TWENTY
Sara’s Fourteenth Birthday
“HELLO, EVE,” the doctor said crisply, moving around the desk and dropping a folder on the glossy surface in front of her.
She propped a pair of rimless glasses onto the bridge of her nose and opened the folder. Studying the page, her mouth moved as though in silent conversation. Whatever it was about, she seemed to come to an agreement with herself.
She gave an emphatic nod, and then peered at Eve over the top of her glasses. Above the rim her eyes were like arctic ice; below they swam distortedly behind the thick lenses. Her hair was pale, slicked back into a tight ponytail, her face full of sharp angles. Her eyebrows were drawn with severe strokes, high-arched as though she were eternally surprised, and there was an incongruous smattering of girlish freckles across her nose and cheeks.
“I’m Dr. Jeffries,” she said. “I head the juvenile wing here at Riverbend.”
Eve’s gaze dropped to her lap rather than face the intensity of the doctor’s eyes. There was a lengthy silence that she was probably supposed to fill. She bit her lip and waited.
Eventually, Dr. Jeffries asked, “Why don’t we talk about why you’re here?”
“My mom thinks there’s something wrong with me.”
“And what do you think?”
“It’s better when I don’t.”
“When you don’t what?”
“Think.”
The sound of a pen scratching across paper, reminding her of Dr. Stephens writing the referral for her procedure. Scratch-scratch-scratch.
“Tell me more about that,” the doctor said.
Eve shrugged and looked out the window. The wind had picked up, and dark clouds rolled angrily across the sky. The earth below them was lost in a haze of hard rain. Her abdomen cramped in the same rolling, angry kind of way. The pad between her legs needed changing.
Dr. Jeffries began talking about Riverbend and its facilities, and describing the intake procedure for a new patient.
Barely listening, she pictured Donna driving home through the sudden deluge. Imagined her leaning forward, frowning, unable to see through the windshield. Perhaps she’d meet another car around a sharp curve. Its headlights would blind her. She’d overcorrect and end up nose-down in one of the deep ditches they’d passed on the way here. The car would slowly fill with water while Donna screamed and cried and banged on the windows, to no avail.
“Is something funny?” Dr. Jeffries asked.
“What?” She turned away from the window.
“You laughed.”
“No, there’s nothing funny.”
“And yet you’re smiling. Fill me in?”
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me,” Dr. Jeffries invited.
She turned back to the window instead. Listened to the scratch of pen on paper.
“You seem angry. Are you mad at your mother for leaving you here?”
Instead of answering, Eve nodded at the diplomas on the wall behind the doctor’s head and asked, “How many years of school does it take to become a psychiatrist?”
“Well.” Dr. Jeffries leaned back in her chair. “A bachelor’s degree takes four years, usually. And then medical school, residency —”
“So, a lot. And a lot of money, too.”
“Yes.”
“If I were you, I’d ask for a refund.”
“Why is that?”
“Any dumbass could figure out I’m mad at my mom. Wouldn’t you be?”
She expected anger. Instead, Dr. Jeffries leaned forward, propped her elbows on her desk, and gave her a direct look. “Under the circumstances, I’d be furious.”
“Circumstances?”
“I’m not going to pretend I understand what you’ve been through this past year, or how you’re feeling. But I am here to help you sort through it.”
“So, write the prescription and be done with it.”
“Pardon?”
“Isn’t that what psychiatrists do? Give people drugs that make them act normal?”
“Sometimes medication is needed. Or other forms of therapy. But the first step is to figure out the root of the problem.”
Root of the problem. For some reason, that made her think of the flowers in the Adlers’ backyard, the ones that looked like daisies.
“We’re here to help you sort all that out,” Dr. Jeffries said.
“Maybe some people aren’t worth helping.”
“Pardon?”
Making a decision, Eve asked, “Do you believe that some people are born evil?”
The doctor pursed her lips, giving it some thought. “I believe that we all have a mixture of good and bad within us, and that what happens to us throughout our lives makes us choose one direction or the other.”
“You’ve never had a patient who turned out to be a monster? Beyond your help?”
“No,” the doctor said firmly.
“Hmm.” She turned back to the window, swallowing back something that felt like disappointment. The rain was closing in. It pounded on the concrete outside the window, darkening the day into an early dusk.
“Let me be clear,” Dr. Jeffries said. “I’ve treated people who have done vile things, things you’d say were evil or against our moral code. But that doesn’t mean they’re evil people. Just damaged.”
“Damaged.”
“Or ill. But in my experience, almost all damage can be repaired, and illness can be managed. With honesty and hard work from the patient, and the correct medical and psychiatric treatment.”
Eve slumped in her chair.
“We’re here to help you through this. You’re an intelligent young lady and a talented artist. You have a lot going for you and a lot of years ahead of you.”
“That file.” She nodded at the open folder on the desk.
“It’s all stuff my mom told you?”
“And medical records. But yes, your mother has provided us with a lot of information. Does that bother you?”
“She’s never had one nice thing to say about me. So, yeah.”
“That must be very frustrating.”
