“What happened?” Owen asked.
“Emily swallowed a number of pills as well as a quantity of alcohol. Her roommate Cordelia Analan wondered why she wasn’t in class, went to their room, and found Emily comatose. She notified us, and we had Emily brought to the hospital by ambulance. We found empty aspirin, Sleepeeze, and Midol containers on her bed, and a half-empty bottle of vodka. Emily’s stomach has been pumped. Physically she’s out of danger now, but emotionally she’s … upset.”
“Did she tell you why?”
“No. Emily’s not—coherent. Cordelia appeared as surprised as we are. Perhaps she’ll talk to you.”
“We’ll come at once. We’ll be there in an hour.”
“Good.” Mr. Lorimer hesitated, then said quickly, “I’m sorry about this.”
Linda had come into the study and stood waiting, listening. When Owen put down the phone, he told her, “Emily’s in the hospital in Basingstoke. She tried to commit suicide.”
Linda blinked and took a step forward. “She—”
“She’s going to be okay. She’s in the hospital.”
“I don’t understand. Are you sure? Emily?”
“We’ve got to go there now. I’ll call Celeste and ask her to take care of the place while we’re gone.”
Linda nodded, but did not move. “What did they say? Who called? Are you sure it’s not … a prank?”
“It was Bob Lorimer. He said Emily swallowed a bunch of pills and some alcohol.”
“What kind of pills?”
“Midol. Aspirin. They pumped her stomach. Cordelia found her in her room. She was comatose.”
“I don’t understand.”
Linda nodded and headed for her bedroom to dress. Owen called after her to remind her to pack a bag. They’d probably have to stay the night in Basingstoke.
There was no direct way to get from the farm outside the small town of Ebradour in central Massachusetts to Hedden Academy, situated on the north side of Boston. The scenic route through rolling mountains and sleepy villages took about forty-five minutes longer, more if they got stuck on the two-lane road behind a truck hauling livestock. Today they took Route 91 down to the Mass Pike, then headed east to 93 North.
The unsettling flash of cars at the periphery of their vision always took some getting used to after the pastoral pace of their farm and the country roads curving moatlike, protectively, around it. Now the frenetic traffic sounds of horns and brakes and radios and the hurtling rush of air seemed appropriate to the moment. Everywhere the land swept off in all directions, the occasional orange or red leaf flashing like a message of alarm.
“Sit back,” Owen said.
“I can’t imagine why Emily would do such a thing.”
“It’s not like her.”
“She seemed in great shape this summer.”
“Both kids did.”
“She seemed happy to return to school.”
“Something must have happened there.”
“You think I was right about the braces, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“She didn’t want them put on now. She said a boy liked her. She wanted to look good. Probably she was thinking about getting kissed.”
“You were right to make her get them now.”
“It’s just that … I can remember what it’s like when you first fall in love. The first time you kiss a boy.”
“Now she can have two first times, one with braces, one without.”
Linda glanced at her husband. Usually he was not so sanguine, and in spite of his words his face was grim. It was possible that he was concerned, as she was, that they had been wrong to send Emily to boarding school. Just because Bruce flourished there didn’t mean Emily would. But Emily had wanted to go, had begged to go. All the things Owen and Linda loved about the farm, the silence and privacy and peace, the vast stretch of air and sky and rolling fields, the long shared walks through the sweet high wet grasses with only the flash and dart of birds for company, only the fragrance of alfalfa and pine perfuming the air … all that bored Emily.
Emily loved people. She was an extrovert and an optimist. She didn’t want solitude, she wanted the giggles of her girlfriends and the rumble of boys’ laughter, the jolt and thud of music from a boom box, the smell of sweat and shampoo and chewing gum and illicit cigarettes in the hallway. She wanted the sight of boys’ bodies, their crooked grins, their ambling figures coming toward her down the hallway. Linda knew what her daughter wanted.
Thought she knew. Obviously she was wrong. It seemed she didn’t know her child at all.
Bruce heard the siren when he was running toward the fieldhouse, but it didn’t signify anything to him until the moment he stepped out of the shower to find Coach Parker waiting by his locker.
“Bruce. Lorimer wants to see you. Now.”
“What’s up?”
“Something about Emily.”
“Emily? What about her?”
“You’ve gotta see Lorimer right away. That’s all I know.”
