Quiet in Her Bones

by Singh, Nalini

  “Cancer.” It came out rough.

  “Thought so. Anyway, I gave her the company card and told her to make sure to say that I’d referred ­her—­we used to get a bonus for referrals, and I was still ignoring my father’s blood money. She apparently asked if I could be rostered on as staff lead because she felt comfortable dealing with me.”

  “Did you see Hemi?”

  “Sure—­and I also saw Tia get shaky about an hour into it. Makes sense if she was recovering from chemo. Pretty tough woman to stick it out that long. She gave me some final instructions before they left to go home early.”

  I stilled. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I felt bad for her because she’d done so much work for the event.”

  So Riki had been lying about his father’s ­alibi—­or he just hadn’t noticed the actual time they returned home. That night had never been as important to him as it was to me; he couldn’t be expected to recall all the details. But would my mother have allowed Hemi into her car in the short time between leaving the house and driving off? And would he have left Tia if she’d been feeling unwell?

  The man had cheated on her while she was battling cancer.

  Yes, he was fully capable of leaving her to go to my mother.

  A throbbing in my left temple. Shit. “I better head home.”

  Lily didn’t stop me, but she did touch my arm again at the door and say, “Come by again.” Her fingers were warm. “It’s nice being with someone who knows they’re equally screwed up.”

  The pounding had increased in ferocity by the time I got to my car. I wasn’t supposed to take the migraine medication if I was planning to drive, so I gritted my teeth and got going. But when lights began flashing in front of my eyes, I knew there was no way I was going to make it home.

  Pulling into a small lay-­by on the road, the bush falling off into the darkness on one side, I opened the glove box and retrieved the packet of pills I’d thrown in there.

  It was empty.

  Fuck.

  I didn’t remember taking them all, but I must have. Bile coating the back of my tongue, I scrabbled around in there, searching for a pill that might’ve popped out, or for another packet I may have thrown in there and forgotten about.

  Nothing.

  The lights turned into hammers, the hammers into a vise. And ­then … sweet oblivion.

  Transcript

  Session #12

  “This is the final time I’m going to be coming here.”

  “Why?”

  “I tell you too fucking much. Things no one else knows. I talk about her, and it all comes out.”

  “Have you had better control over your inner rage since the sessions began?”

  “Are you saying I can’t handle myself without your

  pathetic ass?”

  “I’m saying don’t give up now, when you’re so close to understanding yourself and the pain you carry within, the wounds that make you hurt.”

  “Oh, Christ, save me from this bleeding heart nonsense.”

  42

  I woke to the smell of antiseptic and that odd mixture of hushed silence and constant murmuring with which I’d become intimately familiar not long ago. The light hurt, but it wasn’t the searing pain of the migraine. After breathing in and out several times, I turned my ­head—­to see Diana seated on the chair beside the bed, her hands thrust into her hair and her elbows braced on her thighs.

  “Diana.” It came out a croak.

  Her head jerked up to reveal reddened eyes. “Oh my God, Aarav. You’re awake!” Voice trembling, she started to rise. “I have to call the doctors.”

  “Wait.” When I began to push myself up into a seated position, she ran around to tuck the pillow behind me. “What happened?” I was no longer in street clothes, was instead wearing a hospital gown. Someone had propped my moon boot on a pillow.

  “I was driving Calvin to the hospital to do an emergency ­surgery—­you know his car’s in the shop? No, of course ­not—­”

  “Diana.”

  She inhaled, held her breath, released. “Sorry. Well, we saw your car parked off the road. We weren’t sure it was yours at first but then I saw that yellow octagonal sticker the rental company has on the back window.” Her words began to fall over one another once again. “The road was empty at that time, so I did a U-­turn, and drove up alongside you, while Calvin tried to see inside the driver’s-­side window.

  “We thought it was probably just a ­breakdown—­but at such a dangerous spot. Then Calvin saw ­you—­you were slumped over the wheel.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “Thank God your door was unlocked. Calvin was able to check your vitals while I was on the phone with the ambulance service.

