After several cups of coffee and a long, sobering shower, Jo headed for the hospital. She visited with the girls briefly; they were going to be discharged later in the day and hoped to go home. Frank was unsure if he should go so soon. Leaving the girls to shower and dress, she went with Frank to the hospital cafeteria.
“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding, Jo,” he said. “You should have had more time with the girls.”
“It wasn’t a misunderstanding, Frank,” she said. “Hope left me behind when she was a teenager. She knew what she was doing. She didn’t want me to be their grandmother.”
“It was wrong,” he said.
“I’m not sure she could help herself,” Jo said.
“I have an appointment with the psychiatrist at one o’clock,” he said.
“She’s not your responsibility anymore, Frank.”
“She’s still the mother of my girls. I think at this point they’d like to walk away and forget about her but that wouldn’t be good for anyone. Not Hope, not them. Why don’t you sit in with me?”
“I’ll do that, though I don’t know how I’ll help. I’ll try, Frank. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Hope has assets,” he said. “And she has medical benefits—I saw to that. Not because I want to take care of her but because having anything happen to her without resources would just be a burden on the girls. They’re so young. They’re not spoiled.” He laughed abruptly. “I thought Hope must be very spoiled, the way she talked. I was determined to prevent Trude and Bobbi from being like that if I could.”
“She wasn’t spoiled,” Jo said. “She was deprived. At least, I felt she was. Her childhood didn’t resemble mine—my parents were well-to-do. But the man I married couldn’t hold a job to save his life. We struggled constantly. Hope always longed for things other girls her age had, things her richer cousins had. Things she thought I had had. But I fell for an irresponsible man. In the end he was my doom. The doom of everyone.”
“I’m sure you did the best you could,” Frank said.
“I thought so at the time,” she said. “Looking back, I could have done so much better. All I did was blame people. I’ll do what I can to help Hope through whatever it is she’s going through but the important thing to me now is the chance to get to know my granddaughters. My youngest daughter, Beverly, has two children—a boy and a girl. We’re not exactly close but we have a nice relationship. Trude and Bobbi have cousins. I’d just like to get to know them, Frank.”
“I’ll be happy to work on that with you but you’re going to have to remember, the girls live in Pennsylvania.”
“I’ll find a way. And I promise not to crowd them,” she said.
“I’m not sure if I know anything about you and your family,” he said. “I’m not sure what’s fabricated and what’s real. Can you imagine my shock to learn you had a daughter just released from prison?”
Jo laughed slightly. “I’m starting to see the merits of an imaginary life. I’ll be happy to tell you anything, Frank. It’s not really as horrible as it seems on the surface, but it is complicated.”
He looked at his watch. “We have a couple of hours before the doctor will see me.”
She laughed again. “That should get us started.”
* * *
There was not only enough time for Jo to tell Frank whatever he wanted to know about their family but also time for her to learn about his transition from VP of finance to bike shop owner. There were times during their conversation when he had to pause to read and send a text. “Excuse me,” he said a few times. “One of the girls, wanting to know where I am and what I’m doing.”
“Should you go to them?” Jo asked.
“No, they’re fine. I’m right in the same building and they’re safe.”
Jo also learned some very disturbing things about the state of Hope’s marriage. The most upsetting was to hear that for the past six years she would not admit to anyone that they had separated and divorced. “My son is now three years old. You’d think by now she’d recognize my marriage to Pam.”
“Oh, she is in desperate need of help,” Jo said.
“I think you’re going to find she doesn’t want help,” he said.
“That’s the most serious symptom of all,” she said.
When the time came for the appointment with the doctor, Jo and Frank went to an office on the fourth floor. Frank introduced Jo to the doctor, but they didn’t even sit down.
“I’m afraid I’m not able to give you any information on Mrs. Griffin’s condition. We’re very sensitive to issues of confidentiality and Mrs. Griffin hasn’t given permission for either one of you to be informed of her condition or to make medical decisions on her behalf. In fact, the only visitors she has approved so far are her daughters.”
“Wait a minute,” Jo said. She put a hand on Frank’s forearm. “Doctor, will you give us a second?”
“Sure. I’ll be right here.”
Jo stepped into the hallway with Frank and spoke softly. He nodded. Jo gave his hand a fond pat. Then she went back into the doctor’s office alone.
“Can you please give my daughter a message?” Jo asked.
