“Hey,” she interrupted. “No lectures.”
He sighed. “I’m just saying, it’s been more than a year since we’ve taken a vacation, and you can’t keep going like this. Besides, I think your workaholism is a manifestation of a much deeper issue…”
“Shh.” She put a finger to his lips. “We’re going to be okay.”
“But…”
“I promise. Everything’s going to be fine. Once the funeral’s over we’ll book another two-week vacation for the end of April. Cross my heart.”
“End of April?”
“Best I can do.”
“Deal.” He kissed her. “Forget Sedona, we weren’t thinking big enough… Let’s go to Cancun… or maybe the Cayman Islands.”
She curled up beside him and listened to him plan their trip. It was so warm and cozy with just the two of them, she never wanted to move.
James finally stopped talking. “What are you thinking?”
She nestled into him. “I was thinking about the time… they wouldn’t let me into the morgue, because I was too young. So Dad went in by himself, but he left the door open a crack, and I could see her lying on a table covered with a sheet, and I remember staring at the bottoms of her feet. It’s funny, because you don’t usually notice people’s feet. Savannah’s were so small and blue, and I remember thinking that was odd—they were dusk-blue. And there was this man, the medical examiner, and he saw me watching, and he got very angry. My father had to take me home. We didn’t speak in the car. We never talked about it again.”
Savannah had been abducted by a man with a history of DUIs and domestic abuse arrests, a monster who’d buried her alive in his backyard. Alive. Kate could barely fathom it. Even now, after all these years, she could still hardly process it. Buried alive.
Savannah’s killer was on death row. His name was Henry Blackwood. It sounded like a serial killer’s name. It suited him. Kate hated thinking about him or even acknowledging his existence; she wished she could blot him out of her mind completely. There had been appeal after appeal, and she’d spent years wishing it would be over with. And soon it would be—the execution was scheduled for next week. But there were some misguided people—a bunch of blustery do-gooders and anti-death-penalty advocates—who blindly believed in his innocence. They somehow kept finding Kate’s email address, which she kept having to change, and appealed to her to step forward and save his life. Her sister’s killer! How absurd was that? How sick. Sometimes she wished they were all dead. But she kept these thoughts to herself, on a shelf next to Savannah’s cold blue feet.
* * *
A few hours later, James was busy working in their shared office space, while Kate sat staring in exhausted silence at a PDF of the funeral announcement she’d received from Nikki’s mom. Anxiety nibbled around the edges of this new dilemma. In her accompanying email, Elizabeth McCormack had asked Kate to say a few words at the funeral, and Kate had no idea where to begin. What could she say without entering forbidden territory? Everything was protected by doctor–client privilege. Nikki would’ve died of shame if her parents ever found out half the things she’d said about them.
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Kate called out, hurrying down the hall. She swung the door open.
An elderly woman stood on the threshold—petite and platinum-haired, wearing a navy blue skirt and an Ann Taylor blouse. Her smile was apologetic. “Hi, I’m Phyllis Wheaton, your downstairs neighbor from 7D. Sorry to bother you, but my bathroom ceiling is leaking, and I’m pretty sure it’s coming from your unit.”
“Oh no. Please come in. My name’s Kate.” They shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Wait here a second. I’ll go take a look.”
Kate bolted for the bathroom, where a pool of water had accumulated around the toilet pedestal on the tiled floor. The toilet was making a gurgling sound. “James?” she hollered. “Our toilet is leaking.”
James came bustling out of the office to inspect the toilet while Kate hurried back to Phyllis Wheaton. They could both hear James jiggling the toilet handle and removing the tank lid.
“Sorry about that,” Kate said. “We’ll call a plumber immediately.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
“Not really,” Kate confessed. “This ownership thing is new to us. We’re used to calling the landlord over every little hiccup.”
Phyllis smiled and handed her a slip of paper. “I took the liberty of writing down my plumber’s number, just in case. I hope you don’t mind. He’s very good.”
“Great.”
“In the meantime, do you know how to turn off the main water supply?”
Kate shook her head. “James?” she called out. “Do you know how to turn off the main water supply?”
“No,” he shouted back.
She smiled apologetically. “How helpless can you get?”
“Let me show you. It’s the stopcock under the kitchen sink.”
Kate followed her into the kitchen and watched as she knelt down in her navy blue skirt and explained what she was doing as she turned off the stopcock.
“There,” Phyllis said. “All set. The toilet should stop leaking in a few minutes. Was there much damage?”
“Not too much. I’m sorry about this. We didn’t even notice.”
“No problem.” Phyllis wiped her hands. “Call me if you need anything. I jotted down my number, too.”
Kate glanced at the slip of paper. “Thanks.” She walked Phyllis to the door and waved goodbye, then called the plumber, who said he’d be there in an hour. “What else can go wrong?” she muttered.
She looked in on James, who was hunched over his laptop, typing furiously. “I called the plumber,” she said.
He glanced up. “We have a plumber?”
“Well, technically it’s Phyllis’s plumber. Now he’s ours.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I totally trust her. She knows how to handle a stopcock.”
Against all expectation, he didn’t crack a joke in response.
