The door to Dr. Reynold’s office—his office—is open. I pause outside, then blink at what I see. The layout is the same. So are the desk, bookshelves, filing cabinets, and the several quality art reproductions on the walls. But the weathered leather armchairs are gone, replaced by wingback chairs upholstered in an attractive taupe. Between them is a small coffee table with a succulent and a box of tissues. An electric oil warmer sits on a side table, shooting small geysers of lavender-scented vapor into the air.
All the changes, coupled with the addition of fresh flowers on the desk and a potted ficus in a corner, erase Leo almost entirely. I can’t decide whether it’s a relief or a new level of torture.
“Come on in, Mia.”
Dr. Reynolds sits in one of the new chairs, smiling at me, a blank notepad on her lap. A small part of me wants to correct her—my name is Amelia—but a larger part likes that the name belongs to him.
“Morning,” I mumble, then make my way to the chair opposite hers and sit.
“I heard you weren’t feeling well yesterday. How are you doing today?”
“Better, thank you. Guess it was one of those twelve-hour bugs.”
Yeah, if there’s a twelve-hour bug that makes you cry until your eyes swell closed. I spent the majority of Sunday and Monday curled in my bathtub with a pillow and blanket, as the bathroom is the only area in our cabins not wired for sound. Tiffany and Kinsey brought me smoothies, snacks, and contraband chocolate at intervals. I’m not sure if Kinsey knows what went down or not; if she does, she’s keeping quiet.
“I’m glad to hear you’ve recovered.” Dr. Reynolds has a warm, clear voice, the kind that makes me think of kindergarten teachers. A trustworthy voice. “Let’s jump right in, shall we? I’d like to talk about the relationship between you and Dr. Chastain.”
The blood drains from my head, leaving me momentarily dizzy. “Excuse me?”
She smiles softly. “His notes made it clear that the two of you formed a close bond in a short period of time. It’s remarkable, the progress you made together.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I nod like I do. “I guess so.”
“To be perfectly honest, Mia, I’m wondering what he did to earn your trust. I read your case file and…” She shrugs delicately.
I almost smile. “You’re shocked.”
She nods with a guilty smile, though it rings false. “With the kind of trauma you experienced as a child and again two years ago, as well as long-standing behavior patterns including recklessness and narcissistic tendencies, I’m both amazed and baffled by your headway.” Losing the smile, she reveals her true self—a sharp, cunning mind that wants to pull me apart and pick at the pieces. “Tell me, what do you think of Dr. Chastain’s assessment that you’ve exhibited increased empathy for others and decreased antagonism since you arrived?”
“Is that a trick question, Dr. Reynolds?”
The maternal smile returns. “Not in the least. I’d simply like to determine your opinion of your progress.”
With a reflexive sigh, I look past her and out the nearby window. “You’re pursuing the sociopath angle,” I tell her tiredly. “You think I deceived Chastain into believing I was changing. That I’ve manufactured the emotions and responses expected of me.”
She doesn’t respond. I glance at her to see her eyebrows lifted in expectation. I gotta hand it to her, she’s working the hardass-therapist archetype pretty flawlessly. Trying to get a rise out of me. To see if I’ll break, reveal my own true colors.
I may have changed somewhat—but not that much. She won’t get what she wants from me.
“I tried in the beginning,” I murmur. “He saw right through it. You want to know why I trusted Chastain? He didn’t give me a choice. He kept pushing and pushing from every conceivable direction. He was… easy to talk to. Before I knew it, I forgot how to lie and told the truth instead.”
“How did that feel?”
I cock a brow. “Fucking alarming. It felt like he had power over me. I didn’t like it.”
“Didn’t, or still don’t?”
Ah, there it is. She’s not stupid and clearly picked up on my desperate, lovesick vibe when I burst into his office Saturday.
Undaunted, I look her in the eye. “Chastain taught me that relationships—even client and therapist ones—don’t have to be a power struggle. That when two people let their guards down, magic happens. Trust happens. Did he cross the professional boundary with me in this office? No, he did not. As for whether I crossed it, I’m sure he left detailed notes, as well as his opinion that I was trying to assume control of the ‘relationship’ by using my sexuality to undermine his authority.”
Dr. Reynolds doesn’t bother to hide either her surprise or her lingering doubt. Can’t say I blame her.
“Well, Mia,” she says finally, “that’s a very insightful response. Thank you for your candor. You should feel very proud of the hard work you’ve done. How would you describe your overall state of mind at this stage?”
My heart rate finally begins to slow. To my astonishment, I don’t consider lying to her. Whether or not she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I need some fucking guidance.
“I’m scared.”
“Why’s that?”
I look at the ceiling to avoid her stare. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“I think that’s a perfectly natural response to the trauma you’ve endured, as well as the therapy process here at Oasis. Let me ask you something else, Mia. Have you considered that not knowing who you are means you can be whoever you want to be?”
My gaze drops to her face. “That’s a little abstract.”
She smiles like I just told a joke. “Yes, it can be, but we can narrow it down.” She pauses to scratch something on the notepad, then looks back up. “There are two primary tasks I want to accomplish with you in your remaining time. May I share?”
