Alice LaPlante - Turn of Mind

You didn’t clean up the OR, she says.

It’s Fiona, Mom, your daughter. Here to say hello. Mark wants to come, but his work has been busy, too. He has a big case now, isn’t that exciting? They finally trusted him with an important one. He promises to come soon.

Mark is dead.

No, Mom, Mark, your son. He’s very much alive. He’s doing well. Much better. You’d be proud of him.

She can’t forget the OR. It is on her mind. Her vision of the day. A burning image.

You didn’t adequately prep for your procedure, she says. It was a mess from start to finish! Wherever did you do your training?

My undergraduate and master’s degrees at Stanford, Mom. You know that. And then back here for my doctorate at Chicago.

Sloppy. Sloppy and inexact. Have I taught you nothing? Skull base surgeries are delicate. Under the best of conditions you must be careful. But this is unsanitary, even brutal.

Mom.

That accounts for all the blood, of course.

Mom, please keep your voice down.

Then, louder, the man-woman person addresses the blue-suited woman sitting in the corner of the room. May we have a little privacy? We have some matters to discuss and it is difficult with a third party in the room.

It’s against rules.

I know, but just this once? Here. Here’s fifty dollars. Go have a smoke or a cup of coffee. No one will know. Nothing will happen. You can lock us in, that’s no problem. Just give us a little privacy.

Okay, but I’ll be waiting right outside.

The woman leaves the room. There is a rattling, then a click as the door is locked from the outside.

Mom, we’re alone, we can talk now.

She’s not sure what this person wants. She? He? has got both hands on her arms at this point, is squeezing too hard. It hurts.

Mom, are you remembering? Do you remember? What do you remember?

A botched job. Cruelty. You must never be cruel, however the temptation. And for many, it is a temptation.

What do you remember?

There is much pathology among surgeons. If patients knew, they’d be even more frightened of going under the knife than they already are.

Are you recalling that night?

I know some things.

What do you know?

I have these visions.

Yes? The person is growing agitated. Their green eyes are fixed on hers.

It can be difficult, she says. She is exerting herself, trying to break through the noise, trying to see past the blood. The clumsy job. The unmoving patient.

But you are having a vision now? Mom? Are you?

Quia peccavimus tibi.

What is that? Italian? Spanish?

Miserere nostri.

Mom.

My darling girl. Of course I had to help her.

The person is crying. Mom, please. The woman will be back soon. You must be careful what you say.

My darling girl. And yet I didn’t want her. I took one look and said, No, take her away. Get me back to work, fast. Give me my body back, free of this parasite. And she turned out to be the most important thing. The thing I’d do anything for.

Stop, Mom, you’re breaking my heart. The creature is now pacing up and down the room, beating its arms against its side, seemingly intent upon doing itself an injury. I would have told them everything if you had remembered. I would never have done this to you. Every day I think of turning myself in. No. Every hour. I’ll never have peace again.

It stops for a moment, takes a breath, and then continues.

Do you remember why? I want you to know why. I told you that night, but we never spoke of it again. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to bring up something you may have put out of your mind. Do you want me to tell you again? It was for us, for the family. Amanda knew. She confronted me. She would have told.

Yes, I knew that she knew. That she would have figured it out. Too smart, my girl.

Mom, at first it was that I just couldn’t make the numbers make sense. But I didn’t know for a while exactly what Dad had done. Then it all became clear. The extent of it. It was a shock, I tell you. Dad!

The money was ours. James earned it.

You mean he stole it, Mom.

Yes.

And kept stealing. Until Amanda stopped him.

Yes.

And you told her that you had returned it. All of it. And were repaying your debt to society by working at the clinic. But you hadn’t. You managed to keep her from knowing.

It was our secret, yes, James’s and mine.

Then Dad died. And you were deteriorating. I found it all out when going through your papers. At first I thought you didn’t know about it, that it was all Dad. But then of course I realized you must have known. And ever since I assumed financial power of attorney, Amanda had been asking me questions. Probing. Somehow she found out there was money. Too much money. That she had been your dupe. That I’d been corrupted, as you had been. She couldn’t stand that.

James had been right to worry about Fiona. It was too much for her.

And then she kept harassing you. Wouldn’t give up. Despite your condition. That afternoon, you’d had a fight. Magdalena told me. You were terribly upset. She had to take you to the ER. They had to inject you to calm you down. Magdalena called me. She was furious. That woman has gone too far, she said. I wasn’t able to get there until late—I had a faculty event I couldn’t get out of. So I drove up around ten PM. I parked in front of your house, walked to Amanda’s. I can still see the expression on her face when she opened the door. Triumphant. No regrets. She had wormed what she needed out of you. And set to work on me. The things she said, horrible things. About you, Dad, and especially me.

Amanda told me, I put a stop to it back then, and I will not have you perpetuate it now. With your father dead and your mother the way she is, you can discover the past crimes of your parents and make restitution. Recreate yourself as an ethical citizen.

The person is deep into the story and startles when spoken to.

Keep an eye on Fiona, James told me when she was still very young. Not even ten years old. You know what worried him the most?

What, Mom?

All the caretaking. Of her brother. Giving it all away and leaving herself defenseless. She’s at risk, he told me. Watch her carefully.

Amanda was going to report me, Mom. It would have been the end of us, our family, what little was left. And she told me such things. About Dad, about you. Nasty things. Amanda at her worst, her supercilious morality on full display. She would recreate me in her image, she said. A righteous image. I was so distraught, so angry. I pushed my way past her into the house. I had no plans. But somehow I found myself shaking her by the shoulders—I had to reach up, she is so tall. She laughed at me— at my ineffectiveness, at my—my weakness. So I gave her a hard shove. And she fell backward, hitting her head on the corner of that oak table in her hallway. So much blood! And the world just stopped turning. I knelt down, tried to feel for a heartbeat: nothing. I was desperate. Bloodied and shaking with the chills and the horror of it all. I couldn’t think clearly. I just ran—got in my car and began driving home, driving too quickly. It’s amazing I didn’t get stopped. I was past Armitage when I realized I didn’t have my Saint Christopher medal. Your medal. It was there in Amanda’s hand when I got back, but rigor mortis had already set in. I must have been sitting there for some time when you found us. I was just out of my mind.