Dovetail(3)

“I was concerned too, of course.” He looked around the room, taking note of all the expressions. Most of the others had heard his story many times before and were clearly bored. The newest patient, a doughy-faced woman in her forties with a tendency to swear like a sailor, looked only slightly more interested. “The dreams were vivid and had auditory, visual, and olfactory components.” He was proud of this additional information, the wording of which he’d stolen from one of the doctors. “A physical exam and blood tests did not show a biological reason for my problems.” Finding that out had proved reassuring, until he realized that since there was no biological underpinning, he was now officially a head case. “Two of the dreams leave me feeling sad and depressed, and two are frightening.”

The new woman broke in. “What is it about them that’s sad and frightening?”

Even though he knew the answer, Joe took a moment to appear as if he were seriously considering her question. Finally, he spoke. “They didn’t feel like dreams. They seemed real. Like I was there.”

She scowled. “That’s no big deal. All dreams feel like they’re real when you’re in them.”

Nurse Fletcher cleared her throat and said, “This group is about respect. We don’t disparage the experiences of others here.”

“Sorry.” Her head dropped, and her gaze went to the floor.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joe said.

The door, which was slightly ajar already, flew open, and one of the aides stuck her head into the room. It was Frieda, a favorite among the patients, known for her cheery disposition and sympathetic glances. “Joe Arneson? Someone is here for you.”

Nurse Fletcher stood, all the better to show who was in charge. “He’s in a therapy session right now.”

Frieda said, “It’s his grandmother. Come to check him out and take him home.”

“Check him out?”

“Yeah. It’s his dad’s mother. She says he’s being held here illegally, and she’s threatening to call the authorities.”

“Very well then.” Nurse Fletcher gestured impatiently to Joe to leave. “You may go.”

Joe rose to his feet, puzzled. There was no way someone had come to check him out, and especially not his dad’s mother, who’d died before he was born. Following Frieda down the hall, he squelched the urge to tell her there must have been some mix-up. Maybe he could take advantage of the confusion and slip out the door before they figured out this woman wasn’t connected to him at all.

“She’s a feisty one, your granny,” Frieda shot back, walking quickly. “Said if we couldn’t produce you packed and ready to go in fifteen minutes, she’d leave and come back with the police. She brought her attorney with her.”

“Sounds about right.”

Frieda stopped now, gesturing down the hall toward his room. “Better get scootin’ then and get your things together. Dr. Jensen don’t want no trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waited while Joe gathered up his few possessions and stuffed them in his duffel bag. He took one last look at the room: twin beds bolted to the floor, dressers built into the cement block wall, and a clock over the door, the incessant ticking enough to make a person insane if they weren’t already. His roommate, Clarence, was not in the room, probably pacing the hallways near the dining room. Poor Clarence. Nice guy but so troubled. Clarence had routines he couldn’t seem to stop doing, no matter how much talk therapy he participated in. He’d had electroconvulsive therapy and had lost some memory. The staff said it was likely to come back over time, but the loss troubled him, and sometimes at night, Joe heard him crying. The only things that helped were the pills the nurses doled out each evening. As much as Joe wanted to leave, Clarence wanted to stay. He liked the routine. He said it made him feel safe.

Joe spoke to the empty room. “Goodbye and good luck, Clarence.” He hoisted his duffel bag off his bed and went out in the hall where Frieda stood, waiting to take him to meet the woman claiming to be his grandmother.





CHAPTER THREE





1983


Pearl didn’t know what to expect at Trendale, so she came prepared to fight. Paperwork and legal expertise were her weapons of choice, and to that end, she brought Howard, her old friend and former attorney. Well, maybe not former. He still was her attorney, even though he was no longer practicing. Nothing wrong with his mind, although his body had definitely seen better days. The same age as Pearl, he walked with the trepidation of a baby who’d just learned to move upright. He always seemed just on the verge of toppling over and probably would have without his cane. She’d urged him to dress in his finest for the trip, and when he walked out, the sight of him attired in his Sunday best made her smile. Even at his age, he cut a fine figure in a suit, his bow tie only slightly askew.

Pearl had run the scenario past him weeks earlier, and Howard had advised her to bring proof of her family ties. She already had a copy of her son’s birth certificate, and getting a copy of her grandson’s proved to be easy, if not immediate. After she’d gotten his home address from the private investigator she’d hired, she’d called the courthouse in her grandson’s county of birth. The nice lady who’d answered the phone had mailed her a form, which she’d filled out and mailed back with a check.