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Author: Branwell

Rating: PG-13, Language

Category: S, A, M/S Friendship Story, Angst, Mulder/Scully Friendship

Summary: Scully offers practical help to Teena at a difficult
time, but there are emotional undercurrents that make the
experience hard on everyone involved.

Setting: Greenwich, Connecticut and Manhattan, in the spring of
the year 2000

Thanks: I owe thanks, as always, to the incomparable "Deep
Background, " created by Pellinor and now managed by Brynna and
Jenna.

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"Can you keep a secret?
I don't believe you can!
You mustn't laugh.
You mustn't cry,
But do the best you can."
A traditional nursery rhyme meant to be recited while tickling a
child. The child's reaction is supposed to predict whether he or
she can keep a secret.

~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~

I crossed the street and knocked on Teena's door at 7:59 AM. The
risen sun hid behind a pearly gray sky. The morning air stirred
with a fresh, green smell. Spring mocks us each year by returning
as young as an egg.

Teena looked elegant in her taupe knit with the pearls, every
silver hair smoothed into place. No one would have guessed she
was a woman preparing to receive her own death warrant.

"My dear," I managed to say, before I was overcome with the
tragedy of it all.

She looked distant, but nodded back on hearing my heartfelt
greeting.

"Has SHE arrived yet?" I asked in a low voice, unwilling to
disturb her composure.

"No," she fretted. "I don't know why she insisted on staying at
that motel. That was a waste of money when I have all this room.
I hope we don't have to pay the price for her privacy by being
late."

"It's not right," I agreed.

We moved through the hall to the living room.

The situation was awful beyond words. Teena's son had arranged to
drive her to the Memorial Rhone-Patterson in Manhattan today. Two
days ago he called and said he had to testify in front of a
parole board. They were going to release some crazed killer if he
didn't convince them otherwise. They had pushed the hearing date
back a day. He said. He said he was sending his female partner
instead. Teena pretended she wasn't hurt at all by the broken
promise.

She must be terrified! A lump in her breast! Well, not a lump
yet. An abnormal mammogram done a week ago. The hospital
scheduled an ultrasound and a biopsy for today. I don't know how
she got an appointment so fast. Of course, in the old days, Bill
Mulder got anything he wanted the day before yesterday. He always
knew somebody who knew somebody.

When I started toward the sofa I caught my toe on the hook rug
and stumbled a little. Teena reached out a hand to steady me.

"How are you this morning, Helen?" she asked.

"I've been better, and I've been worse," I answered, as I always
did. A little humor often helps in an awkward situation. How
amazing it was that she thought to ask after my health when her
own was so precarious.

Just then we heard a knock at the door. Teena went to answer it.
I just knew that partner of his would be big, and loud, and
pushy, probably with a man's haircut and oxfords. Their voices
carried from the hallway.

"Come in, Dana. We haven't been waiting long."

"I apologize for the delay. There was a phone call just as I was
getting ready to leave."

"Yes, I understand how important your work is," Teena said
graciously. "That's why Fox couldn't be here. Isn't it?"

There she was. A real FBI agent. She wore a dark pantsuit, but
otherwise she didn't look very mannish. So slender and short,
even perched on those ridiculous stilts of shoes. And a carrot-
top. Somehow I didn't expect that.

"This is my friend, Mrs. Voorhees," Teena introduced me. "She
kindly offered to keep me company today. This is Fox's partner,
Miss Scully."

I already knew her name. Scully, probably Irish. Sounds like
'scullery.' I remember my grandmother complaining about lazy,
thieving, Irish servants.

"Please call me Helen," I told her, and shook her little hand.

"And I'm Dana. I'm pleased to meet you." She turned back to
Teena. "I know you're worried about being late. Let's go, if
you're ready. The traffic reports say there's a tie-up on the
Triborough Bridge. I don't think it's bad enough to take an
alternate route, but we need to allow plenty of time."

"Of course. My car is in the garage out back," Teena answered.

"Your car? But I thought you needed transportation . . . ." Dana
said with a confused look.

