“No.”
“So how can you know he’s the right one for you?”
“Because …” She paused, trying to think of how to explain it. “I’m like that egg that fell off the wall.”
“Humpty Dumpty?”
“Right. And then Leigh came along, this boy I knew back when I was still whole. And he remembers what I’ve forgotten. And it turns out he’s willing to help me glue the scattered bits of myself back together, and he loves me despite my missing pieces — despite being half the person I used to be. It’s like some kind of miracle.”
“It scares me,” Button said.
“Why?”
“Because of all the things you’ve never told me. You have too many secrets.”
“Yes.” The word stuck in her throat.
“I’ve always been scared to know. Maybe that makes me a coward, but there it is. And now it’s your secrets that scare me. All the things you no longer remember.”
“Just because I’m injured —”
The veins in Button’s forehead stood out as though ready to pop. “Your brain’s a sieve, and things keep shaking through the holes and disappearing.”
“It’ll be okay, Button. I promise.”
“What did you eat for breakfast this morning?”
Shaking her head, she said, “What does it matter?”
“It was less than an hour ago.”
She sank back against the slick surface of the tub, trying to hide her surprise.
“You forgot it’s morning, didn’t you?”
“Of course not.”
Button shifted forward, giving her THE LOOK. She was clearly just getting warmed up, and Eve had the sudden urge to duck her head under the water until she either passed out or her grandmother gave up.
“What was the last painting you worked on?”
“I —” She stopped, shook her head.
“Hector says it’s like ‘Modigliani meets the Grim Reaper’?”
“I don’t remember it.”
“I didn’t think so.” Button looked at her with a mixture of grief and appraisal. “I think he might be dangerous.”
“Leigh?” She gave her grandmother an incredulous look. “He’s a doctor.”
“A dokter un a kvores-man zeinen shutfim.” Doctors and grave diggers go together.
“For goodness’ sake. Doctor’s swear an oath to do no harm.”
“There were rumours when you were kids, things people whispered out of the corners of their mouths.”
“What kind of things?”
Her grandmother’s cheeks flushed with either embarrassment or anger. “Parents were cautioned to keep their young daughters away from him.”
“That’s ridiculous. He was the football star and he was on the honour roll and he was gorgeous. Everyone loved him, and yes, a lot of younger girls had crushes on him. He was probably the most popular boy in the whole school.”
“You spent a lot of time around him because of your friendship with Sara. You always denied that anything ever happened —”
“And that’s the truth.”
“As far as you can remember now.” Button shook her head. “And when that horrible tragedy happened with his sister, I have to admit I wondered …”
“Now that’s ridiculous. Truly.”
“Is it?”
“There’s no way Leigh would have ever hurt Sara. No way.” Eve shook her head, trying to push the memories back into the cave in which they belonged. But it was too late, and a few of them slipped through.
Sara’s tears fell on her upturned face, landed on her cheeks and lips, salt mixing with salt.
“What is it?” Button asked.
She began to shake — suddenly she was achingly, bitingly cold. She imagined her skin turning to frost, and her bones into hollow husks buried deep within glacial ice.
Button reached over and touched her forehead. “Are you all right? You feel so cold.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you. I never wanted you to get hurt.”
“He’s not the danger.”
“What?”
“It’s me.”
“Oh, Eve, that’s not true.” With a dismissive wave of the hand, her grandmother stood to leave.
Determined not to let Button escape as she always did, Eve rose from the tub. She stood there, dripping, scarred, and naked. She hid nothing, willing her grandmother to finally see the beast inside the woman.
“It’s me, Button. It’s always been me.”
For one moment, she saw understanding in her grandmother’s eyes. Then Button turned away, fumbled for the bathroom door, and was gone.
She sank back into the tub, shaking so violently her teeth rattled. She was so cold. When had the bath water turned to ice? She dug a toe into the plug’s metal ring and pulled it. The water gurgled as the tub drained.
When it was empty, she replaced the plug and turned on the hot water full blast. Heat caressed her frigid body like a kiss in the moonlight. Relaxing, she hummed as the tub filled. She let the memory of Sara and that day at the river sink back beneath the surface of her mind. Best not to remember.
When Button brought her a steaming mug of tea, she sat up and smiled at her in thanks. Button nodded stiffly in return, and left the bathroom.
With a frown, she eased back into the tub and wondered what she’d done wrong.
After her talk with Button, there was no ceremony or fanfare. There were no flowers or bridesmaids or table linens to worry about. There was just a quick trip to the courthouse followed by takeout sushi for two, which they ate picnic-style on a towel spread over the hotel room’s bed. Leigh wanted to buy a cake, but she vetoed that idea in favour of chocolate-dipped strawberries and champagne — things that didn’t remind her of her birthday, didn’t remind her of death.
“It’s been a good day,” she said dreamily, curled like a shrimp under the electric blanket they’d brought from home.
His fingers twined with hers and squeezed. “One of the best.”
“I’m glad for the privacy tonight. You swear you don’t mind moving into Button’s home?”
“It’s your home, too,” he said. “And the doctors felt it would create less confusion for you.”
