“Lovely. The position starts on May 10, and I’ll send you some information in an email—procedures, protocols… that kind of thing.”
“Great!” I shout, a little too loudly. I clamp my hand over my mouth. “That sounds great.”
“Do you have any questions for me?” she asks, and I know I should have something prepared, but I can’t think of anything.
“Not at the moment.”
“Very well, then. Welcome on board, Marlin.”
We exchange pleasantries, and then we hang up. I hop up and down in excitement, which I guess could be construed as odd, since I’ll be volunteering for free at a psychiatric hospital. But the need to help others, especially those with mental illness, has become a calling of sorts for me. I’d like to help out in an area that I’m familiar with.
I log onto Facebook and scroll through my feed. I’m surprised to see pictures of Charlie with another woman. Well, that was fast. When I look closer, I realize its Elizabeth Pierce, the woman he was married to in my dream.
She’s real, and according to her profile, she just got back from three years of volunteering in Africa.
They look happy, and though I know it should bother me, instead I know now that I deserve better. I must’ve seen her picture somewhere in Charlie’s Facebook, and my mind put two and two together. That’s the only explanation. My dream wasn’t real.
I flip onto my stomach and put my headphones in, blasting a Florence and the Machine song and closing my eyes.
To get a dream of life again
A little vision of the start and the end
But all the choirs in my head sang, no oh oh oh
Music is another one of my therapeutically charged routines, and one of Dr. Kostas’s suggestions before I left was to listen to music for an hour every day. Furthermore, I’ve been playing piano every day, which feels incredible after not playing for so long.
The lyrics resonate with me, and the beat pumps through my veins. Before I doze off (mom’s lunches always make me sleepy) I roll over and think about how proud I am of taking a stand and moving away from San Clemente. I’m starting to learn about how the smallest decisions and choices can affect the paths of our lives.
What may seem insignificant can deeply impact our future—choosing a college, accepting a job in another state, delaying your path by just a few seconds so you never meet your lover… or maybe delaying it a few seconds and meeting someone entirely new. Everything is affected by every decision you ever make. It’s daunting, but you just have to pray that the right path aligns with the path you’re on.
It was never the decision to go to a different college that forged my path and led me to unhappiness, but instead, small, seemingly insignificant choices along the way that contributed to me not feeling content.
I know life is going to be good from now on—I feel it. Even though Sebastian doesn’t really exist, even though that life wasn’t real, I still carry the happiness of that day around everywhere I go.
I know that one day, I’ll have that with someone. I just have to find a way there.
Chapter Fifteen
THREE months after
I pull up to Brattleboro Retreat early—so early that the fog still clings to the air in thick, misty droplets, and it still hurts to take a full breath. Once I see the magnificent building, I know that I’m in the right place.
I park and caress the tender skin on my forearm, where last night I had a guy named Derrik at Faithful Few Tattoo and Body Piercing permanently write the word fate across my scar. The inky letters are supposed to be a daily reminder that fate brought me here, and right now, sitting in front of this building, everything comes together in a culmination of fate, destiny, choices, decisions, and outcomes. All of it led me here, idling in front of Brattleboro Retreat, ready to start my new life.
I step out of my car and smooth my dress out. I love this dress—it’s my good-luck charm. The 1970s pattern is kind of crazy, but I think it suits me. I take a deep breath and walk down the long path to the majestic front steps, passing under an arched sign that reads Brattleboro Retreat. The trees and surroundings are so green this time of year, and as the fog starts to burn off, I can tell it’s going to be a beautiful day.
I don’t really know what to expect from this place, but the lobby itself is a surprise. It’s green, blue, yellow, and funky. Swirly, wavy patterns line the floors and walls, and for a second, I forget that I’m in a psychiatric hospital.
“Can I help you?” A young, blond receptionist greets me. Her nametag says Cecelia.
“Hi,” I say, reaching my hand out for a handshake. “I’m here to volunteer. I’m supposed to meet with Darcy Kavanagh.”
