Come Closer

by Brenda Rothert

  The forest cover quickly becomes dense, and the terrain gets a little less even. I’ve done this walk dozens of times now, and I know intuitively where the path starts to get rocky.

  I thought I understood mental illness before I came to Hawthorne, but I only knew it in a clinical sense. At this luxurious lodge in the middle of nowhere, I’ve seen patients thrive with an approach that combines traditional medicine with the outdoors. Hiking is therapeutic for many of them. Hell, it’s therapeutic for me. Out here, there’s no pressure or worry. This forest reminds me that inner peace is possible. I’ve had to hike and climb for days or weeks on end to find that peace sometimes, but it’s always waiting for me.

  “I’ve missed the sound of that creek,” Leonard says from the front of the line.

  The sound of rippling water starts faintly but grows stronger as we get closer. Finally, I can hear it over Morgan’s chatter about eye makeup.

  “Cross the rocks, Doc?” Leonard calls back to me.

  “Yep. Be careful.”

  The creek is about ten feet wide here, and we cross it by stepping on a series of large rocks I put in the water. I’m planning to build a bridge over the creek this summer, but for now, the rocks are the only way to keep our boots dry.

  Leonard is spry for his age, and he hops from rock to rock easily. Tim goes slower, counting each rock as he steps on it.

  My legs are so long that the crossing is easy for me. When I get to the other side, I set my backpack on the ground. Morgan has a skeptical expression as she looks at me. She’s done this hike many times, but the water is higher than usual today.

  “Easy does it,” I say. “Just go slowly. Put your arms out for balance if you need to.”

  She takes a deep breath and practically runs across the rocks, her toes barely touching them. Damn. To be eighteen years old again.

  “Your turn,” she says to Allison.

  Allison goes slowly, putting her arms out and stepping on each rock with both feet before moving on. The final leap is the biggest, and her eyes meet mine right before she sets off.

  I can see she’s going to fall a little short and land in the water, so I grab her in midair and set her feet on the ground. My big hands span almost her entire waist, and I leave them there for a beat longer than needed.

  The warm shine in her soft brown eyes is better than a spoken thank you. Leonard is pointing something out to Tim and Morgan, so Allison and I have a moment of silent but palpable energy between us.

  I clear my throat and turn to the others, checking myself. I can’t be attracted to a patient, and I sure as hell can’t do anything to make it look like I am in front of other patients. For a few seconds there, I lost myself.

  “I’ll lead from here,” I say to Leonard.

  “You got it, Doc,” he says, falling in behind me.

  For the rest of the hike, I don’t even make eye contact with Allison. Whatever happened between us at the creek, I can’t let it happen again. There’s too much on the line for me to risk crossing any professional line with a patient. Even one as beautiful and enigmatic as Allison.

  THE GRASS GETS GREENER AND flowers start blooming as May comes to a close and June begins. I find a new normal at Hawthorne, spending my days walking, reading, and horseback riding.

  The outdoors was never my thing before. I spent nearly all my time in downtown Chicago. I’ve gotten accustomed to the sweet smell of hay in the horse stable and the fragrance of pine in the woods here. I didn’t realize before that the only things I ever smelled outside were car exhaust and the occasional hot dog stand.

  It’s quiet here. When flashbacks overwhelm me, I can always find a secluded spot to work through it on my own. The flashbacks are always worse on the nights I have the dream. It’s always the same—that voice probing me about what I know while I fight to resist it.

  Though I didn’t think I’d ever find a life I wanted to live again, I slowly am. I spend time with Morgan every day, and I even signed up to go on a camping trip with Daniel this weekend. I like being around him. We’ve been exchanging books back and forth for several weeks now. A few days after our first hiking trip, he returned Pride and Prejudice to me with a note tucked into the front cover.

  Enjoyed this very much. A woman who’s perceptive, whip-smart, funny, and able to admit when she’s wrong? I think I’m in love.

  Try this one next.