I stuff down a sarcastic quip. “By all means.”
“First, I want to utilize a method popular in Twelve-Step programs, that of compiling a list of people we’ve harmed and making a plan for amends or restitution. Then I want to tackle the issue you just brought up, that of identity. We’ll talk about what your ideal life looks like—vocation, love, friendship, family, et cetera. We’ll also discuss the first steps you’ll take toward those goals, as well as determine whether you’ll benefit from ongoing therapy.”
I sink back into my chair and force a smile.
“Sounds like a plan.”
26
countdown to freedom
day 22
Kinsey’s goodbye party is a more subdued affair than Nix’s, Leo’s absence an almost palpable undercurrent. I’m certainly not helping elevate the mood—I’ve spent the last half hour sitting in a chair in the corner, watching but not really seeing the celebration. I’m mostly left alone.
Everyone thinks I’m bummed about Kinsey leaving. And surprisingly, I am. I’m going to miss her… for exactly six days. She lives in L.A., too, and already demanded my phone number and a promise to meet for coffee. Also surprisingly, I’m looking forward to it. I can’t recall the last period of my life when I had any close, female friends. Or any friends, really.
God, I’m such a loser.
Declan drops into the chair next to mine. “Hey. Are these things always this depressing? I expected a little more bang for our buck.” His gaze lifts to the ceiling. “Pink streamers? Really?”
My smile is wry. “They do it on purpose. Everything here is done on purpose. You’d do well to remember that.”
The weight of his gaze hits the side of my face. “Callum asked me if I named the band after you. You know I didn’t, right?”
I nod, glancing at him. “You have a little sister named Amy who used to fall a lot.”
He blinks in surprise.
“When you guys got famous, I might have Googled it just to make sure.”
He chuckles; it fades on a sigh. “Shit, where did everything go so wro
ng?”
I consider the question as I look around the room. Tiffany and Preston are laughing at whatever ridiculous joke Ruben is telling them. Frank and Dr. Reynolds are chatting with a grinning Kinsey. Callum and Charlene are handing out slices of cake to the rest of the staff.
“I don’t think anything went wrong, exactly,” I say slowly. “Maybe some of us just feel things more deeply. So deeply we try to make it stop however we can.”
He grunts. “Then what’s the point, huh? Why are we here?”
I meet his dark, tired eyes. “Because somewhere inside us is a person who wants to live and be happy.”
“And are you, Mia? Happy?”
I snort. “No. But that’s got nothing to do with Oasis. But you know what? Today I can honestly say I want to live. And that, my friend, is a goddamn miracle.”
The party winds down around ten, and Kinsey and I walk arm in arm toward her cabin. She’s blissful at the notion of seeing Teacup tomorrow. And calling Nix.
“So… you and Nix, huh?” I tease.
Her arm tightens on mine. “I don’t know. Maybe. I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked him until he was gone.”
Thinking of Nix’s feelings for her, I say, “You should see where it goes. Although, statistically speaking, rehab relationships—”
“Shut up,” she snaps with a grin. “Even if there’s nothing there with Nix, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. We’re besties now.”
I sigh dramatically. She merely giggles and pats my arm. When we reach her cabin, we sit on the small stoop and lapse into companionable silence.
“Mia?”
“Yep?”
“Thank you for not asking why I’m here.”
I give her the side-eye. “You’re welcome. I hope that doesn’t mean you’re about to tell me.”
She laughs softly. “You bitch. Don’t you want to know?”
I shrug. Secrets don’t have the pull they used to. I haven’t felt the itch since… Stumped, I dig through the last couple of weeks. Ah, there it is. Since the day my own secrets swam to the surface and found air.
“I want to tell you,” murmurs Kinsey.
I shift to face her, giving her my full attention. “Okay.”
“I was abused as a kid. Pretty badly over a two-year period. It was my uncle—my mom’s brother. He used to stay with us for a few months at a time. My mom couldn’t say no to him. She’d tell my dad he just needed some help getting back on his feet, that he was family, and my dad always fell for it. Anyway, he would sneak into my room at night. Until Dr. Chastain, I’d never told anyone. Shit, I’d buried it so deep I didn’t remember a lot of it. I never knew this thing that happened to me when I was little was driving my choices in life. All I knew was that I felt different. Wrong. Hence the night terrors.” She pauses. “Doc told me you barged in one night. That you misread the situation and went toe-to-toe with him to protect me.”
I squirm in embarrassment. “Uh, yeah. I’m really sorry that happened to you, Kinsey.”
She grabs my hand and clamps down hard. “You’re a good friend, Mia. I look up to you a lot. We all do.”
My jaw drops. “What the fuck for?”
She smiles, shaking her head. “You don’t see it, but we do. Your problem—if you have one—is that you’re too alive. When the rest of us tried to hide and ignore our broken wings, you tried to fly with them.”
I’m so stunned, I just stare at her. My heart thunders in my chest. “I slept with him,” I blurt. “With Leo. The night we went camping. That’s why he bailed, not because of his kid.”
