by Emma Scott
“They’re bought.”
“Lord above, did Delia approve that?”
I said nothing.
“That would be no.” Alonzo sighed. “I knew it. You’re falling for the poor girl.”
My arms dropped to my sides. “I’m not f-falling for her. She can’t—”
“That’s right. She can’t nothing.” He chucked his smoke down and ground it under his boot.
“She can paint,” I said. “She’s an artist. She should be painting.”
I braced myself for Alonzo to blow up at me, but he sank back on the bench. “I know. It’s a shame, watching her make do with pen and paper, day after day.”
“So? Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow at rec time, give it a shot. But if Miss Hughes shows any kind of upset at all, that’s it.” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “No more paint.”
“Got it.”
“We’ll see. You recall Delia nearly had you canned last week. Or you got amnesia too?”
“I remember.”
“She doesn’t like strange men taking an interest in her sister. You can see why, can’t you?”
Inhale. Exhale. “I would never hurt Thea in any way. I swear it.”
It came out perfectly. No stutter.
Alonzo eyed me a good, hard minute. Then, with a small groan, he bent and picked up the butt of his smoke off the ground with two fingers. “All right, Jim. I’ll have your back on this,” he said. “Don’t make me regret it.”
The gravel crunched under his feet as he walked away, leaving his words hanging in the sticky air.
You’re falling for that poor girl.
I was. I’d quit my job before I hurt her, but it didn’t stop my stupid heart from wanting an impossible life. I was a dying man in Thea’s Egyptian desert, and she was a mirage. An oasis that didn’t exist.
And I had to stop turning my empty soul in her direction.
Chapter 11
Jim
After the previous day’s attempt to let Thea paint had been ruined by Brett, I decided to make up for it. I went back to the art store and purchased an easel, a smock, and one of those paint trays with a hole for the thumb. I’d found a tarp in one of the supply closets and set it underneath the easel in the rec room to protect the old linoleum. I had a feeling that Thea, when she painted, didn’t hold back.
Job done, I shot a glance at Alonzo who stood at the nurse’s station. It wasn’t Delia’s day to visit, but he was there to run interference, just in case. The trust he’d placed in me felt impossibly good. If this went south, it wouldn’t just hurt Thea but ruin that too.
Alonzo glanced down the hall and then back to me. “Here she comes.”
Rita brought Thea in, and I joined them at the door.
“Hi, Miss Hughes.”
Thea glanced at my nametag. “Hi… Jim?”
“It’s Jimmy,” I said. “I have something for you.”
Her smile widened. “Oh yeah? Is it my birthday?”
I stared and my brain went into a tailspin.
Was it? Did she think it was? Did she know one way or the other?
“Oh my God, calm down, Jimmy. I’m teasing.” Thea laughed, but the smile fell off her face as she caught sight of my setup. She walked slowly toward the mini art studio. “Is this… for me?”
“Y-Yeah,” I said. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?”
Thea whirled on me and threw her arms around my neck. For a split second, time stood still, and I had this girl in my arms. I had her warm embrace wrapped around me after years of going without. She let go quickly, leaving me reeling, and went to the easel, where she traced her fingers down the edge of the canvas.
“Holy shit, Jimmy, this is amazing. I haven’t painted in… how long has it been?”
“Two years, Miss Hughes,” I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “You’re long overdue.”
She gave me another beautiful smile. “Thank you. I think so too.”
As she set up her paints, I shot a glance over my shoulder. Rita beamed and mimed clapping her hands. Alonzo nodded at me with quiet approval. Like the proud parents I never had.
Fuck, don’t get stupid now.
I concentrated on Thea, making sure she was okay and not overwhelmed. Just the opposite, Thea smeared paint on her palette in blotches of color and got to work. No word chains. Not even a pyramid. At least not that I could tell.
