by Pat White
He slipped out from under the bed. She was standing by the window, her hands pressed against her cheeks.
“Hey,” he said.
She rushed into his arms. “I thought you took off.”
“I couldn’t leave you like that.”
She leaned back and looked into his eyes. He glanced away not wanting to set off another HULU.
“Are you okay?” she said.
He refocused on her. “Am I okay? You went off into HULU land because of me.”
“I had a HULU because my brain is wonky from the accident.”
“Like I said, because of me.”
She let go of him and stepped back. J.D. figured she was agreeing with him.
“There’s no time for guilt or self pity.” She anxiously paced her room. “I just had a horrible HULU.”
“About what?”
“Being surrounded by fire in the woods.” She shuddered.
He grabbed her hand. “Hey, it’s okay, Cat.”
“Cat?” she questioned.
“You’re smart and sneaky like a cat,” he offered. The nickname suited her.
She glanced at their hands with an odd expression.
“What?” he said.
“I couldn’t stand if it you got hurt.”
He squeezed her hands. “Don’t worry about me. I’m tough.”
She leaned forward and kissed him.
He couldn’t believe it at first. The kiss in the greenbelt was an impulse, something he couldn’t control because he cared about her.
More than he should.
But this… she leaned into him and her tongue tickled his lips. He was going to embarrass himself in a minute.
Breaking the kiss, he pulled her against his chest. “We need to focus, young lady.”
“I was focused.”
“On stopping Greg.”
“Hey, maybe your detective friend could help?”
“He can’t investigate a crime before it happens. Just promise me you won’t risk being alone with Hoffman.”
“I’ll try.”
“Catherine,” he said with warning in his voice.
“Okay, enough with the jealousy.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“You know it. Now it’s my turn to remind you to focus. We need to devise a plan to stop him.”
* * *
I wake up Sunday morning feeling hopeful for once. J.D. and I had spent two hours brainstorming, exchanging newly-created, secret e-mails and cell phone numbers so that no one would suspect we’re together.
Are we together? I’m not sure. J.D. feels like my boyfriend, but we can’t be seen in public or smile at each other at school or do any of the things normal couples do.
I’m hiding again, like I’ve been hiding my HULU’s, my struggles with school, and my constant battle with anxiety and cognitive function.
I don’t want to hide this secret or be ashamed about my feelings for J.D. I want to feel proud.
J.D. said being associated with him is like putting a bulls-eye on my back, that he’s a delinquent, and I’ll be labeled a loser right along with him.
But he’s not a loser. He’s proud and strong. He doesn’t want sympathy from anyone, nor would he ask for help with his abusive situation at home.
I roll over in bed and inhale J.D.’s scent lingering on my pillow. The guy totally captured my heart last night, which is ironic, maybe even twisted.
I don’t care.
He understands me and accepts me for who I am, right now, today. He doesn’t wish for the old me back, nor does he compare my behavior to the standards of the pre-accident Catherine.
I’m not sure how it happened, but I’ve forgiven him for the accident. We were both to blame: me for being in the street and J.D. for probably racing away from his abusive father.
I get it. Stuff happens.
And I’ve got the ability to see it before it does, maybe even change it.
He’s not going to like my temporary strategy to stop Greg: stick by his side so he can’t do anything violent, at least until we can find evidence.
What else can I do? No one would believe me if I accused Greg of planning to torch something. They’d add it to the list of my erratic behavior. Taylor doesn’t text as often as she did a week ago. I’m sure she senses something is different.
I’m different. I’m not the same girl they knew before.
Get over it, people.
They can accept me or not accept me. I don’t care anymore because if I’m going to live a full life I need to work with my disability, not be ashamed of it.
Just like J.D. shouldn’t be ashamed of what’s going on in his house. My heart aches for him. How could a loving mother abandon her children like that?
“Catherine?” Mom says from the crack in the door.
“Yeah, I’m up.” I check the clock, 10:30.
Mom comes into my room wearing an odd expression on her face.
“You okay?” I ask, sitting up in bed.
“I’m fine.”
“You have a good time last night?”
“Very nice, yes,” she says.
“You’re acting weird,” I blurt out.
“Am I?” She shrugs and picks up a sweatshirt from the floor. “Dad and I are going into Seattle and would like you to join us.”
She was talking a little weird, too.
“I’ve got homework,” I say.
“It’ll just be a few hours. We need to talk about something and it’s a nice day for a drive.”
“Is she up?” Dad calls from downstairs.
“Yes, dear!” Mom shouts back.
Mom never shouts. Right now she sounds irritated, maybe even rattled.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask.
“Of course, sweetie.”
I don’t believe her.
“How soon can you be ready?” she asks with a bright smile.
“Half an hour?”
“Perfect.” She kisses me on the top of my head. “We’ll grab lunch and maybe stop by Pike Place Market.”
“What do we need to talk about?” I ask.
“Some family business.” She dismissively waves her hand and disappears into the hallway.