  ~ Daniel

  It was Treasure Island, which I loved. There’s something about reading the books he recommends that makes me feel like I know him. Since I don’t need medical care, I don’t see him much in person. He keeps pretty busy tending to the Level Twos and Threes.

  But Dr. Heaton, I see with annoying regularity. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have to endure an hour in her office. She’s devoted, I’ll give her that. Sometimes I feel like her life mission is to hear my voice. It grates on me, though, that she thinks I need to spill my guts and have some cathartic moment with her to feel whole again.

  I’ll never feel whole again. I’ve accepted that, and I’ve found people like Morgan and Daniel who seem to like me as I am.

  I’m walking to Dr. Heaton’s small waiting room for a Wednesday appointment now, my mind still on my horseback ride this morning. I’ve been riding a mare named Pearl, and I’ve gotten attached to her. Her ears perk up and her tail swishes when she sees me, probably because I usually bring an apple for her.

  I’m about to open the door to Dr. Heaton’s waiting room when someone opens it from the inside. It’s Daniel, wearing a pale blue polo, jeans, and his trademark hiking books. He has them in brown and gray, and today he’s wearing the brown ones.

  “Hey, Allison,” he says, closing the door behind him.

  A smile creeps onto my lips, and I feel my cheeks getting the slightest bit warm. I can’t help it—there’s something about being in Daniel’s presence that always makes me happy. He’s not what I’d expect from a doctor. It’s not just the jeans and hiking boots, but also the tattoos I can see on his arms when he wears short sleeves and doesn’t have his white doctor coat on. He usually has a five o’clock shadow, and his dark hair is overdue for a trim. Everything about him is casual.

  He gestures toward the book I have tucked under my arm. It’s Lord of the Rings, the latest book he loaned me.

  “Hope you’re liking it,” he says.

  I nod and meet his eyes for a couple seconds before reaching for the door to Dr. Heaton’s office. He beats me to it, opening the door for me.

  “See you around,” he says.

  I hope so. Morgan said a nurse named Sara has the hots for him, and when she speculated about whether they were sleeping together, I was disappointed by the thought of him having a girlfriend.

  “Come on in, Allison,” Dr. Heaton says as soon as I walk into her waiting room. “I was just looking for you.”

  She’s wearing a navy pantsuit with nude heels, looking more ready for a meeting about a corporate merger than a counseling session. And her office is spotless as usual, everything in its perfect place. She has a new small glass sculpture on her end table in the shape of a teardrop.

  I sit down in my usual spot on her leather couch, the tinkle of her bamboo fountain already on my nerves. The creeks we cross in the woods on our hikes have a soothing, melodic sound. The fountain is supposed to mimic it, but it’s just a knock-off. I prefer the real thing.

  “So,” she says, closing her office door. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

  I shake my head, and she sits down in her chair across from the couch, crossing her legs.

  “Allison, I spoke to a detective at the Chicago PD this morning. It’s been ninety days since Ava’s murder, and they still don’t have any leads. It’s their policy to move cases to their Cold Case section at that point until a lead surfaces.”

  I set Lord of the Rings next to me on the couch, and I lay my palm over its cover as she speaks, keeping my expression neutral.

  “I’ve done some more res
earch on your background, and I talked to the detective for a while earlier, hoping to come up with something I’ve missed. I can’t overlook facts, though. And it’s a fact that while you may be physically unable to talk, you can still write.” She leans forward in her chair, her eyes locked on me. “Yet you choose to say nothing about that night. You, the only witness. The only one who could tell the police what the murderer looks like.”

  I turn my face toward the window, searching for the birds I like to watch during these sessions. With something else to focus on, I can tune Dr. Heaton out.

  She sits back in her chair, her crossed hands sitting primly in her lap. “Ava was always the more popular one. Not just a cheerleader, but also an award-winning member of the high school debate team. You were always on the sidelines. Your father died when the two of you were three, and you were raised by a single mother whose fashion line took off and made millions. You both studied business in college, but you became a yoga instructor after graduation and Ava started a line of handbags that launched her career as a highly successful fashion designer. You were single, and she was engaged to Dax Caldwell, a millionaire entrepreneur himself.”

