Zack is standing in the doorway now. Jasper sees him, gives his wife a satisfied now? look, then storms off. Juliet comes out of the elevator, and he brushes past her like a bullet.
Lauren fights back the tears. “I’m so sorry,” she says to the nearest nurse. “We don’t mean to disturb everyone. The pressure...it’s getting to us both.”
It is Zack who comes to her side and puts his arm around her. “Come with me,” he says quietly and leads her down the hall to the private room, right past Juliet, who looks at them both in astonishment.
56
Inside the quiet room, Lauren sags against Zack and starts to cry in earnest. He holds her, lets her get it out. It feels like the kindest thing anyone has done for her in weeks, and it makes the tears come anew until she is sobbing.
After a while, she realizes he is patting her back, murmuring to her as if she were a child who’s had a nightmare. She is having a nightmare. Her life has turned into one big, huge fucking nightmare.
“Hey, it’s okay. You poor thing, you’re worn out, aren’t you? You’ve gotten no sleep. Mindy told me how you’ve been nursing her practically full-time since the accident. Why don’t you go home, Lauren? Get some decent rest.”
She pulls away from him stiffly. “Why, because you’re here now? You’re riding in on your white stallion to save us all?”
“I’m going to try,” he says, and the quiet strength of it makes her feel even worse. Zack is a victim here, just as she is.
She doesn’t want this man to be so solicitous. He isn’t supposed to be the one comforting her, damn it.
But here he is, big and solid and concerned, where her own husband has stormed off. She and Jasper were overdue for the fight. Jasper has been ridiculously patient, and she’s taken advantage of that, kicking the can down the road so she won’t have to deal with the bad feelings, the hurt and betrayal. Having Zack here so quickly messed with everything, in ways no one can truly understand. But she needs everyone on her side. She needs her team together if they are going to face down a police investigation and a stem cell transplant at the same time.
She wipes her eyes and pushes her hair off her face.
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m overtired and angry and upset. I’m going to go home and rest, like you said. That’s a good idea. Thank you, Zack.”
“You bet. Have a good nap.”
She ignores Juliet, who is standing in the hall frowning at her phone, and steps into Mindy’s room for a second. Mindy’s eyes are wide, and the dog is lying next to her, ears cocked forward.
“Everything okay with you and Dad?”
“Of course it is. Sorry about that, sweetheart. I think my nerves are a bit frayed. I’m going to go home and take a nap, talk to your dad—” she winces as she says it, she can’t help it. God, she has to get it together “—and we’ll be back a little later. Okay? Is Zack nice? Do you like him?”
“Yes, Mom, he is. Very nice. He’s going to get me some new books. I like Kat, too.” The smile is genuine now, and Lauren takes a deep breath.
“Good. I’ll see you later. You hang tight. I’m so glad you’re feeling better. Yesterday was rough, I know.” Lauren kisses Mindy on the forehead and marches out.
Her first instinct is a drink, but that isn’t going to solve anything. She gets into her car and spills her purse out onto the seat. She scrabbles through the mess, notebooks and tissues and wallet and phone. There it is, the bottle of antianxiety pills that Dr. Oliver kindly prescribed. She tosses one in her mouth, chases it with the dregs of a week-old bottle of water sitting in the car’s door.
She has to think. She has to breathe. She has to look at all the angles here. She can’t lose Mindy. She just can’t. She knows Jasper is right about their legal ties to Mindy—no judge in the world will take their side once the truth comes out.
She pulls out of the parking garage, not sure where she’s headed, consumed by memories.
57
UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL
NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE
1993
LIESEL
Have you ever felt blood on your hands?
I don’t mean this metaphorically. I mean it quite literally.
I have. It is warm. Surprisingly silky, viscous, like a good lotion. Slippery, too, if there’s enough of it.
There was a time when all I wanted was the fleeting sense of pain that came from seeing my flesh part. The blood that came out was luscious and red, and as it dripped into the bath, the pain went away. My pain went away. My control returned. My soul was filled.
I know, it sounds quite wrong. No one in their right mind slices themselves open. Oh, but it feels so good. You don’t know how good until you try it.
Letting the blood of another person doesn’t give the same sensation. It feels and smells wrong, like danger.
*
My arm hurts.
The lights are so bright. I just want to crawl into a hole and die, but no one will let me. They keep up a constant patter of conversation, bland nothings meant to keep me awake and focused, while they clean and numb and stitch. It feels like hours, days, have passed before they deem me ready to talk to the resident shrink.
He looks kind. He shuts the door behind him and sits on a stool with wheeled casters for feet. He watches me carefully, then spins around in a circle. I am whimsical, the spin says. I am to be trusted.
I trust no one. If you’d experienced what I have, you wouldn’t, either.
I merely blink at him, his short hair too black, his cologne too strong, his smile too wide.
“Tough nut, eh. All righty then. Here’s the deal. Legally, since you tried to hurt yourself, we have to admit you to our psychiatric ward. Your mom tells me you’re supposed to be going to Middle Tennessee Mental Health tomorrow, but if you want, you can stay here. At least for the week. See if you think we will work for you.”
I shrug. I truly don’t care what happens to me now.
He touches my wrist carefully. “Why did you do this?”
I shrug again.
“You want me to think you don’t care, but I know you do. This was more than a cry for help. Trust me, I see it too much, young men and women who try to kill themselves, but they aren’t entirely serious. They think they are, but something holds them back. They don’t swallow enough pills, they don’t cut deep enough. Thankfully, they survive, and we treat them, and they find happiness and are so grateful that they failed. You, you were serious. If your sister hadn’t found you, you would be gone. I just wonder why? Why did you want to die so badly?”
I look at the floor. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“Give me a break. You’ve seen the news. My chart. You know why.”
He sits back and watches me. Finally, he speaks again, and his voice has changed.
“Listen, Liesel. You’ve had a rough go of it. I won’t even begin to say otherwise. But trust me, you have so much to live for. You’re only sixteen. There is a life out there with your name on it, waiting to be claimed. You can be who you want. Live where you want. You don’t have to stay here and be the girl they talk about behind their hands. Another year and you can leave. Change your name. Go to Europe, eat chocolate every day, live on a mountaintop. Sail around the world. A year from now, you will have absolutely no limits on your life. You do not have to let this experience define you.”
“I don’t think I have a choice. A man is dead. A horrible, terrible, awful man.” I can’t help myself, I begin to cry. I’ve tried to stay strong, but I am so fucked.
“I can give you a choice. Will you give me a year?”
He speaks such honeyed words.
“I don’t even know you.”
He sticks out his hand, which I don’t take. “Dr. John Freeman. I would be your therapist. I will personally work with you, design a program to get you back on your feet. And I swear to you, Liesel, I can get you through this. But you’re going to have to help, too.”
“Whatever.”