The Promise of Stardust (9 page)

The court officer entered the door. “All rise. The Honorable Martin Wheeler presiding.”

On his cue, the judge entered and took the bench. Like a swell in the ocean, we stood; we sat. The middle-aged judge shuffled papers in front of him, pulled out a pair of rimless glasses from a leather case, and cleaned them with a tissue as he spoke. “The first case is In the Matter of the Guardianship of Elle Lenore Beaulieu. Her husband, Dr. Matthew Beaulieu, filed a petition for guardianship, and Elinor Beaulieu, who is also seeking guardianship, has filed an objection to Dr. Beaulieu's petition. The court should note that Elinor Beaulieu is Elle Lenore Beaulieu's mother-in-law. The names are similar.”

My mother raised her hand. “I can explain. Alice, Elle's mother, named Elle after me. But everyone calls me Linney, so you can call me Linney if it makes things simpler.”

The judge pressed his lips together, and I expected a rebuke or a lesson in courtroom etiquette. Instead he sounded as patient as a kindergarten teacher when he said, “Yes.” He spelled out each of their names and made my mother, Elinor, Mrs. Linney Beaulieu for the record. “Do you have legal representation, Mrs. Beaulieu?”

My mother shook her head. “No, I just filed the papers like they told me to do in the probate office. Elle wrote a living will. She didn't want to live this way.”

“Technically it's an advanced directive despite what it says on the form. But, we'll get to that and your affidavit shortly,” Judge Wheeler said. “The first official action is to establish that Elle Beaulieu is permanently incapacitated.” He shifted in his seat and summarized the doctors' affidavits, describing the details of Elle's injuries and prognosis. The judge looked up and asked Jake to agree that Elle was permanently incapacitated. Then he asked the same of my mother.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Mom replied.

“See how easy it is to agree on something? Let's do more of that in the future,” the judge said. “Elle Beaulieu is deemed incapacitated and may be referred to as ‘the ward.' ”

I swallowed hard, squelching my impulse to puke. “The ward” was another step in Elle's dehumanization, like “the corpse” or “it.”

Judge Wheeler set aside a document. “In the Matter of the Guardianship, we have a dispute. However, although guardianship papers were filed, the issue under contention seems to be what Elle would want under these circumstances. Dr. Beaulieu acknowledges that if his wife were not pregnant, he would have discontinued her life support. However, he believes that in this situation Elle would have wanted the pregnancy to continue even if it means keeping her on life support for the duration of her pregnancy. He agrees to discontinue her life support after the baby's delivery.”

The judge looked over his reading glasses. “Mrs. Linney Beaulieu's petition indicates she believes differently. In her certification she states that she and Alice McClure, Elle's mother, were lifelong friends. Linney was involved in Elle's upbringing, and was, in fact, Elle's godmother. After Alice McClure's death Mrs. Beaulieu continued to have a close and loving relationship with Elle. During Alice McClure's terminal cancer battle, she lapsed into a three-month-long coma. Hospice nurses attended her in the McClure household during that period, and the effect that that had on the then-teenaged Elle was that she developed a profound belief that terminally ill persons should not have extraordinary measures taken to extend their lives. Elle signed this so-titled living will as soon as she reached the age of majority and designated Mrs. Linney Beaulieu to act on her behalf should Elle ever become incapacitated. If given guardianship, Mrs. Beaulieu would instruct Elle's physicians to discontinue her life support so Elle might die peacefully.”

Wheeler paused, set down the court records, and folded his hands on his desk. “Mrs. Beaulieu, were you aware of Elle's pregnancy when you wrote your petition?”

“Yes. But she's in the earliest stages of pregnancy. For the fetus to have a real chance, she'd be on life support for months and months—”

A dowdy-looking woman stood up in the gallery and shouted, “It's a baby, not a fetus. A baby!”

My mother craned her head around.

The dowdy woman sneered in Mom's direction and yelled again. “Elle is carrying a baby!”

“Order.” Wheeler's voice lowered to a resonating timbre, and all heads swung back toward the judge. He reached for his gavel, and I felt its authority although he didn't use it. “This is a court of law, and if someone in the gallery speaks out of order, I will have him or her removed from this courtroom.”

Jake clenched his pen like he was going to use it to stab his legal pad. I moved my attention to the judge and tried to solve the inscrutable mystery sandwiched between the lines on his face. I didn't know if the woman had angered him or if he'd scowled as a show of power. Within five seconds the furrow between his brows disappeared and a gentler expression appeared.

I'd always thought of a judge looking a certain way, soldier straight, neatly groomed, middle-aged or older. But Wheeler's hair was rather long and curly—poorly masking a receding hairline. His shoulders were rounded, his jawline soft. Yet in the moment when the woman called out, the judge still managed to summon a posture of authority.

He thumbed through the papers before him and pulled out Elle's living will, which showed the crinkled damage I'd done it. “This 1991 document is an advanced directive signed by Elle McClure Beaulieu. She was at that time eighteen years old, which made her a legal adult. And here,” he said, pulling out another form, “is a hospital admission record that Elle Beaulieu signed this past February. Her initials indicate she had no advanced health care directive. This discrepancy could mean she nullified the 1991 document. However, her brother, Christopher McClure, wrote a certification of support, stating that he and his sister discussed right-to-die issues innumerable times, and she did not want to be kept alive on machines.”

