Your Voice Is All I Hear

by Leah Scheier

  “I just wanted to make sure Jonah was all right,” she continued in a sympathetic singsong voice. “Miles saw the ambulance coming down your street. So of course we were all very worried.”

  That was all she knew, I reasoned. She couldn’t possibly know what had happened in the ER or where they had admitted him. She could only be guessing from here on.

  “So I called Kris, to see if she’d heard anything,” she went on. “I wanted to bring Jonah a get-well card. Kris told me that they were admitting Jonah to Shady Grove.”

  There was an awful hush after she’d finished. But Cora was obviously not done yet; her pause had been just for effect. Everyone was staring at me now, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. It hurt to swallow and breathe. My life at school is over, I thought bitterly. I’d be the girlfriend of “crazy boy” forever, long after they forgot him. As much as I’d hated being invisible before, it was infinitely better than being known for something like this.

  “I don’t think anyone was surprised really,” Cora said with a smirk. “We all realized that he was nuts from the way that he’d been acting recently. But I knew something was weird even on that first day, when he decided to—when he chose to sit—well, you know.” And she waved her hand in my direction. “But it’s nice to know that it’s official finally.”

  There was another uncomfortable silence. Where was the teacher when I needed her? Why did she have to choose that day of all days to be late to school?

  I glanced around the room again. A few of my classmates—Miles, Robby, and his friends—were grinning at each other. But many of them were turning away from Cora and exchanging guilty looks and shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

  And then, to everyone’s surprise, Tessa spoke up. She had a shrill, nasal accent, but at that moment, no sound could have been sweeter than her voice. She started small, as if testing out her thoughts, but her words carried clear across the room. “You don’t know what he’s there for, Cora,” she said. “Shady Grove has rehab clinics. And an eating disorder center. Maybe he drinks too much. Or has bulimia. My cousin had anorexia for a while, and she went to a place like that.”

  We all turned to stare at her, and I sent her a look of silent gratitude. She didn’t have the face of a brave person; her cheeks were pale, and she was chewing nervously on a strand of hair. But she had defended an unpopular girl against the Princess of Fallstaff High. And for a moment, Cora didn’t know how to handle it.

  Cora cleared her throat a few times and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “People with bulimia don’t wander around the street half-naked in the middle of winter,” she said finally. “And they don’t yell out strange things in class. Only crazy people do that.”

  But Tessa had broken the ice, and others were willing to jump in. “My uncle was admitted to that hospital,” Michael called out. “He had PTSD and depression after he came back from Afghanistan. They kept him for a long time. If you want, April, I can tell you the name of his doctor. Maybe he can help.”

  I nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Michael.”

  “You know, when Jonah gets better, he’ll have a great subject for Ms. Lowry’s paper,” Tessa remarked. She appeared more confident after Michael’s comment, and she held her head a little higher. “It’ll probably be the most interesting one.”

  As if on cue, Ms. Lowry sauntered into the room (a good fifteen minutes late) and dropped her purse onto her desk. “Who’ll have a good subject for my paper?” she asked us cheerfully.

  I groaned and sank deeper into my chair. I didn’t want to hear Cora gloating over the details again. But she never got the chance to speak.

  “Jonah was admitted to the hospital two days ago,” Tessa called out before Cora could reply. “So we thought he would have a great story to tell us when he gets out. You know, for the assignment you gave us: How medicine changed our lives.”

  Ms. Lowry’s smile faded, and she glanced at me briefly before turning back to Tessa. “That will be Jonah’s choice, of course,” she told her quietly. “If he feels comfortable sharing the experience.”

  Ms. Lowry’s eyes skimmed over Cora’s livid face and then followed her across the room as she slid back into her seat. “Maybe we should give April some space, Cora,” she murmured. “But I’m sure she appreciates your concern.” Her tone was just sarcastic enough to make her point.

