Remembrance Page 6

  “Why?” I glared at her, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Because Dr. Jessops recommended it. He wants you to continue to improve. You’ve handled the move beautifully, but … things can always change.”

  She expected me to freak out again, I could tell by the look on her face. “I feel fine.”

  “His name’s Dr. Clark Walker. You’ll like him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I spoke with him today. You can walk to his office.”

  “I get enough exercise,” I said tonelessly. “Thanks.”

  “Monday afternoon. He’s expecting you after school.”

  I made a face. “Ugh.”

  “It’ll be good for you.”

  “Why, so I can tell him my sob story? I’m over it.”

  “You can talk about whatever you want.”

  “I’m bored talking about myself. It’s not interesting at all.” I could not count the number of group discussions and therapy sessions I’d had over the last year, finding almost nothing new to say to anyone. What did they call it, dialectical behavior therapy? It was used to treat people with borderline personality disorder, which I strongly doubted I had. The other labels bandied about were major depressive disorder or dissociative identity disorder, but, in the end, I never felt any diagnosis truly applied to my particular issues.

  They accused me of being in denial.

  They’re wrong about that. So wrong.

  “Please do this, Brie. All I ask is that you go and speak to him. If you hate his guts, you don’t have to go back. We’ll find someone else.”

  I lifted my chin. “I’m perfectly fine. The move cured me.” I doubted those words as they left my lips, but the last thing I wanted was to be trapped in therapy again. It was one step away from hospitalization. I shuddered at the memories.

  “Yeah,” she murmured, her lips thinning. “Everything’s just fine right now, the calm before the storm, so to speak. I’ve seen it before. The move distracted you for about a minute, but … anything can shake loose tomorrow. I’ve seen you turn on a dime. One second you’re laughing and happy, then we’re at the emergency room getting a blood transfusion because you—”

  “All right,” I snapped, thoroughly aggravated. “I’ll see him. Does that make you happy?”

  “Thank you.”

  The doorbell rang. “Oh! Saved by the bell!” My dry laughter filled the air. “I’ll get it.” Hurrying for the entranceway, I flung open the door, surprised to see Steffy and Tara, not knowing they planned to come over. “Hey.”

  Tara, whose cheeks appeared rosy from the chill in the air, said, “We would’ve warned you we were coming, but you don’t have texting on your antiquated phone.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “And we’re in the neighborhood,” said Steffy. “So, let us in.”

  I giggled, feeling slightly awkward about this, yet happy to see my newfound friends. Standing aside, I waited for them to come in. “Excuse the mess. We haven’t done much to it yet.”

  Steffy eyed the chandelier. “I remember this place. The woman who lived here before hosted a party once. We didn’t know her, but my mom wanted to see what it looked like. It smelled like cat piss. That’s about all I remember.”

  “It doesn’t smell like that now.” Tara took her jacket off. “So, what are you up to? Can we hang out?”

  “It’s really nice of us to just barge in, isn’t it?” Steffy grinned.

  “I totally don’t mind. I’ve been meaning to check out the attic, and you’re right on time.” I half-teased about this, wondering how they would react.

  Steffy’s grin vanished. “Sounds … great.”

  “My mom said there was stuff up there from the previous owner. Why don’t we have a look?”

  “I’m starting to realize you’re really sick and twisted, Brie,” joked Tara. “I … think I like you.”

  I laughed at that, seeing mom. “Some friends from school.”

  My mother’s mouth fell open, stunned by their arrival. “I'm … so glad.” She approached, holding out a hand. “Hila Thompson. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Tara, hi.”

  She shook Steffy’s hand. “And you.”

  “Steffy.”

  “I’m really glad you’re making friends, honey.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “So,” said Tara. “Show us the creepy attic. I’m always game for a treasure hunt.”

  “It’s not that scary up there,” said mom. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ve some frozen pizza I can make.”

  “That’s real nice of you, Mrs. Thompson,” said Tara.

  “There’s soda in the fridge.”

  I guided the girls to the stairs. “This way, guys. I’m kinda glad I don’t have to do this alone. You showed up right on time.”

  An hour later, after dusting off and plugging in an old record player, the sound of a Fleetwood Mac album played, Stevie Nick’s sultry voice filling my room. Not only did we find a cache of old vinyl records, but also a large trunk that held clothing—woman’s clothing—from decades ago. Tara wore a pair of bell-bottom jeans and a beaded tank top, while Steffy modeled a velvet tracksuit. I laughed at the sight of them, wishing desperately that I could take pictures with my phone.

  “I don’t know about you, but this is super groovy,” quipped Tara. “Everything old is new again.”

