Diamond in the Rough: Chapter 6

"Mr. Deafenbaugh, may I have a moment?"  Sister Rebecca Katherine appeared at the administrator's door.

"I haven't seen you in quite a while, Sister Broderick."

"Well, you're seeing me now.  I have some questions, I thought ya might be able to answer them."

"I can only try."

"This new patient, Bea.  She's not been here long, came from outside of Pennsylvania, I believe."

He shuffled some papers.  "You do know there's confidentiality on each case.  Only things that are pertinent to the patient's recovery will be able to be shared.  You realize."

"Of course, and her prior location is not part of that, is it?"

"No.  Since she's coming here with a diagnosis with a biologically-based illness, it's not likely there's much I can share with you.  A doctor, possibly, you, not as much, I'm afraid."

"I see.  Is there anything you can tell me then, Sir?"

"Not much.  She's between 59 and 63 years old, if that will help."

"That I could tell ya by looking."

He smiled, "I bet you can."

"If I ask a specific question, would that be easier?"

"Possibly, if I can answer it, I'll try."

"How old was she when the symptoms of her disease occurred?"

"That I don't even know.  There's no record of that."

"The symptoms that she has, or exhibits.  Can they be produced any other way?"

"I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"Does it have to be what ya all think it is, or could it be misdiagnosed as something else?"

"I suppose there's always a chance that it could be something else.  Not likely, but it could be.  With mental illness, nothing is a sure thing."

"Yes, that's what I thought."

"Sister, you're not a doctor.  You can't really expect to diagnose and treat a patient."

"Ay, I know this.  I . . . just want to be prepared and to help."

"You're a counselor, and that is what you should remain."

She realized the visit was over, "Of course.  I thank ya, Mr. Deafenbaugh, for your time."  She got up to leave.  In walking down the long hall away from the administrator's office, she ran into Bea herself.  She said, "Oh, my dear, what are you doing here, eh?"

Holding out her hands, Bea just stood and looked into Sister Rebecca Katherine's eyes.  In her grasp was a vase, empty.  "You want more wild flowers, do ya?"

Bea smiled, and to the nun's surprise, she nodded.  It was slight.  Someone else may have said it wasn't a nod at all, but the nun capitalized on it, and said, "Ya do?  I'm not sure what ya mean."

The patient nodded again, this time larger.  The nun, holding in the emotion she felt, took the woman's hand.  "Why that's a perfect idea.  The sun is out and shining bright.  There are plenty more Wall Speedwells out there for us to gather."

She felt the woman squeeze her hand gently as she lead her outside.  "See, there they are, dear.  We can see the blue from here."

The two women moved amid the garden without haste, and came upon a lovely patch of the flowers.  Sister Rebecca Katherine took to the bench, and Bea, quite excited, picked a handful of flowers, and held them.  She wore a simple, calico "house dress" with a cardigan sweater over it.  There were large pockets on the front on both the right and left.  She put the flowers carefully into one of the pockets so that the blooms were poking out and went to the garden fence, smelling the basil that was still left over from growing season.  The nun said, "I love basil.  It is such a wonderful spice.  God knew what he was doing when he created things like that."

The woman continued to smell the basil, and went plant to plant.  "Did ya know that you can crumble it up, or chop it, and put it with some oil and salt and pine nuts and make something very good out of it?"

Bea looked at the nun, as if acknowledging her, and then went back to her sniffing.  "There's something else.  Back at home, in Ireland, we used to make basil and mint jelly, and serve it with fruit.  Usually, we would slice some fresh nectarines.  Have you had them?"

The mute woman ignored her, sniffing the basil again and moving back toward the birdbath.  There was a little bird, a sparrow, dipping his bill into the water.  Bea smiled, and moved carefully closer.  "We would put the mint and basil jelly onto the nectarines and eat them as dessert.  Oh, they were lovely."

Finally, Bea made her way back to Sister Rebecca Katherine, and held out the flowers.  The nun picked up the vase, and held it out to put the flowers into it, when Bea shook her head.  "No?"  the nun said.  "You want me to hold the flowers?"

She handed them to the nun, who held them, and she took the vase instead.  Going to the birdbath, she dipped the vase in, and got the fresh rainwater that had collected there.  Bring the vase back, she held it out, and Sister Rebecca Katherine put the wildflowers in it.  "My, that looks pretty, eh?"

Bea got up, almost skipping, and went back to the basil.  Taking a few sprigs, she brought them back and added them to the flowers.  The nun had to admit, though it was a strange combination, it made the flowers fragrant in an odd way and also completed the arrangement nicely.  The clergywoman said, "That looks perfect."

They began their trek back in to the main building, and Bea, sort of beaming, lead the way this time.  "I see you're getting used to things," the nun commented.

As they approached Bea's room, they turned when standing in front of her door.  Bea faced the nun, and put her hands out, holding to vase to her.  She said, "No, dear, that's for you."

The woman did not hesitate, she just kept her hands and the vase extended.  "You want me to have the flowers?"

The woman continued to hold out the vase.

Sister Rebecca Katherine took the vase from Bea, and smiled.  "That is very kind of you.  But the next time, the flowers go to you, eh?"

Bea turned to go into her room, and turned the knob, looking back a moment to catch the nun's eye, and smiled softly.  Sister Rebecca Katherine smiled back, quite puzzled by the woman's behavior.  She was seeing less and less evidence of delusional paranoid schizophrenia, which she had dealt with for many years in her profession, and more evidence of something else, she could not quite place.  "You're overdoing it, Creena," she said aloud, walking back to her quarters.  It was almost meal time.  "You're not trained, not a doctor, even Mr. Deafenbaugh made sure to remind ya of that.  Time will tell, and make it your business to see that Dr. Levin, soon.  A couple of questions to that one can't hurt."