“I’d be happy to.”
“Please tell Hope that I’m available to help her but there will be conditions. Therapy, for one thing. Maybe therapy and medication if that’s what you recommend. But her ex-husband and her daughters are no longer taking her calls. You can tell her the car they were in was a total loss but fortunately her daughters survived without serious injury. So, I guess Hope is on her own unless she wants help from her mother. But I’m not willing to do that unless I have permission to speak with her medical providers. If I’m going to help her and perhaps take care of her, I’ll need to know her medical condition. How long do you imagine you’ll keep her?” Jo finally asked.
“I don’t know,” the doctor said.
“Let me write down my number in case she doesn’t have it.” She pulled one of the doctor’s business cards from its holder on the desk and scribbled her name and number on the back. “I really must get one of those cell phones.” She took a second card for her purse. Then she put out her hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“I hope all goes well, Mrs. Hempstead.”
Frank was waiting for her in the hallway. “I don’t know about this,” he said. “I don’t want her homeless, crazy and wandering the streets.”
“I don’t, either. I’ll check on her—I have my own sources. Say, Frank, there’s something you can do for me. I must have one of those cell phones. I’ve made it this long without one but now I find I have to cave in. Something affordable. Can you tell me what to buy? I really don’t have time to do a lot of research.”
“I can do better than that. When Trude and Bobbi are ready to go, we’ll take you to buy one. There are no finer experts than two teenage girls. And it will help you stay in touch with them. They mainly communicate via text.”
“Oh, I’m dangerously behind,” she said.
“You’ll be amazed at how fast you catch on,” he said, dropping an arm around her shoulders.
* * *
A few days later Josephine found her life had changed in a hundred ways. Probably the most shocking was the iPhone. She called Charley, who passed her phone to Krista so they could talk. She called Louise, who answered in shock, amazed that Jo had come so far. She called Hope’s doctor, who said that Hope, unsurprisingly, would like to see her. She called Frank.
She didn’t have to call her granddaughters. They were with her when she picked out the phone, which Frank insisted on buying for her. Then they all went out to an early dinner and giggled helplessly as Jo learned to text, get email and use Google and other fundamentals of cell phone life.
She had an appointment with Dr. Sam Benoit, the psychiatrist. They shook hands and then Jo took her seat in front of his desk. She clutched her purse on her lap in front of her and he smiled reassuringly. “So, all these years without a cell phone and now you’ve become just another slave like the rest of us.”
She smiled back. “That part didn’t take any time at all. My granddaughters taught me to text. After not really knowing them we’re making up for lost time.”
“Do you mind if I ask, how did that happen? No contact with your granddaughters?”
“I was always in contact with Hope, but we weren’t at all close. She left my house and moved in with her grandparents when she was fifteen because they were well-to-do and could give her the lifestyle she wanted. Frankly, I grew tired of her judgment and disapproval and didn’t try very hard to gain her acceptance. When her children came along she told me, not very politely, that she would send pictures and give them my letters but her husband was a very important man and she didn’t want her daughters embarrassed by some of our family issues—predominantly her sister serving a prison sentence for murder. It was self-defense. It was tragic. But twenty-three years have passed and Krista’s home now. Home and I must say emotionally much more stable than poor Hope. But back to your question—it wasn’t true that Frank forbade us to have a relationship.” She laughed uncomfortably. “Frank said he asked about me from time to time. He never even knew about Krista’s prison sentence. I guess that was what Hope intended.”
“People cover up things they find embarrassing,” he said. “I suppose we all do.”
“Is that all that’s wrong with Hope?”
“Not exactly. Hope seems to suffer from a delusional disorder. She knows the difference between fantasy and reality but that’s not likely to impact her interpretation of her life. Not now, anyway. Hope prefers her version of reality even though she knows it’s mostly fabricated. She’s in denial and has many creative excuses. I’ve prescribed a mild antidepressant and she should have therapy. I recommend an inpatient facility for thirty days followed by outpatient therapy. I’d like you to be prepared for something—this has gone on for so long I don’t expect it will be easy to resolve. And in fact, it might never completely resolve. But she’s functional. She’s not a danger to herself or others.”
“Is there something off in her brain?” Jo asked. “Is this a mental illness?”
