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Authors: Jodi McIsaac
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small notebook from my purse and poured myself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.
I had no idea what to expect. My parents had attended many of these meetings over the years, but I’d never gone with them. I hadn’t even asked what it was like. I tried to anticipate the questions—or directives—I was about to receive.
“We think it would be best if your brother moved in with you.”
“You are now responsible for hundreds of thousands of dollars in hospital bills. How would you like to pay?”
“You and your brother should live in your late parents’ house, as a familiar environment will be best for him.”
“If your brother commits another crime, we will hold you legally responsible.”
I stood and paced the room. What would they say when I told them I wasn’t staying around? It wasn’t like Wes was incapacitated or needed help with basic things like feeding himself or bathing. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself. Mom and Dad had probably even set aside money in their will for him. He could have all the money in the will, as far as I was concerned.
My frantic thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. The same nurse who had directed me to the room came in holding a clipboard and a stack of papers. She sank into a chair and exhaled loudly, as though she was glad for the rest. Then she pushed the clipboard toward me.
“You need to sign these papers.”
I stared at her. “But what about the meeting? What about the social worker and the psychiatrist?”
“They’ve been called away. Normally, we would reschedule, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she said irritably, “but we’re a little understaffed right now. Your parents met with the team last week, correct?”
“Yes, but they’re—”
“Then all you need to do is sign these papers and your brother is free to go in the morning, after his test results come in.”
I picked up the clipboard and leafed through the papers. Seemed like regular bureaucratic verbiage. Nothing in there about selling my soul to the devil or moving back to Clarkeston.
“Do you know what kind of medication he needs?” I asked.
The nurse consulted a file on the table in front of her. She said a name I didn’t recognize.
“Sorry, can you spell that?” I asked, getting my pen out.
An alarm went off in the hallway, a shrill double beep that made both of us jerk around. The nurse scrambled to her feet.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A patient has escaped.” She scooped her papers back into her arms and headed for the door.
“But—”
“Just check down at the pharmacy,” she said, one hand already on the doorknob. “They’ll have his medication history for you. Once this is over, we can reschedule the meeting if you still want it.”
“Once what is over?”
She closed the door behind her, and I was left in the empty conference room. I picked up the clipboard again. One scribble of ink, and Wes would be my responsibility. But I had to do it. I couldn’t leave him here indefinitely. The least I could do was set him free.
I signed the papers and crept out of the room. The alarm stopped suddenly, only to be replaced with a constant stream of announcements over the intercom, only half of which I could make out. The nurses’ station was completely empty—they were probably all out looking for the rogue patient—so I laid the clipboard on a keyboard where they would be sure to see it.
I should go back to Wes . But I couldn’t bring myself to go back up there. Not yet. I headed toward the pharmacy, then changed my mind. That, too, could wait.
Rob’s car was a welcome refuge. I sat in the parking lot for a long minute before starting the engine. I’d missed several calls from Rob, but I didn’t return them. I’d see him soon enough. I drove slowly, lost in a sudden heaviness that had wrapped itself around me like a wet blanket.
I spurned Rob’s advice and took the elevator
I had no idea what to expect. My parents had attended many of these meetings over the years, but I’d never gone with them. I hadn’t even asked what it was like. I tried to anticipate the questions—or directives—I was about to receive.
“We think it would be best if your brother moved in with you.”
“You are now responsible for hundreds of thousands of dollars in hospital bills. How would you like to pay?”
“You and your brother should live in your late parents’ house, as a familiar environment will be best for him.”
“If your brother commits another crime, we will hold you legally responsible.”
I stood and paced the room. What would they say when I told them I wasn’t staying around? It wasn’t like Wes was incapacitated or needed help with basic things like feeding himself or bathing. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself. Mom and Dad had probably even set aside money in their will for him. He could have all the money in the will, as far as I was concerned.
My frantic thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. The same nurse who had directed me to the room came in holding a clipboard and a stack of papers. She sank into a chair and exhaled loudly, as though she was glad for the rest. Then she pushed the clipboard toward me.
“You need to sign these papers.”
I stared at her. “But what about the meeting? What about the social worker and the psychiatrist?”
“They’ve been called away. Normally, we would reschedule, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she said irritably, “but we’re a little understaffed right now. Your parents met with the team last week, correct?”
“Yes, but they’re—”
“Then all you need to do is sign these papers and your brother is free to go in the morning, after his test results come in.”
I picked up the clipboard and leafed through the papers. Seemed like regular bureaucratic verbiage. Nothing in there about selling my soul to the devil or moving back to Clarkeston.
“Do you know what kind of medication he needs?” I asked.
The nurse consulted a file on the table in front of her. She said a name I didn’t recognize.
“Sorry, can you spell that?” I asked, getting my pen out.
An alarm went off in the hallway, a shrill double beep that made both of us jerk around. The nurse scrambled to her feet.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A patient has escaped.” She scooped her papers back into her arms and headed for the door.
“But—”
“Just check down at the pharmacy,” she said, one hand already on the doorknob. “They’ll have his medication history for you. Once this is over, we can reschedule the meeting if you still want it.”
“Once what is over?”
She closed the door behind her, and I was left in the empty conference room. I picked up the clipboard again. One scribble of ink, and Wes would be my responsibility. But I had to do it. I couldn’t leave him here indefinitely. The least I could do was set him free.
I signed the papers and crept out of the room. The alarm stopped suddenly, only to be replaced with a constant stream of announcements over the intercom, only half of which I could make out. The nurses’ station was completely empty—they were probably all out looking for the rogue patient—so I laid the clipboard on a keyboard where they would be sure to see it.
I should go back to Wes . But I couldn’t bring myself to go back up there. Not yet. I headed toward the pharmacy, then changed my mind. That, too, could wait.
Rob’s car was a welcome refuge. I sat in the parking lot for a long minute before starting the engine. I’d missed several calls from Rob, but I didn’t return them. I’d see him soon enough. I drove slowly, lost in a sudden heaviness that had wrapped itself around me like a wet blanket.
I spurned Rob’s advice and took the elevator
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