Spin A Novel

CHAPTER 8

You Say Goodbye, and I Say Hello





The next morning at breakfast, we get word that Candice is fine and will be rejoining us in a few days. The cafeteria is abuzz with talk of her, and Mary, Amy, and I are very popular when it becomes known that we were somehow involved in the drama.

I’m glad that Candice is going to be OK. As annoying as she is, she deserves a chance to be well. And maybe now I can erase the sight of her nearly lifeless form from my memory.

Not a chance.

After breakfast, Amy asks me again to go for a run with her. And since it’s her last day here, I agree to do it.

“Are you nervous about leaving?” I ask as we walk along the path cut into the rim of the property next to the gray stone security wall. I’m wearing a pair of her running shorts that amazingly kind of fit me. According to my weigh-ins, I’ve lost almost ten pounds since I arrived. Ten pounds in eight days! Who knew rehab would be the best diet I’ve ever tried?

“Of course.”

“Are you worried you’ll fall back into your old ways?”

She gives me a sharp look. “Geesh, Katie. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. You’ll be fine, Amy. I know you will.”

“Thanks. You will too.”

Yes, I will. Just as soon as I get the hell out of here.

“Right.”

She bounces up and down on her heels. “So, are we doing this thing, or what?”

“Lead the way, Nike.”

We start to run at a medium pace. Moments later my lungs are on fire, and I feel like I’m going to collapse. The tall pine trees above us block out the sun, making me feel claustrophobic. I count slowly to a hundred in my head, trying to distract myself, but it’s not working.

I stop suddenly and double over with a cramp.

“Are you all right?”

I clutch my aching side. I can’t believe anything outside of childbirth hurts this much. Not like I’ve been through childbirth. I’ve just heard it’s the worst.

“How long have we been running?” I pant.

She looks at her watch. “About five minutes.”

Five minutes! How can it only be five minutes? It feels like at least fifteen, maybe twenty.

“How long do you usually go for?”

“Around fifty.”

Fifty? Ten times as long. Impossible.

“I think you should go on without me.”

“Are you sure?”

I take several deep breaths. It still f*cking kills.

“Yeah. I’ll walk it off and head back.”

“See you back at the room.”

She turns and jogs off easily, her thin frame soon disappearing around the corner.

I sit down on a rock, trying to catch my breath, rubbing my side until the pain begins to recede. How did I let myself get so out of shape? Oh, right. One drink at a time.

You know, if I were a better person, I’d make this time in enforced healthfulness really count and start an exercise routine. It wouldn’t kill me, right? Even if this pain in my side feels like it is going to kill me, it’s just because I haven’t exercised in years.

OK. Resolution time. I’m going to run every day, and I’ll add a minute a day. So, that means six minutes tomorrow. Six minutes, no excuses.

I can’t believe my side still hurts. Maybe five minutes tomorrow will be enough, and the next day I’ll bump it up to six. Or five and a half. We’ll see how I feel tomorrow. Five minutes for sure.

When the pain recedes I get up and decide to walk for a while. I follow the path until it leaves the woods and crosses a meadow full of new grass and wildflowers that smells like clover. On the other side of the field, TGND is standing in the bright sun staring bleakly at the security wall. She’s wearing a pair of worn jeans and a black T-shirt, and looks tired. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve seen her that I haven’t been struck by her beauty.

“Thinking about escaping?” I ask when I get closer to her.

She keeps her eyes on the wall. “Do you think I could make it over?”

“You have any superpowers I don’t know about?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’m thinking no.”

She smiles briefly before her face settles back into bleakness.

“Amber, is everything OK?”

“No, but who f*cking cares, right?”

“Don’t say that. Lots of people care.”

In fact, the whole world cares in a way. I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.

She shakes herself, and I can see the actress taking over, her expression changing from bleak to bland.

She turns toward me. “Forget it. Whatcha you doing out here, anyway?”