“Mustn’t it.”
“Do you feel misunderstood by your mother?”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“How would you put it?” Dr. Jeffries asked.
Eve snorted. “Nope. I’m not falling into this trap.”
“You think I’m laying a trap for you?”
“I tell you all about my awful relationship with my mom, I confess all the shitty things I’ve done or ever thought of doing. Then you write it all up in a fancy report for her, so she has the evidence she needs to lock me up for good.” Eve shook her head emphatically. “No freaking way.”
“Why do you think she’d want you locked up for good?”
She looked pointedly around the room. “Gee. I don’t know.”
“Eve, I hear you. Since you’re a minor, I can’t promise you complete confidentiality. I’m obligated by law to keep your mother informed about our sessions. But I understand how difficult that makes it for you to confide in me, so my policy is to protect your confidentiality, as long as there’s no risk of harm to you or anyone else.”
“And what if that harm has already happened?”
Dr. Jeffries shifted forward in her seat. “Are you talking about your friend Sara?”
“I’m not going to talk about that,” Eve said, and then in the next breath she asked, “Are the police reports in that file, too?”
“Not the interviews. But there is a letter from Detective Baird, written at your mom’s request, I believe.”
“Of course there is.”
“It sounds like the detective was rough on you.” Dr. Jeffries shook her head. “Four hours of interrogation.”
“Is that the time for you to beat?”
“I’m not a police officer. I’m a psychiatrist. I’m not trying to trip you up or get you to confess to some kind of crime. I’m trying to build a rapport with you, so that I
can figure out how to help you.”
“What if I did confess to a crime, like everyone wants me to? What would you do then?”
“What kind of crime would you be confessing to?” Dr. Jeffries asked, her face setting into a carefully neutral mask. Yet there was a flash of hunger in the doctor’s eyes that made Eve pull back from the edge of truth.
“Murder.”
Dr. Jeffries blinked, took a deep breath, and leaned forward. “Whose murder?”
She let her legs fall open, exposing the sopping stain on the crotch of her pants.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I guess my mom didn’t mention the ‘little procedure’ she forced me into, just before she dumped me here.”
Dr. Jeffries’s mouth opened and closed several times, then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Eve. I had no idea.”
She stood and moved toward the hall. “Let me call Dr. Murphy — I think you need some medical attention. That’s a lot of blood.”
“I would have called him Gabriel,” she said, but the doctor had already left the room.
TWENTY-ONE
“IT’S A CAUL.”
Leigh’s voice pulled her from the silver. She lay on her back, and a pale pink sheet rose up from her chest toward a ceiling of white tiles and fluorescent lighting. The lower half of her body was missing.
There was a squawking noise coming from the corner of the room, beeping sounds, and the raised voices of several people talking all at once.
“Leigh?”
“I’m right here.” He leaned over her, wearing green scrubs. The colour made him look ill. “Do you understand what I said? The baby was born with a caul.”
“What’s that?” He’d missed a spot under his chin when he was shaving. Her gaze fixated on the surviving sprout of hair.
“It’s a sac around his face and body. They’re working to remove it right now.”
“The baby,” she said. “He’s here? I want to see him.” She tried to push herself upright.
“Whoa,” someone on other side of the sheet said, her voice rising with panic. “Hang on, Mrs. Adler.”
“Stay still, Eve. You’re not stitched up yet,” Leigh said.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” a woman said, moving into her line of view. She wore a medical mask over her mouth and nose. Above it her eyes were the pale colour of moonlight on a lake, her brows high-arched, her grey hair pulled tightly back into a scrub cap.
“We’ve cut holes in the caul so he can breathe, but removing it is a delicate procedure. It’s wrapped around his ears, and then attached at different points along his body. We need to go slowly so we don’t tear his skin.”
“Tear his skin!”
“Mrs. Adler.” A man wearing scrubs and a mask peered around the sheet. “Your legs are moving. Can you feel it when I do this?”
“What? No.”
“What about this?”
“No!”
“She just kicked me,” someone said. His head disappeared, and from the other side of the sheet he ordered an increase in the medication going into her epidural.
“Can I see my son?”
The woman with the pale eyes said, “You can see him as soon as we have him cleaned up. It’s a full caul, of uncertain origin —”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s not amniotic in nature. Not to worry, once we remove it your son will be just fine.”
“A cocoon caul,” Leigh said, his voice awed. “I’ve never seen that before.”
“Me, neither,” she said. “It’s a bit of a shock, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Leigh said.
“A cocoon caul?” A memory rose to the surface. Donna had once said that Eve was born wrapped in a dark caul.
“I was born like that, too. Please let me see him.”
“I’m not sure.” The doctor’s eyes widened and she turned to Leigh for guidance.
“You said he’s fine. So, why can’t I see him?”
“It’s just a bit shocking,” Leigh said, and the doctor nodded in agreement.
“Why?”
“The caul covers his whole body. And it’s not transparent, so …” He shrugged.
“What colour is it?” she asked, and then terror struck.
“It’s not silver, is it?”
