Free Too Far Under by Lynn Osterkamp Page B

vacancies.”
    “I need to have my husband in a place I can
visit easily,” a gaunt gray-haired woman said. “Doesn’t Shady
Terrace have some obligation to help me find a good place for him?”
She sounded close to tears.
    “They do, and they will help. But it’s best
if you can check out the places yourself so you can choose the one
you like best.”
    “This is all bogus.” Derrick had jumped to
his feet to confront Tim. “You’re not here to help us. You’re
supposed to be neutral but it looks like you’re just trying to help
Shady Terrace look good. If this was happening to your own father,
you wouldn’t be so calm. We need to stick together and make them
keep Shady Terrace open. Why don’t you help us with that?” His face
was as red as his crimson sweater, and sweat trickled down his
face.
    Tim stayed cool as he answered slowly.
“Actually as a long-term-care ombudsman I’m not supposed to be
neutral. My job is to advocate for the rights of the residents. But
I don’t know any way to keep Shady Terrace from closing and if I
pretended I did, I’d be leading you on a path away from what you
need to be doing, and I certainly wouldn’t be helping you.”
    “Forget it! I’m not going to waste any more
of my time here,” Derrick said, stalking off to the front door. His
dramatic exit was spoiled when he had to stop and find a staff
member to put in the door code to let him out, but he’d made his
point. And although I personally did believe Tim was trying his
best to help us, I was beginning to realize that there wasn’t much
he could do.
    My mood was dragging bottom when I left the
meeting, so when I stopped at Wild Oats to get groceries I picked
up roasted salmon and asparagus for dinner to cheer myself up. At
home I put on one of my favorite Sex and the City DVDs, had
a couple of glasses of wine and ate my meal. Then, feeling a bit
more mellow, I got out my cell phone and listened again to Lacey’s
messages.
    The first message came in Saturday afternoon
at 2:30. “Cleo, it’s Lacey Townes. We talked after class on Friday.
About my mom and how my sister and I need to reach her. It’s
urgent!” Her voice rose in pitch and volume. “I can’t believe I
didn’t get you. We have to meet with you. I don’t know if you meet
clients on weekends, but you must have some sort of emergency
coverage. And this is one. An emergency! This is a huge emergency!
So call me at 303-819-8203 as soon as you get this message.”
    Whew. She definitely sounded frantic, but I
didn’t share her sense of urgency at that point. Even if I’d gotten
that message on Saturday, I wouldn’t have responded. My emergency
weekend coverage doesn’t extend to wanna-be clients.
    She left another hysterical message Saturday
at 4:30. “Cleo, Lacey again. Where are you? You have to help me! I
have no one else to turn to. How can I ever live with myself if I
don’t find out what happened to Mom? You have this gift. How can
you refuse to help us? I told Angelica you’d be sure to call today.
So don’t make a liar out of me, okay. Call me at 303-819-8203.
Please!!”
    The desperation in her voice made me
cautious. Is everything she wants an emergency for her? Clients
like that can be a therapist’s nightmare.
    Saturday at 6:30 she had called again. She’d
gotten into a two-hour pattern. Her voice was shriller and even
more frenzied this time. “Cleo, this is the worst day of my life.
My dad overheard us saying that we think someone drowned Mom, and
he threw a fit and yelled at us that we were desecrating Mom’s
memory, looking to create a scandal and on and on. But we’re not
giving up. I promised Angelica I’d get you to help us. If my mom
was murdered, don’t you think she deserves justice? We have to find
out if Angelica is right that someone actually drowned Mom. After
all my mom did for this community, she deserves better than to have
someone drown her and get away with it. Please call me!”
    Looking past the