“I’m thinking about taking up running.”

She throws her head back and laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“You don’t strike me as the type.”

“What’s the type?”

“Oh, I don’t know. More earnest.”

“OK . . .”

“I’m just thinking of this guy I know who runs, that’s all.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Oh no. I’m much too damaged for him. He thinks I’m selfish. And spoiled.”

“Sounds like a real charmer.”

She smiles thinly. “He has his moments. What about you? You with someone?”

“I’m in-between at the moment.”

Amber pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and shakes one free. “You want?”

“God, yes.”

Those who can’t run, smoke.

I take the cigarette, and she hands me a bright pink convenience-store lighter. I touch the flame to the end, inhale deeply, and immediately start coughing.

“First time?” she says through the cigarette clenched in her small white teeth.

“Of course not. It’s probably just the first cigarette I’ve had without a drink in my hand since I was fourteen.”

Scratch that. I’ve never had a cigarette sober. Not even at fourteen.

Amber inhales deeply and lets the smoke out in a long stream. “Thank God we can still smoke here. It’s the only thing keeping me sane.”

“Rehab: the last bastion of cigarettes.”

I take another haul and instantly regret it. Who knew smoking without alcohol was this awful? I stub the cigarette out on the bottom of my shoe and put it in my pocket. Maybe it’ll taste better later.

Amber looks amused. “That’s really very eco of you.”

“I haven’t completed my deprogramming from my hippie parents.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was walking, you want to join?”

She shrugs her assent, and we walk in silence for a few minutes. Now that I can breathe properly again, I can appreciate the clean, clean air, even though my mouth tastes like the inside of a bar. When I get back to the city, I need to get out of the city once in a while.

The path ends at the gravel road that passes through the front gates. We stand in front of them, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

“Do you think there’s a way to sneak out when a car comes through?” Amber asks.

“That seems awfully risky.”

She gives me a reproachful look. “What’s life without a little risk?”

“You’ll be able to leave soon enough.”

“Maybe not. My parents’ little court order makes them the boss of me. I can’t leave until they say so, and they’re listening to Saundra and Dr. Frankenstein.”

So, Amy was right. I’ve got to let Bob know about this tidbit.

“Maybe you can get it lifted?”

“F*ck that. Court stuff always takes too long. You gonna help me bust out of here or not?”

Sure, of course. I can just imagine the conversation with Bob. You helped her do what?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. There were a bunch of paparazzi waiting outside the gates when I got here. I assume for you.”

“Those guys are still there?”

“They were eight days ago.”

“F*cking paps. Though . . . did you get a good look at them?”

I try to recall the faces of the smoking men I wasn’t good enough for. “I was kind of out of it when I arrived . . . why?”

“I have an arrangement with a couple of them. Sometimes I tell them stuff about me, and they turn the other way when I want them to.”

I shudder at the thought of what she wants them to turn away from, given the stuff she seems all too happy to have captured on film.

There’s a loud clicking sound and the gates start to open, slowly revealing a familiar green classic pickup truck.

Oh shit. I knew going outside was a bad idea.

I grab Amber’s thin arm and drag her off the path behind some spruce hedges.

“What the f*ck?”

“Shh!” I push her head down so we’re both hidden from view.

I peer around the hedge. Zack and his wife, Meghan, my high school frenemy, are getting out of the truck. He’s wearing a pair of khaki gardener’s pants and a gray long-sleeved shirt. She looks like she’s on her way to shoot a cover for Martha Stewart Living—pressed tan pedal-pushers, soft pink cardigan, black headband holding back her honey-blond hair. If I tried hard enough, I’m sure I could smell her honeysuckle scent.

“Why are we hiding?” Amber hisses in my ear.

“That’s my ex-boyfriend,” I whisper back.

She gives me an incredulous look and then starts to laugh.

“Shh! I don’t want him to see me like this.” Again.

She slaps her right hand over her mouth. Her shoulders shake with laughter.