  Finally, a bird flies into view. Its wings spread, it looks like a savior, swooping in to save me from Dr. Heaton’s latest attempt at making me talk.

  “She had it all, Allison, and once again, you were on the sidelines. I can see how that would make you . . . jealous. And it’s starting to make sense to me now. Why you don’t want the police to solve your sister’s murder. I think you know exactly who did it.”

  I’m breathing harder, clutching the spine of the book and wishing I could be anywhere but here. I’d finally found some emotional distance, and I’ve been plunged right back into the darkness I never thought I’d escape from.

  “Maybe things took a bad turn,” she continues. “Maybe you just wanted to scare her. It could have been a robbery gone wrong. Or maybe it went exactly as you planned. I can’t see this any other way, Allison. You know details about that night that could lead to an arrest, and you won’t share them. You don’t want this case to be solved. All you care about—”

  Her words are clawing at my neck, making it impossible to breathe. I stand up, grab the teardrop sculpture from her table, and launch it toward the wall. It shatters, and the shards fall to the floor.

  My chest is heaving in and out, and I squeeze my eyes closed. Dr. Heaton must have pushed a button I can’t see, because a security guard comes flying through the door at me.

  “On the ground!” he yells, reaching for something at his waist.

  I just look at him, suddenly weary. It’s Jeff, and he knows who I am. He knows I’m not armed. But as he advances, eyes narrowed, I realize I’ll probably be considered unpredictable and off-balance now, just like so many other patients here.

  I lay down on my stomach and hear more footsteps coming into the room. A needle is poked into my arm, and I squeeze my eyes shut, tears dropping onto the carpet of Dr. Heaton’s office.

  Was it Daniel who sedated me? Does he think I planned my sister’s murder, too? Does he think I’m mentally unstable? He probably won’t send me books or write me notes anymore.

  The voices around me become softer, and my worries start to slide away as I lose consciousness.

  I FEEL GROGGY when I open my eyes and see that I’m in my room. It’s still daytime, and I can’t figure out why I’m here. When I try to sit up, I’m too weak. My head falls back against the pillow.

  There’s movement in the chair in the corner of the room.

  “Hey, Allison, it’s me. Daniel.” He stands up from the chair and sets a book down on the table.

  He’s wearing dark reading glasses. His pale blue polo reminds me of seeing him in the hallway earlier, and then it hits me all at once. I’m in bed because I was sedated in Dr. Heaton’s office.

  “You’re safe,” he says as he approaches the side of the bed.

  I trust Daniel. He’s never given me any reason to doubt him. As I look up at him, my racing pulse slowly starts to calm.

  “Want me to help you sit up?” he asks me.

  I nod. He leans down to help me and I smell his warm, woodsy scent. Gently, he puts his hands under my arms and helps me slide up into a sitting position. I’m still feeling a little loopy, though, and I lean my head back against the pillow he moves for me.

  He walks to the other side of the bed, where there’s a pitcher of water and a cup, and pours me a cup of water. I drink it all.

  “I wish I could hear what happened from you,” he says as I hand the cup back to him. “I know it’s unlike you to lash out for no reason.”

  What did Dr. Heaton tell him? I close my eyes, imagining the worst.

  He pulls the chair up to the side of the bed and sits down. I look over at him.

  “I’ll always be straight with you, Allison. Because of the property damage, we have to move you back to Level Two. But with thirty days of no issues, you’ll be back at Level One. And I want to apologize for the nurse’s sedation of you. I’m sure it wasn’t necessary, and I’ve had a talk with the staff involved in it. Sedation is supposed to be the last option here, not the first.”

  I nod and sigh softly.