“Oh, no,” the woman said. “It’s dark. Alarming to look at, but not completely uncommon.”
“I need to see.”
The woman looked at Leigh, who shrugged in defeat. She disappeared and returned a minute later with a squirming black sac.
A sewer-like smell hit Eve’s nose, and she gagged. “Oh my God, what is that?”
“That’s your son.”
“She just kicked me again.”
“Mrs. Adler, you need to stay still,” the man said from the other side of the sheet.
The thing in the black sac undulated, like an alien creature pushing out of a cancerous growth.
She closed her eyes and turned her head. “Get it away from me.”
“Eve,” Leigh said. “It’s okay.”
He kept talking, issuing reassurances, but in the darkness of her mind she quickly lost track of his voice. She heard a rustle and hiss, like quicksilver leaves coming alive in a storm, and somewhere beyond she heard the tinkle of laughter.
“Breastfeeding is the natural way to feed your child! How else can he get the proper nutrition he needs to grow big and strong?”
Eve opened her eyes and saw a laundry basket sitting on the table in front of her. “Button, please —”
“I saw this documentary about all the horrible chemicals they put in that stuff. Haven’t you heard of Monsanto? You want to feed my great-grandson poison?” Button was in such a snit she was literally spitting her tea.
“That’s not true.” Eve struggled for calm. “And I’m not saying I’m going to use it, but I wanted to have some just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case he’s hungry, and I’m not making enough milk. In case I lose time again, or wander off, and you or Leigh need to feed him!”
Button’s mouth drew down in displeasure. “There’s no need to yell. You’ll wake the baby.”
Squelching the urge to point out who had started the argument, she said instead, “Maybe just once you could say something that doesn’t make me feel like I’m doing a shitty job as a mom, okay? It reminds me of Donna.”
Button recoiled as though she’d been slapped, and that was the final straw.
The tears spilled from Eve’s eyes and became icy rivers on her cheeks. She swiped angrily at them. “Damn it! I’m such a mess!”
“It’s the hormones.” Button handed her a tissue and watched her with less sympathy than Eve might have hoped for. “Mop yourself up. There’s no need to be carrying on like that.”
Button grabbed a toppling pile of burp cloths and began to refold them, stacking them neatly on the table in front of her.
“Thanks,” she said in a tone that was less than grateful. She didn’t have the energy to do anything more than sit and stare blankly at the laundry basket.
Button folded a swaddling blanket into a neat little square. “Either join me for a cup of tea, or go lie down.”
She stumbled to her bedroom, but her head had barely settled into the groove of her pillow when she heard the first wavering cry from her son’s room.
“Damn it.” She wasn’t sure she was even capable of getting up. Maybe if she waited a minute, he’d quiet down and go back to sleep.
The squawking grew louder. On the dresser, next to a crystal vase full of wilting roses, the lights on the baby monitor flashed in sync with the baby’s cries. She moaned and rolled over, the first step in a process that she hoped would ease her upright.
Through the monitor, she heard the squeak of her son’s bedroom door, followed by Button’s soft coo. Eve relaxed back into the pillows and closed her eyes.
“Hello, Gabriel,” Button said in the hi
gh-pitched voice she reserved for babies and puppies. “Did you have a good shluf?” There was a rustling noise as Button lifted him out of the bassinet, followed by the grunting squawk of a baby searching for sustenance.
“Hang tight while we get this diaper changed,” Button said. “And then we’ll bring you to your mama, okay?” The squawking became a full-blown cry, and Button cooed and hushed and murmured reassurances.
“There now,” Button said as the baby quieted. She pictured her grandmother lifting the swaddled bundle and tucking it expertly against her warmth as she carried him from the room.
Blearily, she pulled herself into a semi-seated position against the pillows. She was just pulling her nursing bra aside when Button slipped into the room.
“Here we are,” Button said to the bundle in her arms. “Here’s Mama.”
She was surprised at the weighty warmth of him. He immediately started to root for her nipple, grunting like a truffle pig, and she shifted forward to help him.
Button reached over and made the necessary adjustments. “Bring the baby to you, not the other way around. Remember?”
“Right.”
“It’ll come naturally soon enough.”
“Ouch,” she said as the baby latched on.
Button stuck a finger into his mouth and broke the seal, much to the baby’s obvious distress. “Like this. He needs to open his mouth wider. If it hurts like that, he’s not taking enough of the breast into his mouth.”
With Button’s help the baby latched on more comfortably.
Eve settled back against the pillows. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad I’m of some use,” Button said, stroking the fuzz on the baby’s head.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said with complete honesty.
Button flushed with pleasure, but waved off the compliment. “You’d manage.”
“Or I’d forget he was here and go out, or leave him on the change table while I went to make tea, or something.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
“I can’t even remember what he looks like unless I’m looking right at him.”
“Oh, Eve.”
She looked down at her nursing son. “I forgot he has dark hair, and that there’s a bald patch at the back where it’s rubbed off. And what about his eyes? Are they like ours, or blue like Leigh’s?”
The Day She Died Page 12
