Come Closer

by Brenda Rothert

  It takes about an hour to hike to the lake we’re canoeing at. There’s a small shed on one bank, and the canoe is sitting next to it, looking like it hasn’t seen water in a while.

  We empty out the leaves, and Daniel opens the woodshed to get out some supplies. He puts a life jacket on me, a smile playing on his lips as he fastens the straps.

  “I may accidentally touch you while I’m doing this,” he says, his fingers brushing down the side of one of my breasts in a very non-accidental way.

  I don’t know if it’s his touch making me break out in goose bumps, or the desire flaring in his eyes. There’s a realization deep inside me, and it’s bittersweet. Daniel doesn’t just find me attractive. I’m not “fuckable,” as some of my male college friends sometimes described women.

  There’s something much more than that between us. This yearning doesn’t come so much from my body as from my soul. No man has ever looked at me this way—with such deep longing to have me just as I am. Even when I had a lot more going for me, I never felt as worthy as I do with Daniel.

  He takes my hand as I step into the canoe and sit down, then steps in himself, pushes the canoe away from the shore, and sits down.

  The water ripples as the boat cuts through it, and I like its smooth, swirling sound. Daniel puts the oars into the water, the lines of his arm muscles standing out beneath his gray T-shirt as he rows.

  “I’d recite poetry for you if I knew any,” he says with a grin. “I only know the ones I learned in the army, and they’re not fit for a lady’s ears.”

  I arch my brows with amusement and motion toward myself with one hand, telling him to spill his so-called poem. He laughs as he pushes the oars through the lake’s water, the canoe moving at a nice clip thanks to the biceps I’m still admiring.

  “You asked for it,” he says, then clears his throat. “There once was a girl named Sapphire, who gave in to her lover’s desire. She said, ‘It’s a sin, but now that it’s in, could you shove it a few inches higher?’”

  I throw my head back, silently laughing.

  “We had too much time on our hands sometimes,” he says. “Dirty jokes and card games kept us busy. And then when we were in the field, there was never enough time. Funny how that is, isn’t it?”

  I sigh softly, thinking about how little I find funny anymore. I still feel like I’m surviving more than actually living. It’s only been a few months since I laughed so hard my stomach hurt, but it seems like a lifetime ago.

  When I reach for the oars, meeting Daniel’s gaze in an offer to help with the rowing, a corner of his mouth lifts in a grin.

  “I’ve got it.”

  I put my hands back on the narrow wooden seat, watching him row. His physical presence, which felt overwhelming the first time I saw him, is the source of my fantasies and my comfort now that I know him. The muscles he hones climbing in these woods are sexy, but I wonder if he’s always had this body. Did Caleb’s mother rest her head on his chest the way I did last night, falling asleep with his hard arms wrapped around her?

  She probably did, many times. How many women has Daniel been with? As careful and considerate as he’s been with me, I sense a restless soul in him. Someone who went looking for life’s answers in all the wrong places when he was younger, and that probably included lots of sex.

  “What’s on your mind?” He arches his brows in question. “Wishing Morgan were here?”

  By his smile, I know he already knows the answer, but I shake my head anyway. Then I turn my face up to the clear blue sky, closing my eyes to enjoy the feel of the warm sun on my skin. I missed it during my thirty days at Level Two.

  Daniel rows in silence until we reach a small island. He hops out of the canoe, his boots splashing in the water, and pulls it all the way ashore before helping me out.

  I sit on the grassy bank and look out over the water. The mountain range in the distance draws my attention, because seeing mountains still feels unreal. The majesty of this place reminds me there’s a big, beautiful world around me. People experience grief and joy and everything in between every hour of every day. There’s something very comforting about that.

  Daniel gathers a small pile of smooth, flat rocks. He flicks his wrist as he tosses one over the surface of the lake, and we both watch as it skips in and out of the water several times before sinking.

  When he does it again, I can’t deny I’m a little impressed. He offers me a rock, and I stand up and take it.

