Moira sat in the big, leather chair that faced Dr. Cassano’s desk. She was starting to feel the chair was hers and hers alone. She didn’t even know why; she knew she wasn’t his only patient.
“We should have the results of the blood test by tomorrow. Provided everything looks good,” Dr. Cassano continued, “we can start you on medication.”
“Great.”
“Let’s try something new today.”
A small stab of apprehension hit her. “Like what?”
“I’d like to discuss your childhood. If that’s all right with you.”
“Why?” she asked. “I mean, there’s nothing to discuss. Why would you want to discuss my childhood?”
“You and your brother stayed at three other foster homes before you were placed with Mrs. Cook.”
“Mom Adel.”
“Mom Adel,” he repeated. “What were those other foster homes like for you?”
“Temporary.”
Something indecipherable flickered across his expression. “Can you tell me about them?”
“The first one didn’t like Liam because he cried all the time.” She ticked off her fingers. “The second had some financial problems and decided the state wasn’t paying them enough to keep both of us. The third had all boys and felt a girl was disruptive to the household.”
“Disruptive in what way?”
She sighed inwardly. “One of their foster boys woke me one night by snuffing a cigarette on the inside of my thigh.”
His face registered shock. “That’s terrible.” Just as quickly, he composed himself again.
“Apparently, he had a problem with me,” she continued. “They were going to send me somewhere else, but Mom Adel stepped in last minute and offered to take Liam and me both.” Moira gave him a tight smile. “I owe her everything. She kept us together and gave us a place to stay.”
“She’s a special person, indeed,” he murmured. “Did anything else happen that you want to share? With the boy that woke you?”
“No.”
He paused. “Are you sure? That seems like quite…a traumatic thing. To be woken like that.”
“It pissed me off,” she said. “But it didn’t traumatize me.”
He clicked his pen. “How was your first year in Mrs. Cook’s care? I imagine it took you some time to settle in?”
Moira picked at the brass tack on the arm of the chair. “Why are you asking?”
“Sometimes, issues can be traced back to something that may have happened to us in childhood. Something we can’t…or won’t remember.” He seemed to be fishing. “It may be helpful to talk about it.”
“Nothing happened at Mom Adel’s.” Moira’s gaze flicked briefly to the painting of the pond and dragonflies that hung on the wall. She returned it to meet Dr. Cassano’s dark gaze with her own. “Nothing. Are we done?”
“We just started, actually,” he replied carefully. “I’m asking for you not to shut me out, Moira. Can you bear with me for another twenty minutes?”
She noted the silence in the room. Both Jack and Isabella were still there. Jack leaned against the wall, eyes fixated on them. Isabella rocked in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees. She returned her attention to Dr. Cassano. “Twenty minutes.”
“Thank you.” He checked his notes.
He’s always checking his notes, she observed. You think he would have memorized them by now.
“Did you get along with the other children at Mrs. Cooks?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Kids don’t always get along. Sometimes it’s difficult coming into a situation like that, being the new kid. How did your brother settle into the new home? Did he adjust emotionally?”
“Our parents were both dead,” she said, her face warming. “He was just a little kid.”
“It’s regrettable the both of you didn’t receive grief counseling,” he replied gently, “and completely understandable that Liam would be emotionally distraught.”
She ran a finger around the tack, making circles. “Well, nobody else except for Mom Adel seemed to understand that.”
“There was a death at Mrs. Cook’s.” He glanced down at her file. “It’s…in the records. Can you tell me about that?”
“Are we done here?” She stood. “I’d like to go back to my room.”
“I think this is important.”
“I want to go back to my room,” she said, a little too loudly.
“Ten minutes,” he persisted.
Moira shook her head and, for a moment, was afraid he wasn’t going to let her leave.
“All right,” he said, somewhat defeated. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll…pick up where we left off.”
She returned to her room and right away, Isabella began running around like a mad thing.
“He was trying to get at you, Moira.”
“Shut up, Jack.”
“I’m a vulture!” Isabella screeched. She swooped past Moira, causing an icy draft.
“Don’t trust him,” Jack said.
“Shut up,” Moira said through gritted teeth.
“Do you trust him?”
“I trusted you.”
“I paid for it.”
They stared each other down. The room got darker, the sun swallowed by the clouds like a big secret.
“Look at me! Look at me, Moira!” Isabella jumped on the bed. “I’m a mermaid!” She leapt off the bed, making swimming motions.
“You don’t have to take what he prescribes. You can spit it out when he’s not looking—”
“I don’t care what he prescribes, Jack.”