“It’s borderline. It is identified in the DSM—the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders published by the American Psychiatric Association. It falls into the same category as other disorders that are borderline, like narcissism, jealousy, that sort of thing. It’s not curable but people who seek change through therapy have good results. That’s the rule of thumb in most things—you can’t change people but people can change. They have to want to.”
“Hope doesn’t want to, does she?”
“Not at the moment, I’m afraid. But that isn’t necessarily permanent. Let’s see how it goes.”
“What am I going to do with her?” Jo asked. “I don’t have a place for her.”
“She might choose to go back to Pennsylvania. Doesn’t she have a home there?”
“But no family support. They’re done with this craziness.”
“That might change her perspective,” the doctor said. “There are other options, too, depending on Hope’s acceptance—like transitionary housing. A halfway house. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have a long way to go.”
Jo shook her head wearily. “I wish I understood why...”
“There could be a dozen reasons,” he said. “Sometimes people fictionalize their lives for attention. Sometimes they’re looking for excuses. Some think a good story will explain them better than the truth will. Some suffer from low self-esteem and think their fictional story makes them more interesting than they really are, while others were abused and an imaginary life helps them escape the reality of abuse. Then there are those who think if they tell the story long enough it will become true just as those who have told their story for so long it blends with the truth so thoroughly they begin to believe it. Whatever the cause, when it’s protracted it becomes compulsive. It’s a habit hard to break.”
“How do you explain her meltdown?”
“Keeping up with the stories and dodging the consequences is very stressful—many sufferers change friends and even families often. And we all know them—some are more intense than others. There are some more popular than others. There were so many men claiming to be Navy SEALs that there’s a website dedicated to exposing the frauds. The editor in chief of a major city newspaper spent his entire career claiming to be a decorated retired colonel who served in the war—he was exposed as never having served in the military.”
“And people who lie to con you?” she asked. “To trick you into giving them money or something?”
“Not in the same category, I’m afraid,” the doctor said. “That’s a whole different thing. Criminal, deliberate, felonious...not represented in the DSM. No, people who make up false but entirely plausible stories and know they’re not true but can’t seem to stop doing it—that’s a disorder we’re familiar with. It pops up all the time.”
Jo was intrigued. “It’s so wrong to deceive people like that...”
“That’s the irony,” he said. “Most people aren’t fooled. The taller the tales, the more doubt associated with them. There seems to be an interesting inverse correlation—true heroes seldom brag. People with solid marriages feel secure and don’t seem to need to constantly remind the world how happy they are. Wealthy people seldom publicize their net worth. This isn’t always true, of course—some people just have to toot their own horn. But it’s often true that grand tales of heroism or wealth or romance are usually in play to cover up some sense of a deficiency. And of course delusional disorders like all disorders come in all sizes. I’d venture to say almost all Christmas letters are a little delusional.”
“My daughter was sending Christmas letters signed Hope, Franklin, Bobbi and Trude for years after their divorce. She wouldn’t accept it.”
“She must have been so lonely,” the doctor said.
“Do you think she’ll get well?”
“I think she is well,” he said. “The question is, will she stop fictionalizing her life? Let’s see what comes with some therapy.”
* * *
Jo went to see her daughter after her conversation with the doctor. Hope didn’t look good to her, but she imagined that was to be expected. She was drawn and looked sleepy; her hair wasn’t fixed and she wore scrubs. Someone had given her scrubs. Jo would find a way to get her clothes.
She embraced her. “Oh, Hope,” was all she could say.
“I’ve made a mess, haven’t I?” she said.
“Nothing that can’t be worked through,” Jo said.
“I think Franklin has left me for good,” she said.
Jo pulled back, holding Hope’s upper arms. “I believe he did that about six years ago. He has a wife and son.”
“But once he thought it over...?”
Jo was shaking her head. She didn’t have to say anything. Hope just sighed.
“Let’s get you back on your feet,” Jo said. “You’re young. There are lots of possibilities for you, but only if you get help.”
“I think it’s too late,” she said. “I have no one. Not even my children.”
“Well, you have me, but only if you follow the doctor’s recommendations. If you don’t, I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
“Oh, I doubt he’ll be much help,” she said. “He wants me to go to a hospital. A hospital for crazy people.”
“That’s not correct,” Jo said. “It’s a rehab facility for people recovering from depression and other mental and emotional disorders. The doors are not locked.”
“I bet they have rubber rooms...”
