Spin A Novel

CHAPTER 16

Technical Difficulties





I wake up in Henry’s arms at dawn.

Moments before, I was dreaming. Something about escaping from a mental institution with James Bond. Only this Bond has red hair above his black tux. He still likes martinis, though, and I flirt with him outrageously to get one. It’s dry and feels like fire as it slides down my throat. When it’s gone, I feel warm and bold. I throw my arms around his neck and press my mouth to his.

“You taste like cigarettes,” he says.

My eyes flash open. I can see the reddish-blond hairs on Henry’s arm. “What?”

“I said, we smell like cigarettes.”

“Oh . . . right.” I push myself gently away from him and stand stiffly. My mouth tastes like three olives, straight up.

Christ almighty. If I have to have user-dreams, couldn’t they at least come with a breath mint?

“What time is it?”

Henry checks at his watch. He looks tired. “Just before six. We should get back.”

“How are we going to get into the lodge?”

“They unlock the doors around now.”

I brush twigs and dirt from my backside. “How the hell do you know that?”

“I tend to wake up pretty early.”

“Come to think of it . . . how did you know how to use your credit card like that? And how come you know when bed checks are?”

He smiles. “I picked up the credit card trick as a teenager, and as for the rest of it, well . . . I have an awful lot of time on my hands in here, so I’ve been tracking the staff for fun.”

“For fun, or so Connor can meet up with Amber?”

His smile drops. “You sure call me on my bullshit, don’t you?”

There you go again. Always saying just the right thing to make sure you’re alone.

“I’m sorry, Henry, I don’t know why I do that.”

“It’s OK, you’re right. I’m the perfect little enabler. Shit, I just slept in the woods to prove it.”

“I thought you were out here to keep me from getting kicked out.”

“Maybe I am.” He brushes his hand across my cheek. I think for a second that he might kiss me, but then the moment passes.

“You go first,” he says. “I’ll follow you when the coast is clear.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“For what?”

I don’t really know, so I shrug and walk away.

After a nap and a shower, I take out my iTouch to send Bob my daily update. Only this time, when I hit the little icon that’s supposed to connect me to the Internet, nothing happens. I notice I’m not connected to the network, so I use the steps I memorized nineteen days ago to locate the Oasis’s network. It prompts me for a password. I type in the word “catalyst.” Invalid password says the screen. I type it in again, more slowly this time, watching each letter turn into an asterisk. Invalid password.

I feel a clutch of panic. They must’ve changed the password. What the f*ck am I supposed to do now? There’s no way Bob can last twelve more days without his daily fix of The Rehab Lives of Camber. This is an emergency.

Right. It is. Good. Wishes-he-was-a-field-officer-running-CIA-agents Bob has a plan for emergencies.

I check the “Notes” section of my iTouch and there it is, a little note called In case of emergency. I open it. It contains a ten-digit phone number. Perfect. Just perfect.

I spend lunch (which I’m happy, for once, to eat alone) trying to figure out how to call the number. The obvious route is to use one of the pay phones on the wall outside the cafeteria. We’re allowed to use the phone for ten minutes a week, using tokens that last five minutes each.

But the phones are in the most public part of the lodge. Patients, staff, doctors, Saundra—everyone walks by those phones all the time. It’s impossible to have a private conversation, which is probably the point of their location. Like the one phone in the house when I was growing up, which my parents put in the kitchen. No kid would be stupid enough to plan a wild night of drinking within earshot of their mother, right? Hah!

F*ck. I wish I could pull a Matthew Broderick in War Games and get myself sent to the principal’s office. Then, while he was distracted, I could sneak his desk drawer open and steal the new password. What could go wrong?

“Can I get your attention, everyone?” Carol says from the front of the cafeteria. “Now, as you all know, Gerry and Keith are leaving us today . . .”

She gives her usual spiel about The Lawyer and The Producer’s departure, winding her way toward the group singalong . . . Hold on a sec. This is good. In about thirty seconds, everyone in here is going to be singing their lungs out for about three minutes. The perfect diversion.

I stand up and walk briskly from the room, ignoring Saundra’s look of disapproval. I’m sure I’ll hear about my lack of connection to the other patients in my next session. Again.

I pull my two tokens from my pocket and thrust them into the phone, then punch in Bob’s number, my heart in my throat.