“Oh come on. Stopcock? I handed you that one.”
“Sorry, hon. I’m in the middle of Agatha hell.”
“What happened now?”
“She attacked Larry Milroy, one of the nicest guys you’d ever meet, a total milquetoast. She was holding him hostage.”
“So you’re going back to work?”
He nodded distractedly. “In a bit. They want my notes on our last group session together, and I have to attend a team meeting later on. But I’ll wait for our new plumber to make an appearance first, see if I can learn anything. And you’re going to get some rest.”
“Twist my arm.”
“Good.” He continued typing furiously.
She decided to get out her sister’s old backpack, even though James hated it when she did that. He said that it only encouraged the re-emergence of all the negative emotions she’d managed to bottle up inside her adult brain. But Kate figured it was therapeutic, so she went into their bedroom, slid the cardboard storage box out of the closet, and popped the lid. The box was full of Kate’s childhood belongings— birthday cards from her mother, old-fashioned dolls, stuffed animals with careworn ears. Savannah’s backpack was at the bottom. It was made of pink canvas fabric and had sweat-stained leather handles the color of beef jerky.
She listened to make sure James wasn’t coming before she lifted it out of the box and settled it in her lap. She sorted through the junk inside—all the things her sister had once considered essential. A large purple comb, a stale pack of chewing gum, a Hello Kitty mirror, a Nightmare Before Christmas notepad, and a near-empty bottle of citrus perfume. Kate uncorked the bottle and inhaled deeply—it smelled just like Savannah. She could picture her elfin face, her rascally eyes and her self-effacing smirk. What a dork I am, I burped in front of this boy I like.
Now Kate examined each item as if it would tell her something different this time. She slipped Savannah’s Moleskine diary out of its canvas compartment and flipp
ed through the pages. She’d read her sister’s diary many times over the years. She selected a passage at random and studied the tiny, fuzzy handwriting.
What if you were walking thru the woods and you picked up a rock and it turned out to be the most valuable rock in the world? Maybe it looked like a regular rock but what if it wasn’t? What if it was a Magic Rock that could grant you three wishes? OR considder this… what if you ignored it and kept walking? Hey dumbo! You just missed something incredible and possibly amazing. Imagin what your life would’ve been like if you’d picked up that rock??? Three wishes! What would you wish for? I’d wish for—my mother back, a pony, my dad to be happy. My friends keep asking me why I collect stuff like peblles, feathers, leaves, seashells, potatoe chips, and rocks. And I tell them… YOU SHOULD TOO. Because it could change your life forever. You never know.
Kate smiled. She would have to be fearless. She would have to pick up these ordinary rocks, because you never knew.
Her phone rang, and she scooped it up. “Hello?”
It was Tamara. “Sorry to bother you, Doc, but we have a problem.”
8
KATE HEADED DIRECTLY FOR the nurses’ station, where Tamara stood with her hands on her wide hips. “I know you need this like a hole in the head, but she asked for you.” She glanced over at the girl in the corner of the waiting room. “She said she needs to talk to Dr. Wolfe. She saw your nametag, I guess.”
“No problem. What’s the story?”
“Her name is Maddie Ward. Her mother dropped her off this morning, but we can’t find her anywhere. She didn’t talk to the staff or fill out the required forms. Nothing.”
Kate nodded. “Okay, I’ll go check it out.”
The crucifixes were still draped around the girl’s neck, the rosaries wrapped around her wrists. As Kate approached, she noticed something she hadn’t spotted before—Band-Aids on the girl’s neck and hands.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Wolfe. Mind if I sit down?”
“Okay,” the girl said softly.
Kate took a seat. “Can I call you Maddie? Do you mind?”
Maddie nodded shyly, and Kate was struck once again by the resemblance to Savannah—same sea-green eyes, golden hair, and lightly freckled face. There was even a widow’s peak hidden under her blond bangs.
“Where are your parents?” Kate asked.
“Mommy left.”
“Oh. Where did she go?”
“Home.”
“Is she coming back?”
“I don’t know.” Maddie shrugged and played with her rosary beads.
“What’s the jewelry for?”
“Mommy says it’s for protection.”
“Really?” Kate frowned. “Protection from what?”
“I don’t know,” Maddie admitted.
“Wow. She must really want to keep you safe.”
Maddie’s mood seemed to darken. “I don’t like them,” she said, suddenly frantic, removing the rosaries and crosses, as if she’d been dying to get rid of them.
She handed everything over to Kate, who said, “Okay. I’ll ask the nurses to hold onto these for you. Be right back.” She took the jewelry over to the nurses’ station and asked for an envelope. She put everything inside, wrote Maddie’s name on the front, sealed the envelope, and asked Tamara to stick it in the locker along with the other patients’ confiscated belongings. Her immediate thought was: Okay, this girl’s mother is a religious fanatic, and her reaction is perfectly normal.
Maddie smiled as Kate took her seat again.
“Whenever you want them back, let me know.”
“I don’t want them back. Ever.”
“So your mom dropped you off here this morning and then went home?”
She nodded.
“She can’t do that, Maddie. We have a policy. She can’t just leave you here. I’d like to talk to her. What’s your home number?”