Family business usually means finances. Are we going to have to move? Scale down the house because of my medical bills?
I quell the panic rising in my chest. Leave the neighborhood? My school? J.D.?
“You don’t even know that’s what she wants to talk about,” I whisper.
I grab my cell and read a text from J.D.: Get up lazy
I smile and write a response: Have 2 go w rents. Txt u ltr
I hit Send and glance up. Dad is standing in the doorway.
“Who’s that?” he says.
“Taylor.”
He glances at my phone. He won’t demand to see it, will he? My heart pounds against my chest. If he finds out…
“Step it up.” He snaps his fingers.
“What’s your problem?”
He walks out and shuts the door. Actually shuts it. Not good.
I shower quickly and run styling oil in my hair to keep it from frizzing. No sense trying to style it since it’ll go where it wants anyway.
I’m downstairs in twenty minutes, more than a little anxious. Mom offers me a bowl of cereal and my meds. The house is so quiet I’m a little creeped out.
As we walk out to the car I glance across the street at J.D.’s house, and then snap my eyes back to Mom. Dangerous move, Cat.
Cat. J.D.’s nickname for me.
I smile to myself. I hope he sees me smiling from his window. I’m sure he’s watching. Knowing he’s there makes me feel a little less freaked about whatever my parents are about to dump on me.
We pull out of our driveway and head west toward Seattle. I adjust my ear buds and choose a Classic Rock play list on my iPod. Glancing out the window, I welcome a day off from worrying about Greg. J.D. texted me early this morning that there’s a fundraiser at school a
ll day, so today can’t be the day Greg will seek vengeance.
With a sigh, I push back all thoughts of Greg and think about last night. Once J.D. and I strategized ways to prevent Greg from getting revenge on Mr. Cooper, we talked music and movies. We both like THE BREAKFAST CLUB. Makes sense. A movie about kids stuck in separate worlds that break free for one day and form friendships. We talked about his brother, my struggles with school, and what bands were playing at El Corazon this month.
He teased me and I teased him back, and we laughed until I cried. It was the best time I’ve had with another person since the accident. My girlfriends’ gossip doesn’t interest me and my parents are always smothering me with worry. No one really listens or discusses anything of importance.
But J.D. listens with an open mind and a compassionate heart.
I must have drifted off because the car slows as we pull off the freeway.
“Where are we?” I sit up.
Dad parks in an office building lot and gets out.
Mom turns to me. “We’ve been having some adjustment problems and your father made an appointment with a psychiatrist.”
“If he’s got the problem, why are we here?”
“Please, he doesn’t ask for much.”
She’s right. Dad’s had a rough time. He’s not himself lately.
The three of us walk into the imposing, glass building in silence and Dad checks in with the security desk. As we take the elevator to the eleventh floor, Dad hovers in the corner as far away from me as possible.
“Dad?”
He looks at me.
“It’ll be okay,” I offer.
He snaps his attention to Mom. She shakes her head.
The elevator doors pop open and I glance out into a long, gray hallway trimmed in abstract prints that look like…
Bubbles.
My heart drops. It’s the hallway from the “commit Catherine” HULU.
“Mom?” I squeak.
With an arm around my shoulder, she guides me out of the elevator. “It’s okay, honey, they can help you here.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“No!” I wrench free of her.
“Catherine,” Mom hushes. “We’re concerned and we think Dr. Miller can help.”
“Why?”
“She’s a shrink,” Dad blurts out.
“I don’t need a shrink.” I back up but the elevator doors have closed behind me. I lean against cold steel, willing them to open again. “Why are you guys doing this to me?”
Mom takes a step toward me. “Because we love you, honey.”
“This isn’t love.” A tear slips down my cheek. I angrily wipe it away. I know love. Love is J.D. holding me, stroking my hair and kissing me.
“Sweetheart, please trust us.” Mom extends her hand.
How can I trust her? I’ve seen the future. I’ve seen them sign the papers to commit me.
“I don’t need a shrink,” I say with conviction.
“Just humor us sweetie,” Mom pleads.
“Do you promise not to commit me?”
“Oh, honey, why would you—”
“Promise!”
Mom’s eyes grow round and sad. “I promise.”
She reaches out but I jerk away and walk past her. I really don’t want her touching me right now.
I head down the hall. Dad has already disappeared into the office. Here I thought I had everyone fooled and yet they drag me to a shrink. On a Sunday!
But they haven’t committed me. Not yet.
Wait a second—I can change the HULU! I did it with J.D.’s brother. I need to calm down, prove to them I don’t need psychiatric help or a padded room.
I need to act normal, but which normal?
The office waiting area is empty. There’s no receptionist or secretary. The walls are pale blue and a few plants are strategically positioned in various corners. I take a seat in a gray cushioned chair as far from my father as possible.
This had to be his idea. Hell, he needs the shrink, not me.
Mom glances at both of us, sighs, and sits by Dad.
Nice. Guess I’m on my own.