Bruce yanked on his khakis and striped shirt and sweater, slid his feet sockless into his shabby loafers, then set off at a run toward the dean’s office in the administrative buildings, turning things over in his mind. If the siren had meant an ambulance, and that had come for Emily, well, what could have happened? She wasn’t a jock, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt playing. He took the steps up to the entrance to Tuttle Hall two at a time. In the lobby he stopped to brush back his hair and tuck in his shirt.
The dean’s secretary, Mrs. Echevera, sat at her desk, pounding away on the computer, but the moment Bruce stepped into the office, she swiveled her chair toward him. “Hello, Bruce. Go on in, dear. He’s waiting for you.”
Dear, Bruce thought, there was an ominous sign. After rapping sharply at the door, he went in.
Dean Lorimer was six foot three and had a Teddy Roosevelt kind of gruff charm. “Bruce. Sit down,” he growled. “How are you?”
“Fine. I’m fine, sir.” Bruce settled uneasily on the edge of the chair facing the desk.
“We’ve got a little problem you should know about. I wanted to tell you before you heard it elsewhere. Your sister’s been taken to the hospital. If appearances don’t lie, she attempted suicide this afternoon.”
“Emily?” Bruce asked, incredulous.
Lorimer nodded. “Her roommate Cordelia found her. In time, I should add, thank God above for that. An ambulance came immediately and she should be in the hospital right now. I want you to know I’ve called your parents. They’re on their way to the hospital. I thought you might like to go over there, too, later on. I’m giving you permission to be off grounds for the rest of the day.”
“Well, thank you, sir,” Bruce said, automatically polite. “But—are you sure it was a suicide attempt?”
“Unfortunately, yes. She had a bottle of vodka and a variety of pills with her. Seems she waited until the dorm was empty after lunch.”
“But she’ll be okay?”
“We think so,” Lorimer replied cautiously. After a moment he asked, “I don’t suppose you can help shed any light on what would be bothering Emily?”
Bruce shook his head. “She’s two classes behind me. Well, you know that. I hardly ever see her.”
“Can you remember when you did see her last?”
Bruce thought. “Probably at assembly. She seemed all right then.”
Lorimer shook his head. “It’s not like her.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I’ll walk you to your dorm,” Lorimer said, rising. “Something like this … I need some exercise.”
“I, uh, I’m not sure I’m going to my dorm right now,” Bruce told the dean. “Unless you think it’s necessary.”
Lorimer looked at him.
“I’d kind of like to talk to a friend right now,” Bruce explained.
“Of course, son,” Lorimer said. He waved his hand. “Go on.”
“Well, uh, thank you, sir,” Bruce said awkwardly. He left the room, making a polite grimace to Mrs. Echevera, then hurried down the hall. When he stepped out into the cold freshness of the day, he began to run toward Shipley Hall, Alison’s dorm.
From his window, Bob Lorimer stood, watching Bruce run.
Emily felt like shit. Was made of shit, actually. The stuff they called charcoal kept making her run for the john. She was sure every sound she made could be heard throughout the ward. People must think she was really disgusting.
Her intestines were cramped, her stomach hurt, her mouth was dry, and her face felt swollen. She lay on her side on the bed, finding what relief there was in sleep.
Then she heard the door open. Someone entered the room.
“Emily? Do you know where you are?”
Someone was looking at her. A woman.
“Emily?”
“Hospital.”
“Good. Do you know what day it is?”
The woman smelled like the incense Zodiac liked to burn in their room, against dorm rules. Sandalwood and cinnamon. A clean smell.
“Monday. Thanksgiving week.”
“Good. I’m Dr. Travis. I thought you might like something to drink. I’ve brought a 7UP for you. With ice.”
Emily rolled over, sat up, rubbed her eyes, reached out for the paper cup. “Thank you.” She could not believe how great the first sip tasted, cool and wet and soothing to her throat.
“I thought I might stay here a while and talk with you.” Dr. Travis settled into a chair at the other end of the room. She was a heavy woman, fat like the “before” photos you’d tape to your refrigerator to keep you on a diet, yet pretty in spite of it all. Her clothes and jewelry, even her hair was sort of beautiful in a rococo way. “Rococo” was a new vocabulary word in English, one of Emily’s new favorites; she was surprised it popped up in her brain just now.
Dr. Travis continued, “You’ll stay in this room overnight. It’s comfortable enough, don’t you think?”
As if now her comfort mattered. She snorted. “Right.”