"My car might be more comfortable for the three of us. What do
you drive? A Taurus? Mine is a little bigger. My nerves can't
handle driving in the New York traffic. But if you don't think
you can manage a Towncar . . . ."

Maybe I imagined that Dana glanced at me before she replied. I
still drive over to the Chelmouth strip mall every few days. With
my driver's license suspended I'd be a fool to drive into New
York City.

"No. No, it's fine. I won't have a problem," Dana protested.

A few clouds like dashes of white chalk and soft charcoal
streaked the gray sky. Light sweaters kept us comfortable in the
damp air. We trooped out to the garage and stood around the
Lincoln, all of us hesitating politely.

Teena's car shines like white lusterware. Riding in it feels like
sailing through the streets in a big boat.

"Do you want the front or back seat?" I asked Teena.

She shrugged. "I'll take the front seat. I should learn the way.
Who knows? If it turns out to be cancer I might have to drive
myself in for treatments. Fox and Dana may both be too busy to
help."

I thought she sounded pitiful. Dana's face stayed as still as a
statue's as she opened the door for Teena.

Dana leaned down and whispered in my ear before she shut the back
door for me. "Your lipstick is a little crooked. You might want
to fix that."

When I got settled and took out my pocket mirror I was
embarrassed to see she was right. I worked on it with tissues and
more lipstick while Dana got us onto the highway. Then she spoke
in a very cool, impersonal way. I didn't think it was
appropriate.

"Let me set your mind at rest, Teena. A significant percentage of
mammograms give false positive results. Anywhere from one in
three, to one in ten positives, turns out to be false, depending
on the radiologists. There's every reason to hope a benign
condition produced the abnormality. If it is malignant, it's been
caught at a very early stage. The odds of a complete recovery
with a lumpectomy and chemotherapy are very high in your favor."

"I'm a simple woman. Just a wife and mother. My doctor says to
worry and I worry. You won't understand what it is to have health
problems until you're my age," Teena said with a sigh.

I thought that remark was a little bit tactless. I'm almost sure
Teena told me Fox's partner got shot last year. I know he was
hospitalized with some kind of brain fever last summer. Teena had
to go down to D.C. to oversee his medical treatment. I was
surprised when she came home after only one day.

"There was nothing I could do except stand beside his bed. He
wasn't even suffering," she answered, when I questioned her quick
return. "He was unconscious. He wasn't really there."

Dana let out a hiss at the sight of the slowed traffic ahead. We
weren't even through Yonkers yet, and the cars were bumper to
bumper.

"The appointment is for ten-thirty," Teena said helpfully.
"That's only an hour and a half."

"Yes, I know," Dana said. "But we're trapped here."

Teena turned around and gazed out the back window with an uneasy
expression. The tension made me nervous. My hands shook so much
it was hard to find the cold curves of the silver bottle in my
purse. Just a little bit would make the rest of the trip easier.
After Teena faced forward I took a few, quick swallows. Dana was
staring at me in the rear view mirror when I looked up from
capping the flask.

When did it become a crime to have a little drink in this
country?

Almost every night we went to the club, the four of us, and
ordered pitchers of martinis. Everyone took it for granted. Bill
got sloppy, Teena got loud, and Pete got more enthusiastic than
usual. I diluted myself into invisibility. It all happened with
jazz in the background.

"I could be wrong, but does that lane seem to be moving? Maybe we
should try to get into it." Teena pointed out the cars inching up
two lanes over.

"It's moving. But that's an E-Z-Pass lane only. You don't have an
E-Z-Pass tag," Dana answered.

"Well what about that one?" I couldn't tell which lane Teena
meant this time.

"It doesn't go over the bridge."

"You're probably right," Teena said.

I took another drink while they stared straight ahead. Then I
closed my eyes and leaned back against the leather, as soft as
living skin. The car started to move slowly. I remembered our
big, clapboard house. There were squares of golden sunshine on
the floors of the fresh-painted rooms, ready for nursery
furniture.

~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~

The dark I sensed even through closed lids startled me into
alertness. Dana was taking us into a parking garage when I opened
my eyes again. She had to go two levels deep to find a parking
spot, but at least it was close to an elevator.