“Ahh,” Cecelia says, nodding. “So you’re the new volunteer. Darcy is busy with her rounds right now, but her daughter is here somewhere. I’ll have Emma show you the ropes.”
The name Emma surprises me, but I brush it off. There’s no way… it’s not possible. None of them exist.
I nod and sit down. Cecelia calls Emma, whispering, and a few minutes later, the Emma comes walking into the lobby like she owns the place. My breath gets caught in my throat. I suddenly put everything together, and though it’s impossible to know how my brain knew this, this job must be the job she left to work at the shop in my dream. I remember she mentioned that she used to work with her mom.
“Hi!” she says, her voice and demeanor perky. “I’m Emma.”
I want to say, “I know,” but I don’t. Instead, I smile and bite my tongue. I feel like I’m about to cry. It’s Emma! She’s real!
“Hi, I’m Marlin.”
“You’re going to be shadowing my mother today, but right now she’s busy with patients. She should be done in a couple of hours, but until then, you can shadow me and help out.” I nod, keeping quiet, and she continues. We walk down a bright hallway. “We’re so glad that you’re here. We’re pretty thinly stretched around here thanks to all of the budget cuts, not to mention all of the overwhelmed public hospitals.”
“Oh, sure, it’s no problem,” I say, my voice strained. I study Emma as inconspicuously as I can, and I notice a thin wedding band on her ring finger. “Are you married?” I ask in my girliest voice, indicating to her ring.
“Yep,” she gushes. “Two wonderful years. My husband is in construction.”
I nod, and then I realize a normal person would answer her. “That’s cool.” But I want to grab her by the shoulders and ask her if she knows Sebastian. Now, more than ever, I believe he has to be real. He has to be, right?
I did all kinds of searches—Sebastian Juares simply does not exist. But Emma does, and presumably Jeb. That has to mean something.
“Are you in a relationship?” Emma asks, leading me into what looks like an employee lounge room.
“No. I just got out of a seven-year relationship.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Emma says, her voice sympathetic. She looks exactly the same—red hair, fiery disposition. I only “met” her the one time at the cheese shop, but I longed for her friendship over the last three months. I can’t believe she’s here.
“I’m fine,” I say, smiling. “It was very much for the better,” I assure her. She just smiles and nods.
“Well, in any case, there’s not a whole lot of time to think about boys here.” She giggles, and I want to hug her.
“That’s okay. I need to work on myself for a while.” I don’t elaborate.
She hands me a neon vest, a trash bag, and a contraption that looks oddly like a long probe. “I’m afraid this morning calls for tidying the grounds. Isn’t my life glamorous?” She laughs, and we both put on our vests.
As we walk back outside, our conversation becomes amiable and lighthearted. Before long, we make plans to meet for coffee this week. I agree and tell her that my small apartment is close to downtown Brattleboro. I stop trying to question how she’s real, and instead, I focus on the fact that we get along so well in real life. Deciphering my dream won’t do any good—who k
nows how the brain works? I could drive myself crazy, or I could just accept the fact that Emma is real and I should be grateful that I found her.
The morning is over before I know it, and once we’re back inside, I meet Darcy. She’s just as fiery as Emma, and she dismisses me for the day. She tells me to come back tomorrow, and we’ll figure out a schedule then. I thank them both, and I’m sure to give Emma my number so that we can hang out.
When I walk outside, instead of going straight to my car, I walk down the long driveway, past the parking lot, and to the embankment I saw earlier with Emma while we were picking up trash. I think I saw a path leading down to the water, and I’m in the mood for discovering new things. My Doc Martin boots are sturdy, so I don’t even flinch at the mud.
Just as I suspected, the path leads to a small overlook with a rock. I think this is the West River—Vermont geography is still very new to me. I sit down and sigh, because today was a good day. I felt like myself again.