“The door does not lock, as you may have noticed. Nurses will be checking in every so often during the night, just to see how you’re doing. Tomorrow we’ll start talking about how long you might like to stay here. And we can wait until then to talk about what brought you here.” She paused. “Unless you’d like to start talking about that now.”
Emily snorted again. “I fucked up. That’s what brought me here.”
“Fucked up how?”
“Didn’t take enough pills. Didn’t do a good job.”
“A good job of …”
Emily flashed the woman a look of impatience. “A good job of killing myself, what do you think?”
“Why would you want to kill yourself?” Dr. Travis spoke as if she were discussing a book Emily had chosen, or a dress. Her voice was calm.
Emily sipped the rest of the 7UP. Dr. Travis sat quietly. After a while, Emily said, trying to be as calm as Dr. Travis, “Because I don’t want to go on.” Then the words came out as if they were entities on their own, moving from her throat without her consent. “Because I don’t deserve to go on. Because I’m too gross to live.”
“And why is that?”
Emily looked at Dr. Travis’s face. “Why should I tell you? You’ll tell my parents and then everyone will be miserable. Why can’t people just leave me alone? There are too many people in the world, anyway.”
“Oh, I see. It was a philanthropic act.”
A talent for sarcasm had always appealed to Emily, and now she looked at the doctor again, more carefully, surprised that such a barbed statement would come from such a plump, mild-looking woman.
Dr. Travis continued, “As far as telling your parents anything, I won’t, unless you give me permission. I’m here to help you. I’m here as your advocate. Whatever you tell me is entrusted into my safekeeping, and I am obligated by my oath to keep your secrets safe.”
Emily looked back at the floor, finishing the 7UP.
“Unless,” Dr. Travis went on, “you make another suicide attempt, or try to leave the ward without permission.”
Emily’s eyes flashed up at Dr. Travis. “I’m imprisoned here?”
“Not at all. You have been brought here involuntarily, of course, since you were unconscious at the time and the emergency room physician treated you and referred you to us. You are not obligated to remain, but if you do remain, we will want you to sign a form stating that it is your voluntary act, and we’ll want a commitment from you that you will work on the problem that brought you here.”
Emily was listening carefully.
“You will also pledge that while you are on this ward, you will not attempt to harm yourself, and that if the urge to do so arises, you will tell us, so that we may help you.”
“How?”
“A number of ways. Medications often help. Often it’s sufficient to know that the nurses are alerted and will keep a fifteen-minute watch on your room, to be sure you’re not doing anything harmful.”
“This place must be expensive.”
“Is that relevant? If it is, it might help to know that your school health insurance will probably cover everything.”
After a moment’s pause, Emily got it. “You’ve had Hedden students here before. You know the drill.”
Dr. Travis only smiled and recrossed her legs, sending her voluminous skirts into a flurry. “If you decide to stay with us, you’ll have a complete physical checkup tomorrow. You’ll meet the various people on the team who will be helping you. You’ll be given a schedule that we’ll work up for you. You’ll be restricted to the ward until the team decides you’re ready for other privileges, such as—”
“You mean I can’t go back to school?”
“Do you want to go back to school?”
“What about Thanksgiving?”
“I’m sure the dining room will serve turkey, cranberries, and pumpkin pie on Thursday.”
“So you’re saying I have to stay here for a while.”
“You have committed an act that indicates that you can’t function on your own right now. Something is bothering you. We’re here to help you work on that. There are other adolescents on this ward who are working on their own problems and you might find it helpful to hear what they have to say.”
“No one can help me.”
“I know you feel that way now. But if you’ll give us a chance, I think you’ll find that we can help you. You’re not hopeless. You are not without choices in your life. We might help you find a new way to look at your problems, or a new way to defeat that which seems to be defeating you.”
Emily stared at the psychologist, then bent her head over her 7UP, making a gross sucking noise as the straw hit ice. She flushed with embarrassment.
“Emily, your parents are going to be here fairly soon. As you can imagine, they’re worried about you.”
“I don’t want to see them.”
Dr. Travis waited for Emily to say more, and when she didn’t speak, continued, “I’m sure they’re worried about you. I’m sure they want just to see that you’re okay. I’ll be with you when they come in. The important thing you need to do now is to decide whether or not you’ll sign yourself in, voluntarily, for treatment here.”
“For how long?”
“We don’t know yet. I can say that it often takes a while to work things through.”
“I’ll sign the form,” Emily said.