Too Far Under Read Online Free Page A

out. She turned
forty this year, which makes her three years older than me. We’re
both psychologists, but she has a full-time faculty appointment at
the university, where she teaches in the doctoral program in
clinical psychology and serves as both a research advisor and
clinical supervisor. Aside from the one class I’m teaching, my
work is not at the university. I do mostly clinical work with my
grief therapy practice. Elisa is also my therapist and clinical
supervisor when I need one, so I can tell her anything, even about
my clients. She keeps my confidences and she’s never shy about
giving me her straight-up honest opinion.
    “I know I’m going to have to find Gramma
another place,” I sighed. “But she’s been getting along well there
lately and finally stopped wandering around in the middle of the
night. I’m afraid she’ll go downhill in a new place. I promised
Grampa I’d take care of her and now I don’t know if I can.” Tears
welled up and trickled down my face as I thought of letting down my
grandparents who had always been so good to me.
    “Cleo, you know they wouldn’t see it that
way. None of this is your fault. It’s just been dumped on you. Is
Shady Terrace going to help people look for new places?”
    “They say they are. Oh…and here’s something
amazing. Did you know that Tim Grosso, the head of the Psych
Department, is a volunteer long-term-care ombudsman? He was there
at the Shady Terrace meeting this morning to help families with
information about other nursing homes in town. I didn’t get to hear
what he had to say because I had to leave for class, but I plan to
talk to him later.”
    Before she could respond, the waitress
arrived with our drinks, and we took a moment to sit back and enjoy
the scene. Couples sharing intimate moments, groups of friends
catching up, all looking relaxed and happy, releasing the day’s
tension like the air from a balloon. Conversation mingled with the
soft sounds of a live Brazilian band to form soothing waves of
sound that ebbed and flowed around us.
    We talked on about Gramma’s situation for
twenty minutes or so, Elisa helping me explore various
possibilities until I had a semblance of a plan in mind. I would
collect what information I could from Tim and from the Shady
Terrace social workers, choose two or three places to visit, and
see how well Gramma might fit in there.
    I felt much better by then, maybe because the
martini was working its magic, but I did need some food to balance
out the liquor. Just as I realized how hungry I was, our mozzarella
melt finally arrived. The waitress apologized for the delayed
service, which we knew was typical for Friday evening.
    “Yum,” I said, breaking off a messy piece of
the gooey cheese, tomato and basil on crusty bread. While I chewed,
I decided to move the conversation on to a different subject.
    “Did you know Mirabel Townes?” I asked. “You
know, she was that local activist who drowned in her hot tub last
August.”
    Elisa was about to eat her own cheesy bite,
but stopped to give me a quick answer. “Sure. Knew her for years.
You probably met her at some of our parties,” she said as she
popped the morsel into her mouth.
    “Where did you know her from?” I asked,
taking another sip of my martini.
    “Her husband Derrick is a real-estate
developer who’s done some projects with Jack. And their daughter
Kari was the same age as my daughter Maria,” Elisa said, tearing
off another piece of mozzarella melt. “Kari and Maria were great
friends. I felt terrible for Mirabel when Kari died of anorexia two
years ago. Don’t you remember me talking about it?”
    I searched my memories. “Now that you remind
me, it’s coming back,” I said. “You asked me to spend some time
with Maria helping her cope with the loss. And I did. But I’d
forgotten that Maria’s friend was Mirabel Townes’ daughter.” I ate
another bite and wiped my messy hands on my napkin while I thought
about Mirabel’s