by Brown, Tara
“Is it raining yet?” I asked, not bothering to glance out the windows to see for myself.
“No.”
“I’ll wait then. It looked like it might.”
“You like the rain?” she sounded unsure about that fact as if it meant something.
I wondered if she was taking notes of my answers.
Did a guest at the mental retreat who enjoyed the rain mean something? If it did, it was likely something ominous.
“I burn easily,” I lied.
“I do too.” She stated something that was abundantly obvious. Her red hair was almost a guarantee of sunburns and freckles in response to the sun. “Shall we take a seat in the sunroom then, under cover of the umbrellas?”
“Fine,” I agreed after a moment, annoyed she wasn’t about to let this go but also still trying to decide what her motives were.
“Do you like it here? I’ve worked here for five years. I love it. It’s a great approach to health and recovery and grief counseling.” She was careful with words, staring at me like she was inspecting. I wondered if she was watching the reactions or listening for a quickening in breath or lack of breathing altogether.
“Yes, it’s pleasant,” I lied again, I hadn’t left my room since I’d arrived. I was busy plotting how to end everything. Killing myself seemed to be the best option, but I wasn’t sure I was able. The already failed attempt suggested I could not.
Fortunately, she responded with a simple nod and didn’t try to force a conversation as we walked. But her side-glances and the awkward way she moved, a forced slow stroll that I was sure was a tenth of the pace she usually kept, suggested she was focused on me but also whispering to herself to be cool. She didn’t want to startle me.
“This looks like a good spot,” Dr. Graves said as she walked to one of the umbrellas in the sunroom. The sound of the fountain trickling created a soft noise to satisfy the void inside our conversation.
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, the room was very inviting. The smell of the cucumber water and extra humidity made it feel close. Like being on holiday somewhere warm and sunny. It was a lie, but for whatever reason, I enjoyed that.
“Can we be honest with each other?” Dr. Graves asked.
“Honest?” Did she know about my mother’s wishes?
“How about we start with your friend’s death?” She sat back, confident. Did she work for someone in my family?
“What would you like to know the most?”
“I’m getting mixed signals. Your mother suggested this Paige Santoro was nothing but a problem in your life. A friend who influenced you to do bad things. Dr. Horkel hinted that she was your drug dealer, and you have an addiction issue.”
“Addiction?” I asked.
“Yes. But I don’t see signs of addiction or withdrawal. You eat and drink when you need to. You’re not leaving your room, but you aren’t starving either. So now I would like to know your feelings about Paige and her tragic death.” Gone was the sweet ginger doctor. The hesitant walk and kind eyes were replaced with a shrewd cunning and a firm limit for the amount of bullshit she would accept. She became my favorite doctor at that moment.
“She was my best friend in the whole world.” I wasn’t sure if I was conveying that well enough. Dr. Graves didn’t know there was a modicum of disgust, anger, and hatred lining my grief. Polluting it. And while being sad was easy, I hoped she saw that every breath was like breaking my face above the water, continually noting the scent of lilacs in the air.
“And her death?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I barely managed to get out.
“And Lucas Jacobi has nothing to do with you being here?” A niggle of panic tickled me with spidery fingers. Her cleverness oozed from her. “You’re genuinely here because of Paige?” She went for the jugular. She knew something.
I didn’t have to fake it, the name made me flinch. I closed my eyes and exhaled as visions flooded my mind. The montage of Paige’s face, laughing, crying, shouting. Smiling so full that surely her cheeks would get stuck that way.
“I didn’t know Lucas was here. I didn’t check myself in, did I? The accident is all I think about. I don’t care about anything else,” I managed to whisper.
“Okay. Well, let’s talk about that, the accident.”
“I said I’d rather not,” I said sharply, letting a bit of defensiveness slip out. I turned my head, avoiding her intense stare.
“Fine. We don’t have to. But I do expect as of tomorrow, you will start taking part in the group therapy sessions and attending your own therapy. You will follow our program here. I know you’re a rich girl with important parents, but we do the work here.” She stood up, dismissing me. “And you will eat your meals with everyone else. We don’t allow coddling. It’s not beneficial.”
“Fine.” I stood as well and walked to my room, which had become something of a sanctuary, a sacred space where I could wait.
When I got back there, I sighed, smelling the air of the large room. I lay on my bed and stared at the windows, watching the light change from late morning to afternoon and then early evening.
The light filtering through the lacey curtains tiptoed shadows of design across the stark alabaster walls. If I opened and closed my eyes rapidly, I could almost watch a scene play out like one of those old vintage black-and-white movies. If Paige had been there, I’d have forced her to tell me a story to go along with the dancing lace and the subtle breeze. The smell of lilacs lingered.
She’d laugh that way she did when we were drunk and tell me something crazy.
I closed my eyes and let the image of her, a montage really, flutter around my mind. “If you were here, you’d tell me to just run away. Leave and never see Lucas again and never go home,” I spoke to Paige, the memory of her, the feeling that had arrived the day she died and hadn’t left. “If you were here, I would.”