***

Waking up from a longer-than-planned nap, Jack felt thirsty.  The effects of the two shots he'd taken in the limo had worn off, and this time, he noticed, his head did not hurt.  But the dull ache of the truth of who he was pounded in the pit of his stomach.  He turned onto his back on his bed, and shut his Ipod, which he had fallen asleep listening to.  

Sam bounded around the corner and into his room.  "Jack!"

"Squirt, I told you to knock."

Sam went back to the door and knocked.  "Jack!"

"What, Runt?"

"Play with me?  I want to race you outside."

"No."

"Please Jack?"

"No!"

"Aw, come on, I want to get in shape for the school race on Friday."

"I said, no!  Now go on and get out of here.  Seriously, Sam, you're just a little kid.  I don't have time for this kinda thing."

Sam's face deflated like a balloon and he looked to the floor.

Jack said, in a softer tone, "I'm sorry Sam, I just don't want to play.  I don't feel like it."

"When will I be a bigger kid, so I can play with you?"  Sam's voice was pitiful, and cut through Jack.  Great, just what I need, something else to feel shitty about.  

"I didn't mean that.  I just . . . don't wanna play.  I feel sick, okay?"

Sam ran out of the room, calling, "Mom!  Dad!  Jack's sick!" his shouts faded as he got further away from Jack, who threw his pillow across the room in frustration.

"I can't win with that kid."

Blair appeared at the door, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sick, Jack?"

"No, I just told Sam that so that he would leave me alone.  He pesters me sometimes."

"Your brother loves you.  Idolizes you.  You know that."  She sat on the bed and put her hand on his forehead.  "I guess you're not sick, are you?"

"No, I just said that."

She squinted at him, "All right, Jack, I heard you.  What's going on?  You're sort of irritated.  It can't be just Sam."

"It is just Sam.  He bothers me all the time to play.  I don't have time, Mom."

"I see.  You're all grown up, he's not.  It's a dilemma."  She stood up, "Since I don't buy it, I am sending your father up.  Oh, and, the next time you leave school, you let me or your Dad know, not just Shaun.  Shaun is not your parent."

Jack rolled his eyes.  Not Dad.  Not today.  Not after . . . 

Todd was at the door before Jack could finish a thought.  "Your mother sent me.  I don't know why, do you?"

Inwardly, Jack loved the way his father did things and the way that he started every conversation.  He'd never know what his father was going to do or what was going to come out of his mouth.  "No," he responded.

"All right, I'll just get back to dinner prep, then, if you have nothing to say to me."  He feigned leaving.

Jack said, "Dad?"

Todd smiled, his face not evident to Jack, and then turned back, serious, "Yeah?"

"I . . . wanna talk."

"All right," Todd said, and plunked himself into Jack's beanbag chair.  "Talk."

"I . . . can't."

Todd felt something recognizable in his son's answer:  himself.  He remembered saying those same words so many times, to Blair, to Ray.  He decided to help.  "I know how that is.  What's this about?  School?  A girl?"

"Kind of."

"All right.  Something else?"

"Shane."

Todd felt a flush of realization.  "Shane Morasco."

"Yeah."

"His mother.  The one that died."

"Yeah."

He realized his son was grappling with more than pimples and dates.  "You worked on this with Ray, right?  What did he say about it?"

"I can't even remember, Dad.  It's just . . . all there, right in front of me again.  It sort of flashes through my head every once in a while, and then something can make it come back strong, like something happens and I can't get away."

Flashes.  A large, empty, porcelain sink, stained. . .

He shook his thoughts loose and said, "Okay.  So, what do we do to help you?  You can see Ray, you can see someone else.  You know the thing is, it won't go away.  We can't do that.  But we can help you deal with it."  Jack just wanted his father to console him, but he knew he was too old and beyond all that baby comforting stuff.  To his surprise, Todd stood up, and sat next to him on the bed.  "I know how it feels.  The things you've done, that you wish were gone, they nag, like a bad taco."

Jack couldn't help but slightly laugh, and then he said, "Yeah.  Sorta like that."

"You came home from school today.  And you don't look sick.  Something happened, right?"

Jack nodded.

"Want to talk about it?"

He was torn.  He wanted to talk but he was also remembering his father's own stress over what he'd learned in Greece.  It was new knowledge to Jack, and he was still reeling from hearing it earlier that day.  And, how would he tell him that someone brought up his father's past, again?  It was almost 20 years ago, but he was still "the kid who kills people, son of the rapist."  

"Sort of," Jack said.

"Kinda, sorta.  You're not sure of much right now."

"No."  Jack said, and without him doing a thing, his father gently put an arm around him and brought him to his broad shoulder.  He rested his head there, and closed his eyes.  

Jack was more surprised when Todd quietly said, "It's all right.  It's all right to feel it, all of it.  Don't try not to.  It won't help."  This was enough to push the teen over the edge into sobs.

Todd, expecting it, stayed steady as his son fell apart on his shoulder.  He let Jack cry and said nothing for as long as it took.  In the middle of it, Blair had crept back up the stairs, and peeking in, caught Todd's eye.  He made the slightest movement of his head, and she knew it was not the place for her right then.  This was not before she smiled at her husband wistfully, and with a small nod made her way back to the kids on the lower level.  He'd fill her in later.  First, he had to get the real truth out of his son.

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