Music: Eminem, Lose Yourself
Posted: 1.5.2020
*****
By late morning Stella found herself back in her studio apartment. Having been gone for a week, the air in it smelled stale. She didn't bother searching her fridge for food, there was none to be found at this point. At best, her almond milk was days from expiring. Chances were it already had.
Closing her eyes, she savored the first moments of home. She could hear the city, thrumming fourteen floors beneath her, a TV elsewhere in the apartment complex, her refrigerator cycle. She smiled. The familiar, comforting sounds of home were welcome.
As she relished these thoughts, others swarmed her. Soon, she flew over to her sink. A sigh of relief escaped when she confirmed that yes, she still had running water. All of the lights flicked on, comforting her that nothing happened.
The medical journals, left in haphazard stacks on her coffee and dining tables, were in the same order. A small layer of dust rested on top of them. Her notebook remained open, a pen laying on top of it. It still marked the place she left off reading in the article.
Her bookshelves, stocked mostly with romance books, showed no signs of disruption. She ran her fingers over the spines, embossed titles telling her what sort of smut they contained. As if able to sense her turbulent emotions, the books reached out to her and offered their inner calm. Satisfied that her place was as it should be, Stella traded yesterday's clothes for something better suited for meeting family.
Family that hadn't wanted her.
Family that didn't have a choice now.
Fuck them.
But not Luna. Luna had no part to play in this. She was as much a victim of their issues as Stella was.
Jeans replaced yoga pants. Yesterday's tank and hoodie were replaced with clean ones. She put on her nicer sneakers.
A quick look in the one mirror she allowed herself to have and she took the hoodie off. He didn't deserve for her to dress up, to look nice for him.
But, he needed to know what he missed out on. She would have made a fantastic granddaughter. Stella would have provided for him in his age and illness; she certainly made the money for it.
She kept her grey tank and jeans on. Selecting a pale blue blouse instead, she left the top half unbuttoned. Not like it added the appearance of boobs to her appearance, but that was a battle she knew she lost long ago. She replaced her running shoes with a pair of brown flats.
Just to elevate it, to run it home that she was a very successful young woman, no thanks to him, she added in her diamond necklace. The snowflake pattern may have been out of season, but it was a strong reminder of the five years and eight months she'd been sober. Adding in a pair of rose gold hoops and an Alex and Ani bracelet completed the look.
With a self-assured smile, Stella felt better about the meeting tonight. She looked young, pretty, and successful. Everything she wanted to show him she was.
Bastard.
She decided to add on a layer of makeup. First-hand experience taught her that her offense, no matter how good it was, was nothing without defenses.
A layer of foundation hid her freckles from sight; erasing one of the few traces she thought came from her Montgomery ancestors. It was a trait she shared with Luna.
That and their high cheekbones. Without seeing him, she wasn't sure how much of her appearance came from her mother's family. She hoped none of it.
They abandoned her.
They could have had her.
And they chose not to.
Assholes.
Adding some neutral eyeshadow and lipstick, Stella decided that would do for makeup. As she pulled her hair into a ponytail she decided she finally looked perfect.
That was what she needed to show them.
They missed out on the best-damned thing ever.
That was her.
Maybe Howie had a point, about her attitude. Maybe she needed to talk to her psychiatrist, ask for a med increase.
It had been half-way through the week when they were still out in the wilderness. He'd tried to talk about it. She asked why he was upset that she felt good for once.
And that was right – there was nothing wrong with feeling good. Fantastic, even. It was a welcome change from the constant cycle of depression.
Before she left, Stella opened the windows. Letting her apartment air out until this evening would do it a world of good.
Leaving the building and settling into her Jeep Wrangler, she put in the West Chester address into her GPS. She frowned at the directions it tried to give her; the Schuylkill Expressway was not friends with anyone. It didn't matter the time of day.
She looked at where West Chester was, having never gone that far out into the suburbs since she moved into Philly. A quick scroll around on the map made up her mind. I-95 it was; so what if it would take a few minutes longer? At least it would move.
Just over an hour later, she found herself at his house.
Her grandfather's.
The same man who decided not to take her in.
This was the house he would have finished raising her in.
The same house he raised Luna in.
This brick bungalow could have been her home.
With the well-taken care of lawn and maintained gardens, it looked homey. A giant pine tree grew in the front yard, promising hiding places for her teenaged self when she needed an escape. The yard was large enough that she could have spent hours as a child outside letting her imagination run wild.
Stella took a deep breath. Right now, dwelling over what could have beens were not worth it. It'd only serve to anger her, to rile her up.
Not that her grandfather didn't deserve it; he deserved the full force of her anger and hatred.
Luna didn't. It wasn't Luna's fault that they chose her over Stella. She didn't know why someone twenty years her junior became the child that got to live with them when she hadn't. She couldn't understand why they passed her over, only to take her sister in.
She'd needed them.
Her phone buzzed with a text. Howie asked her if she was ok.
She smiled at it. She knew that he knew how much this visit stressed her out. He knew how much sleep she'd lost over it. He listened to her agonize for a solid week, at least, as she decided whether or not to take Luna in.
