The Missing Year

by Belinda Frisch

  “Yes, Lila, and I was wondering if you still needed me to consult.”

  “Well, of course. Even if I had found an alternate psychiatrist, I’d cancel them for you.”

  “I’m flattered.” Ross waited for the inevitable.

  “What changed your mind?”

  It came sooner than he expected.

  Ross had worked out a dozen cover stories in his head, but all of them felt contrived. He was a terrible liar.

  “Given the circumstances of Lila’s case, I think you’re right.” He settled on the non-specific answer. “I might be able to help.”

  “And Dan? He’s okay with you taking the time off?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even if it’s the full six weeks?”

  “Don’t worry about the time, Doc. I’ll manage.” Ross had worried that Guy and Dan had spoken, but that seemed not to be the case. “When do you need me to start?”

  “I’d say today if it wasn’t too soon. Let me talk to my assistant and we’ll see what we can do about arranging transportation. It’s nearly a two hour drive from Albany International Airport, but I can book a commuter flight if you’re willing.”

  “That sounds fine.”

  “Brilliant. Ross, whatever the reason, I’m glad you changed your mind. You’re really saving me here. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Doc. I’m happy to help. When do you think you might be able to get flights scheduled for?”

  “Is first thing in the morning too soon?”

  Ross looked around him, at the reminders already breaking him down. “First thing in the morning is perfect.”

  “I’ll have my assistant Judy email you the itinerary.”

  “Thanks again, Doc.”

  Ross hung up the phone and headed to his bedroom to pack.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Pulling into the parking lot of Lakeside Psychiatric and Crisis Stabilization Center, Ross realized there were no easy choices. He’d second-guessed his decision to leave Chicago all the way to New York and nearly turned around twice on the interstate.

  Two flights, including one on an air taxi that had bounced through the sky like a cork in the ocean, deterred him from going back.

  Ross shifted the rental car—a Toyota Camry with stained upholstery and a phantom smoke smell—into park and stared through the windshield at the landscape of changing leaves. He had forgotten how beautiful his hometown was this time of year.

  Red, yellow, and orange trees cut a path through the acres behind the brick structure that was the only sizeable building for miles. As far as hurried getaways went, things could definitely have been worse.

  Ross pressed the button on the key fob to open the trunk and stepped out into the unseasonably cool morning. The wind blew his dark hair in front of his eyes, forcing him to squint. Goosebumps appeared on his bare arms, his short sleeve polo shirt offering little protection. He rummaged through his single suitcase for his windbreaker.

  “Travelling a little light, aren’t you?”

  Ross turned to see Dr. Guy Oliver standing with his hands stuffed into the pockets of a heavy knit cardigan sweater. Under other circumstances, Ross wasn’t sure he’d have immediately recognized him as the man he had last seen five years ago. Guy’s hair had turned completely silver, thinning to the point that there was little more than peach fuzz on top. He had gained weight over the years, but his smile was unmistakable.

  “Good to see you, Doc.” Ross reached out to shake Guy’s hand.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Guy pulled him into an awkward hug, patting him on the back.

  “Are you shrinking?” Ross said.

  “Probably.” Guy wrinkled his nose. “Did you take up smoking?”

  “It’s the rental. Smoke-free, my ass.”

  “How was your flight?” Guy said.

  “Depends on which you’re talking about.”

  The regional airport Ross had flown into from Albany International had two operational runways and a single wood building that functioned as the airport proper. Commercial flights didn’t even go there, which is why Guy’s assistant had arranged a private charter on the flying cork.

  “That second one’s a doozy. I’ve taken it myself,” Guy said.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “It took an act of God to get you here. You think I’d risk scaring you off? Let me show you around.”

  Ross closed the trunk lid, put on his jacket, and followed Guy around to the front of the grand brick building that looked nothing like the hospital he was used to working at. White columns supported a shallow entranceway. Double doors led to a reception area manned by an attractive blond with a phone to her ear. She regarded Ross with a smile and pointed across the room.