Jo laughed and smoothed Hope’s hair. Then she clutched her hands. “It’s all up to you, Hope. You still have family, but only if you’re honest and truthful. You might be able to repair your relationship with your daughters in time, but they aren’t going to help you pretend—they’ve been clear, they’re done with that. I’ll be there for you but only if you get help. So what are you going to do?”
“I’ll do what you want,” she said. “But I’m so sad. Do you think I’ll ever stop being so sad?”
“What are you so sad about, darling?”
“I mapped out the perfect life. Absolutely perfect. And it didn’t work.”
Jo was flabbergasted. “That’s because it was pretend.”
“It was still perfect,” she said.
Jo sighed. “I don’t know if a month is going to be enough.”
* * *
Jo couldn’t help but feel she had failed her children, even though there wasn’t much more she could have done. Hindsight is so excellent—now it was clear that had she contacted Frank Griffin years ago, things might have been better. She had met him at the wedding, of course, but it was like meeting him for the first time now. She liked the bike shop owner so much more than the VP of finance. The old Frank, in the company of his rich, stuffy parents, was so uptight. He had looked thoroughly bored and unhappy. What a shock to learn he was! But this Frank, comfortable in his own skin, was so charming and kind, so thoughtful and concerned.
She thought of Krista back then. She could not have stopped her from acting out no matter what she tried. Likely in the face of her family disintegrating around her she gravitated toward teenagers who she could attach herself to, feel acceptance—and they were a bad lot.
Her thoughts turned to Beverly. Beverly had come a long way—she was the content mother of two. But getting there had been such a struggle and no one could have made it easier for her. Beverly was the one who had been with Bunny when she drowned, Beverly felt guilty and responsible for twelve-year-old Bunny’s death; sneaking out on the lake in the rowboat had been her scheme. She spent years in therapy.
Not many months after Bunny’s death Beverly’s counselor reported that her depression was not responding to medication and she was concerned by her suicidal thoughts. The counselor recommended a foster home where she might have a better chance of getting her life back. It was a farm in southern Minnesota and there were usually six teenagers at a time. They thought Beverly could benefit from a few months there—there were farm chores, animals, even riding horses. The couple who operated the farm were both social workers and could provide counseling as well as close supervision. Just a few months, the counselor said.
Beverly never lived at home again. She bonded with the Swensons, Joy and Glenn, and she blossomed through high school, even helping with other teenagers in residence. But Beverly was the only one who stayed on as the closest thing to a family member they had.
Fortunately, Jo and Beverly did stay in close touch and saw each other regularly. If Joy and Glenn came into the city, they brought Beverly to see her mother and there were days Jo could drive or take the bus to the farm to spend a day with them. That first year was so hard, being separated from her youngest child. But as Beverly grew stronger and happier, Jo realized it had been a godsend. A gift.
Beverly was forty now and it had really been no surprise—she was thoroughly a country girl. Her children, a boy and a girl, Alex and Becca, were twelve and fourteen. She had married a man who came from a big family farm near Red Wing and the kids had lots of 4-H blue ribbons for everything from canning to raising a calf. Though Beverly had never stayed a night with Jo, Jo had spent a few nights at Beverly’s farmhouse. She loved Beverly’s big, quiet husband, Tom. If Jo was visiting Beverly and her family, Glenn and Joy often made it a point to visit, as well. And it was no surprise to Jo when Beverly and Tom became foster parents.
Jo called her youngest daughter. “Beverly, it’s Mom,” she said. “You’ll never believe what I’m calling you from—my very own iPhone. I’m even doing email.”
“Get outta town!” Beverly said. “Tom,” she yelled. “My mom has a cell phone and email!”
“Did hell freeze over?” he yelled back.
Jo laughed happily. “I have some things to tell you—I’ll try to give you the condensed version.” She explained about Hope and the girls and especially about Frank. She told her Megan was hanging in there but she certainly wasn’t robust looking. Charley was managing all the details, Krista was working at the lodge and seemed happier than Jo would have thought possible and Jo and Lou were speaking again. “Not everything is resolved between us but I’m very hopeful.”
“How in heaven’s name did you manage that?”
“I think we can give credit to Hope, in a backward kind of way. I swallowed my pride and went to Louise. I told her our girls need us and we can’t fail them a second time. Megan is sick, Hope is in the hospital, Krista is trying to get on her feet—we need to stop being angry and start supporting each other. We talked about everything. We talked all through the night. I think there’s more talking to do, but unless I missed all the signals, Lou is ready to make amends, too.”