  We brought down all the clothes, a colorful pile on my floor. I held up a white nightgown, finding it pretty with lace and ruffles on the hem. “I might wear this to bed.”

  “You’re so lucky you get to keep all this.” Steffy turned from side to side before a full-length mirror. “Retro is in right now. You could make a fortune on eBay selling this stuff.”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m keeping everything.” I eyed the stack of records, finding albums from The Doors, Led Zeppelin, Bad Company, and Blue Oyster Cult. “It’s a gift from the house gods.”

  “Or whoever lived here, but I doubt they belonged to old Mrs. Weintraub. Maybe her daughter.”

  A rap on the door startled me. “Yeah?”

  “There’s food, if you want it.”

  “Thanks, Mom. We’ll be down.”

  “I can’t stay for dinner,” said Steffy. “I gotta go pretty soon.”

  “I should change. I love these pants, but they’re a little tight. I think people were smaller in the 70’s.”

  “We once took a tour of Hearst Castle,” I said. “They had clothing from the 30’s and 40’s on display. People used to be so tiny. It looked like dolls clothes.”

  “That must’ve been fun.” Tara changed quickly, donning jeans and a t-shirt. “I’ve never been there. We did Disney Land two years ago.”

  “I love Disney Land.” Steffy changed from the velvet tracksuit, tossing the clothing onto the pile.

  I had enjoyed the afternoon with my friends, hoping that at least Tara could stay a little while longer. Glancing at the full-length mirror, I saw a woman behind me, her expression pleased, a faint smile upon her face. Long, blonde hair hung past her shoulders, while a whitish mist suddenly obscured her from the chest down, the image vanishing at once. Stunned, I pivoted to look behind me, seeing nothing other than the bed.

  “Are you all right?” Steffy eyed me quizzically.

  “I thought I just saw something.”

  “I’m ready,” said Tara. “I can stay for pizza. I mean, who would turn down pizza?”

  “You guys didn’t see anything just now, did you?”

  Steffy shrugged. “Like what?”

  “A blonde woman in the room.”

  “Nobody here has blonde hair.”

  I had seen the reflection of a woman in the mirror—clear as day—until it dissolved. No one else had experienced it. “Never mind. It’s nothing.” The image smiled at me, pleased with something, perhaps the music we played or the clothing we tried on. I could not be sure. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

  Tara stayed a little
while longer to have pizza. Mom bustled around the kitchen and hovered the entire time, which annoyed me. After my friend left, I started a load of laundry, washing the nightgown I found in the trunk. I hoped the smell of cedar wood went away with the use of a flowery-smelling detergent. After watching the news with mom and taking the dried and folded clothes upstairs, I changed in the bathroom, donning the white nightgown, which fell past my knees.

  Lighting a few candles, I tossed a log into the fireplace, creating a cozy ambience. A song from Bad Company played, while I sat cross-legged on the bed and flipped the pages of one of the books from the library downstairs.

  “I know you’re here,” I said. “I can feel you.” I hardly expected the ghost to answer me, but I felt compelled to speak to it nonetheless. “I’m Brie. I know who you are. You’re Suzie, aren’t you?”

  A loud crackling in the hearth made me jump, the flames lapping over the top of a log.

  “These are your records, aren’t they? I love ‘em. I don’t mind if you want to stay and listen with me.” Turning the pages of the book, I waited on a reply, although none came. “I love your clothes. This is your room. I bet you decorated it. Why do I feel like I know you?”

  I spoke to myself for a while, eventually closing the book and turning the light off. A yellowish glow emanated from the fireplace, although that slowly died down, as the flames diminished.

  “Goodnight, Suzie.” I snuggled into the bedding, sleep claiming me a while later, the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness.

  When I woke in the morning, I found the book open on the floor, finding that odd, since I had closed it and left it on the nightstand. Glancing at the page, it was about the myths of the Celtic world, where a drawing of a beautiful woman filled the page, with the description of Rhiannon, a Celtic goddess.

  I knelt, staring at the image, the woman on a white horse. “Suzie Q, you did this, didn’t you?”

  I waited for an answer that never came.

  10

  Holding a tray, I made my way through the cafeteria, bypassing Maven’s table, where she sat alone. She wore a blue jacket and stared at me with a slightly glazed expression. Her skin appeared deathly pale, the circles beneath her eyes even darker than before. I thought of my earlier conversation with her.

  Ha! And they think I’m crazy.

  At least I never spoke about vampires as if they were real, such a notion ridiculous. Rumor had it she was on drugs, and I had to agree. No one in their right mind actually believed that stuff. I thought of some of the patients at The Hope Unit, remembering the incoherent ramblings of the truly mentally ill. They often shouted about seeing demons, even speaking to Lucifer himself.

