Derek and his mother stopped eating and looked at each other.

“You’ve got to speak with Dr. Bell about Sidra’s medications,” Marion said to him. “I’m afraid things are escalating.”

“She said that someone has been doing things to her,” I continued. “That someone wants her out of here—or wants her dead.”

“She told you that?” Derek asked, a pained expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, Callie,” Marion said, shaking her head sadly. “I’m afraid Sidra’s delusional.”

“Delusional?” I asked. “She was upset, of course, but she seemed perfectly lucid to me.”

They again shared a long look and were silent as Angelina entered carrying a tray filled with small plates of salad. When she was gone, Derek stood and put his napkin beside his plate on the table.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said vaguely, “I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”

As he left the room I felt my face flush. Hadn’t I learned anything from my stint up in the tree? This was a man in pain, a man who didn’t deserve to be prodded and pushed. And yet Sidra seemed to be in genuine pain as well. Whether she was delusional or not, she deserved to be protected—from herself or someone else.

“Sidra’s in danger,” I said softly, ignoring the salad in front of me. “If things are escalating, then it’s time to bring in the police.”

“The police are the last thing we need,” Marion said, her face pale. “Goodness, Callie, I appreciate your concern, but I’m afraid this is a family matter.”

I pressed on.

“Why not call the police?” I asked. “Are you afraid of what they might discover?”

“I’m afraid they’ll take her away!” Marion exclaimed. “I’m afraid they’ll commit Sidra to some sort of institution. Better she remain here, among family, and get the help she needs. We’re handling this problem, Callie. She’s under the care of a psychiatrist. Beyond that, I’m afraid you’ll have to accept that this is family business.”

The room was silent, echoing with Marion’s outburst. I thought about Sidra, about the medicines I had seen in her bathroom. Certainly, she was being treated for something. But whether she was delusional or just depressed, I wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry,” Marion said after a long moment. “You may think us heartless, but we’re not. I couldn’t love Sidra more if she were my own flesh and blood. But I’m afraid we’ve had to take a hard line on this. She’s always had problems. It’s just lately they seem to have manifested themselves in this way.”

“If you really think she’s crazy,” I challenged, “then why let her keep Carlos out there with her? And why let her care for your husband and his dialysis?”

“I didn’t say she was psychotic,” Marion snapped. “She just has some emotional issues.”

I let the matter drop, knowing I would reserve judgment for the time being. Marion and I ate our salads in silence, and after a few minutes we were joined by Judith, who strode purposefully into the room.