24
“Is that Mallory?”
“Yes?”
“Hi, this is Jalissa Bell at Rest Haven Akron. You called here yesterday for Mrs. Campbell?”
“Right, can I speak with her?”
“Well, it’s complicated. I could put Mrs. Campbell on the phone, but you wouldn’t have much of a conversation. She has late-stage dementia. I’ve been her caregiver three years and most mornings she won’t recognize me. I really doubt she can answer your questions.”
“I just need some basic information. Is there a chance you know her mother’s name?”
“I’m sorry, hon, I don’t. But even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
“Has she ever mentioned an inheritance? Receiving a large sum of money from an Aunt Jean?”
She laughs. “Now that’s something I definitely couldn’t tell you. There’s privacy laws! I’d lose my job.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
I guess she can hear the desperation in my voice, because she offers a compromise: “We have visiting hours tomorrow, noon to four. If you really want to talk to Mrs. Campbell, you can stop by, and I’ll introduce you. Visitors are good for the patients. It keeps their brains active, gets those neurons firing. Just don’t come with high expectations, okay?”
I thank her for her time and hang up. Akron is a good six hours away and I only have tonight and tomorrow to convince the Maxwells that I’m telling the truth. I explain everything to Adrian and he agrees that I shouldn’t waste any time chasing down long shots.
If there’s a solution to my problem, I’m going to have to find it right here in Spring Brook.
* * *
At the end of the day, we walk into town to the Bistro, a small sit-down restaurant that serves all the same food that you’d get in a good Jersey diner, but there’s soft interior lighting, a full bar, and a jazz trio, so everything costs twice as much as you’d expect. And then after dinner we walk aimlessly around the neighborhood because neither of us is ready to call it a night. Adrian insists he’ll come visit me in Norristown, and he says of course I’m welcome to hang out in Spring Brook as much as I want. But I know it’s going to feel different without the job—I’ll feel like an outsider, like I don’t belong here anymore. I just wish there was some way to convince the Maxwells I was telling the truth.
Adrian takes my hand and squeezes it.
“Maybe there will be new pictures when we get back to the cottage,” he says. “New clues to help us make sense of everything.”
But with Teddy away at the beach all day, I think it’s unlikely. “Anya can’t draw on her own,” I remind him. “She needs hands. She needs to work through a medium.”
“Then maybe you should volunteer. Give her a chance to finish the sequence.”
“How would that work?”
“We go back to your cottage, you close your eyes, and invite her to take over. It worked yesterday, didn’t it?”
Just thinking about the episode in the den makes me shiver. “That’s not something I’m anxious to experience again.”
“I’ll sit nearby and make sure you’re safe.”
“You want to watch me sleep?”
He laughs. “If you put it like that, it sounds creepy. I’m offering to stay and make sure you’re okay.”
I don’t really love the idea, but it’s getting late and I’m running out of options. Adrian seems convinced there’s one or more pictures missing from the sequence—and with Teddy away for the whole day, someone needs to volunteer their time and hands, so Anya can finish telling her story.
“What if I fall asleep and nothing happens?”
“I could wait an hour and slip out the door. Or if you prefer I could—” He shrugs. “I could stay until morning.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you tonight. It’s too soon.”
“I know, Mallory. I just want to help. I’ll crash on your floor.”
“Plus I’m not allowed to have overnight guests. It’s one of the House Rules.”
“But you’ve already been fired,” Adrian reminds me. “I don’t think we need to play by their rules anymore.”
* * *
We stop at Walgreens so Adrian can pick up a toothbrush. The store has a tiny stationery section so we also pick up a sketch pad, a box of pencils, and a thick Sharpie marker. Maybe it’s not everything that Anya would prefer, but she’ll have to make do.
We arrive at the cottage, and I feel obligated to give Adrian a tour, which takes all of three seconds.
“This is nice,” he says.
“I know. I’m going to miss it.”
“Don’t give up hope yet. I think this plan has a good chance of working.”
I put on some music and then we spend a good hour talking, because what we’re about to attempt feels so awkward. If I’d brought Adrian home to sleep with him, I’d know exactly what to do. But instead we’re getting ready to do something that feels even more intimate and personal.
By midnight I’ve finally built up the courage to go to bed. I go into the bathroom and change into soft gym shorts and an old Central High T-shirt. I floss and brush my teeth, I wash my face and put on moisturizer. And then I hesitate before opening the door because I feel a little silly, like I’m presenting myself in my underwear. I wish I had nicer pajamas, something prettier than a tattered high school T-shirt with little holes all around the neck.
When I exit the bathroom, I see that Adrian has already turned down the covers for me. All the lights are off except for a small lamp beside the bed. The sketch pad and pencils are on the nightstand—within easy reach if I’m seized by inspiration, or something else.
Adrian is standing in the kitchen with his back to me, reaching into the refrigerator for a can of seltzer. He doesn’t notice me until I’m standing right behind him. “I think I’m ready.”
He turns around and smiles. “You look ready.”
“I hope this isn’t too boring for you.”
He shows me his phone. “I’ve got Call of Duty Mobile. I’ll be rescuing hostages in Uzbekistan.”
I stand on my tiptoes and give him a kiss. “Good night.”
“Good luck,” he says.
I get into bed and get under the covers, and Adrian settles into a chair at the far end of the cottage. With the ceiling fan spinning and the noisy crickets chirping outside my window, I’m barely aware of Adrian’s presence. I turn on my side and face the wall. After two long and exhausting days, I realize I’m not going to have any trouble falling asleep. As soon as I rest my face on my pillow, I feel all my stress ebbing away; I feel my muscles relaxing, my body letting go. And even with Adrian just a few feet away, it’s the first night in a long time when I don’t feel like I’m being watched.