"Maybe that's a chance we should take."
"No." Shelley shook her head. "That would complicate things. Evan is a capable psychiatrist and the Wasserman Facility is well known. I know from our conversations that he is at the end of his rope. Bringing you into this was quite a gamble. If you don't get anywhere, he's still exposed an outsider to an extremely difficult and controversial case. He opens himself up to criticism. And if you do succeed in making a connection with Sarah, he'll be getting questioned left and right as to why a graduate student could come in and do in a couple of weeks what he's failed to do in eight years."
Because he's an unimaginative asshole, Jess thought, but resisted saying it in spite of the pleasure the idea gave her. "I have to ask you. You delivered this girl. Was there any indication from the start she wasn't normal?"
"The circumstances were unusual. It was a difficult time."
"How do you mean?"
Shelley looked away. For a long time Jess was not sure if she would speak at all. "Sarah was born in the middle of one of the most intense snowstorms I have ever seen. What made matters worse was that somehow the storm turned electrical. I don't know the physics of it, but when Sarah's mother went into labor we lost power. Everything happened very quickly. We were working under primitive conditions to say the least.
"She delivered very fast. One moment she was dilated and there was nothing, and then . . ."
Shelley became very still and her face grew tight. The professor did not even breathe. And then she seemed to ease, as if a sharp pain had come and gone.
"The hospital was hit by lightning. We weren't sure what had happened at the time. All we knew was that all hell was breaking loose. The world seemed to be caving in. The emergency lights were on but most of the equipment was useless. The noises ... it sounded like the earth was splitting at the seams." Shelley smiled, but her face held no warmth. "We got out but it was close. The hospital burned to the ground."
My God. Jess tried to imagine the scene, the frantic cries of the hospital workers, the storm howling all around them as the flames reared up and licked across the building's innards. "I think Sarah has some sort of memory of it. Could that be possible? When I administered the Rorshach she described something about a building being on fire."
"As far as I know no one has ever mentioned it to her. It hasn't been proven that newborns are even aware of their surroundings, at least in the way you or I might be. Sarah wouldn't have had any idea what was happening. She wouldn't even have a working concept of life and death."
"Her mother, then. Maybe she picked up on her mother's feelings."
"Sarah's mother is mentally disturbed," Shelley said. "I never saw her react to anything."
Jess breathed in deeply. Is? She felt a spark of something and fumbled for it. Talking about this case with Shelley was like pulling teeth, and she couldn't understand why. Wasserman too, for that matter. What were they hiding and why would they feel the need to hide it from her, when they had been the ones responsible for bringing her into this in the first place?
"You're wondering why that isn't in her file," Shelley said. "Evan and I have been going back and forth on this from the start. The fact is that there are some ethical and legal issues involved. But we all know that one of the most important aspects of diagnosis and treatment of mental disease is a family history, and you've been denied that."
"What are you talking about?"
"Sarah's grandparents are alive," Shelley said. "Her mother too. They live in Gilbertsville, New York."
--10--
The Newton Fliers' Club meets every third Friday of the month in the Jacob's Field Lounge. Made up of people who don't have the money to own a plane privately, members contribute to the initial cost and maintenance by paying monthly dues and sign up for use of the aircrafts.
Jess Chambers had been a member since she moved to the area two years ago. "Before that I logged my hours at a private strip back home," she explained as she pulled through the gates of the tiny airport. "There was a man in my town who used to fly in air shows, doing tricks in an old single-engine Cessna he kept in his barn. They called him the Flying Frenchman. He ran a small farm with a dirt landing strip in a cornfield. To make more money he would crop-dust during the summers, and give flying lessons. He taught me to fly when I was twelve."
It was another thing she had learned to keep to herself. The truth was she had always loved planes and flying was something she had dreamed of doing since she was five years old.
Most people said something like it was the last thing in the world they expected. Boys grinned and punched her in the arm, as if she were putting them on. Jean Shelley just looked at her from the passenger seat. "Your mother let you go up in a plane with someone called the Flying Frenchman?"
"She had other things on her mind."
Shelley shook her head. "Interesting. And you're sure there's a plane available today?"
"They said there'd been a cancellation. You're not afraid to fly with me, are you?"
"Of course not. I'm sure you're very capable."
Jess stole a glance at her professor. She remembered Shelley's look of surprise when she suggested they fly to Binghamton that afternoon. They could be there and back by supper.
But this wasn't just an excuse to log some hours. She needed to meet Sarah's family. She needed some background on the case. And most importantly, she needed to know just what could be so horrible to make a mother give up her own child.
"The family had been through too much and it was too painful for them. They agreed to sign a voluntary placement agreement, with me acting as guardian. There was a custody transfer. It was the only way they could deal with what they were doing."
"You mean they didn't want to give her up?"
"There's more to it than that. I'd rather just let you see and judge for yourself."
She stopped the car in front of the one-room lounge and office and turned off the ignition. The engine ticked in silence. "Could I ask you something? Why did you decide to tell me about Sarah's family now?"
"I felt it was essential to your diagnosis and the development of your and Sarah's relationship. I'd always felt that way, but Evan disagreed. The family had requested anonymity. And there are other reasons that you'll understand soon enough.
"I want you to know that ordinarily I wouldn't agree to something like this. But I think we do owe you this much."
Jess nodded. "You're sure you don't want to call the family and let them know we're coming?"
"I don't think they'd agree to see you. It will be more difficult for them to refuse when we're standing on their front step."
The plane, a class-four V-tail Beechcraft Bonanza in brown and white, was tethered outside the lone hangar. The Bonanza had a variable pitch propeller, an oil-operated device that rotated on its axis and worked like a gearshift in a car; in high pitch the angle of the blades took a bigger bite out of the air and allowed for a higher cruising speed.
It was her favorite plane. When she'd first joined the club she trained with a Cessna 150 High Wing. It took her three months to move up to the Bonanza, and that only because she had to find hours between her classes.
Jess filed a VFR flight plan and prepared herself as she always did, checking the plane by hand, a familiar thrill hastening her step and quickening her fingers. It would be an easy flight and the weather looked clear. Soon they were on the runway and the throb of the engines increased to a steady buzzing pitch as she tipped the throttle, the edges of the ground flashing and blurring and finally slipping away as the plane lumbered into the air.