It was something she didn't want to do out of anger. Anger that Luna's grandfather let things deteriorate so bad that the state got involved. Anger that he risked losing her to the state before remembering he had another grandchild. And resentment that he didn't want her.
She agreed only when she and Howie made contingency plan after contingency plan if something happened to Stella.
She could go back to the psych hospital.
She could go back to the ER, in need of Haldol.*
She could commit suicide. Again.
There were so many different things that could go wrong with her, that she couldn't list them all without help. Howie showed her, again, how much she needed him in her life. Despite his wishes to remain childless, he and his fiance agreed to take her in if anything happened to her. In the meantime, they were Luna's de facto babysitters when Stella worked. Which was a lot. She hoped that was all they would stay.
The list of things she needed to do for Luna seemed to be never-ending. First, she needed a new apartment. There was no way she planned on sharing a studio apartment. At all.
Second was to find a school. Stella refused to send her to any public school in the city; Philadelphia schools earned their reputation. She wasn't about to disadvantage Luna with it. She had paperwork for Pennock Academy, a premier private school, for Luna's grandfather to sign.
Third involved finding a lawyer. It was time for a will. As it stood now, every penny she had would go to Luna. Luna would go to Howie with a trust set up in her name. If Stella died, Luna would be a wealthy child.
Forth involved convincing that lawyer to represent her in dependency court. A larger check ensured that the lawyer agreed.
It was a given that custody of Luna would transfer to her, that's exactly what the caseworker assigned assured her. It's what they planned to recommend to the court. Stella felt the need to ensure that it happened; she had one too many sour dealings with the state herself to trust anyone.
The list continued on; Stella added more things to it every day. A recent item was to learn how to cook. Despite her arguments with Howie, she could grudgingly admit to herself that microwave meals and takeout weren't the healthiest options for anyone.
With a deep breath, she forced herself out of her thoughts. It was only three. Luna would not be home for another hour, but her grandfather made it clear that he wanted to talk with Stella privately first.
She pushed for a phone conversation with him when the thought of meeting with him privately sent white-hot rage coursing through her along with vomiting inducing anxiety. He maintained he didn't want to discuss it through his nurse, and his voice was too weak for the phone to pick it up.
Which is why she still sat in her car, staring at the back of the house despite having been here a full five minutes. Howie wasn't with her and she didn't know how she would react by herself. It was a tossup as to whether or not she'd lose her temper, something that she did too easily, or have a panic attack, which almost always came after an outburst.
She'd settle for just the panic attack. It'd be easier to recover from that alone. Certainly, even he could understand why she'd panic at seeing him. Caused by the emotions that would not stop coursing through her, no matter how many pills she took. With a deep breath, she took the orange bottle out of her purse.
Take as needed, up to four times a day.
She'd already taken two. Two more, and maybe she'd be sedated enough to not fly off the handle at him.
Not that he didn't deserve it. Bastard.
But Luna was more important than her temper. More important than her hurt feelings. Two more Ativan it was.
One more deep breath and she forced herself out of the Wrangler. Having taken off the roof earlier, it was pointless to lock it. She had her purse, which had the paperwork, a paper bag just in case, and a gift for Luna.
She passed another garden, next to the back steps. Someone planted it with petunias. The tree, with branches hanging over the driveway, had a riot of small, bell-shaped white flowers on it. If she were in a better mood, Stella would smile at the contrast to her tumultuous mood.
She knocked on the door, a sound akin to death bells ringing. With another deep breath, she reminded herself that she could do this. After all, she was Dr. Stella Lee Montgomery. She could do anything and everything.
After what felt like an eternity, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman dressed in scrubs. Her ID identified her as Donna Smith, visiting RN.
"Hi, I'm," Stella paused to swallow, her tongue suddenly feeling too large.
"Stella," Donna finished. "Come in, Richard's been so excited to see you."
She pushed down the lightning bolt of rage that went through her, trying to drown out the voice. Following the nurse, Stella noted that the kitchen looked sterile as her own. The bone-chilling thought came that no one spent time cooking in here.
Down the hall, the nurse led her. The house felt quiet, as if death already arrived.
Stella knew Richard's condition was not the best. Stage four lung cancer would bring anyone to their knees. At the end of the hall, Donna opened the door.
Someone had moved a hospital bed into Richard's room. She recognized the sound of an oxygen machine, the steady hiss telling her how much support he needed. In the center of the bed, propped up, rested Richard Montgomery.
Anyone could tell he was at death's door. His skin was translucent, hair so white that it blended in with the pillow. Even with the help of his oxygen, his breathing was shallow. The blood pressure monitor showed a disturbingly low pressure.
Liz, the worker assigned to Luna's case, had assured her that Richard hired a live-in nanny when he elected to stop treatment. Stella knew, without doubt by looking at him, it was the one reason Luna had not been removed. That nanny was the one reason they were able to wait until the court hearing in July to transfer custody.
