TWENTY-SIX

“SO?” Matt asked, studying me as we piled back into the van. “Is she cured? How does she feel about me?”

“I still can’t stand you. And I cannot believe I ever changed my mind about that.”

“But there is a glimmer of hope,” Madame noted.

“What does that mean?” Matt asked. “What exactly happened up there?”

Madame proceeded to tell him with Esther and Mr. Dante jumping in for color commentary. When they finished, Matt turned to me.

“So the coffee tasting helped unlock something inside your head? And the sensory keys might work, after all?”

“I guess so,” I conceded. “But I need more answers. That’s why I left the hospital, for answers—and coffee. What now?”

Matt shifted his gaze to his mother. “Decision time.”

Madame frowned and looked away. She was clearly still struggling with the options from their previous discussion. “It’s a shame we can’t take Clare home, back to the duplex above the coffeehouse.”

“That’s a nice thought,” Matt said, “but it can’t happen.”

“Why not?” I asked, the fight in me rising.

This ongoing debate about me—this What shall we do with Clare?—was really starting to chafe. I wasn’t some mental invalid, unable to function.

“So what if Dr. Lorca sends authorities looking for me! I’ll simply tell them I changed my mind about the treatment. I’ll tell them to leave me alone and send them on their way. What’s wrong with that?”

Matt let the dust settle on my volcanic outburst. Then he calmly asked, “Do you know who the president is?”

“The president?” I blinked. “You mean . . . of the United States?”

“It’s a basic question for reality orientation.”

“I see.”

“And what’s your answer?”

“Is it a Clinton?”

“No.”

“Another Bush?”

“You’re guessing, aren’t you?”

“Uhm . . .”

“Name the most recent movie you remember.”

I bit my lip. “Was it a Robin Williams film?”

Matt turned to his mother. “You don’t want to risk commitment, do you?”

With a shake of her head, Madame addressed her baristas. “Esther and Dante, listen carefully. When we’re finished here, I want you to take separate taxis downtown.” She handed them cash. “Give your drivers addresses that are near your apartments but not within sight of them. Then walk the rest of the way to your homes, change clothes, and go directly to the Village Blend to relieve the baristas on duty.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“You’re going to be driven to a safe place where you can take a little vacation.”

My stomach clenched. “You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

She reached out and took my hands in hers. “I’d like to, my dear child. I wish I could, but it’s not a good idea. The authorities are going to come for you, and the first place they’re going to look will be the Village Blend. I need to be there to answer questions. With luck, I’ll be able to throw the bloodhounds off your trail. I’ve also got to find us an attorney, one willing to take our case and get us out of any legal jeopardy. We’ll need to find a local psychiatrist willing to work with us, as well.”

“You mean, work with me.”

She gently squeezed my hands. “Be patient. If all goes well, you should be able to come back to the city in a few days, a week at most.”

“And if all doesn’t go well?”

“Let’s focus on the positive, shall we?”

“I’ll try . . .” I shifted my gaze to Esther and Mr. Dante. “Which one of you will be driving me to this hideaway house?”

Matt cleared his throat. “That would be me.”

“You?” The man’s dark beard parted with a smile so smug, I wanted to scream (and almost did). Given everyone’s anxiety about my mental state, however, I forced myself to hold it together and just say—

“NO.”

“That’s the plan, Clare.”

“I don’t care. I am not driving to some strange house alone with you. There has to be another option. Esther?”

“Sorry, boss. I’m an Uber-subway kinda girl. Driving’s not in my wheelhouse.”

With pleading eyes, I looked at Mr. Dante.

“I’m sorry, too, but I don’t know Long Island, let alone this Hamptons place Matt has in mind. I’m likely to get us lost. And it’s a two-hour haul to get out there. I’m scheduled for an evening shift. I think I should keep the routine looking normal.”

“Of course you should,” Madame agreed. “And you’ll be fine, Clare. I know my son would do anything to protect you. He only wants to help.”

“You can trust me,” Matt promised.

“Trust you?” I almost laughed.

“Come on, Clare,” he wheedled. “This is a road trip. For all the terrible things you remember about me, there has to be one good thing you haven’t forgotten.”

“What?”

“I’m loads of fun on a road trip.”