Shattered Trust (Shattered #2) (8 page)

Chapter 12

Madrigal

“Madison Berkeley?” the nurse at Georgetown Physicians Associates calls out. I’d contacted several friends from high school to get a referral to a doctor. One of them recommended a psychiatrist in this practice, saying she was one of the best in the area. Dr. Durham was booked solid, and her next available appointment was in two weeks. Explaining my sister’s condition and my worry over her current drug regimen, I’d pleaded for an emergency appointment. The shameless begging worked, and they’d squeezed Madison in today.

Coming to her feet, Madison heaves out a sigh. “Do I really have to do this, Mad?”

The ungrateful brat. And after all my groveling too. “Yes, you do,” I spit out. Aside from the fact that I’m honestly worried about her mental health, I need to know the effects of the medication she’s taking.

After the nurse leads us to a room and takes Madison’s vitals, she asks, “What medications are you taking?”

I hand her a Ziploc bag filled with Madison’s prescriptions. As she jots them down on the laptop, her left brow rises, but she doesn’t comment on them.

After she leaves, Madrigal fidgets on the examination table while waiting for the doctor. We don’t have to wait long. Five minutes later, Dr. Durham steps into the room and offers a friendly smile to Madison and me. She’s in her midforties, with glasses and copper hair tucked into a bun.

“I’m Dr. Durham. And how are you today?” She directs her question at Madison. Good. She needs to gain Madison’s confidence.

“I’m fine. More than fine.” I don’t miss the aggressive tone. My heart goes out to her. Last night when we talked about the appointment, she’d shared her fear that something is truly wrong with her.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that,” Dr. Durham says. “Now let’s take a listen to your heart and your lungs, shall we?” She conducts the routine examination, including Madison’s eyes, nose, and mouth. After she enters the results in the laptop, she spends some time looking over the list of medications before swiveling her chair back to Madison. “All right, now, how long have you been taking these medications?”

Madison shrugs. “A while.”

“All of them or just some of them?”

“I’ve been taking the blue one for about four years and that little white one for the last two. The rest longer than that. But I don’t take them all the time.” She thrusts up her chin.

“Why aren’t you taking all of them?” Dr. Durham’s tone is gentle but firm.

“Because some of them make me stupid. That little white one? I feel like a zombie after I take it. So I don’t swallow it most of the time.”

“So why
are
you taking them? Do you know?”

Madison fiddles with her clasped hands. “When I turned twelve, I ran away.”

I’m learning this for the first time. Nobody told me, not Gramps, not Olivia.

“Why did you run away, Maddy?” I ask.

“Gramps wanted me to go to some stupid firm event where they were going to have hayrides and apple bobbing and I’d have to deal with runny-nosed kids. I refused. So he punished me by locking me in my room.”

No wonder she never attended the firm’s picnics.

“So I packed a bag, climbed down the tree outside my window, and took off on Marigold.”

“Who’s Marigold?” Dr. Durham asks.

“My horse. I didn’t get far. Hartley found me and brought me back. Gramps called Dr. Holcomb, and he came by and gave me a shot. He prescribed the blue pill then. And then two years ago, I had a meltdown, so that’s when he prescribed the white one.”

“What kind of a meltdown?” Dr. Durham asks.

“I went shopping with my friends after school. When I got home, Gramps locked me in my room. Again. He wouldn’t even allow Olivia to bring me any food. They’d gotten smart and nailed shut my window so I couldn’t escape. So I screamed the place down until they brought me dinner.”

“I see,” Dr. Durham says, pushing back her glasses. “Well, we’ll need to get your medical records from Dr. Holcomb. Your sister will have to sign some paperwork.”

“Of course,” I say.

“We’ll also need to draw blood to check your liver and kidney function as well as other things. How are you with needles?”

“Fine,” Madison says.

“I want to see you again in about a week. By then we should have the lab results and your medical records from Dr. Holcomb. And then we’ll take it from there.”

Madison pushes out her lip the way she used to when she was little. “I don’t want to take all those pills anymore.”

