I wiggled my right middle to emphasize that it was as good as new.
Kyra looked like she might puke, though I couldn’t imagine her doing something as unladylike as hurling her guts up. Kyra was the tallest of us with the long, lean body of a dancer. She had tight tendrils compared to my soft waves and her complexion actually had some color to it; whereas I was as pasty white as can be. I blamed my poor circulation.
“You can borrow my car,” Kyra said. “I don’t even care if they arrest you and impound it.”
Kyra was a trust fund baby, so this was probably true.
“I’d rather not get arrested, thanks,” I said.
“Check it. Here’s what we’ll do,” Umbri said. “Kyra will go out and get her car in an hour or so, whenever the crowd gets pretty thick. Jesse can slip through the back exit. They’ll go back to Kyra’s place, drop her off, and Jesse will be on her way.”
“But what if someone sees Jesse get into Kyra’s car?”
Kyra snapped her fingers. “The east door is dark and out of the way. You can’t see it from the road and if I roll down the back window I can pull right up against the exit and you can just leap through the window into the backseat.”
I wasn’t sure about this leaping idea. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I leaped. What was I, a lemur?
“What if someone suspects and follows you?” Ally asked. She tugged the end of her hair.
“If I think we’re being followed, Jesse can hide in the car until it is safe,” Kyra replied. “Or if it looks like it won’t work, she’ll just have to stay the night at my place. She’ll just come inside with me and act like it was the plan the whole time.”
“Sounds good to me,” Umbri said. She moved to unlock the bathroom door, but paused to wait for us.
Ally’s brow was furrowed, signaling an intense internal processing. Finally, she agreed.
At Ally’s approval we left the bathroom, reintegrating ourselves into the throbbing masses.
There were glowsticks in addition to the glitter now. I figured out the sticks were like fire, if moved real fast I could write my name in the smoky darkness.
Umbri was a great DJ. Honestly, I didn’t know much about DJs, but everyone else seemed impressed, which made me impressed. She looked totally at home up there on the speaker throne.
When Ally wasn’t hovering awkwardly beside me on the dance floor, she was at the bar throwing down shots, which was a sight unto itself. Ally rarely drank anything more than an occasional glass of wine with dinner.
At one point, she returned to the dance floor crying, and threw her arms around me. It made us look like we were slow dancing, even though the music didn’t quite suit.
I didn’t know why she was so sad.
Did Garrison say something to her? Was she in trouble too and decided not to tell me? Brinkley? I didn’t know, but did my best to comfort her, wrapping my fingers in her hair.
Then Kyra appeared to our left and squeezed my shoulder. Remembering what I was about to do made my guts churn. With one last desperate hug from Ally, I was off following Kyra out of the crowd to the dark and empty part of The Loft.
It wasn’t easy leaping though an open window, even when it was stationary. I banged my elbows, knees and scraped my shins on Kyra’s window sill as I climbed through. I just hoped no one inside the club saw my little shimmy because I think they got a pretty good view of what was up my skirt if they had been watching. I didn’t hurt my neck though.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” I said to Kyra as I squished myself through the narrow space between the two front seats with about as much grace as a three-legged dog.
“What are friends for if not to help you evade the law?” She bat her big brown eyes mischievously.
“Break laws, hide your dead body, and find pets when they’re missing. Those sorts of things I think.”
“Those too,” she agreed. “But Winston hadn’t gone far.”
When I lapsed into silence, Kyra nudged me. “Nervous?”
“A little,” I admitted. “And I hope I’m not doing this for the wrong reasons.”
Kyra shrugged, turning on her blinker with a flick of her wrist. “Your mom died and you haven’t seen your brother in years. What other reasons do you need?”
I meant Rachel. Why was I going back to see Rachel? It wasn’t just to ask her questions, was it?