  When history was finally over, I gathered up my books and walked timidly toward Tessa’s desk, hoping to thank her for her support. But before I could reach her, she slung her bag over her shoulder and was out the door. She clearly didn’t want to stick around for either my appreciation or for Cora’s wrath.

  By the end of last period, the memory of Tessa’s kindness was very pale. The whole day felt like a long obstacle course of nudges, smiles, and whispers behind sleeves. When the final bell sounded, I grabbed my schoolbag and fled the building, heading for the city bus that would take me to Jonah. On the way there, my phone rang twice, the first call from my mom and the second one from Kristin. I hit reject for both.

  Chapter 26

  Shady Grove looked like most hospitals—manicured lawns, tall brick walls, and gleaming, antiseptic hallways. There were small differences, but most of those were only noticeable on the locked wards. The first floor pretended to be a hotel lobby; there was a little fountain, a gift shop, and a meditation/prayer room. The main security guard was probably just there for show, because she barely looked at me as I passed her. But as I stepped off the elevator and walked over to the metal door of 11 West, I understood why Jonah had been so terrified of this place. The intercom bell’s squeal and the clatter of the iron lock sliding into place made the entrance feel like a prison.

  I announced my name into the call button and pulled at the heavy door when the buzzer sounded. A nurse waved me over to her station. As I crossed the room, a young boy ran over and intercepted me.

  “I’m going home today,” he told me as if he’d been waiting all day to let me know.

  “That—that’s great,” I said and stepped back a little. He wasn’t threatening at all; he looked no more than twelve years old. But there was a strange brightness in his brown eyes, and he’d brought his curly dark head so close to mine that I could literally feel the warmth of his excitement.

  “That’s enough, Shawn,” the nurse called out. “I’m sure she’s very happy to hear your news.”

  He nodded and moved away, but his entire body still vibrated with suppressed joy. “I’m going home in exactly twenty minutes,” he declared.

  “Okay, Shawn, we’ve been over this a hundred times,” she told him crossly. “Your mother didn’t give us an exact time. I’ve been calling to remind her that she has to come to sign you out. I’ll let you know as soon as she phones, just like I promised.”

  Shawn didn’t appear to hear her. He turned back to me and grinned. “Eighteen minutes now. My mom’s coming to get me in eighteen minutes.” His cheerfulness was contagious; his olive cheeks glowed, his teeth flashed, and his small hands twisted together.

  “I’m really happy for you—” I began, but the boy slipped past me and began announcing his great news to another visitor.

  The nurse was still watching Shawn as I approached her, but the irritation had faded from her face. She just looked sad now. “Shawn, if you can’t sit still, I’ll have to send you to your room.”

  He fell back and retreated to a corner, muttering happily. “Seventeen minutes. Seventeen minutes till she comes.”

  The nurse sighed and turned to me. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here to see a patient who was admitted yesterday,” I said. “Jonah Golden?”

  She nodded. “You must be April.”

  I stared at her. “Wait—how do you know my name?”

  She smiled and pointed to a notebook on the table. “His mom listed you as an approved guest. It means I don’t have to notify her if
you visit or ask for her permission. You can go straight to the visitors’ lounge. He’s been waiting for you.”

  I thanked her and began to walk away, but someone touched me on the shoulder and said my name. I turned to look at the man behind me and then took a step back as I realized who he was.

  I’d never seen him before in person, but I recognized him from Jonah’s painting immediately. Dr. Golden looked just as I’d imagined him—and just as his son had drawn him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark brows, a square jaw, and smooth, sharp cheekbones, he reminded me of a model from an ad for expensive liquor. It was easy to see where Jonah got his striking looks; he was a gentler version of his dad. The elder man’s hair was straight, combed back, and streaked with gray; the son’s hung in thick, loose curls around his face. The father’s lips were thin and drawn; his son’s smile was fuller, soft, and dimpled.