The elevator opened into a huge, polished marble lobby. We
checked the map of the Rhone-Patterson Manhattan Campus and found
the Diagnostic Center across the street. As we moved through the
lobby it reminded me of films about the UN I used to show in my
civics classes. Among people wearing Levis and sweaters were
Arabs dressed in white robes, and women in saris and veils.
Turbaned men walked with companions hidden in black drapery that
went from head to toe. Asians in suits and ties stood in anxious
conversation.

Sometimes a group clustered around a person sitting in a
wheelchair, tethered to an IV. My ear picked out familiar English
words from the unknown syllables murmured all around us.

Pale, watery sunshine trickled down to street level between tall
buildings. I could see the trees of Central Park two blocks to
our right as we joined the little mob crossing the street. There
were plenty of small shops and restaurants in both directions.

"Look, Teena. It's called the Vineyard." I couldn't resist
pointing out the cunning little grapevines painted around the
windows we passed. Inside, waiters were laying places for lunch
on bright blue tablecloths.

She barely glanced in that direction. Her own troubles had to be
distracting her.

It was six floors up to the Diagnostic Center, with its pale
lavender walls and tubular steel furniture. Teena gave her name
to the receptionist. Then we took seats in a silent row against
the wall, like timid children in a classroom. Most of the other
women in the room were filling out forms on clipboards.
Apparently Teena didn't have to do this. Her history had preceded
her.

It was 10:30 exactly when a woman flanked by two small children
sat down across from us. The two little boys squirmed in place
while she warned them sternly to stay put. As soon as she joined
the group at the receptionist's window the children started
roughhousing. The younger boy, maybe four years old, slipped to
the ground and started crawling through the tunnel made by the
curved steel frames under the chairs. His big brother followed,
objecting loudly that he should go first. When words had no
effect he grabbed the smaller boy's legs and heaved backwards.

The stolid, grandmotherly type sitting above them pretended not
to notice. Finally they flopped out full-length on the floor in
front of her, hitting her legs hard enough to jar the clipboard
out of her hands. It fell, corner-first, on the head of the older
boy. He clutched his ear and began howling. His brother started
howling too, in fright or competition.

Just then a haggard-looking man opened the door to the waiting
room. He and the distracted mother reached the boys at the same
time.

"I'm sorry, honey. It took so long to find a parking place," he
told her. He apologized without pause to the waiting woman.
"Ma'am I'm so sorry if the boys bothered you. They're kind of
upset about the change in their routine."

The older woman watched anxiously as the child's mother checked
for damage. "That's all right. I have grandchildren. Is he
bleeding?"

The mother administered a quick hug to the teary child. "He's
fine. Never mind, Tom. I know it couldn't be helped. Just take
them out now. The park maybe? Please. They hate it in here.
There's nothing for them to do. And I can't think. I'll wait for
you here after my appointment," the mother replied. She kissed
all three of them and they left in a whirl of motion and noise.

She returned to the window. Probably there was an insurance
difficulty. Everyone seemed to have problems with insurance
nowadays. Except for me and Teena. I'd never even seen a medical
bill. Our husbands provided well for us.

"Fox and Samantha never acted like that in public," I remarked to
Teena.

"They wouldn't have dared," she answered proudly.

Dana looked up from her notebook and appeared interested. I'd
heard that Fox had gotten odder since he left home. She probably
wondered about his family. No doubt everyone blamed them for his
peculiarities. I could at least tell her what a good mother Teena
had been.

"Teena never raised her voice, never mind spanking them." I set
the record straight confidently. "We were neighbors back in
Chilmark too. Bill and Pete, my husband, worked together.
Actually, Bill recruited Pete from Dow. I knew Fox and Sam when
they were just tykes. Tell her how you did it," I encouraged
Teena.

"Now, Helen. There wasn't any magic. I just raised them the way I
was raised. What else can a mother do?"

"She had timeouts before they got to be the gospel," I told Dana.
"Go on, Teena. You can tell better than I can."

She looked reluctant, but I'm sure she wanted the credit. Dana
certainly wanted to hear. Teena began her explanation and I
nodded my support.

