House Arrest (20 page)

28 ~ Pippa

Their case had just been called, only ninety minutes late. Not bad, according to the lawyer. Turning slightly in her seat, Pippa looked back over her shoulder at the full courtroom. Mostly reporters, it looked like, which wasn’t surprising after the spread in the Sunday paper. She thought she glimpsed Sam way in the back, or some guy with an eccentric mustache like his, but then a large woman shifted position and he was blocked.

Pippa turned to look at the rest of her family, sitting together two rows behind her. Francie was dressed in white, next to Marshall, who cleaned up pretty smart when he made the effort. Adele and the twins were looking down at a book. Pippa could see Timothy’s lips moving as he read. Liz sat perfectly still, eyes closed, probably praying to Isis. Pippa started to wave, but Francie shook her head the slightest bit. Feeling reprimanded, Pippa flushed and turned to face the front of the courtroom.

She sat behind the defense table with her court-appointed lawyer. She had only met the guy once before today’s hearing, and that was at her arraignment. He was so thin that she couldn’t imagine he had room for the necessary internal organs, much less for the strength to stand up to the D.A.’s booming voice.

Arms folded across his chest, a uniformed guard stood sentry at the side door to the right of the raised stage. At their arraignment, the cops had brought all three of them through that door from the holding cells. But only Tian and Murphy returned to the jail, and Pippa had been escorted to Nan Malloy’s office to hear about her house arrest rules.

The lawyer leaned close to Pippa’s ear and pointed to the matching door to the left. “Judge Thomas will enter that way. When he does, stand up, and look respectful. He’s the one who set the terms of your house arrest and he’ll hear your case.”

“Is that good?”

“So-so. He’s strict, conservative. But he’s very pro-motherhood, and you’re pregnant, so that’s in your favor. Especially if you can convince him how much you want this baby.” The lawyer’s mouth twisted down at the corners and he pointed down at Pippa’s barely rounded middle. “When you stand up, stick out your belly. Your best chance is to persuade him that you are the innocent young mother. You’re the youngest defendant, the youngest adult in the cult. That’s why it’s so important to separate your case from the other defendants. Our strategy will be to show you as a victim under their control. Brainwashed.”

“But that’s not true.”

“It’s your best defense. Do you want your baby born in prison?”

Pippa had no chance to answer, because things started happening. First, two men in dark suits came over to their table, leaned down to shake her lawyer’s hand. Pippa recognized them as the public defenders assigned to Tian and Murphy. Then Nan Malloy and Emily walked in from the back of the courtroom and sat in the front row across the aisle, behind the table with the District Attorney. Did that mean Emily was on the other side? Pippa wanted to ask her lawyer, but he was whispering with the other lawyers, who had taken their seats behind the defense table.

She had other, bigger, questions about Emily, questions the lawyer couldn’t imagine. Like, why did she run out of the house so abruptly yesterday? Was it just being squeamish about a decapitated cat? She was a nurse; she should be used to injury and death. How come she wouldn’t answer about the solstice? Had Pippa been wrong to trust her?

Then the right-hand door opened and Tian and Murphy were led in, dressed neck to ankles in orange coveralls. Handcuffed and shackled. The guards had guns in leather holsters, bumping against their blue trousers with each step. They escorted Tian and Murphy to the end of Pippa’s row, to chairs on the other side of the lawyers. Pippa wondered if the lawyers would change seats with her, so she could sit next to Tian. There might be a rule against defendants touching thighs on courtroom chairs. She leaned forward so she could see Tian and smiled at him, tried to capture his eyes, but he was staring at the opening door on the left. Then the bailiff announced “All rise,” and they all did. Judge Thomas entered the room.

The judge’s face was stony above his black gown. He seemed to scrutinize Pippa for a long moment. She stared back at the ordinary-looking man who held so much power over her. Was his life so perfect, so free of mistakes? Wasn’t there anything he was ashamed of, any scene he would give anything to replay, to do it differently?

The lawyer tugged at Pippa’s arm. “Pay attention. Sit down. We’re starting.”

It was hard to focus on the legal mumbo jumbo. Pippa tried to catch Emily’s eye. She looked pretty stony-faced herself. Sometimes the lawyers talked so the courtroom could hear, but more often they gathered in a clutch of dark suits clustered around Judge Thomas’ oak throne and whispered, only their arm gestures reflecting their arguments. At one point they argued loudly about whether the teachings of Isis were admissible evidence. That was when the judge yelled “absolutely not” and smacked his hand down hard on the desk. Pippa’s lawyer walked back from the huddle that time shaking his head and leaned over to Pippa.

“Bad news,” he said. “Judge refuses to recognize any religion beyond the New Testament. I don’t think he’s going to allow any testimony about your spiritual beliefs.”