  Even after watching him skip several more stones, I can’t make mine do anything but sink straight to the bottom of the lake. My frustration is minimal, though. I think it’s because of the way Daniel is looking at me, his brown eyes warm and full of affection.

  We explore the wooded island a bit more before returning to the canoe. Daniel tells me more about his time in the army and how it shaped him. He talks a bit about his parents, who live in Spain. The one subject he avoids is his ex-wife and son. I know it’s painful for him, and I also know all about avoiding things that hurt so deeply that you aren’t ready to confront them.

  Early in the afternoon, we start the hike back to Hawthorne Hill. We walk mostly in silence, taking our time. The physical exertion is soothing. I can see why Daniel likes it out here so much.

  When we get to the tree line and can see the main Hawthorne building, Daniel stops and tugs lightly on my ponytail.

  “I had a really good time,” he says. “I hope you did, too.”

  I nod, the look in his eyes making me warm all over. I want him to kiss me, but he doesn’t. We’re too close to Hawthorne—too close to reality.

  When we walk through the tall double doors of the main lodge, Daniel shrugs off his heavy pack and sets it on the floor, helping me get my much smaller one off, too.

  “I’ll make us something to eat,” he says, turning toward the kitchen.

  He doesn’t make it far before Leonard comes flying into the room, clearly upset. There’s a nurse behind him, and from her expression, I can tell something’s going on.

  “You think I did it, don’t you?” Leonard’s accusing tone is directed at Daniel.

  “Hey, Leonard,” Daniel says. “How’s it going?”

  Leonard’s brow is furrowed angrily. “You think I did it. You’re no better than the rest of them.”

  “What do you mean? Think you did what?”

  Leonard scoffs and shakes his head. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talkin’ about. She thinks the same damn thing.” He gestures toward me.

  Daniel says, “I don’t, actually. Can you tell me?”

  Narrowing his eyes, Leonard says, “JFK. You think I planned the whole thing.”

  “I don’t think that,” Daniel says in a level tone. “Neither does Allison.”

  Leonard turns back to me. “That true?”

  I nod, but he just shakes his head.

  “This is a bunch of bullshit right here,” he says, agitated. “You think I’m gonna go to sleep so you can tie me up and haul me off to prison and no one will ever know. I won’t, though.”

  “Leonard, can we sit down and talk?” Daniel asks.

  Leonard gives him a wary look. I slip away so Daniel can talk to him in private. I feel bad for Leonard, because I could tell he truly believed what he was saying. It has to be scary to genuinely believe something like that.

  The more I see what Daniel does here, the more my admiration for him grows. He’s off today. He could have let Dr. Tillman or that nurse handle Leonard, but he wanted to do it himself. His compassion is one of the reasons I feel myself falling for him.

  There’s no hope for a real relationship between us, but that doesn’t change the way I feel.

  I take a long, hot shower, and while it feels good to get clean, I also feel a twinge of regret. I’m washing away the feel of Daniel’s hands on me. It will only exist in my dreams now. And even then, that’s only if I can manage to dream about something pleasant for once.

  I TAKE LEONARD INTO MY office, turni
ng the two chairs in front of my desk so they’re facing each other.

  “Am I under arrest?” Leonard asks bitterly. “Is that what this is?”

  “No. I just want to talk to you. It’s okay, go ahead and sit down.”

  He gives me a wary look but finally sits. I sit across from him.

  “Leonard, you’re at Hawthorne Hill. It’s a hospital.”

  “I know that,” he shoots off. “It’s all part of the plan to frame me.”

  “No. You’re here because sometimes your mind makes you believe things that aren’t real. I’m Dr. Delgado, and I’m treating you. I’ve got you on an antipsychotic medication, but sometimes, the thoughts come back anyway.”

  He just stares at me in silence.

  “And when that happens, we talk about it. Can you remember having this kind of conversation with me before?”

  “I don’t know . . . maybe.” He looks toward the window.

  “These thoughts you have, they’re not your fault. They seem real. And I know that makes you feel scared.”