For twenty minutes, with Rita and Alonzo at my side, Thea painted. Bright blue swaths across the top of the canvas, dark gray along the bottom with tall, rectangular columns rising from the gray into the blue. Outlines only, so far. Hints of what was to come. Whatever Thea was doing, it was too big for one session.
“Obelisks?” Rita murmured. “Is this Egyptian?”
“Don’t know,” I said.
Rita and Alonzo drifted away from the corner to work with other residents in the rec room. I busied myself straightening up but did a half-assed job, always keeping an eye out for any signs of distress in Thea. None. She was consumed. I doubted she’d have heard a window shattering.
And no reset. Holy shit…
“Rita.” I waved her over. “When was her last reset?”
“Before she came down.”
“That was what, twenty minutes ago? She’d have had three or four by now, right? But she…”
“Painted right through them.”
We shared triumphant glances. Thea painted for another thirty minutes straight and then Rita checked her watch.
“I hate to stop her, but I have to take her back,” Rita said. She stepped forward and touched Thea on the arm. “Miss Hughes?”
Thea froze and blinked. “How long has it been?”
“Two years,” Rita said. “The doctors are working on your case.”
Thea looked at the palette and brush in her hand, the smock over her drab clothes and back at the unfinished painting.
“I did this,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“You did,” Rita said. “It’s beautiful and you can work on it again after a rest.”
Thea beamed and her body relaxed. No seizure.
I slumped back against a wall as relief coursed through my veins. Happiness so potent it felt illegal.
It worked.
“Awesome.” Thea set down her paints, removed the smock. “Not too shabby, right? I mean, it’s a start. Not done yet, obviously. Not at all. But I can come back and finish?”
“Of course,” Rita said. “Are you hungry? Would you like a snack?”
She thought for a second. “Starving.”
Rita shot me a smile as she led Thea out of the room. In a few minutes, everything she’s accomplished would be wiped clean.
But she can come back tomorrow. Or have an easel in her room. She doesn’t have to stop…
“Okay, cool your jets,” Alonzo said, chuckling. “I know where your thinking’s going, but let’s take it one step at a time.”
“She looked pretty happy, right?”
“She looked a lot happy.” He crossed his arms, not quite meeting my eye. “You know I run around this joint trying to keep it from falling apart. Because that’s important.”
I nodded.
“But that’s not all that’s important.” He patted me on the shoulder, meeting my eyes. “You did good, Jim.”
The father-son feeling came over me again, and I crossed my own arms over my chest, not sure if I wanted to keep it out or hold it in. “Thanks.”
Alonzo coughed and looked away. “Speaking of falling apart, I called a guy to fix the hole in the supply closet ages ago. Better go see what’s keeping him.”
He hurried out of the rec room and I turned to Thea’s painting. Tall, rough, rectangular cuboids reaching into a sky of blue. I didn’t know what it meant, but there were no word chains, no cries for help, and that made the unfinished painting a masterpiece to me.
Seven a.m. the next morning, and the heat was already intensifying. I entered the cool confines
of the sanitarium to see Brett Dodson leaning over the front desk, laughing with Jules.
“How’s the night shift treating you?” she was asking.
“Boring as hell,” Brett said. “I’m scheduled for three weeks. Alonzo’s a dick.”
I let the front door slam shut.
They both turned. Brett’s face broke out into a grin as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Hey, Jim. How’s it going?”
“Good morning, Jim,” Jules said. “Whatsa matter? Cat got your tongue?”
Brett coughed a laugh into his hand.
Fear, anger, and humiliation all tied up in a knot in my stomach, just like they had every day of my life when I was a kid. But I didn’t get this far from the high school bully bullshit just to have it start up all over again here.
“Cat got your tongue?” I said, dragging my glare between Brett to Jules. “That’s the best you got? You didn’t even stutter the t.”
“Hey,” Brett said. “It’s cool, man. I was just telling her what happened yesterday.” He turned to Jules. “Don’t make fun.”