  I’d actually been afraid of meeting Dr. Golden. I’d imagined him as an awful ogre, a tyrant whose name we weren’t allowed to mention. And yet, he didn’t seem so terrible in person. His eyes were questioning, not critical, and he seemed genuinely nervous.

  “My wife told me all about you,” he said. (I noticed that he hadn’t referred to Jonah’s mother as his “ex.”) “I’ve wanted to meet you for a while now.”

  “I’m April,” I told him, holding out my hand awkwardly.

  “Dr. Golden,” he replied and gripped my fingers in a firm handshake. “I imagine you’ve heard a lot about me.”

  Was I supposed to say yes to that or no? The truth wasn’t exactly complimentary.

  He seemed to read my answer in my silence because he nodded sharply and released my hand. “I’ll follow you in—”

  “One minute, sir,” the nurse called out to him. “You can’t go in yet.”

  He wheeled around and glared at her. “What do you mean I can’t go in? I’m his father. I just flew in from Boston to visit him. I have a right to see my son.”

  The nurse didn’t flinch as he approached the desk. She seemed almost bored, as if she’d had this conversation ten times already before lunch and was gearing up for the afternoon routine. “I have instructions from Rachel Golden to call her when you arrive. She wants to be here when you visit him.”

  He grunted and crossed his arms. “Oh, she’s still playing at that, is she?” He squinted at the nurse’s name tag and pushed his lips into a rigid smile. “Listen, Becky, Jonah’s mother and I are married, do you understand? Not divorced. We’re just separated—temporarily. There’s no custody battle here. I’m still Jonah’s father. Legally I have every right to see him.”

  Nurse Becky was a battle-ax of a lady, almost as wide as she was tall, with her iron gray hair pulled back into a brittle, spiky braid. As she got up from her chair, Jonah’s father took a step back. “Look, Mr. Golden,” she growled at him. “Please understand that we’re only concerned about Jonah’s health. What your son needs now is stability and peace, not more conflict. If you have issues with his mother, then you should deal with those outside—without getting him involved. He’s very sick right now, and we’ve only just begun his therapy.”

  “Don’t talk to me about his therapy,” he snapped. “I’m a physician. You don’t have to dumb things down for me. I know all about the counseling crap that you do here. You’ll get him to tell you some bull about how his parents didn’t love him enough, and then six months later, you’ll send him home with enough medicine to kill a horse.”

  She sank back into her chair. The bored expression had returned; her eyelids were heavy with it. She seemed immune to anger, as if she was used to swallowing obnoxious parents with her morning coffee. “You have a strange idea of what we do here, Doctor. But things have changed a little since you went to school. I’ll ask you to respect our wishes and wait. Mrs. Golden will be here in a few minutes.”

  He sank irritably into a nearby chair. “Unbelievable,” he muttered and crossed his arms. The nurse shrugged at me and gestured with her head in the direction of the hallway. I took her permission and slipped away. I felt guilty walking off like that and leaving Dr. Golden sulking in the waiting area. It seemed that I’d been given a pass that rightfully belonged to Jonah’s father, who had, for better or worse, spent sixteen years raising his child. I didn’t know what he’d done to deserve what had just happened, but it still felt wrong to me.

  As I neared the visitors’ lounge, all feelings of guilt faded, and I felt my stomach lurch. I had no idea what I would find when I went in; for all I knew, Jonah wouldn’t even recognize me when he saw me. I didn’t understand his illness, and I knew nothing about the medicines they’d given him. Could they change his personality? Would he still be the boy I loved?

  But then I saw him, sitting huddled on a corner sofa, his head resting against the wall, and I realized that it didn’t matter if he knew me or not. He looked so vulnerable; his knees were pulled up to his chest, and he’d wrapped his arms around them as if he was trying to disappear.

  And then he glanced up at me and smiled—and all my worries vanished. It was Jonah’s smile, the warm, happy one I loved, and it was all I needed. I ran to him and threw my arms around him, pulled his face to mine, and kissed him. They’ve made a huge mistake, I thought. Jonah didn’t belong here. They’d be sending him home that afternoon for sure.