A baby cried in the back of the courtroom. Pippa’s breasts responded with the tingling let-down feeling, their memory strong after all these dry months. She crossed her arms tight, pressing on the nipples. How could her breasts betray her that way, ready to nurse when Abby was gone? She barely heard the rustle of someone gathering bags and walking out, shushing a hungry baby. Pippa wouldn’t let herself turn around to look.

This hearing was all about Abby, but so far no one had even mentioned her name.

Then the bailiff called Emily. She walked briskly to the stand and raised her right hand, repeated some words. She had pinned up her hair, revealing her skinny neck, and she looked more gawky than usual. Even her voice was thin, and Pippa had to strain to hear her state her name and profession.

What would Emily say under oath? If she wanted to hurt Pippa, she had plenty of ammunition. Pippa could kick herself; she had supplied most of it herself. Emily could describe the details of last winter’s solstice celebration, including that Pippa drank peyote in the libation. She could tell the judge that Pippa violated her house arrest conditions and snuck over to the children’s hospital without permission. And worst of all, Emily could testify that Pippa planned to return to the scene of her crime. The judge would consider that was putting her unborn baby at risk, and they’d lock her up and throw away the key.

Dizzy. Like her head was filling with helium. Like when she was eight years old, sucking on the spigot from the balloon machine at the county fair because Stanley dared her and it made her voice sound funny. She began to float, a few inches into the courtroom air, looking down on Emily’s arms hanging wooden in her brown cardigan. Pippa remembered to breathe. Gravity should hold her there, but it needed help. A tether, she needed a tether. She concentrated on not fainting. She grabbed onto the oak table. The defense table. Her thumb traced the rough grain. She studied the pattern of green and blue wool on the court stenographer’s blazer.

Then Emily spoke and her voice was the tether.

“I know of no breach of the house arrest rules,” Emily said. “Ms. Glenning has followed all the medical advice, met all of her appointments.”

Pippa felt Emily’s gaze flicker in her direction. Then Emily spoke directly to the judge. “In my professional opinion, Pippa Glenning is taking good care of her baby.”

“Excellent,” the lawyer whispered in Pippa’s ear. “That will help. Now, we just have to separate your case from the losers.”

Pippa smiled a private thank-you to Emily as she returned to her side of the aisle even though Emily looked straight ahead. Pippa turned back to her lawyer. “I told you, I don’t want to be separated from my family.”

The moment those words left her mouth, Pippa realized that she didn’t know whether or not they were still true.

29 ~ Emily

After the hearing, I followed Nan Malloy out of the courtroom. Nan nodded in the direction of the guard stationed against the corridor wall, but her words were aimed straight at me.

“You’re not getting overly involved with Glenning, are you?”

What did she mean? Nan’s tone was offhand, but her words were pointed. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to match the probation officer’s nonchalance. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Good.” Nan fingered through the stack of manila folders balanced in the crook of her arm. “These cult people may not be murderers, but that doesn’t mean they’re wholesome. They’ll manipulate your emotions, convince you it’s your mission to rescue them from the interference of the big bad outside world. But you’re a professional, a nurse. You must know about keeping your distance.”

I turned and glanced back down the corridor, looking for any members of Pippa’s family. “What do you think will happen to them?”

Nan didn’t answer until we reached the door to the probation department. She stopped and turned to face me. “That’s up to a jury of their peers. But you want my guess? They’ll be convicted. Tian will serve three to five. The woman too, probably. Your Glenning might get a year, maybe suspended. Especially if Judge Thomas agrees to separate her case from the other defendants. If it were entirely up to him, I bet he would just give Pippa probation. So the little woman could stay home and take care of her baby.” Nan shook her head, like she didn’t agree with the judge’s priorities.

I didn’t care about the judge or his priorities. During the hearing, it had been hard to look at him without thinking about the high-risk O.B. he resembled, a guy I worked with in Portland who made awful puns except when a birth wasn’t going well. Then, his thin features rearranged themselves as he focused every brain cell on saving baby and mother. I hoped this stern-looking man wanted to save Pippa and her baby too.

Shifting the stack of files onto her hip, Nan opened the office door. “We’ll talk next Monday. Try to control your maternal instincts with that girl, okay?”

“No problem.” Buttoning my jacket, I promised myself to listen to Nan’s advice and keep my professional distance with Pippa. That should be easy enough. Pippa’s world was way too frightening.

That reminded me. “By the way, do the cops have any idea who killed Bast?”

“Who?”

“Bast. Pippa’s cat?”

“No leads I’ve heard about. But come to think of it, why don’t you leave by the back door to avoid the skinheads.” She pointed to the Exit sign at the end of the hallway. “Take those stairs two flights down. Leads right into the parking lot.”