The phone rings three times, then, “This better be an emergency.”

“It is.”

“Has she left?”

“No.”

“Are you in a secure location?”

“No.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

I cup my hand around the receiver. “Password.”

I hear a hand slam into a desk. Whack! “Damn it! I was worried about that. How much time have you got?”

“Not long.”

“What’s that godawful noise?”

“It’s singing.”

“What the f*ck?”

“Don’t ask.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. I think I can hear his slightly wheezy breathing, but it’s hard to tell over the really bad singing.

“You still there, Bob?”

“Don’t use my name.”

“Sorry.”

“OK. We can get the new password. Can I call you there?”

“No.”

“Can you call me again?”

“Not for a week.”

“F*ck. Any thoughts on how to get it to you?”

Like I’m not doing enough already.

I wrack my brain. “Send me a care package.”

“Don’t they check those?”

“Sure, but only for the obvious.”

He clucks his tongue three times. “Yeah, OK, I don’t see a better alternative. Do you have a friend you trust?”

“Why?”

“So she can send it. It can’t come from here.”

Right. That would be bad. But who the hell can I trust with something like this?

“I’ll see if I can get my friend Greer to call you.”

“Tell her the minimum.”

“Of course.”

The phone clicks and my ear is filled with the sound of a dial tone. So pleasant to talk to you, Bob, as always.

The singing in the cafeteria stops as I hang up the phone. What the f*ck did I just agree to? Even assuming I can get my hands on some more tokens, there won’t be another singing diversion until Mary leaves in three days. There’s no way I can explain myself to Greer on these extremely public phones.

“Who’s Bob?” Amber asks behind me.

I start in surprise and my already racing heart finds an extra gear. I turn toward her curious face. “Jesus Christ, you scared the life out of me.”

She grins. “Sorry, but you looked so secretive, I couldn’t help it.”

What do you say when the F-word doesn’t cover it? Because right now, all my head is making is white noise.

“Nn . . . no secret.” I clear my throat. “It was just someone from work.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Sort of.”

She scrunches her face. “Tell me about it. I’m supposed to be filming a remake of Rebecca right now.”

“Sucky. Anyway . . .”

I turn away from her to try to make my escape. I need a couple of hours in a rubber room to calm the f*ck down.

She grabs my arm. “Oh no you don’t, Missy.”

Make that several days.

“What?”

“No way I’m letting you get away before I hear all about,” she leans toward me and lowers her voice. “Your night in the woods with E.”

Endorphins rush through my body and I work hard to suppress a hysterical laugh. She just wants to gossip. In the good, between-girlfriends way.

I give her what I hope is a coy smile. “Not here. Come by my room after group, OK?”

She winks at me. “Got it. I want full details, though.”

Don’t we all.

An hour later, I’ve got a new plan and a new rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I feel like I did when I was flying through the air on Trust Day: terrified and exhilarated.

I’m walking through the flower gardens looking for Zack. Really. Actually seeking him out rather than hiding from him. Is that progress? Only time will tell.

I find him where the edge of the lawn meets the woods, shoveling fertilizer onto a big patch of lilies that haven’t bloomed yet. His arms are muscular and tanned. His eyes are shaded by a pair of Oakleys.

“Hey, Zack.”

He lowers the shovel and rests his arm on it like it’s a crutch. “Hey, yourself. Haven’t seen you around much lately.”

“I’ve been . . . busy.”

“Sure enough.”

I lace my hands together. My palms are slick with sweat. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”

“I don’t know. Depends.”

“Could I borrow your cell phone?”

He pushes his shades up onto his forehead. His eyes look cautious. “What for?”

“I need to make a private phone call, and that’s kind of hard on the pay phones inside. It’s not for anything bad. I mean, I’m not ordering drugs or anything like that.”

“Gee, I don’t know, Katie. We’re not really supposed to do stuff like that.”

“I know. Forget I asked, OK?” I lower my head and kick my foot at the ground in the way I remember doing back when I could get Zack to do whatever I wanted.

I’m actually sad to say, it still works like a charm.

He sighs. “It’s really not for anything you shouldn’t be doing?”

I keep my head down. Lying is easier this way. “I promise.”

“I guess that’s all right then.”

I look up at him, smiling brightly. “Thank you, Zack, you’re a lifesaver.”

He doesn’t look so sure, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone.