  Daniel is leaning forward in his chair, his legs spread and his elbows on his knees. He’s so big he takes up every inch of the chair I can curl up in. After a few seconds of silence, he reaches toward my bed. I think he may take my hand, and my heart leaps at the thought, but he stops short and just sets his hand on the mattress next to me.

  “I don’t want to force you to talk to me, Allison. But I want you to know that if something’s not right here, you can trust me with it. I’ve got this gut feeling that you didn’t lose your shit for no reason in Heaton’s office. You can write me a note if you ever need to tell me something, and it’ll stay between us.”

  I look over at my nightstand, where the dry-erase board is sitting. The housekeeper dusts it off when she cleans because I’ve never touched it.

  Daniel understands. He picks it up and gives it to me, also passing me the black marker.

  I uncap the marker and write.

  I don’t want to see Dr. Heaton anymore.

  He nods. “Okay. You don’t have to. Is there something I need to know about her?”

  I shake my head. I don’t want him to know what she said. Below the first message, I write another one.

  Do you think I’m crazy?

  “No.”

  Do you say that about everyone here? Do you think some of the people here are crazy?

  His lips curve up into a smile.

  “I don’t use the word crazy. Some people here are mentally ill. I think whatever you’re dealing with is probably situational.”

  I lean over to the nightstand and grab a tissue, wiping off the messages on the board so I can write another one.

  Will you still bring me books?

  “Yeah, absolutely.”

  Sara, the nurse Morgan says is hot for Daniel, looks into my room.

  “Dr. D, you’re late for the staff meeting.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he says.

  I write out another message.

  What should I call you? Dr. Delgado? Dr. D? Dr. Lumberjack?

  The smile returns and he shakes his head.

  “Call me Daniel.” He stands up, towering over me. “I wish I could stay, but I’ve got to go. Are you good?”

  I nod and wipe the board clean.

  “Okay. I’ll reschedule your camping trip for the first weekend after your thirty days are up.”

  He picks up the book from the table, holding it up so I can see that it’s The Scarlet Letter, which I left in his office Friday. That makes me smile.

  When he walks out, I return the dry-erase board to the table and pour some more water, drinking it all.

  It’s back to blue patient scrubs for me. And I can’t ride Pearl or hike for a month. It hits me harder than I thought it would. I curl up under the covers of the bed, feeling
unable to face anyone. I’ll be the talk of Hawthorne Hill for a day or two. Anytime someone gets moved back a level, it’s gossip fodder.

  I don’t want to spend a month as a Level Two, and I’ll miss being outside every day. But the worst part of all this is that Dr. Heaton finally won. After more than two months of trying to get to me, she succeeded. At least I won’t have to see the smug look of satisfaction on her face.

  I’M THE LAST ONE TO walk into the staff meeting, and I hear talk about what went down in Dr. Heaton’s office earlier with Allison. I still have the image in my mind of her vulnerable expression as she waited for me to tell her if I think she’s crazy, and it bothers me to hear her gossiped about. I care about Allison, more than I probably should.

  The executive administrator at Hawthorne is Joanne Hawthorne, one of founder Henry Hawthorne’s granddaughters. She’s focused on reading something on her tablet, but as soon as I walk in and take my seat, she calls the meeting to order.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say.

  “No apology needed, Dr. Delgado.” She peers at me over the top of her glasses. “Patient care comes first.”

  Only department heads are included in the staff meeting, so the group is small. Besides Dr. Heaton and me, only the heads of nursing, patient recreation, and security are here.

  “Allison Cole is a Level Two effective today,” Joanne says. “And I’ve arranged for hospice to come in for James McCord.”

  James has been at Hawthorne most of his adult life, and the people here are the only family he has. He’s never been able to move down to Level One because his behavior is too unpredictable. At age eighty-three, we’ll be losing him to congestive heart failure soon.

  “He’s comfortable,” I say.

  Joanne moves on to a discussion of security upgrades for Level Three. I’m still thinking about my conversation with Allison, and I look at Heaton. She won’t even glance up at me, instead keeping her attention on her tablet.