Cracking open the door at the bottom of the back stairway, I peered outside. All clear. Once safely inside my locked car, I drove past the demonstrators still pacing back and forth in front of the Hall of Justice. Their numbers had shrunk to about a dozen and their picket line looked straggly now, with hardly enough people to cover the sidewalk.

I drove a roundabout way back to the office. Skirting the historic district, weaving in and out of residential streets to avoid Sumner Avenue and the park, I again considered Nan’s advice. Okay, I promised myself. No more buddy-buddy with Pippa. Do the job; toe the line. Toeing the line made me picture Pippa, walking heel to toe along the red striped line on the hospital corridor floor, airplane-wing arms aloft on her own convictions.

Had I ever felt that confident, that certain about anything?

Marge’s Oldsmobile sat in its reserved parking spot next to the brick wall of the Hampden County Home Care building. I hoped she didn’t try to mess with me today. My plan was to quickly chart on Pippa’s ultrasound visit, check to see if any of the lab results were available, and then pack up for my afternoon patients. Surely I could do that without having Marge in my face.

Her office door was closed. The large nurses’ room was empty except for Andy, who leaned over his desk closest to the supervisor’s office, unpacking his shoulder bag. I waved at him; he smiled and waved back. I had never trusted him. Gina swore that he listened to every conversation, every workplace grumble and staff complaint, and reported word for word back to Marge. But lately, rumor had it that Andy was no longer her favorite. People even said that he was working nights per diem in the emergency room, waiting for a full-time opening there. I wondered if Marge had a new spy.

I logged onto my computer. While it was loading, I dragged my rolling bag out from under the desk and opened it on the supply table in the center of the room. I gathered extra dressings and intravenous supplies. A fresh bottle of the coriander-scented oatmeal body lotion that Mrs. Grover loved. Size seven sterile latex gloves. That reminded me about Pippa; I kept meaning to document her skin reactions. Back at my desk I opened the computerized medical record labeled Glenning.

Under the Allergies tab, I typed, “Latex contact causes skin rash and hives.” I dated and signed the entry, refreshed the screen, composed a quick note about the ultrasound and blood work and logged off. While slipping the laptop into its padded compartment in the rolling pack, I dialed Josué’s home telephone number. I had planned to stop by his house the day before to check the drainage on his bandages, but finding Bast erased everything from my mind.

Listening to the echo of ringing on the other end of the phone line, I picked up the extra three-inch gauze dressings from my desk. Three rings. I stood two thin dressing packets upright, poised on end, leaning slightly on each other. Four rings. I added a third and then a fourth wall. Barely breathing. A wobble could destroy the delicate balance. Six rings. Steadying one hand with the other, I positioned a four-inch package across the top to complete the roof. I let my breath out, leaned back, and listened to Carmen’s recorded voice. “Hόla. Leave a message.”

“Hi Carmen, this is Emily. Just checking in on Josué. I’ll call again later.” Leaving the fragile hut on my desk, I gathered my jacket and scarf, pocketbook and rolling bag, and headed out.

The outside door opened just before I reached it, and Gina walked in.

“Hey.” She smiled and slipped off her teal suede gloves. “I was hoping to see you this afternoon.”

“I’m on my way out to Mrs. Grover.”

Gina waved her hand back and forth. “Take a ten minute break and tell me about the hearing?” She held my elbow and led me to our corner of the office.

I made a face and flashed my eyes towards Andy.

“We’ll whisper, girlfriend,” she said, hanging her coat carefully on the hook next to her desk. “How did it go this morning?”

I dragged my desk chair close to hers and sat down, but didn’t take off my jacket. “Okay. I only had to testify for a minute, to say that Pippa’s doing everything right.”

“Did you tell the judge about her visit to Zoe at the hospital?”

I shook my head. “He didn’t ask.”

“They say anything about someone killing the poor kitty?”

“No one seemed worried about a dead cat. The hearing was mostly about whether they should try the cases together or separate them. Nan says Pippa will do better if she has her own trial, but Pippa wants them all together. There was a lot of arguing back and forth about whether the family could talk about their religious beliefs, if that was admissible evidence. The judge said no to that, but he didn’t decide anything else yet.”

Gina pulled her laptop from the pack and hooked it up to the network. Then she turned to me with a serious look. “I’ve been thinking about this. It seems to me your client is getting a raw deal.”

“What do you mean?”

“If she were Presbyterian, the judge would grant permission to turn off her ankle monitor for church. She wouldn’t have to sneak around.”

“Do you suppose he would give permission, if she asked?”

“That’s your white skin asking,” Gina said. “If you’re an outsider, you try to stay out of their sight. You don’t ask, when you already know their answer. They’d throw her right into jail, if they even suspected she was thinking of celebrating the solstice again. I’m no big fan of your child abuser, but it’s still a raw deal.”

