The Chef
Copyright© 2025 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 20: Those are Just Stories
One evening at dinner, Becca and Sophie shared that, just like the last exhibition, Eleanor had successfully secured pledges to support the foundation’s causes the previous Saturday. They mentioned that everything was going well and would wrap up this Sunday.
Later that night, after Sophie went home with Lucie, Becca filled me in on some unexpected news: Stephanie had visited the museum. She was in town visiting her mom and dad and had heard about the exhibition, so she decided to stop by and say hello. While there, she met Sophie, and they seemed to hit it off.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Becca, noticing her unease.
“Nothing,” she replied, but her expression told a different story.
“Something is bothering you. You’ve been distant tonight,” I said gently.
“I just knew that Sophie and Stephanie would click,” Becca explained. Then, in a low murmur, she added, “She’s the one I wanted to fix Sophie up with.”
“Is she the perfect girl you mentioned?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Becca confirmed, letting out a heavy sigh.
“Are you worried?” I probed.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, and I recognized that look from when we first started dating, the same reaction she had when we ran into one of my old girlfriends.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Becca said. “But I’m not jealous.”
“Then what is it?” I pressed. “Sophie’s committed to us, and we’re committed to her.”
“I’m just scared,” she said quietly. “I’ve become so attached to her. Losing her would feel like losing you ... I’d be devastated.”
She continued, “And it doesn’t help that she might be in Philadelphia next month for training, and Stephanie told Sophie to look her up while she’s there.”
As I hugged Becca, I reassured her, “Sophie wouldn’t leave. We’re all too emotionally attached now.”
I looked her in the eye and added, “Besides, she’s in love with you ... and she knows you love her.”
Becca stared down at her cuffed wrists. “She loves me?”
“Yes,” I affirmed. “It couldn’t be any more obvious.”
“And what about you?” Becca asked, searching my face.
“Yes,” I said, “I love you, too.”
Hearing this, she playfully swatted me with her cuffed hands, then looked up at me with a teasing smile and said, “You know what I mean.”
I nodded. “I’ve been falling in love with her too. There are two of you now. I love both of you.”
I lifted her chin gently, insisting, “You can’t tell me you don’t love her.”
“No,” Becca replied, “I do. I love her just like I love you.”
I hugged her tightly. “See? All three of us are in this together. We’re all screwed.”
Becca laughed softly, and just then, there was a knock at the door. We walked to the front, and I quickly removed Becca’s handcuffs, locking her wrists behind her back in the hinged cuffs.
When I opened the door, it was Laura, looking worried.
“Hi,” she said, glancing around. “Is my mom here?”
“No,” Becca replied. “We haven’t seen her.”
“Is she missing?” I asked. “Did you check our back door? Our driveway?”
Laura nodded, her expression growing more frantic. “Yeah, I thought maybe she was here. I hoped you had found her.”
“No,” Becca said, “but we can help you look. I just need to get into the other restraints, and then we can go.”
As Becca turned to indicate that I was to fetch the transport restraints, Laura noticed how Becca was cuffed.
Just then, Laura’s phone rang. She answered it, and relief washed over her face.
“My brother found her! She’s down the street, and he’s taking her to his place for the evening to give me a break.”
“I’m so sorry,” Laura said, her tension easing. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll be going.”
“Do you want some coffee cake?” I offered. “I can make us some coffee.”
“It’s late, but you’re welcome to stay for a bit,” I added.
Laura nodded, looking less frazzled but still shaken. “Thank you. That sounds lovely.”
We walked into the kitchen, and Laura took a seat at our table. I pulled out the coffee cake and started brewing coffee while Becca struggled to pull out her chair, and I helped her get settled.
“You really have to wear those in your house?” Laura asked Becca.
“Yes and no,” Becca replied. “Not normally, but if someone is here, then yeah, I need to be in them. Basically, I’m locked in them when I’m around others.”
She continued, “They need to be either behind my back, like now, or in front, but connected to my waist with a belt or chain.”
Smiling, she added, “It’s just easier to get cuffed behind my back when someone comes by.”
“I’m sorry,” Laura said, her concern evident. “I—I don’t want you to be stuck in those while I’m here. I should be going.”
“It’s okay. Really,” Becca replied. “It’s been so long now. Honestly, I don’t even realize I’m in them most of the time. I’ve gotten used to being this way, and it seems to help people feel safe around me. So, I’m fine with it. It’s become an expectation now.”
“It’s been at least two months,” Laura noted. “That you’ve moved here. And I’ve heard you were in them long before that?”
“Yeah,” Becca replied. “Maybe eight months since I was first put in them. Like I mentioned when we saw you and your mom the other night, I might be in these indefinitely. The whole situation surrounding them is messy, and I don’t know when or if it will ever get resolved.”
“Eight months?” Laura questioned out loud, her concern evident. “I’m sorry. That must be so hard for you, having to wear them out in public.”
She then looked at me.
“And you have to keep her in them?” she asked. “You’re the one who has to put her in them and take them off all the time?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“That must be so difficult for you—having to put your girlfriend in those,” she remarked sympathetically.
“As Becca said, we’ve had to adjust and make it work,” I replied.
Looking at her, I then added, “Most of the time, I don’t even realize she’s in them either. It’s become ‘normal’ for us. And for the most part, the community has accepted it.”
She sighed. “You’re right—things around here become expectations. People get used to things. Like my mom, she takes comfort in seeing you like that. And I’m sorry again about the other night. I know it didn’t help that she kept referring to you as one of the troubled girls.”