Stella would remember to have to send her a very large thank you basket when she took Luna in. The thought of Luna even having a day's worth of the same experience Stella had growing up wasn't even thinkable.
Richard, awake now, beckoned her over. His hand flopped down to his side when she came over. He smiled at her, his skin stretching across his skeletal face.
The door clicked shut as Donna left.
Richard lifted the ventilation mask off. "I'm glad to see you've grown up well."
Even after sitting at his bedside, as close to him as she could be without being in his bed, Stella could barely hear what he had to say. She leaned forward a little more, surprised to notice that his statement did not make her angry. It should have, this should have, caused her temper to explode out of control. Yet, looking at him, his condition sucked all the anger out.
Rule one for being a fucking amazing doctor: Don't let your emotions get the better of you.
"I'm sorry we couldn't do more for you." He replaced the oxygen mask, closing his eyes as his breathing eased. A moment passed before he took it back off. "That box there," he pointed to a bookshelf, "could you bring that over?"
Stella walked across the room, taking care not to disturb the pictures that surrounded the box. A quick glance showed her a few of Luna, a woman she assumed to be her deceased grandmother, and various pictures of another girl and boy at various ages. Stella assumed one of the girls was her mother. Perhaps the boy was an uncle she hadn't heard of?
The box itself was closed. She took it back over, placing it on the floor. Again, she leaned towards Richard as he took his mask off to talk. "They're your mother's old journals. While she lived here." His body racked with coughs.
Stella put a glove on, there was a box on his nightstand and held a tissue up for him to cough into. It came away, red with blood.
When the coughing fit ended, Richard leaned back onto the bed and replaced the oxygen mask.
Stella threw out the tissue and glove, using the hand sanitizer to clean her hands off.
Minutes passed before Richard opened his eyes. He removed the mask again, beckoning for Stella to lean forward. "I wanted you to have them, before I die."
She looked at the box, her eyes watering. It was the first thing anyone ever gave her from her mother. Stella didn't count Mr. Stuffy; she had that teddy bear for as long as she could remember.
That bear, with her, survived all the different homes and people she lived with over the years.
This box, full of her mother's journals, would be the first time she had a chance to know about her.
The good things, anyways. Stella already knew the bad things.
Stella focused back on Richard when he grabbed her hand. It felt like ice, his joints thick with arthritis and nothing else. He smiled at her, through the mask, and squeezed her hand. Despite the anger and hatred she had, Stella found herself squeezing back.
Again, he removed her mask. "I'm glad you've forgiven her."
Stella smiled, too ashamed to say that she had not. Thoughts of her mother unleashed a torrent of emotions stronger than thoughts of her grandparents. Her grandparents may have refused to take her in, but her mother had been the reason she needed a new home to begin with.
"I left almost everything to Luna. You'll be the executor of her trust when I go."
Stella nodded her understanding.
"Alan will fight it. He thinks he should have the bulk of the inheritance."
She wasn't sure who Alan was but felt safe assuming him to be the boy in the pictures.
"I made it as hard as I could. Alan makes money. Luna will need many things to get into a good position in life." Before another coughing fit could seize him, Richard replaced the mask. Stella waited for him, still eyeing the box that now sat at her feet.
"I left a copy of my will in there. And details about my estate, so you'll be prepared."
She squatted in front of the box, opening it to make sure. On top of journals, weathered from time, was a large yellow envelope. She opened it, a large wad of cash slid out with paperwork. An eyebrow arched, she looked back towards Richard.
Even though he couldn't see her well right now, he must have heard her open the envelope. "For you. To take care of her."
She flipped through the paperwork, Richard's will and estate details were there as promised. After she put it back together, she stood up.
"I have some things for you to sign. To get Luna into Pennock Academy." Stella took the folder out of her bag and explained the needed paperwork to him.
Richard signed it, his signature nothing more than a scribble at this point. "She'll be home from school soon. Thank you, for taking her in."
"I didn't have much of a choice."
He closed his eyes, whether from exhaustion or pain she wasn't sure. As it was, Stella knew he was tired. Their conversation had left him in need of rest. Box in hand, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Donna sat in the kitchen, going over paperwork. If Stella had to guess, she was taking the downtime to chart.
"How is he?"
"Asleep." She bit her lip, debating to ask a question that burned at her. "He's not going to make it until July, is he?"
Donna looked at her, the look on her face telling Stella she found herself caught between telling a family member and violating HIPAA.
"You don't have to say anything. I'm an intensivist*. I know death when I see it."
Donna nodded. "Are you really taking Luna with you?"
"Not tonight. I don't think."
"She's a good kid, you know."
"I've heard."
Donna nodded her head, turning back to her paperwork.
Stella left the house, going to wait for Luna outside. She put the box in the back of her Jeep and sat on the bumper.
She knew, now, Luna needed her to succeed at this parenting thing. It would be worse for her, worse than it had been for Stella, to have to go live with strangers.
As the school bus stopped in front of the driveway, Stella set her mouth in a thin line of determination. She'd only ever had one chance to succeed. Why should this be any different?