by Emma Scott
Dr. Poole was Blue Ridge’s director of operations whose favorite pastime was firing personnel to save money.
Rita patted my arm. “Sorry for the… unpleasantness, Jim. What Delia said—”
“It is what it is,” I said, my blood burning.
Alonzo was about to say something when Joaquin appeared at the end of the hallway.
“Hey, boss, got a second?”
“Coming.” He gave me a curious glance, then walked away.
Congratulations. Doris cackled. Now they all know you have a stutter and Delia is probably going to get your ass fired.
She was right. If I wasn’t careful, if I didn’t leave Thea’s case to the professionals, I’d have to start over somewhere else.
And never see Thea again.
That afternoon, as I cleaned up the empty rec room, I found a new drawing on Thea’s shelf. I glanced at the door before picking up the paper. Marc Antony stood at the prow of a warship, clad in silver armor under a burning sun of orange and red. His sword in the air, his expression stoic and calm. Every detail crafted out of word chains.
She’s not just good. She’s a genius.
As I read the word chains making up a side of one ship, my heart stopped.
Rue true blue bluest sky eye my smile rile rain pain pain pain
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
The lyrics to “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” Distilled down to their essence. The way the song would sound in Thea’s looping mind.
I gave the page a quarter turn, following the words up the ship’s mast.
Wish kiss kind eyes my mist mystical miracle lyrical lyrically utterly utter mutter stutter strum sting sing sing sing
Slowly, calmly, I folded the drawing and stuffed it in my back pocket. This one was mine.
Thea was down in the dark, but I was down there with her.
Chapter 10
Jim
“Jim, this is Brett Dodson,” Alonzo said. “Our newest hire.”
“Good to meet you,” Brett said, giving my hand a shake. He was stocky with dark hair and icy blue eyes that went over my shoulder, straight to Thea.
“I have to attend to some matters upstairs,” Alonzo said. “Jim, can you show Brett around? I haven’t had a chance to go over the resident files with him, so no interaction yet. Capisce?”
“Sure,” I said.
I took Brett around, finishing at the rec room. I pointed out the residents’ shelves, the game storage, and the supply closet.
“You got a hole in the wall,” Brett said, nodding at the crack in the closet’s sheetrock.
“Alonzo knows,” I said. “He’s called someone to fix it.”
Brett’s face was narrow and angular, with a small curl to his lips. “He’s kind of obsessed with this place, yeah?”
“He has high standards,” I said.
I wondered how Brett would stack up. He seemed friendly enough, I thought, following him back into the main room. As usual, Mr. Webb was at his table, working his puzzle.
“His head looks like the fender on my last car,” Brett muttered under his breath.
“That’s Mr. Webb,” I said pointedly. “He works that puzzle every day. It’s okay to box it up after he leaves, even if he’s not done. He’ll start it over tomorrow.”
Brett stared until Mr. Webb looked up, scowling.
“Hey, Mr. Webb. How ya doing?”
Mr. Webb narrowed his eyes and went back to his puzzle. Brett’s gaze turned to Thea.
“What’s her story?”
I stood straighter. “That’s Thea Hughes. Her case is severe. Alonzo will explain it to you.”
“She looks all right to me,” Brett said. He grinned and elbowed me. “You sure she’s a patient?”
“A r-r-resident,” I said, trying to gauge this guy, my hackles up. But he shrugged and smiled.
“Right.” Brett laughed. “Gotta use the terminology.”
I nodded. “Come on. I’ll show you the dining room.”
“You like working here?” Brett asked along the way.
“Sure.”
“Kind of weird, isn’t it? All these people with fucked-up brains. Like that dude with the dent in his head?” He whistled between his teeth. “That’s fucking wild.”
I stiffened. “It’s what happened.”
“Alonzo was telling me there’s a guy here who’d had a metal rod go straight through his eye and he lived. Perello-somebody.”
“Mr. Perello,” I said. “He’s a veteran.”