Dr. Durham rests her hand on Madison’s shoulder. “I understand. I really do. You think the medicine is not doing you any good and hate the way it makes you feel.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, you just told me. Plus, you’re not the first patient to come through that door and tell me the same thing. But for now? Please continue taking the medication. It was prescribed for a reason, and it’s not good to quit taking it cold turkey. It can cause more harm than good if you do.”

“Okay.” I can see Madison doesn’t really mean it. I’ll have to talk some sense into her.

“Now, once I get your records and look over your lab results, I’ll assess your drug regimen. We might be able to adjust your meds at that time. Is that fair?”

Madison shrugs. “I guess.”

“Good.” Dr. Durham pats her shoulder. “I’ll have the nurse come back in and draw your blood. While she’s doing that, I’ll talk to your sister in my office. Once the nurse’s done, she’ll bring you to us. Is that okay with you?”

I love the way she gets Madison’s okay every step of the way. No wonder she’s got such a great reputation.

“Sure. I can listen to my tunes while I wait,” she says, gesturing to her iPhone.

“Good.” She sticks out her hand. “Good to meet you, Madison.”

“Thank you, Dr. Durham.”

Once we arrive at Dr. Durham’s office, her smile vanishes. “She’s taking some very serious drugs, Ms. Berkeley.”

“Do you know what conditions would warrant prescribing those pills for her?”

“She’s taking antipsychotic medication. That regimen is usually prescribed for individuals suffering from delusional disorders.”

“What does that mean?”

“A person with a delusional disorder can’t tell reality from fantasy.”

“So she might be making up all those stories?”

“Maybe. And maybe she’s telling the truth. I understand your grandfather passed away recently.”

Of course she knows he was murdered. It’s been all over the news. “Yes.”

“Is there somebody else who can verify her grandfather locked her up after running away? She mentioned an Olivia and a Hartley.”

“Our housekeeper and horse trainer. I’ll ask them.”

“Good. Find out the truth. I’ll need their take on things to see if they jibe with Madison’s.”

Once we say good-bye to Dr. Durham and make an appointment for the following week, I treat Madison to a round of shopping. And then we get a bite to eat at a restaurant in the mall where we can talk.

“I really hate taking all those pills,” Madison says once we’ve been shown to our table.

“I know, sweetheart, but can you please take them for another week or so? Once Dr. Durham gets your medical records, she might be able to adjust them.”

“I’ll take all of them except the little white one.”

“Okay.” That’s the best I can hope for, I guess. This coming week I’ll watch her carefully to make sure she doesn’t start acting strange. I reach over the table to her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know about any of this, Maddy.”

She shrugs. “It’s okay. Gramps didn’t want you to know. That’s why I didn’t tell you. But I don’t need those pills, Mad. I don’t.”

“I know you feel that way, sweetheart, but maybe they do some good. Were you taking them the day Gramps died? You blew up at Gramps that afternoon.”

“No. I refused to take them when Olivia brought them to me. But I had a right to be mad. He knew about our father torturing our mother, and he hid it from us.” Her lips tremble as she mentions the last two things.

Of course she’d been upset that day. So was I after reading our mother’s diary. Anyone would feel that way after learning what their father had done to their mother and the torture she’d suffered. After reading it, I’d run right into Steele’s arms. And he’d helped me deal with my pain and misery. But I hadn’t been there for Madison. After reading the journal, she’d had a screaming match with our grandfather and taken off on Marigold. But I plan to be there for her in the future.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about being alone anymore. I’ll be right here, Maddy. If you need to talk, just let me know, and we’ll talk. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, about Philippe?”

“I know I shouldn’t have lied to him about my age. But have you seen him? He’s gorgeous.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “He says the sweetest things. In French.”

My sister’s first crush. I can’t take that from her, but there are some limits to what I can allow. “I need your fake ID, Madison.”

Making a face, she fishes it out of her purse and hands it to me. “It won’t do any good, you know. As soon as school starts back up, I can get a new one.” Yeah, she probably can. But at least until September, she won’t be able to use it.

On the way home, my cell rings. It’s Steele. I press the “Talk” button on my steering wheel. “Hi.”