“I’ll be back in a sec.”

I walk the phone far enough away so he can’t overhear my conversation and lean against a tree, hiding myself from the lodge. I dial Greer’s number, praying she’ll pick up. Instead, I get her voice mail.

“This is Greer. Make it short.”

F*ck. Well, here goes nothing.

“Hey, Greer, it’s Katie. Thanks again for visiting me the other day, that was awesome. Anyway, I, um, need a favor. I know this is going to sound weird, but it would really help me out if you could call this guy. His name is Bob. He needs to send me something here, but for reasons I can’t get into, he can’t send it to me directly.”

I pause. That totally sounded like I’m asking her to make a drug-connect. Shit.

“OK, that came out kind of wrong. It’s something for work, not drug or alcohol related, I swear. And I’ll explain it all to you when I get home. For now, I’d just really, really appreciate it if you could call Bob and do what he asks without asking any questions. I totally get it if you don’t want to, but if you don’t, please just call Bob anyway and let him know, either way. Anyway, sorry for the long message. Bye.”

I hang up the phone, shaking my head in disbelief. This was such a stupid f*cking plan. No way Greer’s going to call Bob, particularly not after that message. Shit, she’s probably never going to call me again.

Plus, you didn’t even give her Bob’s number.

Motherf*cker.

I check the time on the phone. It’s 2:50. I need to be in group in ten minutes. I look over my shoulder to where Zack is halfheartedly moving the earth around the flower bed while watching me. I signal to him that I’ll be a minute.

I hit redial.

“Hey, Greer, me again. Crazy Katie. I forgot to give you Bob’s phone number.” I recite it. “Anyway, you would really be doing me a huge favor if you called him, so . . . OK, I’m hanging up now.”

Oh, well done. Now you’ve just guaranteed that she’s not going to call him.

Will you f*ck off, I’m under enough stress here.

I click the phone shut and cup it in my palm as I walk back to Zack. He takes it from me and slips it back into his pocket quickly like I’ve just passed him some little packages filled with dope.

“Thanks, Zack. I really appreciate it.”

He nods. “You doing all right?”

I try to smile. “Some days are better than others.”

“No, I meant . . . you look pale and you’re sweating. Are you sick?”

I wipe my arm across my forehead. I feel like I’m burning up. “I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway, I have to get to group.”

“Sure. See you around.”

I start to walk away, but something stops me. I turn back.

“Zack?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. And . . . I’m sorry.”

He frowns. “What for?”

“For leaving. For all of it.”

“That was a long time ago, Katie.”

“I know. I’m sorry for that too.”

He gives me a half smile, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Eighteen-year-old Zack isn’t far from the surface.

“Goodbye, Zack.”

“Bye, Katie. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.”

Two days later, there’s a package waiting for me in my room when I return from breakfast. The packing-tape seal has been broken, and there’s a “cleared” stamp on it in red ink. Inside, there’s an envelope above several items wrapped loosely in newspaper. I pull out the card first. It has a stick figure drawn on the cover with a balloon coming out of its mouth. So, you’re in rehab. What’s a girl to do? I open the card. The stick figure is sitting in a lounge chair, reading a book and smoking a cigarette. Its hand is reaching into a box of candy. The caption above it says: Smoke, eat, and read trashy novels. Love, Greer.

I unwrap the newspaper packages, unveiling a carton of cigarettes, a large package of red licorice, and three romance novels with bodice-ripped covers, but no password.

Shit. She must’ve called Bob, right? Why else would she have sent me this package? So, where the hell is the password? OK, OK, calm down. It can’t be in an obvious place; that would defeat the purpose. There must be a code in here somewhere. But where?

Got it! Greer’s card must be a clue. I look at it again. She’s underlined the word “read.”

I pick up the first book and flip through the pages one by one. Nothing. The second book has a woman on the cover who looks vaguely like Greer. Same long auburn hair, same glint of mischief in her eyes. Way less clothing. On page thirty-eight, the word “healing” is circled. I take out the iTouch and get to the password screen. I type in the word “healing” and . . . yes! We have liftoff.

I check my inbox. There’s an email from Greer waiting for me.

If you’re reading this message, you’re smarter than I thought! No need for explanations, lass. The intrigue was worth it.

I laugh out loud. People surprise you every goddamn day, even in rehab.