died of a heart attack five years earlier, and that left…
A thought dawned on him.
Maybe his mother-in-law would be able to explain Maggie’s behavior. Ben leaned back against the headboard. No, it wasn’t possible. The old woman wouldn’t know anything. Maggie and her mother had never been close, not really. Too different, Maggie always said. Her mother lived in Santa Maria, California, and was an upstanding, private person who wore her faith like a medal of honor.
Once every few years Ben and Maggie flew to the West Coast for a visit, and Ben would inevitably wonder how this woman could possibly be related to his wife. The older woman was wiry thin, with a rope of gray hair that she kept tightly knotted near the nape of her neck. Proud, private, and pinched. That was the feeling one got after spending ten minutes with Madeline Johnson. She was not a woman who hugged or cried easily, and from all Ben could tell she had struggled to understand her only child since Maggie was old enough to talk.
She said little and cared less, by Maggie’s assessment, and Ben doubted she’d be any help.
Still, if this breakdown were somehow tied to something in Maggie’s past, her mother was the only link Ben had, the only person who might help him understand whatever mistruth Maggie was talking about.
Lead me, Lord, that I might understand her.
His vision grew blurred by tears again.
I can’t live without her, God.
The next morning Ben called his office and requested a two-week emergency leave. He’d rarely taken a sick day and he’d built up three months’ time if he needed it. Four hours later, he was on a plane headed for Southern California.
The entire flight he prayed for one thing—that Maggie’smother could somehow provide Ben with what he desperately needed: A key to unlock the secrets of Maggie Johnson’s past.
Nine
T HE FIRST SESSION WITH D R . C AMAS WENT BETTER THAN M AGGIE had expected. She stumbled over her words and hadn’t gotten far in her story. She had the uncomfortable feeling that the things she said rarely made sense. But at least she’d kept her focus. And though the blanket of dark desperation still lay draped around her shoulders, she could somehow sense an occasional ray of light as she spoke. More than once during that initial conversation, Maggie was sure the light was coming from Dr. Camas’s eyes.
If her life were an oversized ball of secret tangled knots, Maggie believed after one meeting that Dr. Camas was someone who had the patience to untie them. At the end of the session, Maggie felt more hope than she’d known in years. And though she battled unseen demons long into the night, she had a sense of urgency and excitement about meeting the doctor again.
Maggie spent her second day at Orchards, in the hours before her appointment with Dr. Camas, getting familiar with hospital layout and studying other patients as though she were going to write a column on the place. She had expected to see people with catatonic expressions head-butting walls or chanting single-syllable words for hours at a time. Instead, Orchards was filled with quiet people.
Quietly desperate people. People just like her.
Maggie wondered about their lives and what secrets they’d kept that caused them to break down and wind up in a psychiatric hospital. Was she the only one whose crisis was brought about by telling lies?
I haven’t only told lies, I’ve lived them.
Breakfast and lunch could be eaten in the cafeteria, but the strange sense of not knowing what she was doing or who she was still hovered nearby, so Maggie thought she’d be safer eating in the chair near her bed. There was a sign on the wall of her room just above the desk that said Orchards Psychiatric Hospital. Maggie figured it was there for people like her. People who were inclined to forget even the most basic, information.
When her mind was tempted to imagine Ben and the warmth of his smile, the security of his embrace, the pain he might
A thought dawned on him.
Maybe his mother-in-law would be able to explain Maggie’s behavior. Ben leaned back against the headboard. No, it wasn’t possible. The old woman wouldn’t know anything. Maggie and her mother had never been close, not really. Too different, Maggie always said. Her mother lived in Santa Maria, California, and was an upstanding, private person who wore her faith like a medal of honor.
Once every few years Ben and Maggie flew to the West Coast for a visit, and Ben would inevitably wonder how this woman could possibly be related to his wife. The older woman was wiry thin, with a rope of gray hair that she kept tightly knotted near the nape of her neck. Proud, private, and pinched. That was the feeling one got after spending ten minutes with Madeline Johnson. She was not a woman who hugged or cried easily, and from all Ben could tell she had struggled to understand her only child since Maggie was old enough to talk.
She said little and cared less, by Maggie’s assessment, and Ben doubted she’d be any help.
Still, if this breakdown were somehow tied to something in Maggie’s past, her mother was the only link Ben had, the only person who might help him understand whatever mistruth Maggie was talking about.
Lead me, Lord, that I might understand her.
His vision grew blurred by tears again.
I can’t live without her, God.
The next morning Ben called his office and requested a two-week emergency leave. He’d rarely taken a sick day and he’d built up three months’ time if he needed it. Four hours later, he was on a plane headed for Southern California.
The entire flight he prayed for one thing—that Maggie’smother could somehow provide Ben with what he desperately needed: A key to unlock the secrets of Maggie Johnson’s past.
Nine
T HE FIRST SESSION WITH D R . C AMAS WENT BETTER THAN M AGGIE had expected. She stumbled over her words and hadn’t gotten far in her story. She had the uncomfortable feeling that the things she said rarely made sense. But at least she’d kept her focus. And though the blanket of dark desperation still lay draped around her shoulders, she could somehow sense an occasional ray of light as she spoke. More than once during that initial conversation, Maggie was sure the light was coming from Dr. Camas’s eyes.
If her life were an oversized ball of secret tangled knots, Maggie believed after one meeting that Dr. Camas was someone who had the patience to untie them. At the end of the session, Maggie felt more hope than she’d known in years. And though she battled unseen demons long into the night, she had a sense of urgency and excitement about meeting the doctor again.
Maggie spent her second day at Orchards, in the hours before her appointment with Dr. Camas, getting familiar with hospital layout and studying other patients as though she were going to write a column on the place. She had expected to see people with catatonic expressions head-butting walls or chanting single-syllable words for hours at a time. Instead, Orchards was filled with quiet people.
Quietly desperate people. People just like her.
Maggie wondered about their lives and what secrets they’d kept that caused them to break down and wind up in a psychiatric hospital. Was she the only one whose crisis was brought about by telling lies?
I haven’t only told lies, I’ve lived them.
Breakfast and lunch could be eaten in the cafeteria, but the strange sense of not knowing what she was doing or who she was still hovered nearby, so Maggie thought she’d be safer eating in the chair near her bed. There was a sign on the wall of her room just above the desk that said Orchards Psychiatric Hospital. Maggie figured it was there for people like her. People who were inclined to forget even the most basic, information.
When her mind was tempted to imagine Ben and the warmth of his smile, the security of his embrace, the pain he might
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