“Chances are this won’t go well,” I said. “Hello, I’m Jesse, Danica’s zombie daughter. Remember me? Then someone has a heart attack, I replace them and then I’m a corpse on the living room floor.” I’d already envisioned a fabricated version of some distant relative, who looked like a standardized ‘50s housewife, breaking a teacup and fainting when I just pop up and brush myself off, post-mortem.
It’d be cool if I could do that.
Kyra laughed. “Yeah, but I still get why you want to go back. People just have these weird ties to their families, even when their family is crazy like mine.”
Kyra’s parents were art dealers, running a large firm with offices in New York, Philadelphia, and San Francisco. Her family’s income made my cushy-suburban life look pitiful, by comparison. After all, they could afford to pay for her apartment on West End Avenue, a lovely sky rise with a great view of downtown. They were also paying for her Ph.D. in Art History.
“Okay, then I got to ask,” she said, breaking the silence. “It’s killing me and Umbri.”
I was surprised by her playful switch in tone. “Just ask me.”
“Who do you love—Lane or Ally?”
My jaw hinges broke leaving a gaping hole where my mouth should’ve been.
“Oh come on,” Kyra said smacking the steering wheel. “Who are you in love with? I voted for Lane, is it Lane?”
I angled all the heating vents away from my blazing face. “I’m not in love with anyone.”
Her grin got crazy huge. “Oh my god, are you sleeping with both of them?”
“NO.”
She frowned as if she didn’t like this answer either. “It’s obvious they’re both madly in love with you.”
“And it’s obvious that dating either of them is the worst idea ever.”
“But you’ve slept with Ally,” she said. How did she know this? Did Ally talk to Umbri? “So it stands to reason that if you sleep with her again nothing will change.”
Ally must’ve told Umbri. I was going to kill her. “Sleeping with Ally almost ruined our friendship,” I said. “And I don’t sleep with more than one person at a time anyway.
“So you are sleeping with Lane!” she declared. “Is he amazing? I bet he is amazing. He has the hottest ass. It’s so cute I just want to squeeze it every time—”
“Oh, god, Kyra, just stop.” I pretended to count the streetlights.
“And Ally sleeps in your bed. You’ve got a hot single lesbian sleeping in your bed and you don’t do anything?”
“We cuddle but that’s it. Sometimes she reads to me or gives me a massage if I’m sore.”
Kyra smirked.
“What?” I asked.
“That sounds so—” she pretended to search for a word. “Gay.”
I remained defiant. “I’m not in a relationship with anyone. And Lane and I have decided to stop having sex.”
“You’ve got two someones, but you’re just not getting laid.” She frowned. “That’s just sad.”
“When was the last time you got laid?”
“Saturday and don’t change the subject. Umbri thinks you should be with Ally and I want you with Lane,” she said. “So you’re going to have to choose one of them because we’ve got money on this.”
I scoffed. “You make it sound so easy.”
We’d just parked in her driveway. She hesitated in her seat, not getting out. “You know what?”
I had my hand on the door handle, ready to get out and switch places with her. “What?”
“I want to come with you. Let’s road trip it.”
My eyes searched the area. It didn’t
look like we’d been followed, but I wasn’t any good at this sort of thing. “You could get in trouble if they catch you with me. And don’t you have work?”
“It’s not like I can’t afford the bail,” she said. “And I’m all caught up with work. I can spare the day.”
I must have still looked doubtful.
“I’m serious,” she said.
Ally hadn’t come because Garrison would certainly have an eye her. Kyra was different. Our lives were separate enough that her absence might not raise any suspicions. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, this is a big deal. I don’t think you should go alone and I’m just in the mood for a road trip.”
“You just want to hound me about Ally and Lane.”
“There’s that too,” she said, with a cutesy head tilt.
“And Ally probably begged you to go,” I added.
Her grin widened, but she neither confirmed nor denied this accusation.
I relaxed, unaware that I’d even been tense. Had I really been afraid of going alone? Even if I did want the company, how was I going to get Kyra over to St. Louis to see Rachel?
“OK,” I said finally. I was already formulating a new plan in my mind. “I’ll drive.”