  “Calvin stayed with you until the ambulance arrived, since his patient was still being prepped. Then I came in the ambulance with you and he took the car. You’ve been unconscious for at least two hours.”

  She left while I was still processing the fact that I’d passed out from a migraine, and when she returned, it was with a nurse. Who was promptly followed by another. When they began to check my pulse and blood pressure, I didn’t protest.

  Then Dr. Binchy turned up. It took me a second to recognize him out of his signature suits. He could’ve been just another guy at the bar in his jeans and old University of Otago sweatshirt, his jaw bristly with stubble. “What the hell are you doing here, Doc?”

  He gave the nurses a look and the two men melted away. “Mrs. Liu,” he said, “if I could have a few minutes with Aarav.”

  “Oh, of course.” Diana patted my hand, her touch soft and warm. “I’ll be right outside, honey.”

  It was only when Dr. Binchy shut the door behind her that it dawned on me: though I was in a public hospital, I had a room to myself. “What’s wrong with me that I merit a solo room?”

  Dr. Binchy’s lips kicked up for a second. “No sinister ­reason—­you just got lucky.” He sat down in the chair Diana had just vacated. “We have to talk.”

  Great big knots up my spine. “Give it to me straight.”

  “The hospital ran a full blood panel when you were brought in, and to put it ­bluntly—­the level and variety of meds in your blood is a ­shit-­show.” He pinned me with a grim gaze. “You’re overdosing on some, not taking others, and your body can’t deal.”

  I had nothing to say to that. I knew full well I hadn’t been taking my meds properly. Hadn’t thought I was overdosing on ­anything … but that migraine medication hadn’t disappeared by itself. “It’s been a weird week,” I said at last.

  Taking off his ­black-­framed specs, Dr. Binchy pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re beyond pat words, Aarav. Mrs. Liu is very loyal to you, but I managed to impress on her that I needed a full picture of your mental health.”

  My abdomen grew hard.

  “She finally told me that she invited you over for coffee yesterday”—­a glance at his ­watch—­“no, it’ll be two days ago now. You realize it’s after midnight?”

  “I figured. Diana said I’d been out for a couple of hours.” I licked my dry lips. “What did she tell you?”

  He slid his glasses back on, the hazel of his eyes acutely penetrating. “That you repeatedly asked her the same question, seeming to forget the answer every time.”

  My hands dug into the sheets.

  I remembered having coffee and cake with Diana, remembered looking at photographs, but I didn’t remember that. “What question?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What question did I ask her?”

  “Oh.” Scratching at his jaw, he leaned back in his chair. “You kept asking her about a neighbor called Alice, and if Diana ­knew—­but she never worked out what you were referring to.”

  No. NO. I wouldn’t have run my mouth like that.

  This was bullshit.

  “I never asked that question.”

  Legs sprawled out in apparent ease, Dr. Binchy stared at me. “When was the last time you sent me an email?”<
br />
  “I dunno. A couple of weeks ago.”

  “You’ve sent me multiple emails in the past ­forty-­eight hours.” Reaching into the folder he’d carried into the hospital room, Dr. Binchy picked up a piece of paper and passed it across. In the sender field was the name Aarav Rai, but it was linked to an email address I’d never used.

  The subject was:

  Investigation.

  The text was short:

  I think my father killed my mother. He hated her and he’s a bastard. I just need to catch him out.

  Below that was another message with the same subject header, but this time, the text was focused on Hemi:

  He did it. I know it. Smug, pompous ass who pretends to be ­holier-­than-­thou while cheating regularly on his wife. It was him.

  The third message was cut off on the printout, but it seemed to blame Elei for everything.

  Face flushed, I thrust the page back at the doctor. “That’s not my email address.” Having spotted my phone on a nearby table, I picked it up and brought up my inbox. “This is my email address.”