She wasn’t a full ghost, though I swore I caught glimpses of her in my peripheral. Mostly, I had a sensation of her presence. I was pretty sure she was haunting me. “I wish you were actually here.” I just got the sentence out, and the scent of lilacs drifted past my nose, riding the soft breeze coming in the parted curtains.
I inhaled the familiar smell, letting her satiate me in whatever way she was able.
I cleared my mind and allowed her voice and her old words to guide me. I heard her say it, reminding me I was smarter than my mom. I could think of a way out. And this was just as good a place to plot as any. My stomach grumbled, and I knew what I had to do. I needed to leave this room and eat some food. Being alone in here wasn’t helping. Even with Paige’s lingering spirit.
Nodding, I put on my brave face and changed my clothes. My suitcase, not surprising in any way, was stuffed with cute outfits and makeup. I didn’t bother trying to make myself look pretty, but I did try to not appear homeless.
Inspecting myself in the mirror, I sighed and almost changed my mind before the lilacs became so strong I knew Paige was forcing me to leave the room. Ignoring the butterflies having a boxing match in my stomach, I headed in the direction of the restaurant, avoiding eye contact with anyone I passed.
Walking the hallway filled me with dread, I didn’t know anyone. But it was safer to push food around my plate, pretending to eat alone than being in my bedroom, obsessing over the tragedy my life had turned out to be.
My own mother killing Paige to force me here made my skin prickle with rage, and for a second, I contemplated returning to the room.
But I kept walking.
Head held high, back straight, stomach in knots.
Adding to all that, Lucas was here. He was in the building. We would see each other, and I wouldn’t be able to keep the secrets I knew.
The long, wide hallway was beautiful and serene. The whole place was. I wondered if I could stay here forever. If I could muster enough sadness to hide here. Chronic melancholy.
When I arrived in the dining room, I waited for someone to tell me what to
do. Other people were already seated, some glanced in my direction, worsening my discomfort.
The server came over quickly. “Good evening, Ms. Agard. How are you this evening?”
“Good, thanks.”
“I’m Nancy, your server. If you want to sit over here.” She held a hand out to the right side of the room.
“Thank you.” I followed her to a quiet table by the window, overlooking the gorgeous gardens.
“Let me see if I can guess. Sparkling water and some limes?” she asked cheerfully.
“If I recall correctly, she’s more of a champagne kind of girl,” a man spoke from behind me as he walked to the table. His voice gave me chills, but it was my stomach that reacted as Lucas Jacobi sat across from me. “And I’ll have a scotch. Neat.” He winked at me, too charming for a guy in a nuthouse.
“Oh, uhm, I’m sorry. Mr. Jacobi”—Nancy trembled but forced a smile—“you know we don’t serve alcohol here.”
“I know. I was teasing. We’ll both have a sparkling water and some limes.”
“Of course, sir.” Nancy nodded and scurried away.
“She was much nicer before you came.” I tried to sound casual, though our circumstances were less than ideal, and he didn’t even know about all of them yet. “I think you make her nervous.”
“They’re all like that, nervous around me.” He leaned forward, mesmerizing me as a snake might a mouse. “I know we’re in a weird spot as far as everything goes, but I want to say two things: Firstly, I am so sorry about Paige.”
“Thanks.” Her name made me twinge, but her name upon his lips deepened the feeling of discomfort.
“Secondly, I’m thrilled to see you.” He ran his hands through his messy short hair. “Even if it’s here.”
“Thank you, me too.”
“Horatio mentioned that your parents forced you to come.”
“You know my mom,” I lied.
“Are we doing real talk or fake talk?” he asked gently, being completely serious.
“Fake if you don’t mind,” I answered equally earnest and scanned the tiny menu. “What’s good?”
“It changes every night. Three meals to choose from, and the menu rotates every two weeks.” He sat back, appearing more relaxed. Of course, not knowing his father had been murdered had to be helping. “How’s your brother?” he asked, keeping the casual talk going.
“A traitorous asshole.” I lowered my gaze, bursting with secrets. “Thank you for defending me when he said all those awful things.”
“He said that in front of you?” He lost all the charm and humor.
“No. I overheard as I was passing Laertes’ room. You were on speakerphone. He doesn’t know I heard him.”
“O—” He reached and took my hand in his. The touch was electrifying, even through everything. “You are none of the things he said. He was angry and bitter and being a dick for the sake of being a dick.”
I forced a pleasant smile on my lips, unable to speak. Too much truth wanted to slip out, and I didn’t know where to start.
“I hate our world, and unfortunately, your brother is becoming a champion of it. I used to think he would leave, being gay and all. But he won’t. He’ll suffer and have love on the side and play the part. Marry the right girl for strategic reasons and take over your father’s firm and work for my family.” He took a deep breath.
“You could become king and change it,” I offered, though the thought had crossed my mind too many times to deny that I hoped for it. “Make the world fit us.”
“Yes, my father’s death will change things for me, I’m afraid. Time to retire the grasshopper who played all summer and become the ant he always wished me to be.” He sounded detached from the facts of the story, as if he’d accepted this fate.
He lifted his gaze to mine, his eyes dark and haunted. They were honey in the early evening sunset and glowing against his olive complexion, skin kissed by the summer we were both missing.