Maddie rattled it off, and Kate recognized the familiar area code. “Do you live in Blunt River, New Hampshire?”
“Wilamette.”
“Wow. Right across the river. You’re a long way from home.”
Maddie shrugged.
Wilamette shared a border with Kate’s hometown, but the two municipalities were miles apart in terms of social and economic disparity. Wilamette was basically Blunt River’s ugly stepsister.
“We’re practically neighbors,” she told the girl. “I grew up in Blunt River.”
Maddie smiled.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Kate left Admissions to go stand in the corridor, where the cell reception was better. She dialed Maddie’s home phone number, and a woman with a soft, crinkly voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Ward? My name is Dr. Wolfe. I’m calling from Tillmann-Stafford Hospital. You left your daughter in our care this morning, and I wanted to…”
Click.
She stared at her phone. She hit redial.
“Hello?” said the wrinkly voice.
“Sorry, we got cut off. Or did you just hang up on me?”
“What do you want?” the woman snapped.
Kate was taken aback, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to deal with an uncooperative parent. “Your daughter has been sitting in our admitting room all day. Did you drop her off here this morning?”
“She’s sick. She needs help.”
“This is a psychiatric unit. Does she need to be admitted to the ER?”
“No. She’s sick in the head.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ward, but—”
“Please. It’s Mrs. Ward. I’m not a Ms. Okay?” She had the dry voice of a longtime smoker.
“Why didn’t you admit your daughter, Mrs. Ward? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Kate had a mental picture of Mrs. Ward, similar to the women from her hometown who hadn’t been so lucky in life; who’d married badly or dropped out of school after getting pregnant, who would starve themselves just to afford another carton of smokes, but never deprive their kids. They loved their children to pieces but didn’t know how to be good mothers, hitting them in the grocery store when they wouldn’t stop screaming or whining, then daring the other shoppers to judge them. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Their lives were mostly out of control, because they were so rooted in their troubled pasts.
“You can’t just drop her off and go home. There are procedures to be followed. Forms to fill out. You and your husband need to come down here so that we can discuss Maddie’s situation, otherwise you’ll have to take her home. I don’t want to have to call social services, but—”
“Okay,” she interrupted. “I’ll come.”
“And your husband as well?” Kate was concerned that this woman might not be stable, and she wanted to meet them both.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good. When are you available?”
“I can be there at four.”
“Okay. I’ll see you at four o’clock this afternoon. In the meantime, I’ll make sure Maddie has something to eat and…”
Click.
“What the hell…?” Kate stared at her phone. “What is wrong with you, lady?”
It took a moment for her to compose herself and coax the professional Kate back into broad daylight. Sometimes the parents turned out to be more psychologically damaged than Kate’s troubled patients.
Once she got back to Admissions, she found Maddie in the same position on the sofa, except now she was jabbing herself with a pencil. Gently. Absently. Stabbing the sharp end of the pencil into her thigh through her neatly pressed jeans.
Kate tried not to alarm her. “Maddie? I’ll take that now.”
The girl paused. “They aren’t coming, are they?”
Kate nodded. “They’ll be here at four.”
“No, they won’t.” She jabbed the pencil a little harder into her left thigh. There were spots of blood on her jeans.
“Maddie, please.” Kate held out her hand. “G
ive it to me. Now.”
The girl froze and looked at the pencil as if she didn’t know how it had gotten into her hand.
“I’ll take that.”
After a moment, she handed it over. There was blood on the tip.
Kate called Yvette over. Although the nurses seemed like formidable characters, they were great with the kids. Yvette strolled over. “What’s up, Doc?”
“We need to admit her. She’s cutting herself.” Kate held up the bloody pencil.
Yvette put on a pair of gloves and called out, “Tamara?”
A collective sigh went through the nurses nearby, though no patient would have detected it. Ah, they seemed to acknowledge in unison—we have a cutter.
Yvette leaned down, the loose flesh of her jowls moving. “You hurt yourself, sweetheart. You’re bleeding. This is a hospital. We can help.”
The child played nervously with her bangs and her long blond ponytail. She cast a deeply skeptical glance Kate’s way. She gave off a small heat, like a flushing rose.
“We need to put a Band-Aid on that and make sure it doesn’t get infected,” Yvette explained. “Okay?”
“Are they really coming?” Maddie asked Kate.
“Your mother said she’d be here at four.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
Kate balked. It was such an adult thing to say.
Yvette held out her hand. “Will you come with me, young lady?”
Maddie scooped up her jacket and climbed down off the sofa like a condemned prisoner.
9
THERE WAS SOMETHING DISTURBINGLY truthful about the mentally ill. They had the kind of clarity that most people lacked, an ability to cut through the bullshit and say exactly what was on their mind, no matter how warped or confused. Even their delusions were layered with meaning and truth.
Exam room 4 was an amalgam of sterile disinfected surfaces and well-stocked medical supplies—tongue depressors, Q-tips, gauze bandages, surgical tape. Maddie sat on the padded table kicking her bare legs back and forth, hands placed primly over her knees to keep the paper johnny from inching up. She seemed more curious than afraid.
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