  A young, tattooed man wearing green scrubs stood by the elevator. His black hair—long on the top, shaved on the sides, and gelled back in place—reminded Ross of a lead in an urban gangster movie.

  “Ah, perfect. I was hoping he’d be free,” Guy said. “I want you to meet someone.” Guy crossed the room with Ross behind him. “Ross, meet Mark Santos. Mark, this is Dr. Ross Reeves. Mark is studying to be a psychologist.”

  Mark reached out and delivered a firm handshake.

  Ross flexed his fingers afterward.

  “Mark’s been working with Lila since she arrived here,” Guy said. “Mark, why don’t you grab the unit files and meet me in Ross’s office, the one we’ve been using as a waiting area?”

  “Will do.”

  “Your office is this way.” Guy waved for Ross to follow him and opened the door at the end of the first floor hallway. He flipped on the light switch, illuminating a good sized space that, while devoid of personal effects, was nicely appointed and twice the size of Ross’s office in Chicago.

  “Wow.”

  “You like it?” Guy smiled.

  “It’s impressive.”

  Ross sat in the leather chair behind the desk and spun to face the wall of windows behind him. He had a view of the center’s greenhouse, the garden, and the winding path leading through the vibrantly colored trees. “I could get used to this.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Judy has ordered some office supplies to get you started. Her office is the first past the reception desk if there’s anything else you need.” Guy handed Ross a set of keys and a keycard. “The card is programmed to open all the secure doors. Everything’s electronic, other than your office and cabinets. Those keys are labeled. I have a laptop en route that should arrive sometime after lunch.”

  “Dr. Oliver?” Mark interrupted, holding a stack of manila folders under his arm. “You wanted all five charts, right? Not just Lila’s?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Guy took the folders from Mark and mumbled something under his breath that Ross couldn’t quite make out.

  The two of them held a brief, hushed conversation.

  Mark exchanged glances with Ross several times throughout.

  “Do you need anything else?” he said.

  “Not right now, thank you.” Guy turned to Ross. “How about you and I grab some lunch?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ross sat across from Guy in an uncomfortable stainless steel chair at The Downtowner, a diner modeled after the Sterling Streamliners of the late 1930s. A jukebox played Dion and the Belmont’s “A Teenager in Love” as a steady stream of regulars filed in.

  Most of the waitresses were old enough to have remembered the song becoming a hit.

  The files sat neatly stacked to the right of Guy’s plate.

  An awkward tension filled the space between them.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Ross said, after a long silence.

  Guy waved to a woman his age, sitting alone in the corner. “The pot roast is out of this world,” he said, ignoring the question. “You had better figure out your order. They’re pretty quick around here.”

  Ross looked over the menu featuring elderly favorites like liverwurst and rice pudding. The laminated pages stuck toge
ther with a sticky, brown substance that could have been maple syrup. At least, that’s what Ross told himself. He had dropped the average age a few years by walking in the place.

  A sixty-something woman wearing a vintage blue and white waitress uniform approached their table. “Do we need a few more minutes or have we decided?”

  Ross stared at the woman’s gnarled hands, her knuckles wider than her fingers and her skin so thin her veins showed through it. Of all the places Guy could have picked for lunch, Ross couldn’t think of a worse option. “I’ll take a B.L.T. on white toast, please.”

  The woman struggled to manage the pen. “And to drink?”

  “I’ll have an iced tea.”

  The waitress flipped the page, filling up the sheet of paper with one order in large print. “What about you, Doc? The usual?”

  Guy smiled. “Absolutely.”

  “Pot roast and mashed coming right up. Corn okay?” She smiled, her teeth the color of strong tea.

  “Do you have those little carrots I like?”

  “For you, handsome, I’ll check.”

  The woman was definitely flirting.

  “She likes you.” Ross waited for the waitress to leave before saying it.

  “I eat here four days a week. Her knowing my order isn’t a miracle, Ross.”

  “No, it isn’t. But she called you ‘handsome.’”

