The Rescue (Chapter 7)

CHAPTER 7

Scott, Coop and Remy worked methodically in the pool house, starting with the row of boxes that surrounded the cot they had found Timber sleeping on, each man working his way down a different crowded aisle. Scott worked back toward the kitchenette, Coop worked forward toward the front door, and Remy took the aisle that ran across the center of the pool house from the bed to the door that led to the bathroom where Coop had found Timber’s clothes. They made no attempt to rebuild the aisles after they searched each box, instead they stacked them outside on the deck, and after fifteen minutes they had opened up enough space to stack them against a wall inside.

So far, all of the boxes had been filled with clothing, as if Timber was using them for dresser drawers. As they worked they discussed what options they had dealing with Timber.

“So do we have a consensus here,” Remy asked his friends. “We have to do something. We can’t leave here with things as they are?”

“Yes,” Coop agreed. “But I think we should think hard about the “what.”

“First thing, we need to get her to a doctor.” Remy replied.

“Agreed.” Coop nodded.

“And a shrink.” Scott put in. “I’ve seen some glimpses, so I know she’s in there, but half the time, she’s not even lucid.”

“Not just a psychiatrist.” Coop answered as he tossed a box of tennis clothes toward the pile they were building. “I think maybe she needs someone like Sam Chen. Someone who specializes in grief counseling.”

“Maybe he could recommend someone here.” Remy warmed to the idea.

“And then who makes her go?” Coop wondered.

“I guess I do.” Remy answered. “Someone’s got to stay. We can’t leave her here alone. I think I can get her to see a doctor and a counselor. Then we get their recommendation for what to do.”

“Ok, let’s think about how that would work. First of all, the doctors can’t talk to us about what Timber needs unless she gives permission. We aren’t family. And suppose he says she needs to be hospitalized. She’s never going to sign herself in. That means involuntary commitment, which she surely will fight with all the high power attorneys she can hire. If she wins, she will never forgive any of us. But let’s say she loses. Who takes charge of her? The sister in England?”

“I suppose the court would appoint someone to watch out for best interests.” Remy said thoughtfully.

“So let’s say they appoint some independent lawyer who doesn’t know Timber, but sincerely wants to do right by her. Timber has money. So the court will pay that law firm from her funds. Let’s say that’s a thou a month. The law firm then puts her in a private hospital, which has to be at least six or seven grand a month, maybe double that for a high end place. Then they hire a top notch shrink at say $500 bucks an hour, and he sees her five days a week. That’s another ten grand a month. Then they’ll hire an occupational therapist and a physical therapist and a private nurse. So every month she’s shelling out upwards of thirty grand, and all the incentive is to keep her in the program. And that’s if the court appoints someone responsible. If they name someone who wants to plunder her funds, he can hire new age gurus and crackpots who want her to wear crystals and sleep under a pyramid. If she’s cured, everybody who is responsible for her so-called recovery loses money.

So who advocates for her, Remy? Who makes sure she’s getting better? We have no standing.”“Before Remy could respond, Scott interrupted with a shout of, “Come look at this.”

Scott had made his way behind the counter and into the kitchenette and had just opened the lid on a box full of mailing envelopes and boxes sent to Timber at her lake house address. Scott pulled one open and found a packing slip and a vial of pills. “Is this a substance abuse thing?” He wondered aloud.

Coop and Remy began inspecting the envelopes while Scott turned to see what else he might find in the row of boxes the pills had sat atop. The next box down clanked when he moved it. “Booze.” He informed the others. We got 12 bottles of different high end liquor here. All of them look like they’re missing a shot or two.”

“Same with these pills,” Remy observed. The packing slip says there should be 60 pills. I count 58.”

Curious, Coop spilled out the pill vial he was holding on the counter and swept them back in two at a time. “29 out of 30.” He confirmed. “Looks like these are all from Internet companies. Most of them in Mexico. I don’t recognize any of the drug names. Elavil? That sounds familiar. Is she sick?” Coop wondered again. “Is she trying to treat herself?”

“What about the booze?” Scott asked. “There are three boxes of bottles here none of them less than half full. Is this a substance abuse thing? Maybe what we need is to get her in a rehab. I think she’d get to stay in charge of her own finances while she was in rehab.”

“Substance abusers take the drugs. They don’t leave liquor around; they drink it til it’s gone.” Coop argued.

“Look at these bags,” Remy brought the others attention back to the box of pills. “That’s Timber’s writing on all of them. ‘No good. Do not reorder.’ ‘Doesn’t work. .Do not reorder.’ Makes me sick. Do not reorder.”

“Here’s an interesting one.” Coop showed Remy an envelope that read. “Maybe. Try with Jack.”

“Jack!” Scott repeated. “Well, I guess we have a name.”

“Let’s find that phone,” Remy urged them, and returned to searching Timber’s wardrobe boxes.

It was Coop who finally found the IPhone, in a box with expensive dress shoes he would bet Timber hadn’t worn in years. There was no charger in the box, so they couldn’t immediately search for a “Jack” in her address book, so they moved all the boxes they’d stacked on the deck back inside, and Coop and Scott carried the open boxes of liquor and pharmaceuticals back to the house. Remy made one stop first before he followed them, lifting the pillow on the cot to see what the items were that Timber had placed there. He lifted the blue mens dress shirt that he had slid off Timber’s face when he had awakened her, and as he suspected, lying underneath was an infant’s pink kimono. Size 0.
“Aw Timber.” He sighed to the walls, before replacing Megyn’s newborn baby clothes and Jordan’s blue shirt back under the pillow.

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