Sweet Revenge

before. Neither do I want to downplay her condition or the prognosis.”
    “I understand that.” She resisted the urge to pull herself out of the chair and pace. “Dr. Schroeder, I know what’s wrong with my mother, I know why and I know what needs to be done for her.”
    “My dear, manic depression is a very difficult and heartbreaking illness—for the patient and the patient’s family. You’re well aware by now that the depressions and the hyperactivity can have abrupt onsets and recoveries. Phoebe’s response over the last two months has been good, but it has been only two months.”
    “This time,” Adrianne reminded him. “In the past two years she’s been in this sanitarium as much as she’s beenhome. There’s been nothing I could do to change that until now. I turned eighteen today, Doctor. In the eyes of the law, I’m an adult. I can take responsibility for my mother, and I intend to.”
    “We both know that you took responsibility for your mother a long time ago. I admire you for it more than I can say.”
    “There’s nothing to admire.” This time she did rise. She needed to see the sun, the mountains. The freedom. “She’s my mother. Nothing and no one means more to me. No one knows as much about her life and mine as you do. Tell me, Dr. Schroeder, in my place could you do less?”
    He studied her when she faced him. Her eyes were very dark, very adult, very determined. “I would hope not. You’re quite young, Princess Adrianne. The fact is, your mother may need constant and intense care for the rest of her life.”
    “She’ll get it. I hired a nurse from the list of candidates you gave me. I’ve arranged my schedule to be certain my mother is never left alone. Our apartment is in a very quiet neighborhood near my mother’s oldest and closest friend.”
    “Love and friendship will certainly play an important part in your mother’s emotional and mental health.”
    Adrianne smiled. “That’s the easy part.”
    “She’ll have to be brought in for therapy weekly at this point.”
    “I’ll arrange it.”
    “I can’t insist that you leave Phoebe with us for another month or two. But I am going to recommend it strongly. As much for your sake as hers.”
    “I can’t.” Because she respected him, she wanted him to understand. “I promised her. When I brought her in this time, I swore to her that I’d take her home again by spring.”
    “My dear, I needn’t remind you that Phoebe was comatose when she arrived. She won’t remember that promise.”
    “I remember it.” She crossed to him, offering her hand again. “Thank you for all you’ve done, and all that I’m sure you’ll continue to do. I’m going to take Mama home now.”
    He’d known he’d been wasting his time. Dr. Schroeder held her hand a moment longer. “Call, even if you need only to talk.”
    “I will.” She was afraid she would cry again, as she hadthe first time she’d met him. “I’m going to take very good care of her.”
    Who’s going to take care of you, he wondered, but led her out into the corridor.
    She walked beside him in silence. It was too easy to remember other visits, other walks down the wide hallways. It wasn’t always quiet. Sometimes there had been weeping. Or worse, much worse, laughing. The first time her mother had been hospitalized she had been brought in looking like a broken doll with eyes opened and fixed, body limp. Adrianne had been sixteen, but had managed to rent a room at a motel twenty miles away so that she could visit daily. It had been three weeks before her mother had spoken a word.
    Panic. Adrianne felt a little bubble of it skip through her body, echoing the panic she’d felt the first time. She’d been so certain that Phoebe had been going to die in that narrow white bed in chronic care, surrounded by strangers. Then she had spoken. Just one word.
Adrianne.
    From that point their life had entered a new phase. Adrianne had done everything she could to see that Phoebe would receive the best treatment. Everything, including writing Abdu and begging for help. When he’d refused, she’d found another way. She drew a deep breath as they turned a corner. She was still finding another way.
    At the Richardson Institute, nonviolent patients were given spacious rooms furnished as elegantly as a suite in a five-star hotel. Security was unobtrusive, unlike the east wing with its bars and locks and reinforced glass, where Phoebe had spent two miserable weeks the