  “I ain’t scared of shit.”

  I force myself not to smile. “Do you know that I’m Dr. Daniel Delgado and we’re at Hawthorne Hill?”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  “Good. Sometimes when you’re struggling with these thoughts, horseback riding helps. Do you want to go riding?”

  He crosses his arms and sighs heavily. “Stable’s closed on weekends.”

  “We can make an exception for you.”

  Though he doesn’t respond, I see the wheels turning in his mind. He knows I’m telling him the truth, which means he knows he’s paranoid. When I have this conversation with him, there’s never relief on his part. He’s a proud man, and it crushes him to realize he’s creating delusions.

  “You okay now?” I ask him.

  He nods.

  “Mind if I come for a ride with you?”

  “’Course not, Doc.”

  “Meet me out in the great room. I’m gonna grab a sandwich to eat on the way.”

  Leonard leaves and I text Tillman, who tells me he’s on Level Two. Five minutes later, he walks into my office.

  “Hey,” he says, dropping into a chair.

  “Hey. Just wanted to let you know I’m taking Leonard out riding. He’s having some paranoia again.”

  Tillman sighs heavily. “Yeah, Eric paged me last night because Leonard was pretty upset. He was threatening to jump out a window.”

  “Eric?”

  “The night shift CNA on Level One. You know, the big guy.”

  “Oh, right. He knows the windows here are too thick to be broken, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but he couldn’t calm Leonard down.”

  “Did you sedate him?”

  Tillman cocks a brow at me. “No. I’ve been waiting to see if the mania subsides on its own. But Level Three has been keeping me busy today, so I’ve got a nurse keeping an eye on him.”

  He’s got dark circles under his eyes. I feel like an asshole for going horseback riding when Tillman’s overwhelmed.

  “How long have you been working?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “I got the page at two in the morning.”

  I look at the clock on my wall. It’s almost 4:00 p.m. “You want me to take over so you can get some sleep?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ve worked long shifts before. Coffee keeps me going.”

  “Okay.”

  He gets up to leave, and I remember something. “Hey, can you cover me for the last week of July?”

  “Sure. You finally taking a vacation?”

  “Kind of. My son’s coming for a visit.”

  “Take him somewhere if you want. Go to Disneyworld or something.”

  I smile. “Caleb likes it here. He loves horseback riding and camping.”

  Tillman shrugs. “Well, consider yourself off that week. Though I’m sure you’ll check up on me daily.”

  I don’t respond to his jab. “Thanks, man.”

  He leaves my office, and I go into the kitchen to make a sandwich. When I go into the great room to meet Leonard, I can’t help scanning it for Allison.

  Ten minutes apart and I’m already missing her. Kissing her last night shifted things from attraction to something more. Not that I can act on it.

  “You ready, Doc?” Leonard asks me.

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  We head for the side entrance that leads to the trail to the stable. I sneak one last glance at the stairs to see if Allison’s coming down.

  I can’t believe I’ve got such strong feelings for a patient. I am well and truly fucked.

  THE NEXT COUPLE WEEKS PASS slowly. Things at Hawthorne are as good as they can be—there’s a new twenty-year-old male patient, Milo, that Morgan has a crush on, and I manage to pass my weekly sessions with Heaton without so much as a cringe. The more incendiary her comments are, the more impassive I act.

  Outwardly, anyway. Inside, I’d like to punch her in the throat. She’s the least therapeutic therapist ever. But at least now I know she’s going to try to push my buttons in every session.

  Time crawls by because of Daniel. I’ve had no reason to be alone with him since our camping trip. We’ve exchanged a few books and he’s left notes inside them that made me smile, and I’ve felt him looking at me on more than one occasion. The intensity in his expression is enough to make my pulse pound, even when he’s across the room.

  It’s agonizing being so close to him, but not getting a moment alone. At an impromptu staff and patient cookout, I had to watch that nurse Sara touch his bicep every time he said something that made her laugh, which was roughly every thirty seconds. I ended up dumping my plate in the garbage and going up to my room to read.

