CHAPTER 10

Crazy or Not Crazy?

Kelsey squealed when we walked through the front door. Steph scooped her into her arms and ran off toward the living room. I peeked into the kitchen and saw Amy slogging between the stove and the refrigerator. I sniffed the air, nothing, which meant dinner wasn't even close to being ready. Mark offered us a glass of wine. Steph accepted, and I opted for a cup of coffee.

He had graduated from law school three years ago, and worked for a big-time law firm, but when asked, he'd moonlight as my private tutor. We sat at the kitchen table reviewing my Evidence class notes, which refused to sink into my head, while Amy created our dinner. After an hour, Amy called us to the dining room.

The meal consisted of a delicious chicken stir fry, which didn't irritate the remaining booze molecules floating around in my stomach. I glanced around the table, wallowing in the joy of being with my two best friends and my brother. We all directed our smiles at my niece, who was banging her tiny hands on her highchair tray. The relaxed atmosphere continued until the middle of dinner, when Mark interjected a new topic into the conversation. "So, Maggie, did you ever talk to Justin about our family being loony?"

I glared at him. "Yes, I talked to him. In fact, he asked about you. I believe his exact words were, 'How is the asshole?'"

Mark started laughing. "He hasn't changed a bit. Where is he?"

"Self-medicating in California, medical marijuana," Steph interjected,

"Figures," Mark said. "So, Maggie, are we all nuts?"

I stared at the gold ring circling the outer edges of my plate. Mark really wanted to kill my buzz. "Yeah, I learned a few things," I said, hoping he wouldn't push it any further.

"Well, are we crazy or what?" Mark pushed.

My irritation level swelled. I put my fork down and riveted my eyes on his face. "Not all of us, Mark. You're not, and neither is Steph. Justin and I are nuts. Dad and Uncle Roy are loony. Aunt Mildred, believe it or not, is sane. Grandma and Aunt Ella--crazy."

"You mean Aunt Rose," Mark interjected.

"No, actually, Aunt Rose is totally normal. I meant Aunt Ella."

I watched his smirk vanish, and confusion clouded his eyes. I glanced at all three of them. Their questioning expressions borderlined on being laughable. Mark's head tilted and his eyes scrunched before he asked the question. "Who is Aunt Ella?"

Resisting the desire to be smug, I dredged up a calm voice. "I asked the same thing when Uncle Roy started talking about her. For the last twenty-plus years, no one in our family bothered to tell any of us about our great aunt Ella, who spent her entire life in a mental institution."

"How is this woman related to us?" Mark asked.

"Grandma had another sister--Ella was the youngest of the four. She entered the hospital after their mom died and never came out. According to Uncle Roy, she passed away when Steph and I were babies. The only people with any information regarding her life are Aunt Mildred and Aunt Rose. I haven't been able to reach Aunt Rose, and you all know what talking to Mildred is like," I said. Soft groans of understanding floated through the air. "Believe it or not, when I called Mildred last week, she contended Ella wanted to live in the hospital." And to cure my cotton mouth, I swallowed the remaining water from my glass. "According to Justin, our bad blood originates on the Scottish side of Grandma's family."

"What is this bad blood? Does our family mental condition have a name?" Mark asked, in a more deferential tone.

I shifted my gaze toward Kelsey, smiling and smearing her dinner across the highchair tray. My arms longed to hold her. Behind Kelsey, family pictures lined Amy's buffet--a photographic history of two genetic lines, one perfect and one flawed. Exhaling through my nose, I dreaded the continuation of this conversation, but Mark was not going to let it rest.

"Okay, Mark, here's the deal. We're all different. I think Justin is Bipolar 1 because he refuses to take Lithium. What Uncle Roy describes sounds like clinical depression. According to Uncle Roy, Daddy swung in both directions, depressed and hypomanic. I think Daddy's illness resembled mine, except his depression didn't plunge as low as mine, and his hypomania swung a bit higher than mine does. However, since he took the info to the grave, we'll never know. I can't figure out Grandma. I know she hallucinated, but the lies surrounding her are so thick it would be impossible to get to the truth without medical records. As for Ella, the fact, she never left the hospital says enough."

Steph fiddled with her napkin, and Amy stared at her plate. Finally, Kelsey broke the silence with a loud yelp. My eyes remained fixed on my brother.

His arrogance had faded, and his head hung low. "Maggie, I'm sorry. All these years, I tagged you as the family drama queen. I take back everything I ever thought about your episodes. But Amy told me you were seeing a psychiatrist now, right?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Before I could answer his question, Stephanie interjected, "I've known about my dad and brother for years, but I didn't know about Ella. I realized a long time ago that Maggie wasn't a drama queen, because her behavior reminded me of my dad and occasionally Justin. I've always felt guilty because she got the bad genes, and I didn't."

"I am getting help," I said. "And this conversation is not about making you both feel guilty about being normal. You may not understand, but this information is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Mark, believe it or not, I've always wondered if I am just a drama queen. You cannot imagine how hard it is to face the world believing you are too weak to control your own emotions. It sucks.

"But," I continued. "Learning about our family made me realize I'm not a drama queen or weak. When I say I can't control these episodes, I really can't. For the first time in my life, I have hope, and maybe, if a treatment works, Sam will come home."

Amy cleared her throat. "Don't you mean Nick?"

My brother threw me a questioning look.

Snarling at Amy, I growled. "Be quiet."