“Marriage should be about love not family. That should be the first thing you change.”
“When do people like us ever get that chance?”
“I’ll get it.” I didn’t sound confident but I was.
“You would dare to run away?” He narrowed his gaze, almost squinting with doubt. “And never return.”
“I would leave tomorrow,” I said it with unforgivable certainty.
“Where would you go?” he asked with a soft smile, maybe laughing at me, at my bravery. Perhaps he saw through it.
“I don’t know. England? You and Laertes lived in the UK for four years.” The plan sounded more formed than it was.
“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.” The way he sat too comfortably—too at ease with the situation we were in—made me uncomfortable, particularly the way his gaze lingered on my lips. Did he remember the feel of our kiss too?
“I’ve thought about running away too.” I too sat back, trying to relax and pretend everything was as small as this moment.
The statement brought a genuine smile to his lips, lighting up his whole face as he bit his lip and contemplated the answer.
“Where would you go?” I asked, not needing his answer, I knew it.
“Here you are,” Nancy interrupted and brought the drinks and limes. “Are you ready to order?” she asked, her eyes focusing solely on me, but it was Lucas who spoke.
“We’ll have the butternut squash agnolotti. But we don’t want a rosé, we want a garlic cream sauce. And instead of roasted tomatoes, we’ll have diced fresh tomatoes, candied pecans, soft goat cheese, and fresh basil on it.”
“Of course,” she agreed, though none of that was part of the intended meal.
“Bring shaved asiago as well.”
“And the salad and dessert look all right?” Nancy’s voice wavered.
“Sure.” He smiled.
“Thanks,” I said to her.
“Of course.” She rushed away.
“Where were we?” He puzzled, his brow sinking over his eyelids.
“You surprised me with your ability to create a pasta dish,” I mocked him. “And apparently, running away.”
“Right, when Laertes and I were six, we agreed we were going to run away to the West Coast. Live on the beach and surf and catch crabs to eat. I imagined we would find a cave and live in it. Of course, Mildred, my governess at the time, would have to come and live with us too. I believed we would be happy there.”
“In a cave?” I smirked. “With Laertes and your governess?”
“Yes, a Californian Mowglis, if you will.” He laughed. “Then, around ten, I decided I was going to run away and become a race car driver. I’d travel around all the European races, me and my car and my pit crew. Laertes didn’t want to come but he said he would visit me.”
“And Mildred.”
“Yes. Of course. Poor Mildred. Though I suspected she might have preferred traveling to Europe to living in my parents’ house.” He lifted his sparkling water and sipped it, making a funny face as he swallowed. “That needs gin.”
“So is car racing still the plan?” I almost asked him when the last time was he had driven his own car.
“No, the plan has shifted twice since then. When I was around seventeen, Horatio and I decided it would be best if we moved to a city like Tokyo and had a flat with a never-ending supply of drugs and alcohol and pretty girls. Now that I’m saying it aloud, it sounds much better than taking over the family business.” He sipped again, wincing a second time.
“My final plan came to me at Oxford. I was sitting in the cloisters, watching soft snowfall in large pieces. A group of college students was playing in the snow, laughing joyfully. It was quiet and beautiful, and deep down, I wondered if I would be able to hide there. If I could eke out something resembling a life at Oxford. I think if I ever ran away, that would be the first place I would go.” He swallowed hard and nodded at me. “What about you? Where did you want to go as a kid?”
“I don’t know. Running away al
ways involved Paige, so I was older when I thought of it.” I said it before I thought. The montage started fresh, her face smiling a thousand different ways. Light crossed her like one of those time delay cameras, creating shadows and contrasts to go with the different outfits she wore in my mind.
“Of course.” He paused again, furrowing his brow as though reliving something I couldn’t see. “To Mildred and Paige, wherever they are.” He lifted his glass. I joined him, confident Paige was a lot closer than Mildred.
We sipped our sparkling water, me enjoying it and him cringing with the bitterness.
“How old were you when you met Paige? She seems like she’s been your friend forever,” he asked as Nancy brought our salads and placed them down.
“Do you remember the summer you dated Becca and Lindsay at the same time behind their backs?”
“Yes, but that’s not how it happened.” He pointed his fork at me, laughing. “They knew about each other. Quite fond of one another if I recall correctly.”
I grimaced and stabbed a bite of beet salad, ensuring I got some of the soft goat cheese in the taste.
“Fond of my father, as well.” He chuckled and I wrinkled my nose even more.
“Anyway, I was in public summer camp for theater. My mother thought it might bring me out of my shell.”
“Oh no.” It was his turn to wince.
“Paige saved me. She befriended me and was the extrovert to my introvert. We were both twelve. Seven years we’ve been friends.” I didn’t use past tense because I knew she was there.
“Lucky she was there. Theater camp is your version of hell.” He smiled again, and I noticed he was back to treating me like Laertes’ sister. There was no leer to his gaze, no emotion beyond his own discomfort.
For some reason, that made me feel much worse about the secrets I knew.
Much worse.
“Have you started group therapy yet?” he asked as he finished his plate of food.