by Haus, Jean
The doctor gives me a patient smile. “Now, Mrs. Lee, that’s not a good word. It’s not a good descriptor for a patient’s problems.”
“Oh, and what would you call it?” I ask with a raised penciled eyebrow.
“Different problems have different names. I can’t make a diagnosis after the first few minutes of meeting Steve.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” Ping doesn’t look up from the phone. “I just like things a certain way.”
The doctor puts on a pair of reading glasses and pulls a pen from his coat. “That may be true Steve. Sometimes these things can take over your life and you become imprisoned by them.”
Ping keeps texting. “This place looks like a prison.”
“Oh, we’ll go on a tour in a little bit and you’ll see it’s nothing like a prison.” He scrawls on the paper in front of him. “Though I’m new here at Brian’s House, I like to include our patients in all of our discussions. Nothing is hidden from them. So please, describe how long you’ve been worried about Steve’s behavior.”
I wave my hand in the air. I’m now totally calm and totally getting into our deception. “I’ve only been married to his father for six months and Steve’s been a weirdo from day one.”
The doctor sets his pen on the desk. “Again Mrs. Lee, those kinds of derogatory words aren’t helpful.”
I fold my hands in my lap and snap my gum to hide a smile. It is fun riling this guy up. “What do you want me to say? Strange? Unbalanced? Psychotic?” I lean forward. “There aren’t any good words to describe him.”
Ping turns his back to us and continues to text.
The doctor rubs a temple. “The best thing would be not to use labels for Steve at all. Only refer to his behavior.”
“Okay.” I raise my hands—nails pointed out—and lean back. “He won’t throw anything away unless he wraps it in a plastic bag first. He’ll only drink out of two straws, not one or three, just two.” I spread two red nails. “He has to have two sets of sheets on his bed. He won’t go to the mall unless it’s before noon.”
“Dirty people go in the afternoon,” Ping says.
I roll my eyes. “He has to wear two pairs of socks. He vacuums his room five times a day. Five exactly. He puts one thing on a new plate at a time. So he uses three to four plates to eat dinner, which just means more dishes to wash.” I pause and chomp on my gum. “I already told you about the spoon.”
“Forks stab,” Ping says.
I put a finger on my chin. “He’ll-“
The doctor stands up. “I think that’s enough for now. Why don’t we take the tour? If your husband and you find everything satisfactory, we’ll set up some appointments. Then I’ll be able to decide the best course of action for Steve.”
“I’m not staying here,” Ping says.
The doctor motions us out. “Let’s take a look around. I was impressed with my first tour. No decisions yet. Just a look.” He slides a card through a door next to his office.
Ping mumbles, “Prison.”
Dr. Brewster forces a smile. “Why don’t we wait for an opinion until the end of the tour?”
We walk through what appears to be a hybrid between a college dormitory and a hospital. Small lounges with windows to snowy courtyards let light in between dark halls. In some, kids are sprawled on couches looking outside. Staring into space, they either ignore us or are unaware of our presence. Along the halls, doors lead to private rooms and glass cubbies holding shelves of pills, plastic jugs, and an occasional nurse. Dr. Brewster shows us a stark, empty room with a bed, dresser, and a private bathroom. He has us peek in through a rectangle of glass to a circle of kids engaged in group therapy, but to me they look like they’re staring into space again. The tour ends in the mess hall. A room filled with game tables, dining tables, a snack counter, and a huge TV.
While we walk, I search for anything to connect the place to Mali or give me an indication of her interest in it. Nothing. By the time we’re in the room with the kids staring at the TV, I’ve decided this might be her backup plan—if the kidnapping thing doesn’t work—she’ll get rid of me here. And from the way my father keeps talking, she won’t have any problem dumping me on the doctor.
Back in the hall, the one between the two locked doors, the doctor says to me, “Mrs. Lee, would you mind waiting in the lobby, so I can talk to Steven—Steve alone?”
