The doctor didn’t reply for long seconds, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I can’t say for certain, of course,” he replied slowly, “since I haven’t read her books. But there were more than a few occasions when I treated your mother and there were visible signs of physical abuse and neglect. She was always underweight, as though she hadn’t been given enough to eat. Occasional bruises, a broken wrist once, and a few other incidences that I can’t recall in any specific detail at the moment. I remember speaking to your grandmother about these things, and Corinne always had some excuse, some explanation. And then the next few times Gillian would come in for a check-up, she’d seem fine, no new bruises or ailments, and I’d hope that I was wrong about the possible abuse.”
Doctor Phelps sighed, as though what he had to say next weighed heavily on his nearly eighty year old mind. “Your grandmother - you know nothing about her, correct?” At Tessa’s nod he continued. “She had - problems, Tessa. Mental health problems. To be fair to Corinne, she found herself widowed with a small child to raise at a very young age after your grandfather was killed in Vietnam. I didn’t know her when that happened, she was living elsewhere, and moved here about a year later. Whether those circumstances triggered the start of her disorder, or just made it worse, I couldn’t say for certain. But by the time your mother was around eight years old, Corinne was suffering from very severe bipolar disorder.”
Ian frowned, steepling his fingers together beneath his chin. “Was that an official diagnosis on your part, Doctor Phelps?”
The older man shook his head. “No, just my best guess. She refused to be referred to a psychiatrist, insisted there was nothing wrong with her except a little depression every so often. I tried prescribing certain drugs, and they seemed to work for a time, until she stopped taking them or they stopped helping.”
Tessa’s heart rate had picked up significantly at hearing that her grandmother, too, had suffered from the same sort of mental illness that had plagued Gillian. “How - that is - was she ever officially diagnosed?”
“Yes.” He removed his glasses for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose before replacing them. “When your mother was around eight or nine, something happened, something - very unfortunate. And it resulted in your grandmother being committed to a mental hospital for several months, and your mother placed in foster care. They officially identified her illness as bipolar disorder, and were able, for a time at least, to get it under control with the right medications and therapy. Enough so that she was eventually able to regain custody of Gillian and return home.”
Tessa closed her eyes, afraid to ask the next question but desperately needing to know the answer for her own peace of mind. “This incident. Did - did it involve my grandmother leaving Mom locked outside of the house during a snowstorm?”
The doctor looked startled that she would know this. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened. Did she talk about that awful night to you then?”
“No. But she did write about it in her first book. In great detail. And, well, she hated the snow. We always lived someplace where it was hot and dry, mostly the southwest. I understand now why that was,” acknowledged Tessa sorrowfully.
Doctor Phelps reached across his desk to squeeze her arm reassuringly. “That was one of the most heartbreaking situations I’ve ever had to deal with as a physician,” he admitted. “It was a terrible storm that night, in the dead of winter, and everyone was huddled inside their houses to keep warm. No one was on the road or wanted to venture outside. But one of the neighbors finally emerged to let their dog out to relieve himself, and noticed your mother huddled up in a little ball on the porch. Your grandmother had slipped into a deep depression, and locked the front door, didn’t hear Gillian shouting or pounding on the door when she got home from school. The neighbor brought her inside his house and called the sheriff right away. I was asked to look her over, and it was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. Your poor mother had frostbite - she was lucky her fingers didn’t have to be amputated - and wound up developing a bad case of pneumonia. But it was the psychological damage that was the worst. And being shipped off to a foster home for six months only made things worse.”
Tessa wiped away the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks, not even aware that she’d been weeping for her mother, for the sad, neglected little girl she’d been. Ian didn’t speak, but reached over and took her hand in his, silently letting her know that he was here for her.
“Why - why would my grandmother have been permitted to regain custody of her?” asked Tessa in disbelief. “After what she did - my mother could have died that night.”
“That’s exactly what I said at the custody hearing several months after that night,” replied Doctor Phelps. “My recommendation was that your grandmother remain institutionalized and your mother stay in foster care. But, well, this is a small town, my dear, and subjects like mental illness and child abuse aren’t often discussed. Plus, your grandmother had a case worker who was very committed to keeping families together, and was able to convince the judge that Corinne was fine now, that all she’d really needed was the right medications and a little therapy and that she missed her little girl terribly. So they gave Gillian back to her mother, and Corinne never brought her to my offices again. I assume if she needed to see a doctor that Corinne would drive her to the next town or even into Minneapolis.”
Tessa shuddered. “She knew that you were onto her, that you’d be watching my mother very closely for any new bruises or other signs, and wouldn’t hesitate to report her. And according to the books, the abuse continued off and on for several years, until my mother was old enough and big enough to fight her off. But by then I think it was too late. My mom - well, she’d already started showing signs of bipolar disorder herself.”
The doctor sat up a little straighter in his chair at this news. “Your mother was also bipolar? Are you certain of that, Tessa?”
