Cocoon (9 page)

They were vacant. “Dear God, honey. What's happened to you?” The words ended on a sob. He pulled her unresponsive body into his arms and held her as if she were fine crystal or a fragile egg, weeping as unrestrainedly as he'd ever done in his entire adult life.

When the sobs subsided, he gently dried her off and dressed her in sweats, simply because they were easier to manage. Then he combed the tangles from her chin length hair and silently thanked Joanie for the good cut and perm when the damp strands shaped up rather nicely. As soon as he finished, Seana turned from him and made her way back to the den where she curled up again on the sofa.

Barth shook his head, pulled on jeans and shirt, and went to the kitchen to decide what to do for lunch. The doorbell pealed. He closed the fridge and went to answer the door.

“Hi, Zoe,” he said and stepped aside for a splendidly angry Zoe, who swept past him without a word of greeting. He shrugged and followed her into the den where she marched over to her mother.

“What do you mean, not taking my calls?” Zoe crossed her arms and peered down at her mother, waiting for an explanation. Silence stretched out and Zoe wilted before Barth's eyes.

“Sit down, Zoe,” Barth said softly.

Zoe did, practically collapsing on the love seat across from Seana. “How long has she been like this?”

“A week. I thought it was temporary. But it's continued so I'm going to take her to the doctor tomorrow for a thorough examination.” Barth sprawled in the easy chair, anticipating some degree of turbulence.

But he didn't bargain for Zoe's next statement.

“I know about your first wife, Barth. I know about how she died.” Zoe's eyes and voice accused and convicted Barth on the spot.

“Oh?” Barth struggled for composure amid the onslaught. The worst thing was happening … the thing he'd dreaded most. “Exactly what do you know?” He was proud that his voice at least sounded steady while his heart was flogging his ribs like a runaway bass drum.

“I know that she was murdered. And that you were arrested for it.”

Shock began to morph into anger. “Then you should know that I was released for lack of evidence.”

“Oh?” The lovely brow lifted. “How convenient for you.” Zoe smiled then. Not a pretty sight, her sly one. “But I also know that no one else has been arrested. The case is unsolved. Cold.”

“So you're going to assume that I did it, even without proof?” He shook his head, disappointed and disgusted.

Zoe stood. “Look. I'm only interested in the safety of my mother. You'd have a lot to gain if something happened to her.” Anger crackled about her like static as she marched over to Barth's chair, leaned over, and in a deadly calm voice said, “I'm here to see that nothing happens to her. In fact, I'm going to ask that she get drug tests to see if you're trying to poison her.”

Barth stood so abruptly that Zoe nearly lost her balance backing away. He narrowed his eyes and took a step forward before restraining himself. “Get out of my face, Zoe.
I love your mother
.” He gritted his teeth to stymie the tears burning behind his eyes. “That's something you toss aside like garbage. And I plan to take care of her, whether you like it or not.”

Zoe smiled again but it didn't reach her eyes. “What have you done to her, Barth? A person doesn't just change overnight. It's not mere coincidence that you're the one who prepares all her food and who shoves all sorts of additives and supplements at her. And
voila,
she turns into this – zombie.”

Barth cut his eyes down at Seana, who seemed detached from their discourse. But he knew that she could hear and discern some things. At least he thought so. “We shouldn't talk like this around her,” he said quietly.

Zoe cut a glance at her mother and her face gentled. “You're right. It's not her fault.”

A flicker of hope sparked in Barth in that moment, that maybe Zoe would relent and at least do teamwork on her mother's behalf. Instead, she pivoted and marched to collect her purse, then slammed out the front door. Without so much as a backward glance. Or a fare-thee-well.

So much for Southern hospitality and charm.

He realized then that his legs were shaking and collapsed into the chair. Elbows on knees, he planted his face in hands.

He sat there for a long time, head spinning, emotions pummeled by Zoe's words and accusations. Until he felt a cramp in his neck. Only then did he lift his head and roll his shoulders. His eyes locked with Seana's. He felt a surge of guilt. How much did she actually hear and take in?

“Honey?” he ventured gently. “I love you.”