"Parents today let the child control things. And then they're
surprised when children are spoiled. What do you think a child
does when you tell him to sit still on a chair for punishment? He
makes you spend your time enforcing the punishment. That punishes
you. It's the mother who should take a timeout when her child is
naughty."

"She just pretended he wasn't there, Dana," I jumped ahead
eagerly. "She acted like she didn't see him, or hear him or feel
him."

"Fox was stubborn. When he got older, sometimes I'd have to
ignore him for days to make him understand how much I
disapproved," Teena added.

"How . . . how old was he when you started doing that?" Dana
seemed to have trouble getting the words out.

"He was a sly one. He understood exactly when he was being bad by
the time he was two. You should have heard the little monster,
talking away in long sentences." I was happy to see Teena smile a
little when she spoke. She rarely smiled.

"I would have been too weak," I admitted freely. I turned to
Dana. "Fox had these big, square-cornered, hazel eyes, and they'd
just light up like two stars when he laughed. But they could look
so sad too. That lower lip of his would be shaking and he'd still
be clowning, trying to catch her off guard and make her smile at
him. I couldn't have resisted. Teena was so strong."

"I told you at the time, Fox knew how to put it on. It's a good
thing Samantha wasn't so stubborn. He did everything he could to
undermine my discipline with her. He insisted on talking to her
and playing with her even when I ignored them both as punishment.
It hurt the way they took each other's part against me."

"He was such a cute little boy. I remember that sullen period he
went through. After," I urged her on.

"It was hard on him after Samantha . . . died, and Bill and I
separated." Teena's face lost expression again as the memories
darkened.

"That didn't make it any easier to live with him," I sympathized.

"I didn't have to change my approach much. If you let teenagers
get away with it they'll argue you to death. They have to learn
not to be crybabies. Grown-ups keep their mouths shut and get on
with life. Young people have to learn to take responsibility
instead of looking for someone to blame. Fox learned to be very
responsible."

"Mrs. Mulder. Teena." Dana paused before she went on. "I don't
think that was a very good way to discipline . . . Fox. Or any
child."

"He turned out all right. Considering what a mess his father made
of our lives. Are you an expert? I'm a mother. You haven't made
time in your busy career lifestyle for children."

Dana flushed bright red but she kept her lips pressed together.
"I need to go to the ladies' room," she said suddenly, and
stalked to the door.

Oh no. This was so awkward. They were angry with each other, and
it was my fault.

"I'm going out to shop," I told Teena hurriedly. "I'll check back
here in an hour. Maybe you'll be done."

She gave me a sour look, but flapped her hand in a signal of
resignation.

All the polished amber marble and indirect lighting and
piercingly sweet air fresheners couldn't cover up the nature of
this place. In the halls I could smell the sharpness of chemicals
and the stink of medical waste. There must be something I needed
to buy. Or I could window-shop. My mind entertained itself with
fantasies while my feet took charge.

The Vineyard had opened for lunch at eleven a.m. A nice young man
named Dirk showed me to a booth in the corner.

"I'll have a vodka martini to start. Thanks," I answered coolly
as he handed me the lunch menu. "By the way, may I see your wine
list?"

Dirk and I understood each other. The second martini followed
quickly. Then he brought the wine. I sipped and picked at my crab
salad.

Inside I was as warm as though I lay on the beach in the August
sun, sheltered from the wind between two rises. The clinking
silverware and polite voices around me became as soothing as the
rustling of long grasses across the sand bar. The azure
tablecloth reminded me of the ocean with the sun on it. Some days
the Atlantic waters around the island are royal blue. In the
evening it's a wine-dark sea.

"Helen. Wake up. It's time to go." Suddenly Teena stood there,
exasperated but indulgent. "Dana's outside looking up and down
the sidewalk for you. It's going on three o'clock. I'll have her
bring the car around," she added, after taking in the almost
empty bottle.

When she returned I didn't have the energy for euphemisms. "Are
you going to die?" I asked her.

She gave me one of her blank looks. "I won't know for a few days.
Dana doesn't seem to think so."

