“Yes, ma’am.”
She waited while Joe gathered up his few possessions and stuffed them in his duffel bag. He took one last look at the room: twin beds bolted to the floor, dressers built into the cement block wall, and a clock over the door, the incessant ticking enough to make a person insane if they weren’t already. His roommate, Clarence, was not in the room, probably pacing the hallways near the dining room. Poor Clarence. Nice guy but so troubled. Clarence had routines he couldn’t seem to stop doing, no matter how much talk therapy he participated in. He’d had electroconvulsive therapy and had lost some memory. The staff said it was likely to come back over time, but the loss troubled him, and sometimes at night, Joe heard him crying. The only things that helped were the pills the nurses doled out each evening. As much as Joe wanted to leave, Clarence wanted to stay. He liked the routine. He said it made him feel safe.
Joe spoke to the empty room. “Goodbye and good luck, Clarence.” He hoisted his duffel bag off his bed and went out in the hall where Frieda stood, waiting to take him to meet the woman claiming to be his grandmother.
CHAPTER THREE
1983
Pearl didn’t know what to expect at Trendale, so she came prepared to fight. Paperwork and legal expertise were her weapons of choice, and to that end, she brought Howard, her old friend and former attorney. Well, maybe not former. He still was her attorney, even though he was no longer practicing. Nothing wrong with his mind, although his body had definitely seen better days. The same age as Pearl, he walked with the trepidation of a baby who’d just learned to move upright. He always seemed just on the verge of toppling over and probably would have without his cane. She’d urged him to dress in his finest for the trip, and when he walked out, the sight of him attired in his Sunday best made her smile. Even at his age, he cut a fine figure in a suit, his bow tie only slightly askew.
Pearl had run the scenario past him weeks earlier, and Howard had advised her to bring proof of her family ties. She already had a copy of her son’s birth certificate, and getting a copy of her grandson’s proved to be easy, if not immediate. After she’d gotten his home address from the private investigator she’d hired, she’d called the courthouse in her grandson’s county of birth. The nice lady who’d answered the phone had mailed her a form, which she’d filled out and mailed back with a check.
Three weeks later, the birth certificate had arrived. When she opened the envelope, she regarded it with amazement. Her grandson, Joseph Allan Arneson, son of her son, William John Arneson. She counted backward; the current year, 1983, minus Joe’s birthdate meant he was twenty-two, nearly twenty-three. For more than two decades, he’d been alive and she’d never set eyes on him. Well, that was about to change. After being disconnected from family for so long, it was good to have confirmation that she really did have people. Right in her hand, she held the legal documents that proved the generational flow, mother to son, and then from that son to his son, her grandson. The fact that she’d never met Joe was beside the point. He was blood, and she needed him. Selfish? Maybe a little, but she was too old and too tired to dwell on such thoughts. If the boy didn’t want to go with her, that would be her answer, and a disappointing answer it would be too, but she had to try. She’d had no luck with his father; perhaps the son would be more open.
When Joe walked confidently into the lobby, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, it all came together. Her plan was working, everything falling into place. She grinned at the sight of him, not even caring if she looked like a dotty old lady, leaning forward on her walker. She hadn’t been prepared for him to look like such an adult. He could have passed for much older than his age. He was a handsome man, reminiscent in appearance of both her husband and her uncles on her mother’s side. Something else was familiar about him too, the way he walked, the half smile he gave her in return to her own, like he wasn’t sure what game was being played but he was happy to go along with it. He didn’t look like he belonged in a mental hospital, that was for sure.
Dr. Jensen spoke first. “Joe, I was explaining to your grandmother that this is an inopportune time for you to be leaving treatment. I feel—and I think you do too—that we are on the cusp of a breakthrough. If you can assure your grandmother that you’re fine, perhaps she can come back tomorrow during visiting hours. That will give us all time to think this through.”
Pearl moved the walker aside and took a step forward. “Come here, you,” she said to Joe, her arms extended. “Give your old granny a hug.” He walked into her arms and leaned in for an embrace. She whispered, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” When they pulled apart, he nodded in agreement.