She blinked. Then looked away.

And he knew. Somehow, he felt it in his soul of souls. She was not there behind those lovely eyes.

She's gone away inside herself
.

Away from him.

• • •

Seana's sleeplessness increased in following days. Dr. Jackson prescribed Ambien, to be taken at bedtime. He also had a startling diagnosis.

“From our conversation and your meticulous notes on Seana's behavior, I suspect this has to do with the prednisone. Let's see how the Ambien works and have a follow-up in a week.”

Seana did sleep but her depression and anxiety grew worse in following days. “Do you think you could refer Seana to the Carolina Center for Behavioral Health, Dr. Jackson?” Barth asked. He'd called him after a particularly bad episode during her high school class reunion. Her girlfriends, Joanie and Chelsea, had joined with Barth to strong-arm Seana into attending.

Seana agreed, with Joanie and Chelsea dressing and grooming her before the event. But when Seana arrived at the hotel assembly room, she'd found a sofa outside in the luxurious lounge and laid there for the entire time. At eight o'clock, Seana had insisted that Barth administer her medication and take her home to bed.

“She's getting obsessed with time, Dr. Jackson. Not at all like her.”

“Hmm. I'll call and make an appointment with the center.”

The next day at noon, Barth arrived at the behavioral center with Seana in tow. He was surprised to find Zoe already there, sitting in the waiting room, thumbing through a magazine. When he raised an eyebrow, she stood and came to meet them.

“I told you I wanted drug tests made on Mother. Wanna know what's happening.”

“Be my guest,” Barth responded mildly, too tired to muster up umbrage. He'd not slept well lately, worrying about Seana. He still hoped for an instant turnaround. Maybe this group of doctors would know what to do for her.

Dr. Castile was Seana's attending psychiatrist. She was assessed and admitted that day. For a week, Barth prayed that something could be done there that would bring Seana back. Meanwhile, meds were experimented with. Her hormone replacement therapy was changed. The Wellbutrin caused Seana's ears to ring. The Clopam had an iffy affect. Ativan seemed to work successfully. To Barth's dismay, the entire process was all trial and error.

Seana was released after a week, no better than when she was admitted.

Barth was devastated but was somehow able to function and do what had to be done. Only when he was alone did he give in to the angst and weep. Soon, that drained his strength. He had to rein in his emotions. So he decided he must look at his glass as half full rather than half empty.

Would he not rather have Seana alive, however flawed? There was always the chance that she would be cured. He must believe that.

He simply must.

And if she did not? He wouldn't even allow himself to go there.

One good thing did come from all the medical tests: Zoe now knew that Barth was not trying to do her mom in. He would have laughed at the absurdity of it all had the implications not been so macabre and vile.

No, he was grateful that Seana still lived and breathed.

He would fight to get her back. If it took the rest of his life.

• • •

Four nights after Seana's release from the hospital, Barth was awakened by her moans. “Barth … help me.”

He rolled over, instantly alert. “What's wrong, honey?”

“My arms.” Her breath came in short spurts and she was clammy. “What's wrong with me, Barth?”

He gathered her in his arms. “Ah, honey. You're sick, but you're going to get well soon.”

“Help me,” she cried out in panic. “Please, help me.” She was rubbing her arms.

“Are they hurting?” Barth began rubbing them, too. But she pushed his hand away.

“No. They buzz.” She now sat up, rocking back and forth. “Help me.”

“Come on,” he pulled her from the bed and threw on her housecoat and put on her slippers. After sliding into his jeans, shirt and shoes, he guided her to the car.

“Where we going?” she asked, resisting. She was beginning to have an aversion to going anywhere.

“To the emergency room. To get help.” He settled her in the front passenger seat and got in. On the way, he called Dr. Castile and described her symptoms. “She feels like her skin is crawling,” Barth told him. “And she's very, very anxious.”

“Hmm, could be heart related with the arm symptoms. Get her here as soon as you can.”

“We're on our way.”

• • •

Barth called Zoe and filled her in. Simply because he'd promised her he would keep her abreast of her mother's condition. Barth believed in doing the right thing. Regardless. That's as far as he would allow himself to go with the subject of Zoe.

