ELEVEN

CLARE

PROPPED up on my hospital bed, I heard voices in the hallway but couldn’t tell what was being said.

With a yawn, I turned the page on the book in my hand. I’d had a restless night. No dreams that I could remember. Rumbling thunder woke me. With growing despair, I watched the raindrops trickle down the windows. Then breakfast arrived—rubbery eggs, half a grapefruit, a sad piece of toast, and a tepid cup of water with a packet of Sanka sitting beside it. My spirits sank even further because, for me, a day without coffee (real coffee) was . . . well, unthinkable.

There would be no TV, radio, magazines, or newspapers, either. Books were the only thing I was permitted to read. A member of the hospital staff brought me a small stack of “approved titles” to choose from. Every one predated the twentieth century.

“You know, I do still remember a few authors other than Dickens, Austen, and the Brontës.”

The young woman shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got for you. Do you want one or not?”

I picked up Jane Eyre and began reading when a new RN came by with a new paper cup of pills.

Like a replay of last night, I asked what I was being given, and when I tried to reject the “something to help your nerves,” I was again reminded that I had already agreed to the treatment in writing, and it was “Doctor’s orders.”

Once again, I played the diversion trick. But I knew, sooner or later, I would have to take the pills—or the injection.

I really wanted to believe the doctor knew best. The soothing way he described my treatment sounded safe and reasonable.

So why was I resisting?

Because, in the light of a new day, even a cloudy day like this one, I saw things in a new way. I was no longer shocked and confused by my situation. I wasn’t happy about my mental state, but I understood the reality of it.

I was suffering from some kind of memory loss or block. My brain and body showed no signs of injury. There was no tumor. No disease. No deficiencies. Yet, for some mysterious reason, I could not recall fifteen years of my life.

A few days ago, I was confused and upset.

Today, I was curious. All I had were questions and I wanted answers. I was dying for answers!

I also wanted out of this isolation tank. I wanted to be with those I loved—especially Madame and my Joy, of course, even though she was a grown woman now, one I’d have to get to know. And I wanted to know everything: what kind of person she’d become; how her childhood and school years went; and, most of all, if I’d done okay as her mom.

Were there things Joy regretted? Had I let her down? Failed her in any way? Or was she proud of the mom she had and the job I had done raising her? Were we still a team, mother and daughter against the world?

As for Matt . . . honestly, I could live without seeing him, ever again, but I did want to know about the other people in my new life, the ones who recognized me—

That young woman Esther with those tears in her eyes when she saw me standing in the coffeehouse. And the tattooed barista, the artist named Mr. Dante, who had hugged me with such enthusiasm.

Were there other friends I’d made who would miss me if I were to move upstate to a psychiatric facility?

What if I told Dr. Lorca that I had changed my mind about his treatment plan? Was it really my choice? Or was he only making me feel like it was? If I said no to Dr. Lorca and tried to leave the hospital, would I be—as indelicately as Matt might put it—“locked in a booby hatch” against my will?

Unsure what to do, I asked that little voice I’d spoken with last night.

Contact Madame, it whispered. Find a way to reach her, and talk things over with her.

Though she and I hadn’t seen each other much since my divorce from her son, my mother-in-law has never been anything but totally honest, loyal, and loving to me. I knew I could trust her to help me make the right decision. Couldn’t I?

I was about to give up on thinking and reading and just pull the covers over my head when I heard my hospital room door open and firmly shut again.

I turned, shocked to find my desperate wish had come true. The kind, familiar face that greeted me was like a shining sun parting the darkest clouds.

“Madame!”