Jules stared at him and burst out laughing.
He’s full of shit. They both are.
Inhale. Exhale.
“Enjoy your three weeks of night shifts,” I told him as I went past.
Brett smiled lazily. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find a way to keep them interesting.”
Thea stood in her corner, humming to herself. My earbuds in her ears, my phone in her pocket. Her hips swayed side to side as she painted.
“I’ve never seen her so happy,” Rita said. “These last few days, it’s like a light turned on. And it doesn’t shut off, even with the resets. It’s like…”
“She knows,” I said.
Rita’s eyes filled with tears. “God, maybe she does. When I think about all the times I’ve been busy and overworked… Delia said she loved The Office, so I plunked Thea down in front of the TV, for hours on end, when she could have been doing this…”
“She’s happy now,” I said. “That’s what counts.”
“Yes, I think so. Thanks to you.” She shook her head. “God, look at that painting.”
The rough obelisks were now the towering skyscrapers of New York City, with the Empire State Building front and center. A forced perspective, as if the viewer were looking down at Manhattan from a high angle, making the building facades sprout from the grid of streets like a bouquet. Yellow cabs and cars, like children’s toys, dotted the boulevards. Puffy clusters of green made up Central Park. The sky was clear blue, with a blazing sun glinting off the metal skyscrapers in perfect bolts of silver and copper.
It’s a masterpiece, just like Delia predicted.
“What the hell is going on?”
Rita and I turned. As if my thoughts conjured her up, Delia Hughes marched across the rec room in her navy suit, staring at her sister, who was still lost in her work and the music. For a moment, Delia’s dark, hard eyes softened. I could almost see her remembering Thea before the accident. Maybe painting just like this at home with their parents alive and well.
“She always wanted to go to New York,” Delia murmured softly. Sadly.
Then her entire expression turned stony, and she whirled on Rita and me. “Whose idea was this? Not Dr. Stevens, I presume.”
I opened my mouth to speak but Rita cut in.
“Mine,” she said. “I felt two years was adequate time to acclimate Thea to Blue Ridge, and it’s time she resumed the activities she enjoyed before the accident.”
Alonzo came rushing into the rec room, then stopped when he saw Delia. He smoothed the front of his white uniform down and joined us. “Ms. Hughes,” he said slowly.
“Why was I not consulted about this?” Delia flapped her hand in Thea’s direction.
“It’s non-medical care,” Alonzo said. “We are authorized to—”
“And if she had a seizure? Those are medical in nature, are they not?”
“Yes, but—”
“But you feel it’s perfectly acceptable to send my sister into a medical seizure with your non-medical care and then what? Did you think further than that?”
“She hasn’t had a seizure, Ms. Hughes,” Rita said. “Not in days.”
“Not yet.”
“She loves it. She’s vibrant in a way I haven’t seen before.”
“And painting a masterpiece, no less,” Delia said. “I told you, I don’t want a media circus over Thea. I don’t want the entire world watching a beautiful young girl exhibit her brain damage as if she’s some kind of sideshow.”
“We can ensure that no word gets out about her painting,” Rita said. “It’s part of the HIPAA policy. Anyone here who shares her work outside of this facility can face termination or even a lawsuit. I’ll ensure the staff understands that implicitly.”
Delia held Rita’s gaze for a minute, thinking. Then she whirled on me. “And you. Do you understand implicitly?”
I nodded, meeting her gaze. “I do.”
“What do you have to do with this?”
“Jim works with Thea every day,” Rita said carefully. “We are all involved in her care. Allowing Thea to paint makes her extremely happy.”
“She can’t be happy,” Delia said. “She can’t remember happy.”
“Delia,” Rita said in a gentle voice. “Look at her.”