  Dr. Binchy pressed his lips together. “You realize that if you’ve forgotten an entire conversation with another person, you’re fully capable of forgetting the act of setting up an email account.”

  Skin burning now, I put down the phone. “Have you talked to anyone else?”

  “Mrs. Liu informed your stepmother you were in hospital, and I followed up to assure her you were fine.”

  Yeah, I guess Shanti was technically my stepmother. “What did she say?”

  “She was thankful for the update as she’s been a bit worried about you. Apparently, you haven’t been your usual self.”

  “They just found my mother’s bones in a car in the bush.”

  “You haven’t been eating much, either. Shanti says you run on Coke and sweets.”

  “So? Bad habits happen when I’m on deadline.”

  “Do you also happen to sleepwalk to your sister’s bedroom doorway and stand there?” I’d never noticed how bushy his eyebrows were until this instant, when he raised both. “Thankfully, your sister wasn’t scared. She figured out what was happening because she once saw it on a TV show, and just led you back to your bedroom. Smart kid.”

  Pari didn’t lie. And she didn’t make up stories.

  I was the storyteller in the family. The professional liar.

  My foot twinged, reminding me of another nocturnal walk, another memory blank.

  “Your stepmother also hesitantly confessed something else when she realized who I was.” Dr. Binchy closed the file, dropped it onto his lap. “According to her, a neighbor’s seen you wandering about ­half-­naked at night.”

  Anastasia wouldn’t have spilled the beans. Had to have been Elei. Always watching.

  “Are you saying I’m sleepwalking every night?”

  “The implication was that it was a regular occurrence.” Dr. Binchy took off his glasses again, began to use the edge of his sweatshirt to wipe the lenses. “It’s probably because you’re playing fast and loose with your meds.”

  Jaw grinding, I picked up my phone again and forwarded him the file I’d sent Gigi. “You read what I’ve been ­writing—­that’s not the work of someone with a fucked-­up brain.”

  “The brain is an interesting organ. It could be that some parts of you are working with brilliance, while others are failing.” He held his glasses by one of the stems. “You need to be under constant neurological care until we’ve stabilized the levels of medication in your system. We also need to monitor your brain trauma more closely.”

  “Not a chance, Doc.” No one was going to keep me from finishing what I’d started.

  “I thought you’d say that. And ­since—­at this ­point—­you appear in control of your faculties, I’ll allow a heightened regime of checkups in lieu of inpatient care. Twice a week, my office. No room for negotiation.” His expression didn’t soften, but his voice was quieter as he added, “I won’t threaten you with any kind of forced medical intervention, but I will tell you that if you keep going as you are, you’re going to do permanent damage to your system.”

  He’d said nothing about my license to drive and I decided not to remind him. If another migraine came on while I was driving, I could stop before I became a danger to anyone. Because I needed my car now more than ever.

  If my brain was getting screwy, I had to finish this before I couldn’t.

  Transcript

  Session #13

  “It feels as if I’m always apologizing to you.”

  “Your reaction wasn’t violent the last time. That’s progress.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes, and you know I’m honest with you.”

  “Even though I’m paying you, I think you might be one of the few people in my life who is honest. Everyone else wears masks, their own skin suits.”

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “People hide things all the time. And when you start looking under rocks, you find a whole bunch of venomous insects.”

  43

  Diana drove me home an hour later, after I’d agreed to Dr. Binchy’s terms, and convinced him I’d sleep better at home than in the constant ­low-­level buzz of the hospital.

  “I’m sorry.” Her hands strangled the steering wheel. “I didn’t want to say anything, but he’s a neurosurgeon and he kept ­pushing …”

  “It’s fine, Diana. I must’ve freaked you out with the repetitive questions.”

  “No, I thought it was just stress, you know? Because of how they found Nina.” A shaky smile. “You’re really not angry?”

  I shook my head; it wasn’t her fault I had a brain injury and had screwed up my meds. “Mia told me that Beau was going for his piano exams. How did he do?”