"Did you know it was Bill who told Pete not to let me have any
children?" I asked her. "Pete thought the sun rose and set
because Bill gave the orders. I could never change Pete's mind.
When I tried to fool him and flushed my pills, he had that
operation."

Teena threw her hands up impatiently. "I know. We've had this
conversation before. You always seem to forget. Bill was a bad
husband. But he was right about what he told Pete. Look at what
happened to Samantha. And Fox doesn't bring me any happiness."

"Maybe you never brought him any," I managed, before I lay back
and closed my eyes again.

~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~ ~^~

I suppose Teena settled the bill. Or maybe I'd signed the credit
slip before my third glass of merlot. With a little help steering
I got to the door and into the car.

I could tell Dana and Teena were still at odds. I cultivated my
numbness and pretended to sleep.

"Why don't you try to get some help for your friend?" I heard
Dana ask.

"I help her all the time. Who do you think sees that her house is
maintained, her lawn kept, and her bills paid?"

"No. I mean real help. She needs to find out she can't keep
drinking like this."

"It's one of her few pleasures. After her husband was . . . died
in an accident, I made her move close to me so I could keep an
eye on her. It's not my fault she's not very . . . strong-
minded."

"But you make it too easy . . . ."

"Why shouldn't her life be easy? She couldn't have the family she
wanted. She lost her husband. I thought you people weren't
puritanical."

"What do you mean 'you people?'" Dana sounded madder than ever. I
kept my eyes closed.

"We're two lonely widows. We have to stick together."

"You were divorced, not widowed."

Oooh. So Dana had a tongue in her head.

"Well. I was married, anyway," Teena remarked in her flat,
irritated voice.

In my mind I went back to the island.

When we arrived Teena insisted on walking me to the door and
seeing me to my bedroom. She waited until I lay down and pulled
an afghan over me.

"I'm sorry I got tipsy, " I said sheepishly.

"That's all right. Are you in for bridge tomorrow at the club?"

"Maybe not."

She looked at me as though she wasn't sure she heard me right. I
hadn't said "No" for a long time.

"Nina's going out of town tomorrow. She asked me to walk her
dogs. That's the time they're used to going out."

"She asked you?" Teena's eyebrows went way up. "Well. Don't
forget about the dogs. You know how you always forget to do
things. Is there anything else you need?"

"No."

The truth was I could hardly wait for her to go. I had to get
back out to the shopping center tonight. Somehow I didn't have a
thing in the house for this evening. I'd have to pace myself more
slowly in the future. Otherwise I'd be asking Mel to make
deliveries. The gossip about women of a certain age who take
deliveries from liquor stores is so unkind.

I watched Teena's house from my front window. Dana didn't stay
long. She left about five minutes after pulling into the
driveway. I followed suit five minutes later.

High, thin clouds had swollen into purplish, fat rain clouds. The
downpour had started before Dana left. Blue-white headlights
dazzled off the wet pavements into my eyes.

It was Sean on duty tonight at our community entrance. He waved
at me like the nice boy he is. The night I drove through the arm
of the gate he didn't get mean at all.

"It's all right, Mrs. V," he told me. "It could happen to
anybody. I'll be quicker on the button to raise it next time."

It pleased me to see a lot of cars in the Chelmouth lot. I felt
conspicuous when I was the only customer at Mel's. Just as I
relaxed and started to open the door I saw Dana Scully. She was
carrying a huge Styrofoam cup out of the Columbian Connection.
The place had been a plain old deli for twenty years. They
installed an espresso machine, put up a violet neon sign, and
became trendy overnight. Dana hesitated a moment on the dry
sidewalk.

To leave the car would invite tiresome explanations. I could
wait. On the other hand, I didn't feel confident about driving
home in rain and complete darkness. I hoped she planned to drink
the coffee on the road.

She ducked her head and dashed for her car. It was directly
across the drive and down two from mine. The glare from the pizza
place illuminated her as she climbed in. I sat in the shadow of
the van parked between me and the line of stores.