“It’s okay, really,” Becca assured her. “Like I said that night, I’m stuck in these no matter what. You should take advantage of it if it helps your mom open up and talk.”
“Oh!” Laura exclaimed. “That’s exactly what she does now ... every time she sees you.”
Becca smiled.
“Anything interesting?” she asked, curious to learn more about their home and the doctor who lived there.
“Most of it is what you experienced the other night with my mom mistaking you for one of Dr. Hargrove’s patients. She forgets that she’s seen you before, so it feels like she’s encountering you for the first time each time. She assumes you’re here to see the doctor and that you must have come from one of the women’s correctional facilities.”
“So, your mom saw a lot of women come here?” Becca asked.
“Yeah,” Laura replied. “From what she’s told me, women would be taken to hospitals for psychiatric evaluations. It was part of the process to determine if they needed further commitment to mental health facilities. It’s just something they did back then.”
“How does your mom know all this?” Becca inquired. “I mean, did Dr. Hargrove tell her? I guess that would make sense. They were neighbors.”
“She worked at the hospital. She was one of his nurses,” Laura explained.
“So, if the women were supposed to be evaluated at the hospital, why were they brought here?” Becca asked, confused. “That just sounds strange.”
“Dr. Hargrove was the chief psychiatrist at the hospital, and he was the one who committed them. Women were brought here when he wasn’t there—mostly in the evenings and weekends,” Laura explained, helping Becca understand.
“The facilities couldn’t wait for business hours?” Becca asked. “They couldn’t just wait until the next day?”
“Yes, if they wanted. But they didn’t,” Laura replied. “Some of these women were violent.”
She caught herself.
“Well, violent in the sense that they suffered from mental illness. They weren’t violent criminals, but they would lash out or have episodes. Keep in mind when this was. If a female was sent to prison and started acting out, instigating other women, the prison would just send her for ‘evaluation.’”
Laura continued to explain, “It was easier to transfer the problem to someone else. Dr. Hargrove often decided that they needed to be committed, which meant they were brought at all hours, not just during the day.”
Looking at the business side of it, she added, “It worked out for everyone. The facilities got rid of their problems, and the hospital got new patients. That meant either family or state money. Maybe both.”
“That’s why my mom thinks you’re one of the doctor’s troubled girls,” Laura added. “The women who came here were heavily restrained. They were chained to ensure they couldn’t hurt anyone—much like you are when we see you coming and going.”
I looked at Becca, giving her the look to stop, but she continued. “And where did the women stay? I mean, were they taken to the hospital in the middle of the night after the doctor evaluated them?”
Hesitating a little, Laura explained, “My mom said the doctor had a hidden room he called the quiet room. She described it as small, about the size of a bedroom, all concrete. It had padded walls, a bed, and a chair. Law enforcement would chain the women to the bed or the chair, and they’d be assessed in that room. Then they’d be picked up the following morning if they couldn’t be taken that night.”
“Why was it called the quiet room?” Becca asked, already anticipating the answer.
“Because you couldn’t hear the women screaming once the door was closed. They couldn’t bother the doctor, his wife, or the neighbors.”
She added softly, “But that’s just a story. The part about the women coming here in restraints—that’s true.”
Laura paused for a moment—I think she was deciding how much to share.
“I have early memories of seeing police cars out on the street, with women being pulled out in chains like yours. I remember hearing our front door close, then seeing my mom, dressed in her nursing uniform, walking across the street. I’d usually get up at night to get some milk. The memories are vague now ... I mostly only remember the last few—maybe the last weeks before the hospital closed.”
“So, your mom helped the women when they arrived?” Becca asked, continuing to ask questions.
“Sometimes. It just depended,” Laura replied. “The doctor would be called, and then he’d call my mom to let her know she was needed. I remember one night, this woman arrived—she was really struggling. Fighting the handcuffs. I think that’s all she was wearing ... I think. Her hands were behind her back. She was dressed up too, like she was going to a party, maybe.”
She glanced at us. “Like I said, it’s murky now—but she really didn’t want to be there. That part, I remember.”
Laura smiled but looked serious. “But it’s not the kind of place you wanted to go. In hindsight, I can understand why she was unhappy ... but the sheriff had her cuffed. So, it wasn’t like she had a choice.”
“Yeah,” Becca said with a nod, tugging at her cuffs. “The restraints are kind of in control.” She then shifted her attention back to the room. “And you said the women stayed in their restraints while in the room?”
“Um—it depended,” Laura replied, trying to explain. “Law enforcement would wait to see if they were going to the hospital or being returned to the correctional facility. But like I said, they almost always were committed.”
She continued, “So if they were, they’d either be chained to the bed or chair and left that way until morning or until they could be picked up later that night, especially if they were violent. But if they weren’t, my mom, with the help of law enforcement, would get the girls out of the chains and into a straitjacket, and they’d be strapped down to the bed.”
Looking at Becca and smiling, trying to lighten the mood, she then said, “The last owners of this place claimed they found a hidden room, but honestly, I never saw it. When I asked about the hardware that was supposed to be attached to the floor and walls for the chains—the ones my mom described—they said they never found any evidence of that. They told me their contractor had stripped down the walls to the block for a remodel, and there was nothing to indicate anything had ever been attached.”
Still smiling, she added, “It’s a story. Like many of my mom’s tales—I’ve realized there’s often a little truth to each one, but that’s all.”
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