Chapter 14
As we pulled away from the tiny two-pump gas station in a nameless town, a large green Interstate I-64 junction sign caught my eye. I had to make my move. Now or never.
“Have you ever been to St. Louis?” I asked.
“When I was a kid,” Kyra said. “I remember going up in the Arch and being terrified because of how much it sways in the wind.”
“You want to go again?” I asked. I think my smile was too big, too urgent. “It’s only 80 miles away.”
“Your mom’s funeral starts in four hours,” she said. “We hardly have time for sightseeing.”
“We can bum around the city for a whole hour or so and still be back in plenty of time,” I replied, smiling. I hoped I wasn’t overdoing it.
Kyra didn’t look interested. “I don’t think we should change the plan.”
I confessed. “Here’s the truth.”
At least part of it. “I used to live St. Louis and I had this best friend, Rachel. She was more of a mentor really. Anyway, she got sick and now she lives in a hospital. I really want to see her. I haven’t been back to St. Louis since I left and I don’t think I’ll have another chance anytime soon.”
Kyra still hesitated, so I resorted to sticking my bottom lip out a little further.
“For an hour?” she asked.
“Less,” I said. “We can probably even squeeze in the Arch if you want.”
“I’d rather go to the Saint Louis Art Museum. They have the world’s largest Max Beckmann collection, but there’s no way I could be in and out of that place in an hour.”
“But you’ll take me?” I asked. I was careful to keep my bottom lip thing going.
“Only if you swear not to tell Ally,” she said, taking the exit onto I-64W St. Louis. “If she knows we deviated from the plan, she’ll kill me.”
“Then I’d replace you, no problem,” I said, happily bouncing in my seat. “Oh, and one more thing.”
Kyra’s shoulders tensed.
“When I say hospital, I mean mental hospital.”
“Oh my god, Jesse.”
“You don’t have to go in!” I added, quickly. “And I swear I won’t be very long.”
Kyra swore under her breath, but she didn’t turn back. I took that as a good sign.
It wasn’t that difficult to find St. Louis Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center. Mostly because Kyra had GPS, but also because when the GPS failed, like in telling us which entrance to use, my memory made up for the rest. I’d only been here once before, on our last day in St. Louis, but it was memorable.
I was out of the car when I realized Kyra hadn’t moved out of the driver’s seat. “Aren’t you coming?”
“You said I didn’t have to!”
My heart sped up at the idea of entering alone, but I couldn’t blame Kyra if this wasn’t her idea of a good time. Asylums are super creepy. Still, I kind of expected her to go in anyway. Ally would have.
“I’ll be right back,” I said again and reluctantly closed the door.
The entrance to the asylum was a large sweeping entryway with columns stretching up several stories. The urge to run back to the car was unsettling and definitely ominous.
The building itself was a square box of bricks and looked like it should be an old school or orphanage. A green and gold dome sat on top, pointing suggestively at the sky. Inside the look of last century prevailed with white cinder block walls and bland tile that squeaked beneath my sneakers.
I couldn’t remember where she was in the building but then I found a plaque on the wall, one with a black background and moveable white letters. I refrained from moving them around to make dirty words and instead searched for the ward I needed.
On the fourth floor I was confronted by a large reception desk, manned by a squat nurse with a beehive hairdo. I imagined her wearing her hair like this for the last five decades despite the fact the rest of her didn’t age as gracefully.
“We don’t have visiting hours except on Wednesdays,” she explained.
“I’m from out of state. I drove from really far away,” I pleaded. I bat my eyes. “Please.”
“Who are you here to visit?” she asked.
“Rachel Wright.”
She looked at her chart again and asked for my name. I gave it to her before it even occurred to me to give a fake name.
“You’re on the authorized list, and you do have an out of state address, so I’ll let it slide this once, hon,” she said with a tight smile. “Just sign this check-in sheet, please.”