I glance at Ping. He doesn’t give me any indication he’s against the idea. “Okay, but we’ve got to get going soon.” I pat my spiky head. “I’ve got a hair appointment at five.”
“Of course,” he says with a frown, most likely thinking I’m the worst stepmother in the world. He has no idea just how bad stepmothers can be. “Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”
“Sounds good,” I say, strolling down the hallway with the huge purse on my wrist. The receptionist glances at me as I pass, but keeps typing.
In the waiting room, I saunter over to a bunch of awards and newspaper articles framed like pictures on the wall. I read them over while the receptionist’s typing echoes off the walls. The awards come from different psychiatric organizations, which I know nothing about. I turn to the articles. They all praise Brian’s House and its programs. Like I care. Blah, blah, blah, I think while skimming over them. Until my eye catches one of the grainy black and white pictures at the end, and my heart stops.
Chapter 31~Snow
My eyeballs come within an inch of the photo. Yes, it’s Mali. Worse though is the man she shakes hands with in the picture. Smith. I read the article’s title while beads of sweat pop out on my forehead. Dr. Brian Smith Gets A Major Contribution for Teen Program. My red nails splay against the wall. I gulp air in. I’ve never fainted before, but there’s a first time for everything. Get it together Nivi. This is the last place you want to be out cold.
I force air through my noise. Force myself to get a grip. Facing the nurse, I keep a straight face and ask, “Is Dr. Smith in today?”
She pauses her typing and looks up. “No, he’s on an extended vacation.” When I don’t comment she adds, “Believe me, with the way he works, he’s earned it.”
Vacation my ass. “Oh, I’m sure he has,” I say and spin back to the article. Long nails dig into my palm while my other hand searches the purse for a phone. I glance over my shoulder. She’s engrossed in typing again. My hands tremble, but I manage to snap several close ups of the article.
Then—after three shaky tries—I text Jai, NEED DIVERSION CALL IMMEDIATELY
The longest thirty seconds of my life later, Caribbean music comes out of Chang’s phone. “Hello.”
“What the hell is going on?” Jai demands.
“What!”
“Do you need me in there?”
“A car accident?” I shriek. “Are you okay?”
“All right, if you’re not out here in three minutes, I’m coming in.”
“I’m on my way!” I snap the phone shut. I have her attention now. “Please get Steve. Mr. Lee’s been in an accident.”
The secretary rises with a frantic look.
“I told him not to take the interstate. Too busy this time of day,” I add while she rushes to the locked door. As soon as the door clicks shut, I text Jai 5 MIN then tap my heel on the tile and hold my stomach. We have to get out of here like now. I dash to the door when the three of them come out. “We’ve got to go. Your daddy’s been in an accident.”
Ping looks skeptical. I’m not sure if the look is part of the act, but he’d better follow along or I’ll grab his ear and yank him out like the bitchy stepmother I’m pretending to be.
“Mrs. Lee, may I have one minute of your time?” the doctor asks.
No, you may not. I shove Ping outside. “My husband’s on the side of the highway!”
“This is important.” He marches over to me.
He is close. Too close. “I have to go.” The phone rings behind us.
He grips my arm. “Mrs. Lee—“
The receptionist inter
rupts him. “Doctor Smith’s on the phone. He says it’s urgent.”
My mouth drops open and I yank at his hold. That call so can’t be a coincidence. His fingers dig into my arm. He glares at me from over his bifocals and leans forward. “Your step-son is faking.”
“W-what?” I stammer over the receptionist talking in the background.
He lets go of my arm. “I’m pretty sure he’s faking for attention.”
My shoulders sag with relief. With Smith on the phone I’m still desperate to get out of here. “That’s very possible, but I’ve got to go.” I step outside.
“Grab her!” the receptionist yells.
I’m already on the porch. The car waits at the bottom of the steps. Ping’s halfway down the stairs. His eyes grow round at the scene behind my shoulder. I can hear them coming, but I don’t look back. “Move!” I shout.
Jai gets out of the car.