I watch Zack give Meghan a loving kiss and a hand into the driver’s side of the truck. He closes the door gently behind her.

“Who’s the girl?”

“Me in another lifetime.”

Meghan turns the key in the ignition, puts the truck in gear, then stops and rolls down the manual window. We need toilet paper, I imagine her saying. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else, he obviously replies.

Meghan rolls up the window and backs the truck through the gates.

Amber nudges me in the arm. “Do you think he could get us some blow?”

“No!”

Shit. That was way too loud.

“Who’s there?” Zack calls, looking wary as the gates close behind him. This probably isn’t the first time he’s encountered desperate patients in the woods surrounding the Oasis.

“Well, we’re busted now,” Amber says.

F*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

I stand up slowly, tucking the loose hairs that have escaped my ponytail behind my ears.

“Hey, Zack.”

His eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

Amber walks out from behind the hedge. “We were thinking about escaping. You want to help?”

I hear a loud rushing sound in my head. I think it’s the sound of my career being sucked away.

“She’s kidding,” I force out. “We were just taking a walk.”

Of course, this doesn’t explain why I was hiding from him for the second time in a week, but I’m hoping he lets that one slide.

Zack squints at Amber, assessing her. His tanned skin crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re Amber Sheppard.”

Zack is cute, but he never was that bright.

“And you are?”

“This is Zack.”

He shifts his gaze to me. “You’ve got a leaf in your hair.” He reaches out and removes it gently. “There you go.”

I feel a shudder of memory from us in high school, when we were the Golden Couple and the way we were felt like the way it would always be. I ran away from that future, and if it wouldn’t mark me as a complete freak, I’d turn and run away from him now. I might not make it very far, but it’s the effort that feels important.

I tuck my arm through Amber’s. “We should get going.”

Thankfully, Amber plays along. “Yeah, I’ve got a performance to get ready for.”

Zack looks confused, but that’s OK. We turn and walk down the road. When we’re not quite far enough away, Amber says, “What the hell was that all about?”

I glance behind me. Zack’s pushing a wheelbarrow full of dirt toward one of the flower beds that line the road.

“I think it’s called bad karma.”

Amy and I are finishing up our lunch in the cafeteria when the sound of something scraping across the floor grabs my attention. I turn to look. Carol is climbing onto a chair near the entranceway.

I nudge Amy in the arm. “Check it out.”

She looks over her shoulder. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

Carol claps her hands loudly to get our attention. The din in the room dies down to a low murmur.

“Thanks, everyone. So, I’m sure you’re all in a bit of shock from last night. Remember, if you need to talk it out, that’s what we’re here for, OK? You just have to ask.”

She sends a sympathetic smile around the room. Nobody looks like they’re going to take her up on the offer, even though it’s been all anyone’s been talking about today. If Candice really was looking for attention, mission accomplished.

“Now, as most of you know, Amy is leaving today. She’s done some great work while she’s been here. She’s proof that the program works if you work it.”

“Just get to it already, will you?” Amy mutters under her breath.

“Get to what?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “You’ve got to hear it to believe it.”

“As most of you know, we have a little tradition at the Oasis, a special way we like to say goodbye. Will you join me up here, Amy?”

Amy grits her teeth as she pushes back her chair and rises reluctantly.

I wonder what this is all about.

Amy stands next to Carol and faces the room. She’d probably look happier if she were facing a firing squad.

“Ready?” Carol says.

Several heads nod. Carol grins and begins to . . . sing. A Green Day song. “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life),” to be precise.

Where the hell have they sent me?

I look around the room, expecting this group of cynical alcoholics and drug addicts to reject such a campy gesture. But to my surprise, after a few measures, everyone joins in, even the stuffy Judge who doesn’t seem to know any of the words. A few measures later, I even find myself singing.

It feels silly, and yet, it seems to work. It’s not long before Amy’s smiling, and by the end of the song, she’s singing too. Maybe it’s like the song says.

