Chapter 5

A slender man in shirt and tie connected recording equipment to the telephone in Keith's apartment. He donned headphones, looked at Jenna and nodded. Keith picked up a headphone and held it to his ear.

Jenna picked up the handset and punched in a number. Keith heard it ring.

Hello?

"Mom -- it's me," Jenna said into the handset.

Jenna -- where are you? It's nearly five-thirty. I've been worried about you.

"I'm with Keith."

Are you coming home?

"No, Mom. I'm not coming home."

Why not?

"Because..." Jenna glanced toward Keith. He reached for her and held her hand. "Because of what we found at the house over the weekend."

What was that?

"We found an extra insulin vial in the meat drawer in the fridge. It had a small, blue X drawn on the label."

Jenna -- I hope you didn't use that vial. I don't think it's good...

"I noticed when I went to take my shot on Saturday it was the vial with the X in place of the one from my kit. Keith thinks you switched them when I wasn't looking."

There was silence on the line.

"We found something else -- another vial. This one was for U-500 insulin and it was empty. It came from the hospital and was prescribed for a patient named Thelma Johnson. We found it hidden in a foam cup in the wastebasket under the sink."

More silence followed.

"I told you Keith and I work for the same company. He's a chemist. I took the vial -- the one with the blue X -- with me this morning and he tested it. It has over twice the normal amount of insulin. We think that's the reason I've been having the reactions, Mom -- because you adulterated that vial and tricked me into using it. I can't come home until I hear you plausibly deny that you did this, Mom."

There was another pause. It seems you caught me red-handed.

"Why, Mom? You, of all people, should know how dangerous this was."

I ... Jenna, sweetheart -- I wasn't trying to harm you. I just wanted you home. It shouldn't have been enough to hurt you. Just enough to make you uncomfortable -- so you'd realize you shouldn't be out at night.

"They were debilitating enough, Mom. If I had been driving I'm sure I would've had an accident. If Keith hadn't been here I don't know how I would've coped. I was behind the wheel for the last one. I hadn't moved the car yet, but if it had happened ten minutes later..."

Jenna -- don't you see? You're not healthy. You shouldn't be out at night. You could have a reaction any time. You should be home where I can keep an eye on you.

"I'm an adult, Mom. I have my own life and my own career. I have a wonderful man in my life, now. I can set my own schedule and decide where and when to go."

You have an illness. You need help and I'm here to help you.

"You've got it wrong, Mom. I have a condition that I'm capable of managing. I have been managing it. I hadn't had a reaction in over two years before this started. I think you're the one who's ill and needs help." She began brushing tears from her face. "Goodbye, Mom." She set down the handset.

"Good," the man said. "You did a good job. We have what we need."

"You also have the vials we collected."

"Yes we do. It would've been better if you had left that material in its place so one of our agents could find it."

"Then you'd risk it being gone," Keith replied.

"It's a risk we'd have to take. As it is, a good defense attorney would try to introduce reasonable doubt."

"What sort of doubt?" Jenna asked.

"That your mother was being framed ... perhaps even that you were doing this to yourself. This recording should remove any of that."

"What happens next?"

"We go and arrest her."

"I don't want prison for her. She needs help."

"We'll put you in touch with the prosecuting attorney. What charges he files are up to him and what sentence will be up to the judge. This is a serious crime, Ms Cole."

She nodded. "I know it is."

The agent packed the recording equipment into a case. Keith led him to the door and bolted it behind him.

"Oh, God, Keith," Jenna sobbed. "All my life I looked up to her. She took care of me and gave me the discipline to manage my condition. Who can I trust now?"

He held her. "You can trust me, Jenna. You can trust me."

Jenna sat with Keith and Paola in the cafeteria. "So, is this business behind you?" Paola asked.

"Yes, for now," Jenna replied. "The sentencing hearing was yesterday."

"At her pleading," Keith explained, "she plead no contest to a single count of tampering. The prosecutor was recommending probation, and she made that plea anticipating no prison time. The judge said there had to be some incarceration. I think she felt betrayed by that."

"What happened at the sentencing?" Paola asked.

"Jenna made an impassioned plea for leniency," Keith added. "I think the judge was moved by it. I could tell her mother was."

"I told the court that imprisoning her did no one any good and that she needed help, not jail. I said that I was convinced she did this out of some misguided notion she was helping me and that I had forgiven her. If I could forgive her, I hoped the court would also."

"The judge said that, due to the nature of the crime, some punishment was essential," Keith said. "He sentenced her to three years in prison and then suspended all but six months of it, to be served in a half-way house. Also, he ordered that she give up her nursing license, and to receive counseling. She has two weeks to get her affairs in order."

"I know you agonized over your decision to go to the police," Paola said. "I think you made the right one."

"It was two things Keith said that convinced me. Mom's a nurse, and someone capable of this ought not to be a practicing nurse."

"That's for sure," Paola agreed. "What was the second thing?"

"That if anyone other than Mom had done this, we wouldn't think twice about pressing charges. I do believe this is the surest way for her to get the counseling she needs."

"I think she still believes she did nothing seriously wrong," Keith added. "I think she believes that she's the injured party."

"Have you spoken to her?" Paola asked.

"Yes, briefly," Jenna replied. "After the arrest she was released on her own recognizance, but with the stipulation of no contact with me. Now that the case is closed, that stipulation has been lifted."

"We told her," Keith added, "that we would take care of the house while she's away -- and cover the carrying costs."

"What happens after she gets out?"

"We start rebuilding our relationship," Jenna replied.

"Are you kidding?"

"No matter what she did, she's still my mother. I do want her in my life."

"In our lives," Keith interjected.

"How can you be sure she won't try something again?"

