E. much calmer today. Medication seems to be having good effect. I am optimistic that she is at last emerging from her mania.
And then she hit Herb Marcus over the head, crept up the hill, and threw herself from the tower.
It must have been a shock to Dr. Bennett, such a shock that he hadn’t been able to continue his journals. As if he couldn’t face his own smug assessment and how wrong he’d been. What had Billie said? It had been the end of the doctor.
But had it been the end of E.? Was Billie right? Had she survived? Had she gotten better, perhaps gone on to live a full, rich life, recovered from her puerperal mania? I’ve been so tied up in her story that I feel an urgency to find out, as if my own fate were tied to hers.
Or maybe I have postpartum OCD like Esta said and I’m so suggestible that I’ve tied E.’s story to my own. That I’m susceptible to her delusions—
But I don’t think anything is wrong with Chloe—
Although she has been sleeping a lot lately—
Or that anyone is trying to steal her from me.
Except Peter. Who was. Or Billie that first day. But I no longer think that.
No. I’m drawn to E.’s story because of her intelligence and resilience. Who wouldn’t be? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to know what happened to her. In fact, it’s part of my job. I’m not just the archivist; I’m helping Sky write her memoir and I feel certain that this is a vital part of Sky’s history.
I’ll tell Sky that I’d like that appointment with Dr. Hancock—and that I’d like permission to see the records of the patient E.S. whom Dr. Bennett treated from 1971 to 1973. I’ll also ask her if she remembers E.S. E.’s fall from the tower precipitated Dr. Bennett’s decline and subsequent retirement. Even if Sky was abroad she must have heard something about the incident. And when she came home to take care of her father, the house and hospital staff must have made reference to it. E. might even have still been a patient. Sky might have met her.
I go down to my apartment to freshen up before dinner. I dress in navy capris and a white button-down shirt and put my hair up in a twist. The layers I got from Laurel’s stylist have begun to grow out and I can just scrape it all into a bun with the help of a handful of bobby pins. Pulled back, the brown roots show more. It makes me look more like my old self—less like Laurel. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I don’t need her anymore.
Or maybe I’ve incorporated all she had to teach me and I just don’t need to look like her anymore.
The thought gives me confidence as I walk onto the terrace. Sky is sitting in the big wicker peacock chair facing the setting sun. Chloe is in her playpen batting at a new mobile Billie must have gotten for her. I pick her up and take a turn on the terrace with her until Billie hands me a gin and tonic. I put Chloe back and take the smaller wicker chair next to Sky as Billie sets the table. Although I’ve been here only a week the routine makes it feel as if I’ve been here months. I haven’t felt this at ease since . . . Well, I can’t remember ever feeling so at ease. So comfortable in my own skin.
“How did your day go?” Sky asks.
“I’ve made a lot of progress,” I tell Sky, “but I’ve hit a bit of a wall. Your father’s journals end in 1973.”
Sky nods as if this is to be expected. “When he stopped seeing patients. He retired a few months later.”
“I’d like to find out more about the patients he was seeing at the time. Do you think Dr. Hancock would give me access to their files if I met with him?”
“Well, they are confidential, of course,” Sky says, taking a sip of her drink. “But if I gave my permission I think it might be possible. You’d have to read them there, though. Would you mind spending part of the day down at Crantham?”
The question takes me by surprise. It feels like a trick question. I’m not sure what the right answer is. Does wanting to spend time at a mental hospital seem strange? Or does an aversion to it seem stranger? And what about Chloe? I see so little of her already.
As if in response to my concern Chloe holds up her arms, but before I can get up Billie swoops in and picks her up.
“If I can come back up for lunch to see Chloe I won’t mind,” I say.
“Of course you can come back up for lunch,” Sky says. She drains her glass and smiles. “It’s not as if you’re being admitted there.”
Daphne’s Journal, July 23, 20—
I’m worried about Laurel. First of all, she took Peter’s idea about quitting group seriously.
“What do we need them for?” she told me. “They’re a bunch of losers. Do you really need to hear Alexa Hartshorn go on about how she’s afraid she’s a bad mother because she drank a cup of coffee before she nursed little Junior? Have you seen her lump of a baby? He could use a good shot of espresso. And I’m sick to death of Esta’s sanctimonious, goody-two-shoes prattle. Honestly, telling me I shouldn’t tell scary-mom stories because it might infect the ‘more vulnerable mothers.’ Like I’m Typhoid Mary.”
That’s another thing. Esta told me to stop telling scary-mom stories, not Laurel. When she told the jumper story at the party as if she had heard it first I didn’t think much about it. I mean, everyone does that, right?