I wasn’t sure why my name was on the list unless Brinkley put it there. I stared at the columns and hesitated. I didn’t want it to be known that I was here, but if I wanted to see her, what choice did I have? I scribbled my name as illegibly as possible. That way if anyone wanted to use this sheet in the court of law, there was no way in hell they could prove it was my signature. “Where is she?”
“Wait here and I’ll ask her where she wants to see you,” the nurse said.
Where she wants? Since when did they let the mental patient decide things? I was still puzzling over this when Queen Bee reappeared, holding a door open for me.
“Down this hall, fifth door to the right, hon,” she said. “She’s in her room.”
“You’re going to let me visit her in her room?” I asked. My shock must’ve been apparent. “Alone?”
“We put a chair in there for you.” Then the nurse returned to her paperwork.
I crept down the hall toward the open door the nurse had pointed at. I had no idea what I expected to see in Rachel’s bedroom or what state I expected Rachel to be in, but this wasn’t it.
As the nurse promised, they’d brought in a chair and sat it by one of the beds. Two twin beds rest side by side, one empty, one with Rachel in it. Rachel had her back against the wall and her knees pulled close enough to her chest to balance a pad of paper on her knees. Between the beds sat two end tables for each bed.
“Don’t be scared,” Rachel said, dark eyes finally looking over the edge of her knees. “I’ve had my medication today.”
I must have made a face because she burst out laughing.
“Oh, Jessup, come on! Lighten up,” she laughed so hard tears stung her eyes. “I’m just kidding.” She put her pad of paper on the bed and I realized it was a sketchbook much like the one I gave Gloria. With her hands free, she motioned me into the room. The fact that she was catatonic and drooling the last time I saw her, made this lively Rachel more than a tad shocking.
I stepped into the room.
“A little closer,” she motioned. The side of her hand was black with charcoal from her drawings, but seeing charcoal all over her hands was better than blood any day. “Let me get a good look at you. You haven’t aged a bit, not t
hat we do, of course.”
I got a good look at her too. Her hair was the same chin-length bob, sleek and black as crow feathers. Her eyes were still black marbles in her olive face and I’d almost forgotten about the Monroe mole on her left cheek. Scrub-like pajamas and no makeup didn’t compare to the vibrant clothes and bright lipsticks that Rachel used to wear: lots of red and fuchsia, which always made her dark features that much more exotic. She wasn’t as glamorous as I remembered, but I guess living in a mental hospital will do that to a person.
“This is the part where you pay me a compliment,” she said and pretended to be affronted. “Have I taught you nothing?”
“You look well,” I stammered and tried to blink my way out of shock. “Way better than I expected.”
“Yeahhh,” she said, drawing the word out. “I’ve come a long way in the past two years, thanks to Brinkley.”
“Sorry.” I thought this was sarcasm over the fact that he put her here.
“For what?” she cocked her hair playfully to one side. It was so old-Rachel that I smiled. “I am grateful for all he does for me.”
I wasn’t following her. “Besides put you here, what has he done for you?” I asked.
“He visits. He brings me goodies and makes sure I have the best food and doctors. Patients like me have no families to speak of, yet I have three separate volunteers who come and spend time with me. One of them, Andrew, is so cute.”
She bat her eyes as if she truly believed she was spoiled. God, I’d never realized that I’d learned my mock modesty from her.
“You look so surprised!” she said, laughing again.
“Because last time I saw you were practically unconscious. And the time before that—!” I blurted out. Immediately, I took a step back. I’d read somewhere that if patients are confronted with their afflictions, they flip out. Or at least that’s what I thought I’d read in one of those articles Brinkley made me read, hoping I’d understand my clients’ aversion to dying. That is what I expected Rachel to do, flip out in denial and attack me or something.
“I’m really sorry about that,” she said. “I didn’t have good control back then. The power was overwhelming before I learned to control it. I can only hope you’ll forgive me for that.”
Dying for a Living (A Jesse Sullivan Novel) Page 13