  But then he put his hands on mine and pulled me away. His eyes narrowed in disapproval, and he bit his lip. “April,” he whispered urgently. “Where’s your hat?”

  At first, I didn’t understand what he was asking. What hat? He couldn’t still be fixated on the tinfoil beret, could he? But as I watched him, I realized that he wasn’t really looking at me. His eyes were focused a little to my right, and he seemed to be listening to something. He was shaking his head, not at me exactly, but at an invisible something that made his face darken and his muscles tense.

  “Jonah, please,” I begged him, placing my hands against his cheeks. “Tell me what you’re hearing. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

  He seemed to hear me, but the frightened expression didn’t change. He stared at me for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I sighed. “You’re not being fair to me. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  He glared at his lap and plucked at the frayed edges of his sleeve. “Leave me alone,” he said irritably. “I’ve answered enough questions from doctors and nurses and medical students. I don’t need them from you too.”

  “What happened? What did the doctors do?” I asked.

  “What I expected they would. They gave me pills. Three different ones. I wouldn’t take them at first. I fought them for a long time. They didn’t realize how strong I was.” There was a little pride in his voice. “But there were a lot of them, so what else could I do? I swallowed their poison in the end.”

  “Did it—did it help?” I regretted the question as soon it left my mouth.

  He frowned at me and clenched his fingers into fists. “Help with what?” he demanded. “There’s nothing wrong with me! Are you siding with them now? I didn’t think that you would do that—that you’d believe their lies—”

  “I don’t believe them! I’m on your side. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening to you.”

  But he was no longer listening to me; he was staring at a point outside the door. At first, I thought that he was hearing imaginary sounds again, but his expression was more focused than before. He rose and began to back away, edging fearfully toward the wall, his chest rising in fast, uneven breaths. And then I heard the staccato rhythm of Dr. Golden’s reedy voice and understood Jonah’s reaction. Mrs. Golden was pleading with her husband as they approached. “Just listen to him, Aaron. That’s all I’m asking. Just listen.”

  Dr. Golden pushed his way into the room before his wife, but she slipped by him and hurried over to her son. Jonah had flattened himself agai
nst the wall and was glaring at his father. He didn’t seem to feel the hand that his mother laid softly on his shoulder or hear what she was whispering to him. “Give him a chance, Jonah. Please, baby, just let him talk.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Dr. Golden’s face. When he’d first come into the room, his expression was angry and severe, his face seemingly carved from granite. But then he saw his son, and the stone form melted in front of us.

  I’d forgotten how much Jonah had changed over the last few weeks. Looking now at his father’s pained expression, I saw my boyfriend again—but this time through a parent’s eyes. I saw Jonah’s pallor, the jutting ridges of his bones, the sunken deep blue eyes, the scabs and bruises on his knuckles. I remembered again what he’d looked like when I’d first met him, and I understood why Dr. Golden gasped and sank weakly down into a chair. “My God, Rachel,” he murmured to his wife. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

  Jonah crossed his arms. He looked like a ghostly version of his father. The angry suspicion in his eyes was the same as the one I’d seen in Dr. Golden’s just a few minutes ago. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  Dr. Golden was making an obvious effort to stay calm. He swallowed several times and looked helplessly at the three of us before answering. “Did you expect I wouldn’t come, Jonah?” he asked in a halting voice. “You’ve been admitted to a hospital, and you thought it wouldn’t matter to me? If I’d known sooner what was going on—if someone had told me what was happening—I’d have been here a long time ago.” Confidence was returning to his voice, and a shade of resentment too. “I tried calling—I tried everything I could think of—but you, both of you, seemed more interested in holding on to grudges than making things right again—”

  “Aaron, please,” Jonah’s mother interrupted. “Now’s not the time for this—”

  “When’s the right time?” he retorted. “How long will this go on? How many times do I have to apologize?”