Brett laughed. “Mister. Right.” He rummaged in his pants pocket. “You smoke?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.”
Brett sauntered toward Jules at the front desk. He spoke to her a moment and her laugh echoed down the hallway as they went out to smoke.
I found Alonzo in the break room, stacking case files.
“You done for the day?” he asked.
I nodded. “You went over those with the new guy?”
“Not all of them. We’ll finish the rest tomorrow.” He cocked his head. “So? What do you make of him?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You’re the one who can read people.”
“Yep, and I can read a schedule too. We’re shorthanded. I don’t need to tell you—you been working fifteen-hour shifts for three straight weeks. We got no applications in a month and we need the help. We’ll keep an eye on Dodson and give him the night shift, if need be.”
He got up to go and paused at the door.
“Rita says Delia will allow you to take Miss Hughes for her FAE every day.”
I kept my expression neutral. “Great.”
“That means giving up your fifteen.”
“It’s fine.”
“Great. Fine. Mm-hmm,” Alonzo said. He started for the door again, then turned back. “I can read people, Jim. And you’re barking up the wrong damn tree.” He shook his head. “Hell, son. You’re in the wrong damn forest.”
“I want to get Thea some better art supplies,” I told Rita that afternoon in the rec room. “A canvas and some paint.”
Rita bit her lip. “It’s so sweet of you, Jim, but we talked about this. No budget.”
“I’ll pay for it myself.”
“Slow down, honey. Delia Hughes will flip her lid if a male staff member starts buying things for Thea. You could lose your job. I could lose my job.”
“Over better art supplies? Thea’s too good for pens and paper.”
“I know,” Rita said. “And Delia knows it too, but she has all kinds of rules. She worries that painting will upset Thea. And she’s afraid of the publicity if Thea creates a masterpiece. Which she will.”
“Why would that be a bad thing?”
“The world’s worst recorded case of amnesia is a prodigal musician. He’s been featured in documentaries, books, and medical shows. The second-worst case is Thea Hughes, a genius artist.” Rita shook her head. “Delia’s already had to fight off the press. She wants none of the attention. She thinks it would be too much for her sister.”
“But that kind of attention might get her case in front of doctors, right? Better doctors who might be able to do something for her.”
“Her case has been written up in medical journals,” Rita said. “It’s not a secret.”
“Are her word chains in the journals too?”
Rita sighed. “I don’t know. Look, as long as the doctors tell Delia that Thea is happy as she is…” She shrugged. “That’s all Delia wants to hear. That her sister’s okay. Not upsetting Thea takes precedence over everything else.”
“That’s fucked.”
Rita put her hands on her hips. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said it’s fucked, Rita. Why would Thea get upset if she had no awareness of her situation? And if she is aware, shouldn’t we do everything we can to improve her quality of life?”
The nurse’s mouth fell open. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you speak so many words in a row.”
I crossed my arms. Shrugg
ed like it was nothing, because nothing had ever been important enough.
“I understand your concern, but Thea has no awareness of what upsets her because she has no memory. Her upsets aren’t conscious, they’re instinctual. Mindless. You didn’t see her in the beginning, Jim. Episodes of hysterical screaming. I had to sedate her more times than I want to remember.”
She glanced at Thea, who was bent over her drawings.
“So long as Dr. Stevens tells Delia her sister is fine as she is, Delia wants to stay the course. So, we stay the course.”
I nodded even though the scenario felt ridiculous. I knew Blue Ridge was short-staffed and under-funded, but it seemed a no-brainer to give Thea paint or music or anything she enjoyed before the accident. Why her sister kept such a chokehold on her treatment made no damn sense.
“You have a little bit of a crush on her?” Rita asked, jerking me from my thoughts. “I understand. She’s beautiful but—”
“N-N-No,” I said. “Nothing like that. I just want her to have a life. A happy one.”
“She does seem happy. Happier than I’ve seen her in months.”