Wheeler's eyes scanned the courtroom. “This is not so much about guardianship as it is about what Elle Beaulieu would want done on her behalf under these tragic circumstances. I will grant temporary guardianship to Matthew Beaulieu while we attempt to resolve this matter in upcoming court sessions. Mr. Sutter, how many days do you estimate you will require to present your case, and how many witnesses do you intend to call?”

Jake scratched his chin as he flipped through a calendar. “I anticipate about five days,” he said. “I will be calling Dr. Beaulieu, her husband; medical experts, including Dr. Philip Grey; and personal friends, clergy …”

I attempted to shake my head imperceptibly at him, trying to advise him against putting my partner, Phil, on the stand, but Jake didn't notice.

The judge scribbled down the names and then glanced up. “I have another trial scheduled for next week, but we can get started on September first—no, that's Labor Day. We'll continue on September third.” His attention fell on Mom. “What about you, Mrs. Beaulieu? How much time do you need to present your case?”

“I don't understand how this all works, but can't you get to this sooner, Your Honor? Elle wouldn't want to be on life support all that time.”

Wheeler shook his head and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “Mrs. Beaulieu, I realize you feel a sense of urgency; however, my docket is full with cases other parties feel are equally urgent. I suggest you retain counsel to help you prepare for the hearing.”

“Your Honor, the majority of states revoke advanced health care directives when a woman is pregnant. Move to—”

“Mr. Sutter, Maine is not one of those states. Court dismissed.” He grabbed his files and walked out of the courtroom without a backward glance.

Damn. I stared at Jake. He'd barely said anything. Why hadn't he asked the judge to give me guardianship of the baby?

Jake snapped closed his briefcase. “Get that conference room again. Book it for as long as you can. We'll need her medical records, and I need to talk to these doctors. And to you.”

I whispered, “You don't want Phil to testify.”

“We'll discuss that later. In
private
.” His words sounded clipped and angry.

“Matt,” my mother called.

All the muscles in my shoulders knotted. I turned my back on her and walked out.

   7   

The ICU's glass walls permitted no privacy for Elle—but now someone had drawn the curtain around her bed. I returned from court unable to see her as I strode toward her room, and all I could think was she had died without me beside her.

I swung back the curtain and startled a young nurse with a water basin and towels. “Oh, Dr. Beaulieu. I'm about to give her a bath.”

Breathing had become a deliberate act. For Elle, mechanical ventilation opened her lungs eighteen times per minute. Me? Because of a sponge bath, I had forgotten to inhale as if I'd lost the most fundamental drive to sustain my own life.
Just a sponge bath
.

“Ah, yeah, yeah. My name is Matt, by the way. Let me wash her,” I said.

“You don't have to.”

“Please. I want to take care of her.” There was so little I could do for Elle now. And so much I still wanted to give to her: a life in which we grew old together with children and grandchildren and family dinners. And all I could give her was a sponge bath.

“All right,” the nurse said. She set down the basin, checked Elle's IV, then left.

The moment I saw Elle in the emergency room, I knew the situation was dire. But even after a couple days of staring at her like this, her appearance was a blow. Death isn't a shrouded figure. It's a depletion. I couldn't feel her anymore. In the flimsy privacy the drawn curtain provided, I hung my head and wiped away tears.

“Hey, Peep.” I kissed Elle's right cheek. Her left eye was still swollen closed. “Did you miss me? God knows, I miss you. Try to hang on, please,” I whispered. I looked at her belly. There was a baby who was part Elle and part me; a baby I wanted to love, but who in the wake of my grief, felt like a stranger from some other part of the world. Yet, in the past, every time Elle was pregnant, she took my hand and put it on her belly.

Hey
, I could almost hear her say.
Say hello to the baby
.

I reached out and gently put my hand on Elle's lower abdomen. “You, too, kiddo,” I said. “You hang on, too.”

I squeezed water out of the washcloth and continued to talk to Elle like she could hear me. “I expected the judge to be some gray-haired bozo. But this guy looks a lot like Tom Hanks, back when he did
Big
. Without the sense of humor. Not that anything about this is funny. I couldn't read him at all. He told Mom to get a lawyer. It would probably be better for us if she didn't, though.”

Gently, I cleansed Elle's face, taking care with the endotracheal tube sticking out of her mouth and the feeding tube jammed down her nose, each a blight on her beautiful face. I knew we'd remove the ET tube and put in a tracheotomy in another day or two, but I also knew that even without the tube sticking out of her face, Elle still would never look like herself again. She wasn't behind those eyes anymore.

Phil had removed a section of her left parietal skull to relieve pressure from the cerebral edema, which left her head misshapen. And her hair—for a planned craniotomy, the nurses typically shaved a minimal amount of hair, but the OR didn't have time for cosmetics. They shaved Elle's entire head. After just two days, blond stubble was shadowing her crown.