“Hi, gorgeous. I miss you.” I flush a little at the term of endearment.

“I miss you too.”

“I can’t wait until—”

Before he can say something entirely inappropriate, I cut him off. “I’m in the car with Maddy and Alicia Carson. We’re headed home.”

His tone veers from hot and sultry to a more businesslike approach. “So you’re done with the doctor’s appointment?”

“Yes.”

“When you get a chance, call and tell me about it.”

“Will do. Bye.”

I hate to give our discussion short shrift, but with my sister and the security guard in the car, I can’t very well carry on an intimate conversation with him.

From the corner of my eye I catch Maddy’s expression. Her mouth is scrunched up, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip. I wish she’d get over her dislike of Steele. Somehow I have to find a way to help her make peace with his role in my life, because I’m not kicking him out.

Once we arrive home, Madison heads up to her room, and Alicia goes to check in with her boss. I find Olivia and ask her if she has time to talk.

“Of course,” she says.

Stepping into the living room, I close the French doors behind us. Even if we’re interrupted, someone has to knock first. She takes a seat on the couch and glances expectantly at me.

I’m restless. So rather than sit, I take to pacing the floor. “You know about Madison’s doctor’s appointment.”

“Of course.” She folds her hands on her lap, not a hint of trembling in them. For her sake, I’m glad she’s calm again.

“I’ll need to keep track of Madison’s medication so I can report to the doctor. So from now on, I’ll monitor her meds.”

Her shoulders ease. “Makes sense.” Her relief is obvious. It had to have been quite a burden. One she probably resented, but now she won’t have to be responsible for Madison’s well-being. From now on, that job is mine.

“I do have several questions, though.” I retrieve the Ziploc bag filled to the brim with Maddy’s pills from my purse. “Do you think she needs to take all this medicine, Olivia?”

“I don’t know. I did as the doctor ordered. And your grandfather demanded.”

She might doubt the efficacy of Madison’s drug regimen, but it’s something she had to do, not only for Madison’s health but also to keep her job. Gramps would have fired her in an instant if she’d refused. “Do you think Madison’s delusional?”

“I think she has a tendency to exaggerate things, but no, I don’t.”

“At the doctor’s office, Madison mentioned Gramps locking her in her room twice: when she ran away at twelve and again when she went on an unauthorized shopping trip with friends. Is that true?”

“Yes. It happened just as she said.”

“Why do you think Dr. Holcomb prescribed such medications?”

“I have no idea. But the medicines made her sleep, which kept the drama down. Frankly, that’s something your grandfather preferred. He never knew how to deal with Madison when she became agitated.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’d have bad dreams, wake up screaming. The pills helped her get a good night’s sleep. They calmed her down.”

She’d also had nightmares after she discovered the crime scene pictures of our parents’ murders at the newspaper where she’d interned. But she’d stopped taking the pills by then, so having bad dreams made sense.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about my mother’s journals. The one I fetched from the attic disappeared from my room.”

Her eyes fill with tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“After Madison read it, she raced into your grandfather’s office and accused him of condoning your father’s abuse of your mother.”

“You heard?”

“The whole household heard. After she rode off on Marigold, he asked me to fetch the journal from your room. His face turned quite ruddy while he read it. I thought he’d have another heart attack. He asked if there were more of them. What else could I do but say yes.” She wrings her hands and looks at me with worried eyes.

Fearing the worst, I ask, “What did he do, Olivia?”

“He burned them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

My stomach plummets. I’d counted on reading those journals, not only to reconnect with my beautiful mother but also to find out how her marriage had gone so wrong that my father had taken to torturing her. But now all that evidence is gone.

“I’m sorry, Madrigal. I would have stopped him if I could have.”

“There was no stopping him. Ever.” I take a deep breath, then let it out. Olivia was so calm when she stepped into the room, and now she’s agitated again. I’m sorry my questions have caused this change in her, even if they had to be asked. “Have you finished making your plans to visit your sister?”

“Yes. I’ll be leaving in the morning. Hans will drive me to Union Station.”

She needs the break. God knows she’s been through enough. But then we all have. “I hope you have a nice time with your sister.”