“Doesn’t that mean something?”
She gave me a sly smile. “I think it means she likes you. But let the doctors worry about her, okay? They know what they’re doing.”
I didn’t argue, but it seemed what the doctors were doing was a whole lot of nothing.
Rita took Thea back upstairs. I cleaned up the pens and paper, and another of Thea’s word chains jumped out at me like a striking snake.
Wish miss kiss kill will fill fall fail faint paint wait wait wait
“Jesus.”
Stay the course. For how long? Another two years? How long did Thea have to wait to at least be allowed to do what she loved?
Fuck that. After work, I’d ride directly to the nearest art supply store.
Then hang a left at the unemployment office once Delia finds out. Doris sneered. And then how will you take care of your broken-down girl? Who will protect her then?
I had no reply, other than it was the right thing to do.
I found a small arts and crafts store in Boones Mill and bought a canvas, brushes, and a set of acrylic paints. They weren’t cheap but living like a miser for six years meant I had money to spare. It felt good to spend it on something that mattered.
The following morning, I went to work with the supplies tucked under my arm.
“Whatcha got there, honeypie?” Jules asked as I strode past the front desk.
“Nothing.”
“Hey, when are we going to go out after work? I’m ready when you are.”
I ignored her. After weeks of working at Blue Ridge, Jules rubbed me the wrong way. Nothing terrible I could put my finger on, just an itch I couldn’t scratch.
I put the new supplies on a high shelf in the rec room closet. The hours dragged until one o’clock when it was time for Thea’s FAE. I endured our usual script until finally, we were alone in the brilliant sun. Her hand nestled in the crook of my elbow and her face turned up to the light, a dream-like smile on her face. She looked so peaceful. What if Delia was right that painting was too much for Thea? What if it triggered something deep in her sleeping memory?
Through the doubt, Thea’s own words spoke up: I’d kill for a canvas, as big as a wall.
“Thea,” I said.
She grinned. “Jimmy.”
“Would you like to start a new painting?”
“Would I?” Her hand on my arm tightened. “I’d love to. I love to paint the pyramids. Ancient Egypt. You need a canvas as big as a wall to do Egypt justice. Have I told you I was an Egyptologist?”
Fifty-four times. Then I made myself stop counting.
“No. Tell me.”
Her smile widened. “I love everything about ancient Egypt. Especially the pyramids. The idea that Egyptians would take the time and manpower to create gigantic monuments to the dead is just amazing to me. That’s all a pyramid is. A place where a dead king or queen is given all they need for the afterlife. It’s packed with supplies and the things they loved. All down there in the dark…”
Thea’s expression darkened too, her brows furrowed, as if she were close to touching something she couldn’t quite grasp.
Redirect.
“I know where there might be a canvas and paint,” I said.
The shadows fled from her eyes. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Where? Can you show me now?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Her happiness invaded my cold brick wall. I knew by the time we reached the rec room and I got the supplies set up, her reset would hit. But she was happy now, at this moment, and I’d made it happen.
I fucking did something…
I guided her to her table. “Be right back.”
I hurried to the supply closet and grabbed the paints, brushes, and tucked the canvas under my arm. If Delia wanted to fight me on this, I’d stand up for the both of us. Because painting wouldn’t upset Thea. It would help set her free, at least for a little while.
A man’s booming laugh filled the rec room. I dropped the canvas and strode out to see Brett Dodson sitting across from Thea, his back to me. Thea’s face was closed down, her shoulders hunched up, her hand holding tightly to her pen.
“How long has it been?” she asked.
“Twenty-four billion light years,” Brett said. “Give or take five minutes.”
Thea’s eyes widened and her chest hitched. “What do you mean?”
I strode over, anger running hot in my veins. “It’s been two years, M-M-Miss Hughes,” I said quickly. “T-T-Two years and the doctors are working on your case.”
Thea’s gaze darted between the two strange men in her space.