“Did they?”
“Do you remember getting lost walking home from the library?”
“Yeah,” she said, although she didn’t.
“The police had to bring you home. You didn’t recognize a couple new buildings on Yew Street, so you didn’t know which way to turn. But you don’t have that problem at home. Am I right? You’ve never forgotten where you are?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But it’s familiar. It’s where I grew up, and the only place I’ve ever lived. Well, except those couple months in Paris.” And her two “vacations” at Riverbend Psychiatric Hospital. But he didn’t know about those.
“Exactly. And nothing’s changed in your house since we were kids.”
“Button’s allergic to renovations,” she said, and he chuckled.
“So, no, I don’t mind. I want to do whatever’s best for you.”
“Okay.”
For a time they dozed under the comfort of electric heat. Then he asked, “What’s it like? This forgetting?”
“Hmm …?” She pulled back from the brink of sleep.
“Oh. It’s weird, I guess.”
“Describe it for me.”
“Well,” she said, snuggling deeper into the blankets, seeking the warmth of his body. “There’s two parts to it. The first is my memories from before the accident. That’s like one of those disc things theatres used to use to play movies. What are those called?”
“Film reels?”
“Right. It’s like the film is damaged, so when it feeds through the machine it flickers back and forth between perfectly preserved parts of the movie and chunks that are black or too blurry to see properly.”
“And the second part?”
“The second is the way life is for me since the accident
. And that’s more like …” She paused, debating how to describe it. “Like living behind giant red curtains.”
“What?”
“Remember when I was eight, I played one of the orphans in a community theatre production of Annie?”
“Vaguely.”
“I’d have to find my starting position onstage in the pitch-dark, and wait there until the curtains came up and the stage lights came on, and they were so bright I could barely see for a while. We’d do the scene, I’d say my two lines, and then the lights would go out and the curtains would drop. And then I would be —”
“Back in the dark.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. So, now you have moments that are like being onstage with the lights off?”
She sighed. “No. I guess that’s where the similarity ends. When I was onstage I couldn’t see, but I was breathing and thinking about my lines and filled with nervous energy. It was like taking a pause, waiting for something to begin. This is different. I’m either not aware of myself, or …”
“Or what?”
Or I’m in the silver. She shrugged. “Or I guess I just don’t exist.”
“Shit, Eve,” he said. “That’s terrifying.”
“Yes.” She rolled over to face him. In the dim light, he looked like he’d been chiselled from shadows. She reached over and touched his cheek, reassuring herself that he was real. His skin was warm under her fingers, rough with the first hint of stubble. “Except I keep coming back, don’t I? And I guess if I don’t, I won’t know the difference.”
“But I will,” he said, and she caught his tear with her finger. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You mean you don’t want to lose the last few scraps of me.”
“Yes.” His voice warbled over the word. More firmly, he said, “And those scraps are enough for me. I promise.”
She pressed her lips to his and tasted strawberries.
Some time later, she said, “It’s been a good day.”
His fingers twined with hers and squeezed. “One of the best.”
“I hope I’ll remember it.”
He sighed in answer, squeezing her fingers more tightly.
Through a gap in the curtains, she watched the sun rise on her first day as Eve Adler. She felt scrubbed clean, ready to begin again. Curled against her back, Leigh’s breath dampened the curls at the base of her neck.
For a moment, she was almost warm.
SIXTEEN
Eve’s Eighteenth Birthday
“I SAID I DON’T WANT CAKE.”
“It’s a bran muffin, dear.”
The nurse’s voice was dry, almost bored, as though nothing could surprise her anymore. And probably nothing did. Certainly not the poor excuse for humanity she’d become. And in this place, her “break with reality” probably seemed quietly mundane.
“I don’t want a muffin, either.”
“No one does,” the nurse said. “But this ain’t the Ritz. Take your meds and I’ll be on my way.”
She picked a green pill out of the paper cup and placed it on the table, then swallowed the rest.
The nurse nodded at the pill on the table. “That one, too.”
“I don’t know what it is, so I’m not taking it.”
“It’s for anxiety.”
“I don’t have anxiety.”
“Take that up with Dr. Jeffries. I can’t leave until you take it.”
The nurse hovered over her until she swallowed the pill and opened her mouth for inspection.
“Good girl.” The nurse patted her on the shoulder, like she was a pet.
“It tastes like cat vomit.”
“How do you know what cat vomit tastes like?” the nurse asked, but she moved away before Eve could answer.
The pill had some kind of truth serum in it. She’d been too hard to break, and this was their new way of tricking her into admitting the things she’d done. But this wasn’t her first rodeo. With her tongue, she nudged the pill from where she’d stashed it, in a soft flap of gum left over from the removal of a wisdom tooth. When no one was looking, she plucked it from her mouth and stuffed it into the muffin.
“Gotta eat, sweetie pie,” a nurse in pink scrubs chirped as she passed. She was maybe five years older than Eve, tops, and that was way too young to be dishing out condescension.