I grab a magazine off the table and flip through it, not really focusing. I had such an amazing night with J.D. and now I’m in hell.
A few minutes of strained silence later, the office door opens and a woman steps out to greet us. She glances at my parents, then at me.
“Catherine?” she says.
I toss the magazine on the table. “Guilty.”
“I’m Dr. Miller.” She offers her hand.
I stand and shake it. It’s not her fault I’ve been dragged here against my will.
She turns to my parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Westfield.”
They all shake hands. Very proper, very polite.
I fantasize about racing down the bubble hallway to the elevator, but have no idea how I’d get home from the city. I don’t even have bus fare.
“I think it would be a good idea to speak with all three of you first.” The doctor holds her office door open.
Mom nods and walks past her. I glance at Dad. He’s not moving.
“Mr. Westfield?”
“Why do you need me to be in there?”
“Adam,” Mom scolds. “She came in on a Sunday.”
“Mr. Westfield, I find that meeting with the family first helps me get a better sense of the dynamics,” Dr. Miller explains.
He begrudgingly follows Mom into the office. Dr. Miller smiles at me. “Ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
* * *
Dr. Miller seems young for a shrink. She’s short like me, maybe five three, with blond highlights and friendly blue eyes. She explains her shrink style, and says she’s been working with traumatic brain injury victims for seven years.
Odd. I don’t feel like a victim anymore. Except for maybe a victim of ignorant parents.
“Your dad’s friend Bill is my cousin,” she says directly to me. “He is the reason they were able to get an appointment on a Sunday. Do you know why you’re here?”
“Because they think I’m messed up?”
Dr. Miller glances at my parents.
“We’re worried,” Mom says.
“Because?” Dr. Miller pushes.
Mom looks at Dad. He’s staring at the floor.
“Her friends think she’s troubled,” Mom offers.
“Which friends?” I push.
“Catherine, let’s give your mom a chance to share her concerns, okay?”
I zip it. What’s the point? They’re not listening to me anyway.
“Her best friend is worried about her, and Catherine’s boyfriend said that last weekend she ran off from a party into the woods.”
I’m tempted to say that creep could never be my boyfriend, but I stop myself. That would only prove Mom’s case: Catherine must be nuts if she doesn’t like the football star!
“Anything else?” Dr. Miller asks.
“Yesterday someone saw Catherine with the boy who ran her down,” Mom said.
Damn. It doesn’t matter who narced on me. I was seen with J.D. so I must be insane.
I’m totally screwed. I fist my left hand.
Don’t lose it.
“He’s my note taker,” I explain to the doctor.
“They were holding hands,” Dad snaps.
“In other words,” the shrink directs her question to my parents, “this behavior concerned you enough to make an emergency appointment with me?”
“Yes,” Mom says.
Dad nods, then glances at me. “Holding hands?” he whispers. “How could you?”
Shame floods through me like I’ve been caught drinking and driving. Yet all I did was like a guy.
Which they can never find out about or they will certainly commit me.
“Do I get to defend myself?” I ask the doctor.
“There’s no need to defend yourself. I’m going to send your parents into the waiting area so you and I can talk.”
Sh
e opens the office door. “Mr. and Mrs. Westfield, please wait out here.”
They leave and she shuts the door, sits down and studies me.
“Are you sad?” she asks.
“Is this confidential or are you going to share everything I say with my parents?”
“Confidential.”
I stand and wander to the window overlooking the city. It’s so clear outside that I can see the Olympic Mountain range in the distance.
“I’m frustrated,” I admit. “I’m not the same girl everyone knew before the accident so they think I’m whacked.” I turn to her. “Reality check: they need the shrink.”
She smiles. “We all need a shrink.”
“Even you?”
“Yep.”
I sit back down.
“What about your boyfriend’s concern about you running away from a party?” she asks.
“First, he’s not my boyfriend. He and my mom would like him to be, but he’s not.”
“Why would he get the impression that he is?”
“I used to like him, you know, before the accident.”
“But not anymore?” She writes something on her legal pad.
“Like I said. I’ve changed. Everything’s changed.”
“And you ran from the party because you were upset?”
You would be too if you saw the boy you were crushing on lighting someone on fire.
“High school parties are loud,” I explain. “Everyone was drunk and it was too much for me. It was my first party since the accident.”
She scribbles with her pencil. “Let’s talk about the accident.”
“I don’t remember much.”
“Your mom said it upsets you to see the boy who hit you with his car.”
“Yeah.”
“But now you’re holding his hand?”
And kissing him, hugging him. I glance at the floor.
“Can you understand why this might alarm your parents?” she asks. “Victims of TBI—”
“I hate that word, victim. Like I’m weak and broken and branded for life. I’m not. I fought really hard to start school on time and get back on Cheer.”
“Your mom thinks you’ve lost interest in Cheer.”
I shrug. “That was my old life. This is my new one.”
More notes. She’s probably writing down “depressed” or “delusional.”
“And your new life involves the boy—”