“Get back in!” Not made for running, the boots pinch my feet. I almost do a nosedive down the steps. The weight of the purse doesn’t help either.
“Nivea Nash, stop this instant!” Dr. Brewer yells from behind.
Shit. He’d even told them my name. Ping gets in the car as Jai rushes around to the passenger seat. Good idea. I’m able to get in quicker from this side. At the end of the steps, I throw the purse in, dive into the driver’s seat, and slam the door shut.
Jai jumps in and hits the locks.
The receptionist’s fists pound on my window and the idiot doctor stands in front of my vehicle. I chug in air while my mind screams the question: how did he know we were here? The card in her purse, they must have realized I saw the card.
“What’s going on?” Chang cries from the back.
I toss the car into reverse and take off before the old doctor’s butt can move over. “Put something far away in the GPS. In case they call the cops!” I stomp the pedal to the floor.
Jai’s fingers push buttons.
As I squeal out to the highway, Ping asks, “What happened?”
I glance back at him through the mirror. “Smith called. Somehow he knew we were there.”
Jai’s face twists with confusion. “How do you know he called?”
I glance at the GPS and catch the word Pennsylvania. That’s definitely far. Getting out of the state of New York sounds good to me. The farther from Mali and Smith at this point, the better. “Get Chang’s phone out of my purse. Look at the pictures.” While I speed and my hands shake, Jai zooms in on the photos.
“It’s them,” he says.
“Read it,” I demand.
He lifts the phone until its inches from his face and reads:
“Ms. Mali Hartell, who runs an established consulting firm, has promised over two million dollars to Dr. Smith for his upscale program for mentally unstable and addicted teens. His plans for the money include buying and renovating an old high school near Stony Point, NY. “I believe a country setting will be the best place for these teens to heal.” Ms. Hartwell is enthusiastic. “Teens need different treatment than adults, and I decided to fund this because it addresses those differences.” The program will begin accepting applications next year. However, most insurance companies offer little or no reimbursement. Dr. Smith is hopeful that as more strides are made in research, which will be done on site, they will see a need for such facilities. Yet others like Dr. Norwell, who runs the adolescent wing of Memorial Hospital, questions Dr. Smith’s idea and his practices. “Taking these kids and removing them to a separate facility in the middle of nowhere is not teaching them to cope. They also, in my opinion, issue too many prescriptions and—”
“The rest is cut off,” Jai says.
I just shake my head. Unfreakin’ believable.
Chapter 32~Snow
I grip the motel counter. We wasted time searching for somewhere to stay. Midnight passed and we found this place. Not part of a chain and run down it’s perfect. While the last seedy motel didn’t ask for anything this one out in the middle of nowhere, and a little less seedy, is being difficult.
“I’ll say it again,” says the man behind the counter. “You got to have a driver’s license that says you’re eighteen.” He pulls the sides of his Hawaiian shirt, revealing his white wife beater and beer belly.
“Listen,” Jai leans over the counter. “We’re supposed to meet my parents in Rochester tonight. We left late on purpose. I just wanted a little alone time with my girl.” He nods his head toward me.
My stomach flutters with his words until I clench my teeth as beer belly’s eyes scan over me. He gives me a knowing smirk and I hide a cringe. With the pounds of makeup on my face and dressed like I am, I understand the smirk, yet it still strikes me with a buzz of irritation.
He releases the edges of his shirt. “Sorry, but I ain’t gonna—”
“I’ll pay double for two rooms plus a little extra,” Jai says, cutting him off and shoving a wad of bills across the counter.
After staring at the roll of green, the man snaps the money up, counts it, and taps the bills against his palm. “All right, but if the police show up or something, you lost your license.”
Jai grins at him. “No problem.”
“And don’t get too wild,” he says with a wink to me.
Burning with embarrassment, I go out to the car while Jai waits for the keys. Ping and Chang are still asleep. In between cleaning the fast food wrappers off the floor, I repeat, “Get up, we’re here,” and try to control my anger. When Jai gets in, I ignore him while time alone with my girl rings in my head. The truth is I’m angry with myself. As soon as I heard the words, I wished they were true. Guess my crush didn’t die. Like always, I’m such an idiot when it comes to him.
