“We were discussing the plan going forward and your staying in Michigan until spring.”
“And visits to Palm Beach, of course,” Claire says, like a warden adding time onto my prison sentence.
“Y’all can’t force me to stay or go anywhere, right?” I like Doc Barb, but I’ve been living under other people’s rules for far too long.
“Yes, but there are so many things you simply don’t know anymore,” Barb reminds me. “For example, who’s your dentist?”
I look in the Chanel bag like the answer’s in there and pull out my squeezy ball.
“Or your GP or ob-gyn? You don’t know who to call if you need medical help.”
“I’d call nine-one-one.”
“Nine-one-one isn’t going to come if you need your teeth cleaned or your annual mammogram.”
True, but I don’t plan on sticking around.
“Who’s your banker and what are the passwords to your accounts?” Marv asks me. “We read your paperwork from Livingston. Your handwriting and signature are different.”
I hadn’t thought about that. When I wrote in logs or did my step work, I was learning to write with my right hand and didn’t stop to think that my signature might be different from Edie’s.
“You need to change your signature on your properties and financial portfolios and…” Claire pauses to lift a hand from her lap. “Everything.”
I have properties and financial portfolios? I’ve never had more than a five-thousand limit on my Visa.
Claire drops her hand. “Talk to Garver. He’ll know what’s best.”
Oh yes. Garver Smith. Squeeze-squeeze-squeeze. The guy who’s supposed to be my attorney and took Marv and Claire’s side to have me committed.
“Garver’s good but he has his limits. I’ll make a call to Burgin-Wesler,” Marv adds. “Wes is familiar with Edie’s financials.”
Claire turns her attention to Marv. “And Edie’s charities and LLC and—”
I put a hand to my forehead and stop listening. I just want to go home. To Texas. I just need a one-way ticket and a carry-on filled with undies and a toothbrush. And maybe some of Edie’s shoes… and that gold sequin dress I saw this morning as I was pulling on my black pants.
“Edie?”
And that amazing Dior purse, and the pink crocodile Birkin, and the Chloé bag that Lida and I had seen in Elle and drooled over.
“Edie?”
Heck, I’ll just pack up Edie’s Louis Vuitton luggage and make my getaway.
“Edie?”
I blink and snap out of my fantasy. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Before your release from Livingston, we talked about you staying in Michigan under my care,” Doc Barb reminds me. “With monthly visits and check-ins every Friday.”
Yeah, but I didn’t mean it. “For how long?”
“Let’s see how you do for the first few months. If you’re feeling good and making progress, we’ll scale back the check-ins.”
“Doctor Ware has approved your travel to Palm Beach, and you can do your weekly check-ins from Chatsworth.” Claire gives me a warm smile, and this time her smile doesn’t freeze when she looks at my hair. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
No. “But I can travel to other places and check in from there, too.”
The doctor shakes her head. “Your brain imagery doesn’t show illness, but we can’t know if your profound memory loss won’t trigger your episodic depression,” she says, but I know the answer. Zero, since I have neither memory loss nor depression. “You just left full-time care and can’t rush your recovery. You need to take it slow. If you continue to improve, I think we can revisit this conversation in four to six months.”