Kinsey blinks rapidly, processing, then squeals in laughter and shoves me hard, rocking me on the stoop. Then she falls onto her back, laughing so hard tears stream from her eyes.
“Oh my God, I’m dying,” she gasps. “Dying of how awesome this is.”
“It’s not awesome,” I hiss. “I broke the poor man and now he hates me and probably himself. Who does that? Who sleeps with their therapist? And keep your voice down, will you? This is fucking top secret.”
Wiping her tears, Kinsey sits up and crosses her heart. “I won’t tell anyone, Mia. Promise.” She sobers—a little. “Are you going to look him up when you get out? His practice is in L.A.”
“No. Fuck no. What could I possibly say? Hey, Doc, sorry I almost destroyed your credibility and career. How do you feel about dating ex-patients?” I shudder. “I’d rather stay in Oasis for the rest of my life.”
Kinsey’s arm wraps around my shoulders. “Hey, you do get that he’s equally responsible for what happened, right? He’s a grown man. He could have told you to get lost.”
Her words, though welcome, do little to soothe the storm inside me. Covering my face with my hands, I mumble, “I don’t even know if what I feel is real or some side effect of the therapy. I’ve never been that vulnerable with anyone who wasn’t my brother. It probably messed with my head.”
“I don’t know the answers, Mia,” she murmurs into my hair. “All I know is we aren’t the same people we were when we got here. And that you’re meeting me for coffee next week. Regret lives in the past and fear in the future, but neither exist in the present. Let’s live in the moment, one day at a time.”
My hands falling, I glower at her. “I don’t even know where to start with that pseudo-spiritual mashup of bullshit.”
She smirks. “That’s my girl. So tell me, is Leo hung or what?”
I groan. Then I tell her about the freakiest, best sex ever. She listens with wide eyes and when I’m finished says succinctly, “You’re screwed.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
27
goodbye
day 28
Early Monday morning, I’m roused from weird dreams about surfing on a sand dune by a pounding on the door of my cabin.
“Mia, open up!” shouts a familiar voice.
Stuck in that viscous moment between sleep and waking, I decide I’m still dreaming. The curtains are still dark with night. There’s no way Jameson is outside right now.
The door rattles, and his low voice snaps, “Give me the damned key!”
The sound of the door swinging open brings me fully awake. I snap upright, yanking the sheet over my bare chest, to see two dark figures standing in the doorway. One of them flips on the overhead lights.
My eyes bug out. “Jaybird? What the…” My voice fails as I see the man beside him. “Le—Dr. Chastain? What’s going on?”
Jameson is across the room in seconds, blocking my view of Leo. My brother reaches for me, then frowns. “I forgot you sleep naked. Get dressed. We have to go, Meerkat.”
I blink dumbly. “Huh?”
A drawer opens and Leo tosses a shirt onto the bed. Feeling like I’m in the Twilight Zone, I watch him move to the closet and pull out my suitcase, then start tossing all my clothes inside. His shoulders are tense, his gaze never once veering my way.
The last cobwebs clear from my mind. “What the hell is going on?” I snap at Jameson. He hands me the shirt, then meets my gaze. What I see in his eyes makes my stomach bottom out.
“Jaybird?” I whisper.
He nods, swallowing and rubbing at his eyes. “It’s Dad. He had a massive heart attack last night. He’s stable right now but is scheduled for bypass surgery in two days. I couldn’t get ahold of anyone here, so I called Dr. Chastain. He was kind enough to drive out with me.”
I glance at Leo, not for confirmation, but because I can’t help it. I can’t believe he’s here. For the first time, he’s looking back at me. There’s no professional mask—just the man, tired and rumpled and sincere.
“I’m sorry, Amelia,” he says softly.
I nod numbly, then clear my throat. “Can you both step outside for a sec so I can get dressed?”
They go.
An hour later, I sit in the back of Jameson’s Lexus SUV as it eats the miles toward Los Angeles. Dawn is breaking behind us, a kaleidoscope of blue and orange through scattered white clouds.
For the last few miles, every couple of minutes a random thought has come out of my mouth.
“He always loved bacon.”
“He played tennis twice a week.”
“Just turned sixty last year.”
“I skipped his birthday party because he invited his girlfriend.”
Finally, I turn my gaze from the passing scenery and look across at Leo. “Is this my fault?”
Jameson barks, “What? Of course not!”
Leo watches me sadly for a few moments, then reaches over and unbuckles my seatbelt. “Come here, Amelia.” The arm closest to me lifts, beckoning.
I move toward him like a flower seeking sunlight, sliding across the leather to tuck myself into his side. He finds the middle seatbelt and secures it around me, then hugs me against him.
“It’s absolutely not your fault.”
My cheek is against his chest, my arms cradled comfortably between us. Leo’s chin rests on my head. I don’t feel the seatbelt digging into my hip and stomach. I only feel him.
I think I should cry. Shouldn’t I be crying?
I don’t realize I’ve asked the question aloud until Leo says, “People process the shock of emotional pain in different ways. Some funnel overwhelming feelings into denial, anger, or violence. Others cry, or seek comfort in loved ones, or isolate.”
The Fall Before Flight Page 13