I wheeled on Brett and hissed, “What are you d-d-doing?”
“I had to see it with my own eyes. Dude, it’s nuts. Check this out.” He turned to Thea and pointed at his nametag and said slowly, as if she were dumb, “I’m Brett.”
“Hi,” she said, not offering her hand. “I’m Thea Hughes.”
“Brett Favre,” he said. “Ever heard of me? I used to play for the Packers. Two Super Bowl titles. I’m retired now—”
I grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the chair. “Wh-What the f-f-fuck?”
“What?” Brett laughed as he staggered back. “What’s your deal man? She’s not gonna remember. They told me all about her… what’s it called? Her reset. I thought it was a joke—”
I gave him another rough shove. “She’s not a j-j-joke. And you can’t talk to her like that.”
I wasn’t much taller or bigger than him, but I put on the suit of armor that made the bullies leave me alone in high school. Standing tall, feet planted, still as stone. I was ready for a fight, but Brett’s expression instantly turned remorseful.
“Shit, hey, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”
My fists unclenched and I studied his face, looking for sincerity or bullshit. “It’s a big deal that you don’t f-f-fuck with her.”
“I’m sorry, really,” he said, and then jerked his chin over my shoulder. “Damn, I think she’s in trouble.”
I looked back. Thea sat ramrod straight, the absence seizure clamping her like a vise. Frozen except for her hands that twitched on the table, the pen clattering.
Inhale. Exhale. I wheeled back around to Brett and concentrated every ounce of mental will I had to enunciate the words, “Get the fuck away from her.”
“Woah, be cool, man. Honest mistake.” He held up his hands and walked backward toward the door. “Won’t happen again.”
I had no clue if I could believe him or not. I wasn’t good at “reading people.” I stared him down until he was out of the rec room, then hurried to kneel beside Thea.
“Hey,” I said gently.
She looked at me fearfully, her breath coming in short gasps. “How long has it been?” she whispered.
“Two years,” I
said. “The doctors are working on your case. They’re going to figure it out.”
And if they’re not, I’m going to make them.
She nodded and sucked in a few deep breaths. “I’ve been away. But I’m back now.”
“I’m glad you came back,” I said.
A slow smile broke over her face, like a sunrise. “You’re the first person I’ve seen.” She offered her hand, her voice strengthening. “I’m Thea Hughes.”
“Hi, Thea. I’m Jimmy.”
Her friendly expression was back. “Jimmy,” she said. “That name fits you. You have kind eyes.”
I smiled. “So I’ve been told.”
I found Alonzo outside on a bench, smoking a cigarette.
He held up his hands. “I know, I know. I heard everything. Brett apologized. He couldn’t believe Miss Hughes’ situation and took it too far. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re not going to f-f-fire him?”
Alonzo’s eyes widened slightly, and humiliation crawled over my skin like red ants, making my face burn. The goddamn stutter stealing away any authority or clout I might have had.
“I thought Delia was just being rude the other day,” Alonzo said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “You could have told me.”
I stiffened. “I don’t tell anyone. Why would I?”
Alonzo watched me almost sadly a moment, then waved a hand. “Never mind. Brett’s on notice. Any more antics and he’s out of here.” He gave me a dark look. “I heard you got pretty rough with him.”
My chin lifted. “Thea had a seizure.”
“Christ.” Alonzo blew smoke out. “Look, I’m getting old and I’m tired. We need Dodson. I’ll put him on the night shift for a few weeks where he can’t talk to anyone, how’s that?”
I crossed my arms.
Alonzo sat up and jabbed the two fingers holding the cigarette in my direction. “Don’t give me that look, Whelan. I’m this close to putting you on the night shift too, you got me? Brett was out of line but so were you. You can’t be getting in pissing matches over Miss Hughes. It’s unprofessional, for starters. Moreover, she’s not yours.”
My shoulders tensed. “I know she isn’t.”
“Do you? I hear you want to buy art supplies for her.”