A few minutes later, as I’m about to get up and leave, I hear leaves crunch behind me. I wonder if someone else knows about this spot. I hear the person begin to leave, as if they’re embarrassed about imposing their company on me. I wonder for a second if it’s Emma.
“I don’t bite,” I say jokingly, but it comes off as harsh.
I turn, and the sun is rising over the buildings, so I have to shield my eyes. The first thing I see is a wheelchair. A man. A man with long hair. A man with a beard.
Sebastian?
Sebastian.
Sebastian.
I’m frozen, and I know he knows that I recognize him, because his facial expression goes from annoyed to unsure. I feel like crying, screaming, and running, all at the same time. A million thoughts pass through my mind, like: How is this even possible? Does he know who I am? Does he recognize me?
“Is it really you?” I whisper. I’m surprised at how quiet my voice is. I’m not sure if he hears me. He watches me skeptically.
In an instant, I stand and walk over to him, but he pulls away. He rapidly starts to spin his wheel, but it’s stuck on a rock. I have to help him. I walk closer. He has two casts—one on each leg.
“Sebastian, how did—”
“Stop.” He holds a hand out so that I don’t come any closer. Hearing his voice, even just one word, is enough to make me believe in miracles. “Just… leave me alone. I don’t know how you know my name, but it’s obviously a mistake.”
My heart breaks into a million little pieces. Before either of us can say anything more, he frees himself and wheels away quickly, leaving me there, wrecked and broken and confused.
After a few minutes of standing still in shock, I bolt into action, running in the direction of his wheelchair marks. I see him ahead, almost at the ramp leading up to the lobby, and I run harder, faster. It’s him—it’s undeniably him.
He turns and looks at me, and it stops me dead in my tracks. It’s a cruel stare. A cold stare. A get-the-fuck-away-from-me kind of stare. I want to run after him. I want to see what he remembers, and most of all… why he’s going back into the building. I eye him just as he turns and wheels himself up the ramp and into the lobby, and everything clicks into place.
Sebastian is a patient here.
Chapter Sixteen
PRESENT
The next day, I’m still frazzled from my encounter with Sebastian. He was so… different. He looked so forlorn and damaged. He looked like me three months ago. And why were both of his legs broken?
I’m wearing a mustard-yellow sweater and black skinny jeans, with brown combat boots. Cecelia complements my outfit twice. I get a weird vibe from her. Darcy greets me, and today she’s going to let me shadow her as she checks in on all of her patients. Normally, volunteers do all of the boring dirty work, but she’s taken a liking to me, and she thinks I’ll do well interacting with the patients. I think I’d make a good nurse. I need to remember to keep that in mind for the future.
I follow Darcy down the hall, and by the time we get to room seven, I’m wringing my hands together. Darcy knocks twice in quick succession, and once we’re inside, I see a young woman with stringy auburn hair. She’s curled up in bed. Darcy walks over to her.
“Lily, this is Marlin, my new helper.” I see Lily eye me skeptically. “She’s going to be helping me most days.” Lily slowly sits up and reaches out to shake my hand.
“You’re probably wondering what’s wrong with me,” she says, her voice blunt and much higher than I expected.
“Oh,” I say, startled. I look over at Darcy, who is opening the blinds and seems not to care. “No, I was just—”
“I’m kidding. But really, I’m an alcoholic.” She mimics a drinking gesture, and then she laughs. “Withdrawals are a bitch.”
I nod. I’m so under qualified for this—these people have real problems. I should be volunteering to pick up trash and answer boring emails. I might say the wrong thing. Is there a wrong thing to say to someone like Lily?
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You can smuggle me a handle of vodka,” she suggests, and her laugh tells me just how young she is. She can’t be older than thirty. Darcy clucks disapprovingly.
“No vodka for you.” She swats Lily’s hand gently and then pulls me behind her as we leave the room. I look over my shoulder at Lily, and she’s already curled up under the covers. Darcy closes the door.
“This is Lily’s third stint here.”
I bob my head in understanding.