This wasn’t the direction I wanted to take. “I don’t get it. You call her a child abuser. You tell me not to get involved. But now you decide she’s not being treated fairly. What am I supposed to do?”

“Be careful,” Gina said. “Just because Pippa is getting screwed, it doesn’t mean you should risk your career.”

I stood up. “Who else is going to help her?” I retrieved my rolling pack and started again towards the door.

“Nurse Klein. Hold it.” Marge stood in her office doorway. “Please explain the entry you just made in Pippa Glenning’s chart.”

I tried to keep my voice even and calm. “The ultrasound and lab results aren’t posted yet.”

Marge frowned. “Not that. The latex allergy.”

I stared at her eyebrows. Flying synchronized today in flawless formation.

“Latex?” Marge asked.

“Latex.” I sighed. “Like rubber? She gets hives under the rubber strap of her house arrest monitor unless she protects her skin.”

Marge’s eyebrows soared, then plummeted. “Don’t you think that’s rather frivolous?”

A lot of medical people still didn’t believe latex allergy was real, even though they were the biggest risk group. “Not if your OB examines the birth canal with latex gloves,” I said. “Or if you need a narcotic, and it’s given through a latex port. Not if one of these exposures results in anaphylactic shock. No, I wouldn’t call that frivolous.”

I turned away from Marge and her eyebrows and left the office.

•

I was still smiling to myself fifteen minutes later when I rang Mrs. Grover’s doorbell. Marge would pay me back with interest, but for the moment I felt gleeful. I bet Gina was still laughing. And what did Andy think of our exchange? Was he perching on the edge of his desk right now and commiserating with Marge about my unprofessional behavior? My cheeky retort would probably become the office gossip of the week.

Mrs. Grover greeted me with a wan face and bad news. “I’ve been so sick,” she said. “There was infection in my wound and it spread to my blood. Terrell had to take me back to the hospital on Thanksgiving.”

“How do you feel today?” I asked, reviewing the hospital discharge papers on her kitchen table. I thought back to the last time I changed that dressing. Had there been any sign of brewing infection?

Mrs. Grover’s recliner took up most of the sunny room, but she insisted that the kitchen was her favorite place and that’s where she wanted to be. I cleaned her re-sutured abdominal incision and taped a new dressing over it.

“How does it look now?” Mrs. Grover’s eyes were unfocused and damp.

“It looks perfect.” I peeled off the gloves and dropped them into the red infectious waste bag. Scrubbing my hands at the kitchen sink, I remembered Marge’s inquisition. How did she know about the latex allergy entry in the computer anyway? I wondered if the witch monitored every single computer entry, or only mine.

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Grover’s voice trembled. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

“It looks great today and we’ll keep a close eye on it. These new antibiotics will help.” I wondered again if infection had been smoldering under the neat row of black sutures last week. Pay attention, I scolded myself. I arranged the medication supplies on a clean paper towel, donned new gloves, and prepared the infusion.

Mrs. Grover sniffled. “My fever was so high that I saw things that weren’t really there. Terrell said I was arguing with my sister, and her seventeen years gone.”

I hung the medication on the wall hook with the framed scene of small painted seashells, and adjusted the clamp for a slow drip. Removing my gloves, I pulled the bottle of coriander lotion from the backpack.

“Let’s make your feet happy, while the medicine infuses.” I took off Mrs. Grover’s bedroom slippers and massaged the scented lotion into the callus on the ball of her foot. The old woman sighed with a jagged hmmm, almost as loud as that cat of Pippa’s.

“Heavenly,” Mrs. Grover murmured. “Did I tell you what happened in the hospital?”

“About your infection?”

Mrs. Grover shook her head. “No, about the miracle.”

“Tell me.” My hands moved to the rough skin over Mrs. Grover’s heel.

“I was so sick,” she said. “Then I felt this presence near me, and I opened my eyes and Aleta was sitting by my bed.”

“Terrell’s ex?”

Mrs. Grover nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I haven’t seen her in almost two years, since all the trouble with her and Terrell, when she took my grandchildren and left him. He wasn’t perfect, my son, but he didn’t deserve that.”

“She came to see you?” I squeezed more lotion into the palm of my hand, and started on her other foot.

Mrs. Grover smiled. “I was so sick that Terrell cancelled his weekend with the kids. He never does that, so Aleta realized I was real bad, and she came to visit me in Intensive Care. She and I used to be close, before. Terrell came by, and they started talking. I don’t know for certain, but it looked like maybe they were starting to forgive each other.” She shook her head again. “Now that would be a miracle, with all the bad blood between them. Family’s the most important thing. Maybe they’re finally figuring that out.”