Inside the room, I go directly to the shower. The caked on makeup feels like a week’s worth of grime on my face, the gelled hair like a nest. Once clean and dressed in a Yogi Bear t-shirt and flowered shorts, I slowly step out of the bathroom. My reaction to ‘spend some time alone with my girl’ has me worried I might act like a fool.
He’s on the far bed sorting through bags of clothes we bought at the mall. From the looks of it, there’s a dirty pile, a Jai pile, a Ping pile, and a Chang pile. He never ceases taking care of those two.
I sit on the bed. “Why did you have to tell that guy I was your girl?” I blurt before I can stop the question.
Jai’s fingers pause folding a shirt. He doesn’t look up. “Really, that’s bothering you?”
I cross my arms. “Well, I usually don’t like to look like a slut.”
His head snaps up. “Why would you think that?”
I fear I may be slipping into idiot territory. Now that I opened my mouth, I have to plead my case. “What else is alone time with my girl supposed to mean?”
“That we’re alone.” He shakes his head. “It’s not a slut reference. I believe couples tend to spend time alone.”
“Did you see how the clerk looked at me?” My eyes round to confirm my point.
He drops the shirt in the pile and the fabric unravels from its neat folds. “You know, I don’t think this is about that.” He faces me and bends over with his elbows on his knees. His gaze searches mine while my heart hammers in my chest. He knows. I’ve finally given myself away. I’m not going to be able to explain myself out of it this time. He leans just a bit further across the space between the two beds. The small, small gap between us. Shit. Shit Shit. I can’t form a coherent thought with him so close. His eyes narrow. “I think you’re embarrassed at the idea of dating someone poor. Or maybe it’s the Asian thing.”
I blink. I breathe. I blink again. “What?”
His hands clasp together between his knees. “You’re used to being seen with Ivy League types. White guys with money.”
After gaping at him, I almost laugh. The guys I dated back in Cleveland—if you count going to the movies, school dances, or meeting at the local park dating—tended to be skate boarder or artist types plus maybe a jock or two, but the type he’s referring to don’t live
in the suburbs of Cleveland. And I haven’t even looked at a guy in New York until him. Not that I’m going to ever admit that. As he sits there and stares at his hands, I realize this has more to do with him than with me. Perfect Jai has a crack in his armor. And I’m sure the fissure in his self-esteem has a history. Being a poor orphan in Chinatown wouldn’t be easy. My heart squeezes. The insight somehow endears him to me more. I’m not sure about his superficial opinion of me; whether it’s a natural defense or he really thinks I’m that way. Though it upsets me, I need to tread lightly here.
Jai,” I say slowly and wait until those dark eyes find mine. “I’m not like that. Really, it had nothing to do with you. The guy just made me feel slimy. But please don’t put me in the category of people who judge people like that.” My eyes implore him to believe me.
He takes a deep breath and reaches for a pile of t-shirts. “Yeah, I may have overreacted. Sorry.” He drops the pile on the dresser and moves toward the bathroom. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a lot to figure out tomorrow.”
When the hollow bathroom door shuts, I let out a groan and fall into bed. I’m such a hormonal idiot. People are attacking me, drugging me, chasing me, and my biggest worry is that he might figure out my attraction to him, which I can’t seem to control no matter how hard I try.
***
Boom.
I spring out of bed clawing blankets.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Disorientation dissolves. Someone is destroying the orange motel door.
In the darkness, I hear movement next to me and my arms flail in defense.
“Stop it!” Jai hisses in a whisper and catches my elbow. “The Tong’s here.” He yanks me out of bed. “Send Ping and Chang in. Lock the door between us then get the car.” He drops my bag, shoes, and coat into my hands. “Here’s my phone,” he pushes the plastic into my hand. “Call Chang’s phone. At the first ring we’ll come out.”