“You should care,” he grated.
“Hello?” She gave him a wide-eyed look. “I want out of here. I’ll do what I need to do.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” he warned. “You know I don’t like it when you talk to me like that.”
“I’m a seahorse!” Isabella galloped around them. “Look at me, Moira!”
She held her hands over her ears. “God, Isabella, shut up!”
The door to her room opened. “What’s all the noise in here?”
Moira dropped her hands from her ears. “Nothing. Sorry.”
“Why don’t you take a nap before lunch?” Sheila said. “You look like you could use one.”
Moira pulled the thin hospital blankets down with a resigned tug.
“I’ll be in to wake you later. Do you want lunch in here or would you like to join us in the dining room?”
Moira grimaced. The nurses were always bugging her to eat in the dining room. Most of the time, they would bring her a tray, but sometimes, she had to fetch it herself. Last time she had dinner in the dining room, there was a huge scuffle between two of the patients over the last apple. She’d been in the cafeteria line and had been knocked to the ground. It had taken awhile for the nurses to break the fight up and it hadn’t ended well.
“I hate to see you eating alone again, Moira,” Sheila said, giving her a sympathetic look. “We’re kind of bending the hospital rules about that, but it’s not good for you. You’ve got to keep your emotional spirits up.”
My emotional spirits are fine, she thought bitterly. It’s just the ghostly ones I’m having trouble with. “I guess I’ll eat in the dining room.”
“Good girl.” Sheila left, closing the door behind her.
Moira slid into bed and pulled up the covers. She edged away as Jack lay behind her.
“Don’t do that,” Jack said.
“Don’t touch me, Jack.” A line of tension ran across her shoulders.
In spite of Jack’s murmurings of discontent and Isabella’s chattering, she did end up taking a nap. Unfortunately, however, both of them were still there when she woke. Not that they ever went away.
* * *
“Spaghetti or meatloaf? We have soup too. Hey, Nathan!” The server called back to the kitchen. “What kind of soup we got?”
“Tomato,” called a voice from the kitchen. “Same as yesterday.”
“Spaghetti,” Moira said.
The server slapped a glob of mushy spaghetti onto her plastic plate. “There’s green beans too, if you want some.”
She knew the green beans were from a couple days ago and politely shook her head.
“Suit yourself.”
Moira turned and gave the dining room a sweeping glance. Several patients had already found tables. Most were eating quietly, lost in a world of their own. A table stood empty in the corner and she went to sit at it. Jack and Isabella followed. Now that she saw them, she realized that they followed her everywhere. A small detail which she would have preferred to remain oblivious.
A grizzled-looking man in his late sixty’s waved his fork at her. “That one’s taken.” A large bruise marred the side of his forehead.
“By whom?”
“My friend.” He stared at Moira with rheumy eyes. “He’s meeting me here at three o’ clock for lunch.”
She knew they weren’t serving another lunch at three. In twenty minutes, the kitchen would close and wouldn’t open again until dinner. Not that she felt like explaining that to him. “Okay.” Moira picked up her tray and sat at another empty table that was adjacent.
“I’m done,” the old man said loudly. He stood and took off his white T-shirt. “I’m done, nurse.” His pants followed.
One of the other patients laughed. Another whistled. The whistle lasted way longer than it needed to.
Standing in his blue-striped boxers and black socks, the old man swept his tray from the table. Spaghetti and green beans hit the floor with a clatter, spraying the mess everywhere. “I’m done! Come get me now.”
“Mr. Stevens!” One of the nurses, who happened to be the only one in the dining room, hurried over to him. “You need to put your clothes back on.” She picked up his pants.
“But I’m done,” he insisted.
“I heard you. You can be done when you put your clothes back on.”
He pointed at Moira accusingly. “She chased my friend away.”
Moira cringed inwardly as everyone’s attention turned to her.
“She stole my friend’s seat.” He continued to point at Moira, shaking his finger for emphasis. “And everyone knows he’s meeting me here at three o’clock.”
“Now, Mr. Stevens, it not nice to point.” The nurse continued to try and dress him, but it was like dressing a willful child. “I’m sure your friend will be back at dinner.”
“But she stole his seat. I’m done!” He pushed the nurse away and stomped out of the dining room; boxers, black socks, and all.
The nurse sighed and picked up his clothes. “Continue with your lunch, people.”
That’s it, Moira thought. I’m eating in my room next time. Twenty minutes with these people would send anyone screaming.