  Pretending to be indifferent toward him gets even harder when I see him with Caleb. Daniel’s son has his dark hair and caramel-colored eyes. He’s a happy boy who obviously adores his father. When I watch them horseback riding and heading off to the woods on fishing trips, I feel a powerful pull toward Daniel.

  He brings Caleb to the Hawthorne dining hall for dinner every night, and everyone loves having a child around. Everyone wants to sit by them, and I guess it’s for the best that I end up at another table with Morgan every night. Getting attached to Caleb won’t end any better for me than getting attached to Daniel will.

  I’m already grouchy over missing Daniel when I go into Dr. Heaton’s office for my appointment. She’s wearing gray pants, a white blouse, and dark heels, her hair pulled back in its usual knot.

  “Hello, Allison,” she says from her desk. “Come on in and sit down.”

  I take a seat on her couch, looking out the window for birds I can focus on when her interrogation starts. She’s writing something at her desk, and I’ve spotted eight birds by the time she gets up and comes over.

  “Anything special you want to talk about this week?” she asks, looking at me as she sits down across from me.

  I hold her gaze for a few seconds, until she speaks again. “So your aunt Margaret called yesterday to check up on you. She’d really love for you to get better and come to Manhattan for a visit.”

  My aunt Maggie only called to ease her conscience, I’m sure. Since my mom died, she’s tried to check in regularly with phone calls, but she’s busy with her own life. We’ve never been close.

  “You come from a family with money,” Dr. Heaton says, her brow furrowed. “Don’t you want to get your life back? You can travel. Live anywhere you want. Surely you don’t want to be cooped up in a mental hospital.”

  I turn toward the window and spot a gray bird with its wings spread wide. That’s where I want to be right now—outside. Not necessarily free of Hawthorne Hill, but free of this office. Free of the trickling fountain and ticking wall clock.

  “Come on, Allison.” Now she’s turned on her friendly tone. “We both know you don’t belong here. You’re no more mentally ill than I am.”

  She has an arsenal of tactics that seems endless. When one doesn’t w
ork, she pulls out another. I stare at the bird, determined to sit here for an hour without showing any reaction. That’s how I get to her, which I enjoy immensely.

  “You don’t want to help the police find Ava’s murderer. You don’t want your own freedom. But there has to be something you want. So what is it? Say it, write it down . . . have it skywritten if you’d like. Just give me something to work with.”

  I sigh softly and sit back on the couch, fluffing the cushion on the end. She really hates it when I act like she’s not even here.

  Dr. Heaton leans forward in her chair. “Why don’t we start with this, then? Where’s the book, Allison?”

  A chill travels down my spine as I meet her eyes. What the hell did she just say?

  The corners of her lips curl into a slight smile. “I have your attention now, don’t I? Where is it?”

  I have to force air in and out of my lungs. Emotions swirl inside me, too tangled for me to even sort them out.

  How does she know about it? It’s not possible. The police have no clues in the murder, and I never said a word about that night. That book is a piece of my old life—the one I can’t bear to think about anymore.

  “Maybe you do want to get out of here, but you’re afraid,” Dr. Heaton says, her tone cool and collected. “So let me help. Tell me where it is.”

  I swallow hard, dizzy even though I’m sitting down. Realization is hitting like a punch I never saw coming.

  If she can’t know about it, and I’m sitting here with her right now and she does know about it, is this really happening? Am I like Leonard, trapped in a reality that only I can see?

  I start to breathe hard, my chest tightening as the room spins faster. Holy shit. All this time, I’ve been telling myself I don’t belong here, but what if I do? What if that night I had a complete break with reality?

  Dr. Heaton is talking, but I can’t hear her. There’s a whooshing sound in my ears as I get up from the couch and walk toward the door, my arms out in front of me in case I fall.

  The CNA in the hallway rushes toward me when I walk out of the room.

  “Allison, what is it? Are you okay?”