A wave of resentment crested within her, but she couldn’t sustain the emotion. Instead, she picked some raisins off the top of the muffin and chewed them unenthusiastically. They tasted like chemicals. But then again, everything tasted like chemicals. And while it cut through the lingering taste of coconut cake, it wasn’t much of an improvement.
Dumping the rest of her breakfast in a bin by the cafeteria door, she shuffled back to her room. She kept her gaze firmly on her slippers, avoiding eye contact with the other denizens of the psych ward. Most were harmless: loons and addicts and depressives, but some were worth avoiding.
The woman next door, for example, who thought Eve was the reincarnation of the husband she’d supposedly killed. Then there was the hag who spoke only in Bible verses, called her “sister,” and obsessed over saving her soul. Eve had tried to explain that it was a pointless venture, but to no avail.
Shutting the door behind her, she crawled into the narrow bed. Her “sister” had left her another note. She read it quickly, then balled it up and tossed it aside. The meds were starting to kick in. Her face felt numb and her muscles buzzed and jumped, as though plagued by random jolts of electricity. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the sour taste on her tongue, and sank into a fitful sleep.
“Your grandmother is here.”
“Huh?” Eve unstuck her face from the damp pillow. Her eyes were so puffy she could barely see. Had she been crying again?
“Visiting hours.”
A nurse stood in the doorway, her arms folded under her breasts. Her head was framed by the fluorescent lighting in the hallway, so her face was in shadow.
She felt slow and stupid. Or perhaps she was drowning. “What?”
“Your grandmother. In the lounge.”
“Oh.” She sat up. The bed pitched beneath her and her eyeballs rolled back into her head.
“I’ll let her know you’re on your way,” the nurse said.
“Better clean yourself up first.”
Cold water did little to help, and she shuffled down the hall with her slippers flapping, her robe gaping open, and her hair in a damp pile on top of her head. Her mind felt reasonably clear, but her eyeballs kept drifting and rolling, causing her to stumble. She must have absorbed some of whatever was in the new pill. It sure was messing with her.
“Hello, my Frida,” Button said as she approached, wincing at her appearance.
Eve must have looked terrible. Though she cared, she lacked the energy to do anything about it.
“Hi, Button.”
Button was, as always, impeccably dressed. But her eyes were puffy and red, her skin mottled, and her nose raw.
“Happy birthday, my dear girl.”
She leaned into her grandmother’s embrace, and wished she could burrow there forever. She pulled away while she still had the strength, and motioned Button to a chair.
They sat across the table from each other, awkwardly formal. To her right, the window dripped with condensation. It was fogged, and she used her sleeve to clear it, peering at the grounds below. There was nothing to see but concrete and puddles. Her eyes rolled upward and she saw the ceiling.
“How are you?” Eve asked.
Button made small talk for a while. She’d joined a book club, she was attending synagogue on Saturdays, the apple tree in the side yard had unexpectedly died and she’d had to hire a service to come cut it down.
“They tore down the Adlers’ old house,” Button said, slipping it in as casually as she could.
Mr. and Mrs. Adler had sold their home the previous winter and moved back east to be near their remaining children.
“Now they’re building one of t
hose three-storey monstrosities.”
“That’s good,” Eve said.
“Good?” Button tsked. “I suppose they call it progress, don’t they? Everything has to be new, and as big as possible. And no need for a yard, but they need twelve bathrooms. Who, I ask you, needs that many toilets?”
“It’s a lot to clean,” Eve said.
“Exactly.” Button shifted in her seat, as though getting down to business. “How are you?”
Eve shrugged. “Apparently this ain’t the Ritz.”
“I hear you’re not eating. Or participating in the group sessions.”
“I go to them. I just don’t have much to say.”
“Eve, how are you going to get better if you don’t try?”
Her gaze rolled down to the table. She ran a finger over the graffiti etched into its surface. To most people the etchings would seem like nonsense, but she understood them. They were messages from whatever waited for her in the underworld.
“The harp polisher leaves Bible verses on my pillow. Yesterday it was: ‘If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off.’”
Her gaze rolled upward, and she saw Button grab the collar of her sweater and bunch it tight against her throat.
“What’s happening to your eyes?”
“Another one said: ‘Better to enter life maimed than enter hell with two hands.’”
“Should I call a nurse over?”
“I kind of like that one —”
“Eve, you’re worrying me.”
“But not as much as Sodom and Gomorrah. That’s juicy.”
“Your eyes,” Button said.
“It’s the meds. Take it up with Dr. Pill Pusher.”
“Dr. Jeffries? I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”
“She.”
“What?”
“You’re sure she knows what she’s doing.”
“Oh …” Button said, momentarily flustered.
Eve’s gaze roamed to the side. Rain splatted against the window. “Do you know what meds they’re giving me? Do they go over that stuff with you?”
“No. Legally, you’re an adult —”
“And legally I signed myself up for this adventure. But we both know that’s bullshit. Oh, stop it.” She slapped her hands over her eyes, but it did no good. She could feel her eyeballs moving against her palms. “You practically hog-tied me to get me to agree. Maybe you thought you were protecting me, but it makes me look like I’m hiding something.”
The Day She Died Page 9