She nodded. “Yes. I mean, she never actually told me that, but once I was old enough to read up on the subject, I figured it out for myself. She exhibited all of the symptoms - the manic episodes where she’d go three or four days without sleeping, would write for hours at a time, talk a mile a minute, have - have strange men over.” She felt her cheeks flush at having to admit the latter. “And then it would all come crashing down overnight, and it would be days or even weeks before she’d get out of bed. The older I got, she had fewer manic episodes and was just depressed all the time. That - that’s what ultimately contributed to her death.”
Doctor Phelps sighed, as though what he had to say next weighed heavily on his nearly eighty year old mind. “Your grandmother - you know nothing about her, correct?” At Tessa’s nod he continued. “She had - problems, Tessa. Mental health problems. To be fair to Corinne, she found herself widowed with a small child to raise at a very young age after your grandfather was killed in Vietnam. I didn’t know her when that happened, she was living elsewhere, and moved here about a year later. Whether those circumstances triggered the start of her disorder, or just made it worse, I couldn’t say for certain. But by the time your mother was around eight years old, Corinne was suffering from very severe bipolar disorder.”
Ian frowned, steepling his fingers together beneath his chin. “Was that an official diagnosis on your part, Doctor Phelps?”
The older man shook his head. “No, just my best guess. She refused to be referred to a psychiatrist, insisted there was nothing wrong with her except a little depression every so often. I tried prescribing certain drugs, and they seemed to work for a time, until she stopped taking them or they stopped helping.”
Tessa’s heart rate had picked up significantly at hearing that her grandmother, too, had suffered from the same sort of mental illness that had plagued Gillian. “How - that is - was she ever officially diagnosed?”
“Yes.” He removed his glasses for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose before replacing them. “When your mother was around eight or nine, something happened, something - very unfortunate. And it resulted in your grandmother being committed to a mental hospital for several months, and your mother placed in foster care. They officially identified her illness as bipolar disorder, and were able, for a time at least, to get it under control with the right medications and therapy. Enough so that she was eventually able to regain custody of Gillian and return home.”
Tessa closed her eyes, afraid to ask the next question but desperately needing to know the answer for her own peace of mind. “This incident. Did - did it involve my grandmother leaving Mom locked outside of the house during a snowstorm?”
The doctor looked startled that she would know this. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened. Did she talk about that awful night to you then?”
“No. But she did write about it in her first book. In great detail. And, well, she hated the snow. We always lived someplace where it was hot and dry, mostly the southwest. I understand now why that was,” acknowledged Tessa sorrowfully.
Doctor Phelps reached across his desk to squeeze her arm reassuringly. “That was one of the most heartbreaking situations I’ve ever had to deal with as a physician,” he admitted. “It was a terrible storm that night, in the dead of winter, and everyone was huddled inside their houses to keep warm. No one was on the road or wanted to venture outside. But one of the neighbors finally emerged to let their dog out to relieve himself, and noticed your mother huddled up in a little ball on the porch. Your grandmother had slipped into a deep depression, and locked the front door, didn’t hear Gillian shouting or pounding on the door when she got home from school. The neighbor brought her inside his house and called the sheriff right away. I was asked to look her over, and it was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. Your poor mother had frostbite - she was lucky her fingers didn’t have to be amputated - and wound up developing a bad case of pneumonia. But it was the psychological damage that was the worst. And being shipped off to a foster home for six months only made things worse.”
Tessa wiped away the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks, not even aware that she’d been weeping for her mother, for the sad, neglected little girl she’d been. Ian didn’t speak, but reached over and took her hand in his, silently letting her know that he was here for her.
“Why - why would my grandmother have been permitted to regain custody of her?” asked Tessa in disbelief. “After what she did - my mother could have died that night.”
“That’s exactly what I said at the custody hearing several months after that night,” replied Doctor Phelps. “My recommendation was that your grandmother remain institutionalized and your mother stay in foster care. But, well, this is a small town, my dear, and subjects like mental illness and child abuse aren’t often discussed. Plus, your grandmother had a case worker who was very committed to keeping families together, and was able to convince the judge that Corinne was fine now, that all she’d really needed was the right medications and a little therapy and that she missed her little girl terribly. So they gave Gillian back to her mother, and Corinne never brought her to my offices again. I assume if she needed to see a doctor that Corinne would drive her to the next town or even into Minneapolis.”
Tessa shuddered. “She knew that you were onto her, that you’d be watching my mother very closely for any new bruises or other signs, and wouldn’t hesitate to report her. And according to the books, the abuse continued off and on for several years, until my mother was old enough and big enough to fight her off. But by then I think it was too late. My mom - well, she’d already started showing signs of bipolar disorder herself.”
The doctor sat up a little straighter in his chair at this news. “Your mother was also bipolar? Are you certain of that, Tessa?”
She nodded. “Yes. I mean, she never actually told me that, but once I was old enough to read up on the subject, I figured it out for myself. She exhibited all of the symptoms - the manic episodes where she’d go three or four days without sleeping, would write for hours at a time, talk a mile a minute, have - have strange men over.” She felt her cheeks flush at having to admit the latter. “And then it would all come crashing down overnight, and it would be days or even weeks before she’d get out of bed. The older I got, she had fewer manic episodes and was just depressed all the time. That - that’s what ultimately contributed to her death.”