  “At my age, that’s the miracle.” Guy opened his napkin across his lap. “Look, I wasn’t ignoring you earlier. You’re right. I do need to come clean with you. Some things that are hard to admit and some I don’t want overheard. That’s why we’re here. I haven’t been completely up front about Lila Wheeler.”

  “How so?”

  “I told you I have six weeks to make progress with her, but what I didn’t tell you is that I can’t afford for her to be released. Lakeside is on the verge of closing. An arrangement has been made for a substantial donation from her family, one that can keep Lakeside out of the red long enough for the center to have a fighting chance.”

  “In exchange for?”

  “The truth about the months leading up to Blake’s death.”

  “You said he was shot during a convenience store robbery.”

  “And as far as I can tell, he was, but there’s more to every story, isn’t there?”

  Ross thought about Arlene Pope, about her mother’s boyfriend fathering her child, and nodded. “I guess there is.”

  “Lila’s mother-in-law, Ruth, is a wealthy woman, Ross. She wants Lila to get the help she needs, but she also thinks Lila is keeping a secret.”

  “What kind of secret?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Ruth won’t tell me anything, but she’s Lakeside’s only hope.”

  “Who else knows?” Ross said.

  “About?”

  “The money, the center, all of it. Is it possible that Lila’s not talking to you because she knows you’re working with Ruth?”

  “I’m not working with anyone, Ross.”

  “Aren’t you? What conditions did Ruth put on this proposed donation?”

  “I don’t like what you’re implying, and it’s impossible that Lila knows anything. I haven’t told a soul. Not even Mark.”

  “And Ruth hasn’t told her?”

  “Ruth hasn’t seen her,” Guy said.

  “You don’t find that odd?” Ross smiled at the waitress staring at him from across the counter. The woman looked away, apparently having realized she’d been spotted.

  “The whole thing is odd, which is why I thought you were the perfect fit. The cases you’ve been working on—”

  A light bulb went off.

  “You talked to Dan, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I talked to him. We’re friends.”

  “You talked to him about me.”

  “Ross, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  Ross thought about his suspension, the convenience of the matching six week timelines, and the coincidence that Arlene’s case blew up at a time when Guy had needed him.

  “Then tell me I wasn’t set up. Tell me you don’t know about what happened with Arlene Pope.”

  “Dan told me about the medication.”

  “Did he also tell you the patient tried to kill herself?”

  Their waitress returned, setting a cloudy plastic tumbler of black tea in front of Ross and refilling Guy’s less than half-empty water. “Lunch should be out in a minute.”

  Guy nodded and thanked her. “Dan said there were complications.”

  “And you wanted me for this job anyway?”

  “He told me you went to speak with Arlene’s family. He said you suspected she was faking from the beginning, and that you got her to confess. So yes, I might have wanted you more because of what happened.”

  “I don’t know whether to be angry at you, or thank you.”

  “I’d recommend the latter.” Guy lifted his glass to take a sip of water. “Especially considering the alternative.”

  “The alternative?”

  “To suspension.”

  “Was Dan planning on firing me?”

  “Let’s just say he was about to deliver an ultimatum I didn’t agree with and leave it at that. As long as you can help me with Lila Wheeler, you spend six weeks in New York and get back to life as you knew it.”

  “And if I can’t?” Ross said.

  “Then I’m not sure you’ll have a job to go back to.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ross checked into the Peak View Motor Inn, carrying his single suitcase and the charts Guy had given him the afternoon off to review. While Lila was his primary patient, Guy felt he should be familiar with the others in her group. Ross took the key from the motel’s manager and headed toward Room 6, working out his emotions on the way. On the one hand, he wanted to help Guy save Lakeside from closing its doors. On the other, it would have been enough to know he needed the help. The fact that he had gone to Dan, bargained for Ross’s job in exchange for six weeks leave, and that it seemed if Ross didn’t do what Guy wanted, he would find himself unemployed in Chicago, had him feeling strong-armed.

  Nothing was ever what it seemed.

  Ross turned the key in the door and second-guessed his choice in accommodations.