"I doubt she would," Jenna replied.

"Nonetheless," Keith added, "we're not putting ourselves into a situation in which she could."

"What about living arrangements?"

"It's likely she'll lose the house without our help," Keith replied.

"We're thinking we should move into the house," Jenna said, "and maybe let Mom live in the condo."

"I own it free and clear," Keith added. "The carrying costs are only a few hundred a month. I'd be willing to rent it to her for my costs."

"The halfway house has counselors who can help her find a job."

"We want her to be self-sufficient. Jenna and I can take over the house. It's a nice place and I'd rather we were in a single-family home."

"There won't be too many bad memories?" Paola asked. "I think I would have some if I were in your shoes."

"I don't think so," Jenna replied.

"We can make the place our own," Keith added.

"Will your mother agree to it?"

"I don't think she'll have many options," Keith replied. "It's either that or she takes her chances on the street."

"What's next for you two?" Paola asked.

"After this, Keith and I need a break."

"We're both taking next week off and spending it with my folks," Keith added. "They're eager to meet Jenna."

"And, I'm eager to meet them."

Keith held Jenna's hand as he drove along a country highway. "Nervous?" he asked.

"A little."

"My folks are okay. You'll like them." He chortled. "You know, when I was a kid I was embarrassed by them because ... well, because both my mom and dad are a bit ... different. Back then I wanted parents like everyone else's. Now I appreciate them."

"Different, how?"

"They're both free spirits. My dad was an architect. He's retired, and now he's a luthier."

"A what?"

"A luthier -- someone who makes stringed musical instruments. He did that as a hobby when I was little but now he's made it into a business."

"That actually sounds pretty cool."

"I think so ... now, at least. He never played ball with me or got involved with little league. That seemed more important to me at the time."

"What about your mom?"

"Mom was an activist for progressive causes. I remember piles of bumper stickers on the table and stacks of yard signs in the garage. She's not quite as involved these days." He drove a distance. "I've filled my folks in about the business with your mom. They won't bring it up unless we do. And, I'm not going to bring it up."

"I'm not either. Thanks for the heads-up."

Keith turned onto a country lane. "The house is up here."

"You really did grow up in the country."

"Yes. I feel a bit cramped in that apartment condo. Something in me needs a yard."

Keith turned into a driveway and stopped by modernistic house. "Here we are."

"Interesting house," Jenna remarked.

"My dad designed it and had it built. It's inspired by the Walter Gropius house in Massachusetts." '

"Bauhaus school," she remarked.

"You know about the Bauhaus?"

"Yes. I'm interested in art and architecture."

"Come in -- I'll get the bags later."

He led her into a foyer. A man and woman both in late middle age approached them. "Mom, Dad -- this is Jenna. Jenna -- My folks."

She extended her hand. "Pleased to meet you Mr and Mrs Lipson."

"Please -- I'm Beth," his mother said, "and this is Thomas. You're just in time for dinner."

"What is for dinner?" Jenna asked, "If I may..."

"Oh, of course. We're having a lamb roast with carrots and parsnips and a salad. Low to medium carbs. Care to give me a hand in the kitchen?"

"I'm worthless in the kitchen," Jenna replied, "but I'll keep you company."

"Keith -- I have something to show you," his father said.

Keith stepped into the kitchen. "Dad showed me the clavichord he started," he said. "It looks like quite a project." He saw Jenna sitting at the table with her kit before her. "Were you two trading notes on insulin?"

"Your mom showed me her insulin pen. I want one of those. I wish we could afford it."

"I don't see why we can't," he replied.

"Insurance won't cover it."

"If insurance will buy the insulin, then we'll buy the pen." He watched Jenna draw her dose from her vial. She reached under the hem of her skirt with an alcohol wipe. Then she pinched her thigh and jabbed the needle through the fabric of her skirt. "You inject through your clothes?"

"Sometimes -- when I don't want to expose myself." She capped the syringe and slipped it back into her case.

"Dinner will be ready in fifteen," Beth said.

"I want to see this clavichord," Jenna said and followed Keith to his father's workshop. Thomas was making adjustments to the instrument's keyboard.

"I've always wanted one of these," Keith's dad remarked.

"Keith told me you made instruments," Jenna remarked.

"I make instruments for old music -- medieval and earlier. Stringed instruments. I'm not interested in making whistles."

"Show her the lute," Keith said.

Thomas took down the lute from a shelf. "That is beautiful," Jenna remarked.

His father plucked the strings. "It's in fairly good tune."

"May I?" Jenna took the instrument and tried strumming some chords. "It's not tuned like a guitar..."

"You could tune it like that," Thomas replied.

"Do you play guitar?" Keith asked.

"I used to fool around with one. Maybe I should start again. It's at the house, somewhere." She handed the instrument to Keith's father. "It is beautiful."

He handed her another instrument, an unfretted one with three strings. "This is a rebec," he explained. "It's a precursor to a fiddle. They were in vogue in the twelfth century. The body is hogged out of a solid chunk of wood. I've sold a number of these to early music groups."

"You do beautiful work," she said. "How did you start making instruments?"

"I've always loved music," he replied. "I never had what it takes to be a good musician. I have been working with wood all my life, so I thought it would be easier to become a good lute maker than a good lute player."

"His woodworking skill passed me by," Keith remarked. "I enjoyed playing with bottles and liquids -- look where it got me."

The three headed upstairs to the dining room. Keith sat across from Jenna and his mother set plates before them. "Keith told us that you're an information scientist," his mother said. "What does an information scientist do?"

"I'm in charge of the research library," Jenna replied. "I maintain the catalog, acquire new material, and subscribe to information retrieval services. I perform searches for the business and participate in a network of other libraries and institutions."