Dana set the cup out of sight. My heart sank as she took a long,
hard look at her cell phone. She punched a button. Then she
punched another and abruptly hid her face in the crook of her
arms flung across the top of the steering wheel. One hand still
clutched the cell phone.

Only Dana's shoulders moved a little, whether with sobs or deep
breathing I couldn't tell.

Finally she lifted her head and sat up perfectly straight. She
gave such a big smile I jumped with surprise, thinking she must
have spotted me. But no, she wasn't smiling at anybody. She
punched one button on the cell phone again and held it to her
ear. There was no change in her facial expression during most of
the conversation. Right before she put the phone down her grin
faded while she said a few short words. Then the phone
disappeared and she dropped her head on her arms once more.

I believe Dana had figured out that a listener on the phone can
hear the smile on your face. Or its opposite.

I couldn't wait any longer. While she slept, or cried, or worried
about her phone bill, I was going to slip into the store. I
trailed through the puddles hurriedly. My hand was actually on
the entrance door when I heard her. She called my name as she ran
across the lot.

"Mrs. Voorhees. Helen. Wait a minute." She stood before me in
seconds, breathing a little quickly through her mouth. Wet red
strands of hair straggled around her face, disregarded in her
focus on the moment. The charged passion in her voice still
surprised me. "Are you going to let those bastards win?

"What? Who? Who . . . do you mean?" I stammered.

"You know. Those bastards your husband worked for. Are you going
to let them take away the rest of your life too?"

It would have been easy to pretend to misunderstand. But
pointless. We both knew she was looking straight through me with
clear gray eyes, her lids only a little pink and puffy. I
answered honestly.

"It's too late for me. My battle ended a long time ago."

"You're not dead yet."

"Not yet. But I'm old and tired."

"You're only in your early sixties, aren't you?"

"Fifty-eight," I blurted out, unable to stop myself from
protesting.

"You'll look younger when you stop punishing your capillaries
with all that alcohol," she replied, after critical consideration
of my face.

Dana Scully would certainly walk away with the crown at the Queen
of Blunt Pageant.

I shook my head and started to pull the door open.

"You know I can't let you drive home. Go ahead and buy what you
want, and I'll give you a ride," she said with a sigh.

Right then I knew what every day for the rest of my life would be
like. I let my hand drop.

"No. I don't think I'll buy anything tonight," I answered.

We returned to her car in silence.

"I'll get a ride from Teena and pick up my car tomorrow," I
planned out loud.

"Helen, I think Teena may have too many problems of her own to be
a good friend to you." Dana's words tiptoed delicately around a
whole kennel full of sleeping dogs. Maybe 'Blunt' wasn't her only
mode.

"I've known Teena for more than thirty-five years," I remarked.

"Yes, but . . . When we get to your house I'll give you a card.
You call this woman's office and ask for an appointment. She can
send you to someone who'll help you. Someone you can talk to."

"A shrink?" I asked. I didn't bother to hide the skepticism in my
reply.

"Not exactly. Whatever you need. It's difficult to change habits
built up over so many years."

"Don't you mean impossible?"

She said nothing instead of giving me the inspirational twelve-
step sales pitch. When we pulled up in the driveway she wrote on
a business card and handed it to me.

"Dr. Warner is very good, and she knows a lot of good people."

Dana was so sure of herself. It made me want to shake her up.

"Before we left the island I overheard a joke about them. A girl
in the Sunday school class I taught was telling her friend. It's
a riddle.

"'Why is the Mulder family like a box of premium pretzels?'

"'Because they're individually twisted!'"

I laughed more loudly than the joke deserved. When I saw Dana's
mouth open in a little soundless "O" of surprise and hurt, I
regretted it instantly.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I forgot. He's your friend. It's
just that Teena was my friend. I didn't believe it about her.
Before."

I swung the door wide and swiveled in the seat. My feet hit the
cement of the driveway clumsily, but I recovered and walked to my
front door in good order. I raised one hand in a gesture that
might have been interpreted as a wave, or as a smoothing of my
hair. Her head nodded. It might have been in acknowledgment of my
wave.

Thanks to her it was going to be a long night. What would the
morning look like?

 

*End of "Spoiled Children"

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