Chapter 14 - THE WAITING ROOM
I rescheduled Mom's appointment and gave the clinic a written list of people authorized to receive information. Then I did something I should have done years earlier: I told my commanding officer the truth about the family emergency, including the threat to my home and the ongoing legal case.
"Your duty is to take care of your family," Brigadier General Harlan said. "Use your leave. Handle this through the proper channels. Don't carry it alone."
I was grateful he didn't confuse rank with permission to bend the rules. The Army couldn't settle my divorce. I wouldn't ask it to.
Mom's specialist saw us at a different clinic on Thursday. He changed her treatment plan, ordered follow-up tests, and arranged occupational therapy. Mom listened carefully, the way she'd listened to my elementary-school teachers when she wanted every detail of my report card.
When we walked into the lobby afterward, Vivian was waiting beside the elevators.
She wore pearls and a soft pink sweater, looking every inch the concerned grandmother.
"Margaret, honey," she said loudly, "you've caused enough trouble. Come home and we'll forget this."
Mom stopped. I stepped beside her without touching Vivian.
"Do not approach her again," I said.
Vivian tilted her head toward the receptionist. "See how she controls everyone? She even tells her own mother what to say."
Mom looked at me, then back at Vivian. Her voice was thin but clear.
"You hurt me. I won't go anywhere with you."
For one second Vivian's pretty smile fell away.
"You'll regret that," she hissed.
May you like
The receptionist had heard it. So had a nurse. I asked the clinic to preserve its security recordings and called our lawyer. Vivian turned toward the exit, but Mom's next words followed her across the room.
"I remember what was in the blue folder, Vivian. All of it."