Something unpredictable can be right in the end.

When the goodbyes are over, I walk with Amy to the front door to say goodbye. The lobby is empty and smells faintly like wet dog, though there’s no sign of Saundra.

“Will you send me anything I forgot?” she says, her voice echoing off the beams in the vaulted ceiling.

“Of course. Hopefully, I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Yeah, I’d like to keep in touch.” She looks around nervously. “Where the hell is the van? I’m going to miss my plane.”

“I’m sure it’ll be here soon. Don’t worry.”

Her eyes touch mine briefly, then jump away. “I can’t help it.”

I feel an odd impulse to comfort her. This place must be getting to me.

“This time is going to be different from the others, Amy.”

“How can you tell?”

“I just can. I’m a very good judge of character, you know.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “Oh yeah, just like all of us here.”

“Seriously. You’re going to do great.”

“From your lips to God’s ears.”

There he is again. Maybe Amy can tell me where to find him?

I hear the van pull up outside the front door. Amy picks up her bag.

“I guess this is it,” she says. “Candice will be OK, right?”

“That’s what they said.”

“Will you let me know?”

The van toots its horn.

“Of course. Now quit stalling and get out of here.”

We walk outside. The sky’s clouded over and it smells like it might rain. I hug my sweatshirt close to keep out the chill. Evan gets out of the van and helps Amy load her suitcase in the back. He closes the doors with a soft thud and walks back toward the driver’s seat.

Amy reaches out and hugs me. I hug her back without too much effort. When she lets go her lip is quivering.

“I’m glad I met you,” she says.

“Me too.” My throat feels tight and there’s something wet sliding down my face.

Oh God, I’m actually crying about someone I met a week ago. Sign me up for the next season of Big Brother.

I wipe my tears away. “Now get into your pumpkin and get out of here.”

“All right, I will.”

She climbs into the passenger seat of the van and closes the door behind her. The engine roars to life, and in a moment, she’s gone.

What with the crying and all, I arrive at group a few minutes late.

As I search the room for a seat, I see that Amber wasn’t joking when she told Zack that she had a performance to prepare for. She’s wearing brown cords and a brown shirt, and her hair is in two side ponytails. Her tongue is even protruding slightly from her mouth.

I stifle a giggle as I take a seat next to her. The air in the room is tense. Saundra’s shoulders are hunched, though she’s trying her best to keep her tone light and professional.

“As I was saying, I think it’s important that we discuss what happened to Candice last night, and how you’re reacting to it. I know some of you have addressed this already in your individual therapy sessions, but I thought it would be good to discuss it together. Would someone like to start us off?”

“Where were you?” Amber pants out of the side of her mouth.

“Working on your escape plan,” I whisper back.

“Really?”

“Amber, Katie. Is there something you want to share with the group?”

Amber narrows her eyes. “Katie just wanted to know where you got that sweater.”

The room erupts in laughter. Saundra’s wearing a sweater that makes her upper body look like a poodle.

“I’d ask you both to be more respectful, especially considering the topic.”

“Sorry, Saundra, it won’t happen again,” I say.

Amber shoots me a dirty look. “Suck ass.”

She slumps down in her seat, staring fixedly out the window. Her posture would be more convincing if she wasn’t in a dog costume.

The Screenwriter raises his hand and starts to recount his own suicide attempt, but that’s not what’s got my attention.

Or Saundra’s. “What is it, Amber?”

Amber’s sitting there, dumbstruck by something she sees out the window.

“Amber? Are you OK?” I ask.

Amber raises a shaking hand and points her index finger. “What the f*ck is he doing here?”

Our eyes follow Amber’s finger. A gasp escapes someone’s lips. The van is back from dropping Amy off. And climbing out of it is . . .

“Isn’t that James Bond?” The Lawyer asks.

“No,” says Amber, in a dead-sounding voice. “It’s the Young James Bond.”