Beverly’s voice was very quiet. “I haven’t seen her in twenty-seven years. I’m sure she still hates me.”
“I don’t think she ever hated you, Beverly. For a while she was angry with the world, and who wouldn’t be. But it’s been a lifetime. Surely we can all move on in a lifetime. You haven’t seen very many of our family.”
“Will Hope be okay?” she asked.
“I think so. But it’s up to her. Krista has a good chance—she’s a new person and she’s amazing. Meg... I don’t know what to expect. I’ve seen her a few times and she says she feels well but the disease and the treatment have taken their toll.”
“And you, Mom? Are you okay?”
“I’m better than I’ve been in a long time, Beverly. I felt like I was in a holding pattern all this time and now I’m finally doing something. I’m making some plans, taking care of my girls, back in touch with my sister, spending time with my nieces, texting my granddaughters. I must start texting with Alex and Becca. Will you give them my number and ask them to try me? Tell them their grandma is rocking it—that’s what Bobbi and Trude say. They taught me. I’m messing up all the acronyms, of course—they love that and LOL like mad.”
Beverly laughed.
“I’ll talk to Louise, Beverly. I’ll make sure she’s made peace with that night Bunny drowned. If she hasn’t, I won’t lie to you. All right?”
“All right. Does Krista have a phone?”
“Not yet. Charley shares hers but I’m thinking of gifting her one.”
“Will you ask her to call me? It’s been so long.”
“Of course. And if you decide you’d like to show her the farm, she’s really figuring out the bus.”
“Mom? Will you please tell Aunt Lou I’m sorry?” she said.
Beverly hadn’t said anything like that in many years and it broke Jo’s heart. She didn’t want her reliving the pain of it. “If you’d like me to, sure. But, Beverly, she knows it was an accident. Kids just doing what kids do—no malice and no wickedness, just a very sad accident. You have children—you know how hard we try to keep them from taking chances and we know they do, anyway. That night, that freak storm, it was just the wrong place at the wrong time...”
“That night it was Bunny who wanted to go, not me. But it was me other nights. It was my idea first, a year before. It was as much fun to sneak around, spy on our big sisters, creep out of the house and take out the boat after dark as anything we did at the lake. We used to spy on you and Aunt Lou. Listen to what you said.”
“You did?” Jo said.
“Sure. We were never very sure what you were talking about, though. Usually complaints about Daddy and Uncle Carl.”
That night, she thought. That night she hid in the boathouse to listen in on Ivan and Corky the boat was there so the girls hadn’t gone out.
All this time that Beverly had felt the accident was her fault, Jo and Lou had felt the same way—that they’d been preoccupied with Ivan and Corky, that they hadn’t been paying enough attention, letting the kids run wild. Not only were Bunny and Beverly sneaking out in the boat, Charley got pregnant!
“You’d been doing that for a year?” Jo asked.
“Yes. The big girls got to go to the parties with the other kids across the lake but we always had to stay in, play with Barbies. It was as much fun to get the best of the big girls as anything. You’re right, it’s what kids do. Krista did it. Krista and Meg, I remember. When Charley and Hope wouldn’t take them to the beach parties, they snuck out and spied on them.”
“But if they took the boat to the parties...”
“You could walk there, remember? It wasn’t close but you could walk there. Or you could untie the boat next door—that old guy’s boat. Charley even swam home once, all the way across the lake, at night, no lifeguard...”
“Dear God,” Jo said. “So much going on we didn’t know about.”
“You had six teenage girls,” Beverly said. “We’re foster parents and our kids are not always the best kids. I’ve learned to be vigilant, but a lot of that comes from the knowledge of what me and my sisters and cousins managed to get away with.”
“Well, it served a purpose, then,” Jo said, suddenly tired.
“Weren’t we once the perfect family?” Beverly asked.
Jo couldn’t speak? Perfect? They were never perfect! Horribly flawed and dysfunctional was the truth of it!
“At least that’s how I remember it,” Beverly said. “We had the best time. We were so close. Until Bunny died.”
Jo talked to her daughter awhile longer. When they hung up Jo called Louise. “I’d like to have you come to my apartment tonight. I’d like to make you dinner. I’ll buy us a very good bottle of wine. There are so many things we’ve forgotten to talk about. Good things.”