Free Turn of Mind by Alice Laplante

night she accused me, in tears, of ruining her life. And so we played out that particular mother-daughter scene with a gusto that fooled both James and Mark. But we knew what was going on. A timely rescue, met with gratitude.

    I find a letter next to my morning pills and juice. My name on it, no address. No stamp. Two pages of unlined notepaper, tiny cramped writing. I read it through once, then again.
    Mom:
    I’m sorry my last visit didn’t end so well. I never even got to the real reason I came over. But, in fact, the episode just proves the point I wanted to make. It’s really time to sell the house and move into assisted living.
    What’s more, it’s time for me to exercise the medical power of attorney. I know you don’t want this. You value your independence. With Magdalena’s help, 65 percent of the time you do well. But the other 35 percent of the time!
    The ongoing investigation into Amanda’s death is a real worry. The fact that it’s even a question that you might have been involved—not that I believe that, of course—is reason enough to make this move.
    Do I believe that you are a danger to others? No. Do I believe you are a danger to yourself ? Yes, I do. I suspect I don’t hear everything. I suspect that Magdalena and Fiona keep things from me.
    You gave me this power. I didn’t ask for it. But, having been given it, I intend to fulfill my duties. You could take it away, of course. You could do what Fiona is trying to convince you to do (yes, I read through your notebook last time I was there) and strip me of this power. But I think you know it would be a mistake.
    About Fiona. I worry about her. Almost as much as I worry about you. As I said when I saw you, you know how she gets. How she does really well for long periods of time, but then things can go south—very very quickly. Remember that time at Stanford? When Dad had to go get her so she could decompress in a safe place?
    Anyway, I know Fiona tells you otherwise, but I truly have your best interests at heart. The police have had you in for questioning multiple times. I know that if they had anything at all on you they wouldn’t hesitate to try you as a competent adult.
    I worry about you a lot. I know I don’t always express it in the most diplomatic way. As we’ve discussed many times, I’m not Dad. I’m not the silver-tongued corporate finance lawyer, just a grunt. But I do care.
    Legally, as you once knew (and maybe still do when your mind is clear), incapacity has to be established for each separate task. You may no longer be competent to dress yourself, but you may be competent to make a decision about where you want to live. I accept that.
    The fact that you decided to give Fiona financial control was on one hand a wise one. You recognized that you could no longer act in your own best interest financially. You have substantial assets, and you should not risk them. That was the right thing to do—almost.
    This is a long-winded way of saying that I would like to declare you mentally incompetent to get some legal protection for you. Just in case.
    And an equally long-winded way of saying that I’m not sure that Fiona is the best person to control your money. She’s certainly capable. But is she trustworthy? I would feel more comfortable if I were also getting copies of your account statements. Can we perhaps arrange this?
    Try to read this letter knowing of my concern for your well-being. Mental competency is a label. It doesn’t have anything to do with your actual abilities. You won’t suddenly deteriorate because some court of law has ruled. You’ll still be the same person. But you may possibly avoid a lot of trouble and expense by making this move now rather than waiting until you are pulled in again by the police or even charged.
    I’ll come by tomorrow and try again. Believe me, I truly wish to be of service.
    Your loving son,
    Mark

    Today my