fridge cracking a beer. “G’day everyone,” he says. “Beer, Patrick?”

“Mum?” Nettie says to me. “What about Mum?”

“Yes, what about Mum?” Ollie says.

The kids, in front of the TV in their PJs, look up, then quickly down again.

“Have they been fed?” I ask Ollie.

“Chicken nuggets, peas and corn,” he says proudly. “Wine for you, ladies?”

“Sure,” I say.

“I’m fine,” Nettie says.

Ollie holds out a beer to Patrick, which he accepts and opens in record time. I wonder if everything is okay with him, but I’m too preoccupied with Diana to spend too much time thinking about it.