It doesn’t matter. You’re not meeting the Pope. You’re visiting Neil. Still, I stripped down to my underwear and started over. I picked an ecru broomstick skirt and paired it with a nude camisole, then layered a long, light white sweater over it. There. Not too fancy. Not trying too hard. But not too gloomy looking.
There really should have been a list somewhere of what to do on one of these visits. Google had turned up plenty of information about how to get a loved one committed, but not much about what to do once they were.
I felt awful not taking Olivia with me, but this was something I had to do on my own, first. I didn’t know how I was going to react, and I had to be able to worry about myself today. Also, after a month, she’d finally stopped looking around for her afi, and I didn’t want to confuse her when she saw him and he was gone, again. She’d been delighted when Mariposa had returned, so it wouldn’t hurt for them to have some time together without me.
The facility was upstate, all right. So upstate it was easier to fly to Montreal and drive back into the United States to see him. I’d finally gotten out of my poor, helpless me phase and found the number to Neil’s former personal assistant, who’d helped me figure out how to get the plane set up with a crew and a flight schedule and everything.
“Don’t you have an assistant?” he’d asked as an aside during one of our calls.
“No, mine is running away to live in the Bahamas.” I’m sure I’d sounded sarcastic, but it was true. Mode would be losing Penny Parker, Perfect PA, in just a couple months.
I really do need to hire someone, I thought as I looked over my outfit. Then, I stripped it off and went with the green, white, and black abstract print wrap dress I’d put on the first time.
You have to leave, sometime, I scolded myself as I stepped into some sensible-yet-stylish black pumps.
My weird travel path took me from the helipad at the house to JFK, from JFK to Montreal-Trudeau, from Montreal-Trudeau back to just south of Champlain. Though I was a country girl, it was unsettling to be around so much empty woodland after spending so much time in New York. Being with a driver I didn’t know very well made me paranoid, too. Nothing was really stopping him from abandoning me in the woods and stealing all my credit cards or something.
Great, let’s just heap that on top of every other irrational fear we’ve had today, brain.
Dr. Harris had promised that Arbor Rest offered privacy, and the setting certainly delivered. The only signage was a stone post with the address printed vertically on it, beside a gated drive. We pulled up, and a uniformed security guard met us, coming automatically to the rear passenger window. I hit the switch to roll it down.
“Ma’am,” the guard said with a nod. “Visiting someone?”
“Yes.” I reached for my phone and opened the email I’d received from Dr. Harris. “Patient sixteen.”
I wasn’t even supposed to use Neil’s name at the gate. I wondered how many super high-profile people were in the place.
The guard nodded and motioned over the roof of the car. “Have a good visit, ma’am.”
The gate opened, and we rolled through, down a winding driveway. The late morning sun dappled the lush grass and was so bright that the fluffy clouds overhead made shadows as they passed over. What a lovely day to be seeing my husband for the first time in weeks.
Why was I so nervous? This was Neil. My husband. The only man I’d ever really been in love with, who’d called me the other half
of him and who’d said that I’d made an indelible mark on his soul.
The hospital itself looked like something a Disney Imagineer would come up with to represent an English country manor in Epcot’s World Showcase. The paved drive circled an elegant fountain, which drew the eye away from signs that read “Ambulance Admissions” and “Employee Parking”.
The driver opened my door, and I got out, mumbling a thank you. Though mental health shouldn’t be a taboo, I was surprised and ashamed at how I felt over the fact that I was here to visit my husband. Like he would still be okay if I’d been a better wife.
The lobby was more hotel-like than hospital-like. Several professionally dressed women sat at computers behind a long, marble-topped mahogany reception desk. Skylights illuminated the entryway, which had a lovely fountain topped by a huge, spherical flower arrangement. I almost expected a bellhop to step out and ask me if I needed help with my bags.
I crossed the marble tiled floor, my heels clicking with every step. That sound always made me feel more confident. I drew my chin up and my shoulders back and walked to the desk as though I weren’t feeling like a total failure as a wife.
One of the women looked up and gave me a polished smile. “Good afternoon.”
Was it afternoon? I’d been on a plane since seven in the morning. “Hello. I’m here to see patient sixteen.”
“Of course.” She adjusted her computer screen. “And you are Ms. Scaife?”
“Oh, so I don’t get a cool code name?” I joked, but the woman didn’t appear to have any discernible sense of humor. She just stared at me. My face got hot. “Yes, I’m Ms. Scaife.”
“May I see your I.D.?”
I pulled out my wallet and handed my license to her, hoping she didn’t notice my hand shaking.
She handed me a clipboard with a form to sign, legally securing my silence should I recognize another of their VIP patients. I scribbled my name, vibrating with impatience. I just wanted to see Neil as soon as possible.
She gave me a smile and a nod and said, “You’re going to go to those double doors, and when you hear the buzzer, you can go through. Security will meet you on the other side. They’ll search your purse, and any prohibited items will be held for you until you leave. Any items of an illegal nature will be confiscated and reported to the police, so if you’ve brought any narcotics, psychotropics, or prescription drugs not prescribed to you, you may wish to leave those items in your vehicle.”