  The cramped, wood-paneled efficiency smelled of artificial pine coming from a wall-mounted air freshener going off on a timer. The kitchenette with the avocado-colored appliances reminded Ross of his childhood home. He opened the outdated refrigerator, thankful it was at least cold.

  His per diem afforded him a much nicer room, but none were as close to Lakeside and the other hotels were too close to a past he wasn’t yet ready to face.

  He closed the hunter green curtains and turned on the desk lamp. The yellow glow across the glass-covered oak illuminated sparse fingerprints and the faint tan ring of the previous tenant’s coffee mug. Ross changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and washed up before settling in to see the range of patients he’d be dealing with.

  Eighteen-year-old Sophie Park’s chart topped the stack.

  Ross flipped open the cover and looked at the admission photo, taken for medical insurance fraud and identity theft purposes. A copy of her driver’s license was also on file, the two pictures not dramatically different from one another. Sophie’s paper white complexion, obsidian hair, and vibrant blue eyes stood out against the plain white background. She wore a high-collared lace shirt reminiscent of the Victorian Era and vintage jewelry. Diagnosed as Bipolar I with a history of multiple suicide attempts, including a failed hanging, Ross wondered what kind of scar the shirt might have been hiding. Her most recent attempt, a multi-drug overdose, had her admitted to Lakeside, though she was slated for release within the next couple of weeks.

  Elijah Moss’s license showed a neatly groomed, late-twenties man with a button-down shirt and wire rimmed glasses. Ross almost couldn’t look at his admission photo. Elijah’s face was bright red, burned, the flaking skin bearing the telltale signs of chemi
cal-induced peeling. Elijah was listed as a twenty-seven-year-old agoraphobic with OCD who had been referred for stabilization following an extreme allergic reaction to a bleach bath he said was to “kill all the germs.” Ross had heard of the bleaching trend amongst germaphobes, but had never seen such a severe reaction to it.

  Twenty-five-year-old Joshua Hammond, pictured as a sloppy, somewhat juvenile-appearing man wearing a superhero t-shirt, had the empty look in his eyes of someone deeply troubled. A schizophrenic suffering from auditory hallucinations and perception issues, Joshua’s was most like the cases Ross had been handling in Chicago. According to Joshua’s chart, Air Marshalls had removed him from an airplane after he claimed it was a UFO. He apparently also believed he was Jesus at some point, nearly drowning himself by trying to walk across the deep end of a neighbor’s pool. Turns out, he didn’t know how to swim.

  Kendra Ballard, a nineteen-year-old former street kid on her own since she was sixteen, had apparently taken to promiscuity as a means of acceptance. Diagnosed with multi-substance abuse-induced depression and a borderline personality, she, like other runaways Ross had seen in the past, had dabbled in prostitution. The chemical dependency would be easy enough to address in therapy. The reason she had run away from home in the first place, likely, much harder.

  The last chart belonged to Lila Wheeler, diagnosed with major depression, adjustment disorder, and suicidal tendencies. Her driver’s license photo showed a confident-appearing woman with a vibrant smile, black hair, and jewel-like turquoise eyes. Her admission photo made Ross’s heart hurt. Her smile was gone, her face noticeably thinner, and her pale eyes stared off in the distance as though what had been photographed was not her body, but her devastated soul. Her chart was easily twice the size of the others.

  Ross skimmed the records of the events leading up to Lila’s transfer, beginning with the report of her attempted carbon monoxide poisoning the day of her husband’s funeral. While newer model cars had catalytic converters to mitigate carbon monoxide emissions, pre-1970s cars didn’t. From the report, Lila had used a collector’s car—a 1960s Corvette—to do the deed. Either she was a car aficionado or she had done her homework. Lila had no prior personal or family history of mental illness, leading Ross to believe the attempt was situational—a knee jerk reaction to losing her husband who, by all accounts, was the love of her life. Reading the circumstances of Lila’s near-death affected Ross more than he expected. Sarah’s funeral had been the ultimate low point in his life and as much as he wanted to believe Lila’s was a case of mental illness—something he could fix with therapy and pills—he understood the inclination not to want to face the grief.