“Next up: Mr. Kringle.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Kringle?”
“Yep. Adult Onset Schizophrenia.” She leads us to room eight, and I hear banging inside. She looks at me and then gestures to the next door. “We should come back later. Mr. Kringle can get fussy in the morning.”
“I see.” I can’t help but smile, because Darcy seems to know her patients well and expresses fondness for all of them.
“Room nine: home to my favorite patient. But don’t tell anyone I said that. Mr. Rivera. He’s moody, so don’t take offense. Suicidal ideation and clinical depression.” Before I have a chance to respond, she throws the door open. “Wakey, wakey, Sebastian. I have a new friend for you to meet.”
Sebastian? Sebastian is being treated for suicidal tendencies and clinical depression? His last name is Rivera, hence why I couldn’t find him in any of my searches.
Sebastian Rivera is Sebastian Juares.
The room is dark, and as Darcy throws the curtains open, I see him move underneath the covers. I feel like we’re invading his privacy, and I’m sure I’m the last person he wants to see first thing in the morning. Once the light floods the room, I realize his back is to us.
“Sebastian, don’t be rude. Turn around and introduce yourself to Marlin, my new helper.”
He stirs, and when he turns over, I am again floored with emotion. The recognition is still there, but it’s been replaced with confusion.
“Hello, Marlin,” he says, his voice gruff. He gives Darcy a curt smile, obeying her orders like a good little student.
“Hi.” I wave meekly, and then I look down at my boots. I know my cheeks are bright red.
He flips the covers off of the bed, and holy moly, he’s shirtless. His body looks exactly the same as I remember, except his hair and beard are longer, and his eyes are more vacant.
“Marlin is the new volunteer at the retreat. She joins us from Wyoming, by way of California. Isn’t that right, Marlin?”
I nod. “Have you ever been to California?” I hate how condescending my tone is, and he must realize it too, because he doesn’t answer. Darcy walks over to help and helps him into his wheelchair in one swift motion. He wheels into the bathroom without saying anything else.
I look at Darcy, startled. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
She just chuckles. “No, dear. Like I said, the man is quite moody.”
I swallow, and then I follow her out of the room, and we backtrack to Mr. Kringle.
*
An hour later, after we’re done with morning rounds, I follow Darcy around the office, helping with various tasks. First, I answer a few emails. Next, I man the phones while Cecelia takes her lunch. Around one in the afternoon, Darcy excuses me. As I’m packing up, she studies me thoughtfully, folding generic white towels that are fresh from the dryer.
“I think tomorrow I will assign a patient to you. Do you think you could handle Mr. Rivera by himself? Don’t mind his temper and sour mood. He’ll warm up to you eventually.”
I choke. “Alone? Am I qualified? Don’t I have to be a nurse?”
She laughs. “For some things. I’ll administer his medication, but he needs a bit of help with his clothes, and as you know, his wheelchair. Sometimes he needs help bathing.”
I gulp at that thought. Helping him bathe? “Um, sure.” I slowly pack everything up into my purse. “Darcy?” She spins around, and I try to think of how to phrase my question without causing offense. “What happened to him? Why are his legs broken?”
She tsk-tsks, something she does often, and she puts her hands on her hips and makes a cross with her fingers, muttering something under her breath. She’s already done this a few times throughout the day, and I have to wonder if she’s Catholic.
“He jumped off a bridge. Tried to commit suicide. Broke both legs,” she finishes, clucking again. I can tell this bothers her. She takes his accident personally. I can see it in her face. I have a feeling this isn’t Sebastian’s first time here.
I swallow the spit that’s been pooling in my mouth. “When?”
“Three months ago.”
Three months ago.
I nod. “That’s intense.” I throw my purse over my shoulder.
“Have a good day, sweetie,” she says, smiling. “Thank you for all of your help.”
“No problem.” I begin to walk into the lobby, but something stops me. “Why do you want me to work with Mr. Rivera?”
The Realm of You: A Novel Page 12