  “Oh, he passed with flying colors.” Her voice was dazzling now. “You see that ­boy—­all slouchy and ­grumpy—­and you think he does nothing but play video games, but then he goes and pulls off something like this. I swear, I have to beg to get him to play on the baby grand we got for him, but he obviously does practice.”

  “I’ve heard him,” I told her, amused that Beau went to such lengths to hide his industriousness. “Mostly on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons after school.”

  “That’s when I go to watch Mia’s netball and hockey practices. The sneak!” But she was smiling. “He did say he’d play for my birthday.” Reaching over to touch my hand, she squeezed. “Will you come? It’s not for another month.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  It was only as she turned into the Cul-­de-­Sac that I suddenly remembered something. “My car.” I should’ve noticed it on the drive home.

  “Oh, it’s fine.” She used her remote to open the gates. “Shanti drove it home earlier, after Anastasia gave her a lift. She’s lovely, you know. Adores her ­twins—­just looks high maintenance with her hair and nails.” A pause. “Like Nina. That’s who she reminds me of and maybe that’s why I keep avoiding her overtures of friendship. Because she isn’t Nina, isn’t the person I miss.”

  We sat in silence the rest of the way to my father’s house. The sedan sat parked on the main drive rather than our private area. Unsurprising if Shanti had been the ­driver—­she hated any kind of precision parking. “Thanks, ­Diana—­and please thank Calvin, too.”

  “I’m so glad we were there.”

  I watched after her as she followed the curve of the Cul-­de-­Sac to her home. Someone had lit up the house against the night. Golden light poured out of every window. Even Diana’s ­winter-­bare rosebushes looked softer in that light.

  Shadows passed in front of the glass panel beside the door soon after Diana had gone up her drive. Then two silhouettes came together in a kiss. It looked like Calvin had done his surgery and beaten Diana home. Must’ve caught a cab from the hospital so she’d have the car.

  Hands tight on the grips of my crutches, I turned away at last, and walked into the house. It was two in the morning but
a wedge of light fell from the doorway of Shanti’s prayer room, a piece of warmth in the cold dark.

  Shanti appeared in the light when I’d only just closed the front door. “Aarav, you’re all right.” Eyes wet, she walked rapidly toward me, and when she hugged me by sliding her hands under my crutches, I didn’t know what to do.

  So I stood still.

  That seemed enough.

  The scent of incense clung to her skin. I had no need to ask if she’d been praying for me.

  Pulling back after a ­seconds-­long hug, she wiped away tears, then spoke in a rush of Hindi. “I was so worried when Diana called from the hospital. Your father was, too. You’re his only son, you know.” She patted one of my hands. “Come, I’ll get you some food.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I managed to get in, while ignoring the rest of what she’d said. “But could you carry a Coke upstairs for me?”

  She sighed. “You need to eat better.” But she was already turning to the kitchen. “You go on upstairs.”

  When she came up to my room after a few minutes, she had both the Coke and a small platter of crackers and cheese, with a side of pickle, and a bunch of grapes.

  “Thank you,” I said after she put everything down on my desk. “Sorry to have worried you.”

  She looked at me with those limpid, gentle eyes. “Everything is all right?”

  “Yes,” I lied without hesitation. “Got a bad migraine and blacked out, that’s all. Just didn’t take my pills in time.”

  “Oh.” A relieved smile. “I’m glad it’s nothing more serious.”

  She pulled my door shut as she left.

  Once alone, I opened the balcony doors to get some fresh air into my room, then limped over to sit down on the bed. My foot was feeling better than it had the last couple of days. Maybe I could get this damn boot off sooner rather than later.

  But my foot wasn’t the problem.

  My brain and its malfunctioning neurons held that position. I glanced at the scattered pill bottles on the bedside table. Hadn’t I counted those? I thought I had, and there’d been no sign of an overdose. Still, I’d better check my notebook; given my current memory issues, I couldn’t trust anything that wasn’t written down.