She arrived right after they did, looking as thrown together as Barth and Seana, with her hair haphazardly pulled up in a ponytail holder, jeans and pullover and sneakers sans socks. With no makeup, Barth was struck by how childlike she appeared. How vulnerable.

But when he tentatively smiled and she did not respond, he reminded himself of what steely entrails lay beneath that delicate exterior. The two silently struck an uneasy truce as they waited for the tests and then the results, drinking terrible hospital coffee and watching mundane television in the waiting area.

“Do you want to call Tim or shall I?” Barth asked Zoe.

“I'll call him.” She left the room to talk privately. This didn't bother Barth. Not much, anyway. He'd survived worse.

Zoe came sweeping back in, clicking her phone shut, and dropping it in her oversized leopard-skin purse. “I told him not to come. That I would keep him informed of Mom's status. He and Sherry are up to their necks in work at the office.”

“Good call,” Barth murmured, impressed as always with Zoe's in-charge attitude.

Finally, by nightfall, the results came.

“Her heart is in good shape,” Dr. Castile informed them.

“Thank God,” Zoe breathed huskily.

“Yes, absolutely.” Barth felt such immense relief he thought he would slither to the floor any moment. But he braced up for the rest of the results.

“Her blood pressure is in the 160/100 range. Her pulse is in the 90 to 110 area.” He did not add any further comments and left.

“Her blood pressure is higher than usual,” Barth said to Zoe. “It usually runs around 110/70 range. And her pulse is way up.”

He spotted a nurse, called her over, and asked about it. The nurse assured him that he should not be concerned about it. But he couldn't help himself. This was way above her normal range. He felt antsy and helpless.

The doctor gave Seana an injection and, after another six hours, she calmed down and was able to be released.

Barth traipsed outside and drove the car to the exit door. Zoe stayed with her mother, who sat glumly in a wheelchair, vacant eyed and beyond weary looking. Barth's heart tugged as it always did when he saw emptiness on that beautiful face.

He and Zoe assisted Seana into the back seat where a cushion was slid under her head to make her more comfortable on the drive home. “'Night, Mama,” Zoe whispered and leaned to kiss her cheek. “I love you.”

Seana didn't reply.

“Good night, Zoe.” Barth waved as he got into the driver's seat, feeling as bad for Zoe as he did for himself.

They both loved Seana. This was one bond that would always connect them.

Unfortunately.

Zoe didn't respond but he saw her in the rearview mirror, watching them until out of sight.

• • •

“Steroid psychosis.” Zoe ran that around her tongue as she tidied up the dance studio for the upcoming evening. Peyton was helping her, singing softly as he worked, and Zoey was again impacted by the sheer wholesomeness of her son.

Too bad his dad hadn't appreciated him enough. Women and wine had, in the final analysis, meant more to Daddy than his own family. She shook loose from that vein of thought. Refused to allow Wilton's ghost to spoil an otherwise beautiful day.

Actually, she hid her negativity from Peyton, knowing it would wound him. He did, after all, love his daddy. Except for being a totally absent husband and parent, Wilton was a fantastic person. Life of the party. Always. That was the one thing she missed about him. His upbeat, fun-loving side. That's the side Peyton got during his increasingly rare visits. She wouldn't take that from him.

But to have that
whoopdy-do
Wilton, she'd had to put up with the rotten part, too. So to survive, she had, in the end, opted for divorce.

Peyton's soft singing along with the stereo's 101 Strings's rendition of “Night and Day” halted her in her tracks as she covertly watched him polishing mirrors to a high shine, seeing his guileless reflection as he stretched up and down to reach the floor-to-ceiling surfaces. She hadn't done too badly raising him alone.

And she'd always had her mom for backup. Her frown reappeared along with that little flutter around her heart that reacted to the thought of something happening to her mother, the one rock left in her life.

The diagnosis, steroid psychosis, from her mom's doctor, had sounded ominous. Mystifying. So she'd looked it up to see exactly what she was dealing with here. The web info verified a wide range of psychotic disturbances from mild depression to anxiety to violence.