Mad Max: Unintended Consequences by Betsy Ashton Page B

hate her?”
    Emilie only called me Grams in moments of extreme duress. I considered her question.
    Her sobs quieted.
    “No, I don't. I don't like her right now, but I haven't stopped loving her. It's hard to explain, but she's my daughter. I can't turn my back on her.”
    Emilie snuffled against my T-shirt. I reached for a tissue and handed it to her. She blew a juicy amount into the first one. Two more followed. Her sobs subsided to little more than hiccups.
    “Do you know how to help her?”
    “Haven't a clue. She's going to a doctor who might be able to, though.”
    “A shrink?” Emilie sat up and wiped her face. “Do you think it'll work?”
    Merry's fingerprints were vivid on Emilie's cheek. My anger rose. If Merry stood in front of me, God help me, I'd slap her as hard as she struck her daughter.
    “Let's hope.” I left my granddaughter to rest.
    For the remainder of the day, I worried over the mess we were in. The longer I was around Merry, the more I wanted to get away from her. I wanted to take the kids to New York permanently. Being in this household did none of us any good. I wondered what Whip was thinking about.
    Now, half an hour into the fourth session with Dr. Silberman, raised voices came through the door. Rather, Merry's voice came through. I didn't hear Dr. Silberman's. A couple of heavy thumps inside his office preceded Merry flinging the door open.
    “You're a fucking quack.”
    Merry tried to slam the door, but Dr. Silberman caught it. “Sit down, Merry. I want to talk with Mrs. Davies.”
    That didn't bode well. I shot a look of pity at my daughter and went into the office. Dr. Silberman set a table back on its legs. A clock and box of tissues were on the floor.
    “I have bad news, Mrs. Davies.”
    Dr. Silberman sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers, looking exactly like Sigmund Freud. “Merry won't work with me. She's hostile and antagonistic, as well as delusional. She doesn't see anything wrong in her behavior.”
    Merry maintained everything was normal at home. She was running the house, doing the errands, everything. She couldn't understand why I was still getting in her way. I should leave. She was very involved with her children's lives, until Dr. Silberman asked some questions. Then she flew into a rage. She denied feeling angry and said she was taking Ambien to help her sleep and Zoloft for depression. No, she wasn't taking any other drugs.
    “Merry said you're interfering in her life, but when I asked if she wanted you to leave, she became agitated. That's when she overturned the table and stalked out.”
    “Will it help if she sticks with therapy?”
    “At this time? No. Merry's uncooperative. Until she asks for help, this is a waste of your money and my time.”
    “Do you think she'll ever function normally?”
    “I don't know.”
    A door slammed on my hopes of going back home for good. “What if I left?”
    “It would do irreparable harm. More, it would put the children in jeopardy. If you left, I think she'd spin completely out of control. Are you planning to return to New York?”
    “I want to, but I can't abandon Alex and Em. Or Merry.”
    Dr. Silberman rose and shook my hand. “I'm sorry.”
    “Would it be possible to get her into a rehab center to get her off the drugs and booze?”
    “It would have to be a voluntary commitment. She could check herself out.”
    “Could Whip commit her?”
    “Involuntarily? No. She's not a threat to herself or anyone else.”
    Merry sat stiff and defiant, arms crossed under her breasts, when I returned to the waiting room. I walked past her and headed out to the car. We made the short ride home in strained silence. Merry took off upstairs; I took off for the patio.
    I hadn't been in the kitchen more than ten minutes fixing lunch when I was subjected to a stealth waist hug. Emilie.
    “What brought this on?”
    “You're all pinky orange again.”
    “That means exactly what?”
    “You've decided to stay.”
    “For a