Delia’s eyes softened as she took in her sister. “Well,” she said, after a minute. “We’ll see. I’d like Dr. Stevens to be made aware of this. And it looks like I’ll be driving over for the next few days to keep an eye on Thea. If she has even the slightest of tremors…”
“Delia,” Thea called, taking the earbuds from her ears. No sooner were they free when she froze, an absence seizure shook her. Her first in days. I glared at Delia’s back as she joined her sister.
The only thing that sends Thea into a seizure is you.
“You didn’t have to cover for me,” I said to Rita.
“I think I did,” Rita said. “Delia doesn’t want male attention on her sister. And anyway, I support this.” She motioned at Thea, who was now animatedly discussing her painting. “I wasn’t kidding. In all the years I’ve worked with Thea, I’ve never seen her so happy.”
I took that victory—and my broom—and got back to work. I swept the hallways and the foyer, happy that Jules was off on another smoke break. I made my way to the dining room, where I found Delia Hughes sitting alone at a table near the window, a cup of coffee in front of her. Her gaze on the surrounding forest outside the sanitarium.
She heard my footsteps and turned. “I know you’re behind getting my sister the paints,” she said. “I see how you look at her.”
There was no sense in backing away or running like a coward. I crossed the room and sat at a nearby table, setting the broom over my knees.
“It was my idea,” I said. “Rita covered for me because I know what it looks like.”
“Do you?”
“I just want Thea to be happy. That’s it. Nothing else.”
“I told you, she can’t remember happy.”
“Maybe she can.”
Delia whipped her head to me. “You are not a doctor.”
“No,” I said, my jaw stiffening. “But I’ve seen her word chains.”
“Dr. Stevens says they’re nothing to be concerned about.”
“But—”
“Let me be more clear,” Delia said. “He says there’s nothing they can do about them. Do you understand the distinction?”
She glared, challenging. The orderly’s guess against the neurosurgeon’s professional diagnosis. I tried something else.
“Why do you come here twice a week? An hour and a half from Richmond, each direction. Why?”
Delia scoffed. “Because she’s my sister.”
“You could live on the moon for all she’d remember, right?”
“She needs me. When I visit, she gets…”
“Happy?”
“Upset, Mr. Whelan.” Her
voice was bitter. “She has a seizure every time. She’s so happy to see me, her brain short circuits.”
The grief of losing her entire family was written in every hard line of Delia’s face.
“I know everyone thinks I’m too harsh with her care,” she said into my silence, almost to herself. “Too disciplined. Thea was always the fun one. Constantly making dumb jokes, even at the most serious times. She could make everyone smile just by walking into a room. I walked into a room and nobody noticed. She laughed too loudly and cried easily. When our cat was run over by a car, Thea cried enough for the both of us, so I didn’t.”
She straightened and smoothed her skirt. “But that’s okay. Someone had to take care of things. Someone had to be responsible. Someone had to make funeral arrangements for our parents. Someone had to find a place that would take care of Thea. One that wasn’t an ocean away or wouldn’t drain the money within a year. Someone had to do those things, right?”
I nodded.
“And so I’m the bad guy because I don’t want Thea to paint. Because I’m afraid it will bring on seizures. Because I bring on seizures. I hurt her…” She swallowed. “I hurt her with my mere presence.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said.
“No? I’m the only person she remembers by name. I’m the only link from her past she’s been able to hold on to. Me and her art.” Delia sniffed and dabbed the corner of her eye with a napkin. “I’m afraid if she paints, it will hurt more than it helps. I’m afraid one day she’ll have a seizure—a final seizure—and then she’ll be gone too.”
Now I felt like shit for not trying to see her point of view. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Sorry you acted without thinking? Or that you were thinking with another part of your anatomy?”
“Never,” I said in a low voice. “I would never.”
“And I have no choice but to believe you,” Delia said, setting down her napkin. “I have to go.”
She shouldered her purse and began to rise.
Speak now or forever hold your peace.
“Ms. Hughes, I think Thea has seizures when she sees you because she remembers her life with you.”
“No,” Delia said. “She can’t.”