“Of Mom,” I said. “And Ronnie.”
“And you?”
“In a way, yes.”
A smirk crossed his face. He could be condescending when he wanted to be. The teacher amused by the confusion of the pupil.
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“What?”
“Smirk at me like that,” I said. “You look just like Mom when you do it. But she was never as condescending as you can be.”
I didn’t like where any of this was going, but I also felt powerless to stop myself. It was as though I were outside myself somehow, watching myself have an argument with my beloved uncle during the worst week of our lives.
“Okay,” he said. He picked up his glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. Then he reached out and started folding up the newspaper. “You’re obviously upset, and I understand that. I’m just going to go. I’ve been here all day anyway. There’s no use in both of us being here, especially when they have Ronnie doped up to his eyeballs.”
I sat still while he gathered his stuff and pulled his coat on.
Before he stood up, he asked, “What would you do with Ronnie?”
“What do you mean?”
“If Ronnie were placed in your care, what would you do with him? Would you quit school? Hire a babysitter? What?”
“I could make it work. Mom wasn’t tied to Ronnie all day. He worked. He was independent.”
“Ronnie is who he is today because your mom gave up her life for him,” he said. “She was his everything. I don’t think anyone else could do that. I know she wanted me to do that for him, to be his guardian. But I don’t know if I can really do it. And I’m not sure it would be healthy to live that way.” He stood up and zipped his coat. “But I think you knew that without me saying it, right? After all, you didn’t make that promise to your mom, did you?”
The words entered me like a needle, sharp and stinging.
He paused a moment. He seemed to be thinking of something else to say. I just wanted him to go. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” he said. “I just don’t think you’re in a position to judge anybody.”
And with that, he left the hospital.
Chapter Twenty-one
I almost left as well. I only wished I had left before talking to Paul.
When I returned to Ronnie’s floor, I saw someone talking to the nurse who had sent me to the cafeteria. As I came down the hall, the nurse made a nodding gesture toward me, as though the man wanted to see me. I assumed he was Ronnie’s doctor.
“Ms. Hampton?” he said.
“Elizabeth,” I said.
We shook hands. He was a white-haired man in his early sixties. He wore a tie and a sharply pressed shirt and told me his name was Dr. Heil. He placed his shiny gold pen in his shirt pocket.
“Is Ronnie okay?” I asked.
“He’s doing fine,” he said. “Better than yesterday, as I understand.”
“Is there anything I should know?” I asked.
“Well,” he said. He pointed to a door that opened off the hallway. It looked like any other patient room, but once we were inside, I saw that it was a consultation room, a place families gathered with doctors to hear bad news about their loved ones. Dr. Heil closed the door and we sat in the upholstered chairs.
“There really isn’t much for me to say right now. My role is to examine your brother and make a report available to the police. I’m going to write that up in the next day or two.”
“A report about what?” I asked. “If Ronnie is a killer?”
“That’s not my job,” he said. “I’m not a police officer. No, I’m just here to offer my medical opinion on your brother. And I pass that on to the police. How they decide to act is up to them.”
“Is there anything you can tell me?” I asked. “He’s been in here a few days already. I don’t know what’s been happening.”
He smiled at me, a comforting grandfatherly smile. He wanted to put me at ease without saying anything he wasn’t allowed to say. “As I’m sure you know, your brother is quite high functioning for someone with Down syndrome. It’s obvious that someone has taken a great deal of care with him over the years. I’m guessing that’s your mother?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what Ronnie said as well. He’s smart, and a good communicator. And understandably, he’s a bit overwhelmed by all of this.” He leaned forward. “He needs you to be his sister right now. He needs someone just to talk to him and treat him normally. I think you’d be good for that. He thinks very highly of you.”
“Does he?” I asked.
I assumed Ronnie didn’t think much of me at all, mainly because I knew I had my own wall up with him. I’d let him be Mom’s concern over the years and kept my distance, even going so far as to withdraw and stay far away whenever Ronnie had an issue of any kind. I figured he’d picked up on that—he was too smart not to—and took the same approach with me.
“He spoke glowingly of you today,” Dr. Heil said. “I think he recognizes what has happened to your family and the position that puts the two of you in.” Then he made the simplest statement of all, and perhaps the one I most needed to hear. And maybe I heard it better because it came from someone outside the family, an independent authority figure. “You’re his closest relative.”
I nodded, letting his wisdom sink in.
“I understand what you’re saying,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “You never know how bumpy the road ahead is going to get.”
When Dr. Heil was gone, I went in and sat with Ronnie. He was asleep, either as the result of the medication or just because being examined by a head shrinker was enough to wear anyone out. And Ronnie’s reserves must have been pretty low at that point.
Even though he didn’t know I was there, I felt an obligation to stay a while. But “obligation” wasn’t the right word. I wanted to stay. I wanted to know he was safe, that no one else was going to come in and bother him or interrogate him. Not as long as I had anything to say about it.
I graded papers while Ronnie slept. The time passed quickly. My phone rang not long after I started grading. It was my landlord informing me that I had a new door and a dead bolt.
“You should be fine,” he told me. He agreed to come by the hospital and bring me the new key, which he did, meeting me at the front door.
Was it just that easy? Bolt the door and sleep tight? My mother’s house had more locks than Buckingham Palace and look what they had done for her. Sure, I wanted to be there for Ronnie. But I was avoiding something as well. I wasn’t looking forward to going home and sleeping in that apartment. I couldn’t imagine closing my eyes and not dreaming of someone breaking in again. I wanted to protect Ronnie, but who was going to protect me?
I kept on grading. They brought a tray of food for Ronnie. Some processed meat smothered in gravy, mashed potatoes, sliced pears, and a chocolate milk. Ronnie woke up, probably because he smelled the food. He wasn’t a picky eater. I knew he’d love the meat and potatoes, even though the thought of it made my stomach turn a little. And I hadn’t eaten much all day.
Ronnie looked surprised to see me. He looked groggy, his eyes heavy lidded and bloodshot. His hair stood up in a swirl as if someone had given it a going-over with an electric mixer. I decided to comb it down for him, but I let him eat first.
We didn’t say much to each other initially. As Ronnie ate, he reached for the remote control and turned on the TV. A news show played, a recap of all the disasters in the world. Ronnie watched it while he plowed through the meat and potatoes. He could be like that sometimes—intently focused on the task in front of him, a little removed from the people around him. I don’t think it had anything to do with the Down syndrome. I could be the exact same way.