  I met with Dr. Walker on Monday, finding him younger than expected, the man having a good vibe. The conversation remained light and easy, jumping from one topic to another, the psychiatrist letting me speak without interruption. I had a standing appointment with him for Mondays now, until I no longer needed counseling. I could envision that time happening sooner than later, especially since I had been feeling so much better over the last week.

  “Hey,” I said, sliding in next to Tara, who glanced at her phone. “What’s the word on the street?” I grinned, chewing on a French fry.

  She shrugged. “Nothing. Major … boredom. I’ve a math test next. I’m thinking about pleading a migraine and going home. I just can’t face it. How about you?”

  “Government. He’s dull as heck, but whatever. I can survive it.”

  “Jack Holder wants to ask you out.”

  “Who?”

  “Somebody I know.”

  “Have I ever seen him?”

  “He’s over there, the guy on the end of that table.” She turned her head towards the other side of the cafeteria, a group of boys sitting together. “The blond guy.”

  He stared our way, which was awkward, as he had seen me searching for him. “Ugh. No, thanks.”

  She giggled, “You’re gonna get asked to prom eventually. You better watch it.”

  “God, I haven’t even thought of prom. Do I have to go?”

  “I’m going. Steffy’s going. You better go. We’re heading to Portland to try on dresses in a few weeks. I hope you come.”

  The French fry seemed stuck in my throat. I coughed. “Maybe.”

  “You have to go. You only do prom once.”

  “Okay,” I muttered, dreading the whole date thing. “If I have to.”

  “Parents love prom. It’s the photo op of the year for them. They live for that kinda thing, ya know?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  Steffy approached, a grin on her face. “Hello, fellow inmates. How goes it?” She sat next to Tara. “Are we doing the movies this weekend or not?”

  “Maybe.” Tara pointed to me. “She’s threatening not to go to prom.”

  “What? You have to go, girlfriend. It’s gonna be a blast. I’m talking my parents into getting us a limo.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go. I’ll think about it.”

  “You better.”

  Scanning the room, I found Maven staring in our direction. “We have someone’s full attention.”

  “Who?” asked Tara. “Oh, you mean her? Yeah, she’s been extra weird this week.”

  “Why is she fixated on me?”

  “Probably because you were dumb enough to sit with her one day,” said Steffy. “You shouldn’t encourage her.”

  “I felt sorry for her. She looks so … sad.” I understood how depression and mental illness affected a person, seeing myself in the girl. “We shouldn’t be mean to her. She’s sick. You shouldn’t treat a sick person like that.” I never thought I would meet someone worse off than me, that realization stunning. “Whatever drugs she’s on, she should quit. I did pot for a while, but it only made me more paranoid.”

  Steffy and Tara exchanged a glance, the conversation suddenly dying.

  I supplied, “That was a while ago. It’s legal in Colorado, you know.”

  “It’s legal here too,” murmured Tara. “Gotta be twenty-one, though.”

  “I had an older friend buy that … stuff.”

  “You little lawbreaker,” giggled Steffy.

  I shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea.” But, it hadn’t been, making the depression worse, along with a heightened sense of paranoia, which led directly to a three-week stay at the mental hospital.

  “The bell’s gonna ring,” said Tara. “I gotta hit the ladies before class. See you guys later.”

  I watched her walk away, meeting Maven’s stare from across the room. I vowed not to look that way again, ignoring her completely.

  Deciding on Mexican food for dinner, we drove a ways out of town to a restaurant on Highway 30, mom happy not to have to cook tonight. I ordered salad with chicken, while mom had cheese and chicken enchiladas.

  “You seem to be getting on well at school.”

  “Sure.” I sipped lemonade, feeling eyes on me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw three men sitting at another booth. Moving hair in my face, I tried to hide from their appraisal. “I’m only there a couple more months anyway.”

  “Have you thought about what you might do after graduation?”

  My SAT scores from more than a year ago weren’t that great, and I had missed taking them again, being in the hospital at the time. “Community college?” I toyed with the straw.

  “You can always do two years and then transfer to a university. You don’t have to worry about money. Your dad provided for your education. He’d be so proud to see you go to college.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Gosh, I miss him so much sometimes.” She sighed.

  “So do I.”

  “We’re survivors, Brie. Look at everything we’ve been through. You and I make a good team. I’m just so grateful the move went well and you’re settling in. You even have friends now. I found a contractor I want to work with. It’s all coming together.” She smiled kindly, reaching out to touch my hand. “You’ve handled the move so
much better than I thought you might. I know how hard change can be.”

  “I … don’t want to cause you more trouble, Mom.”

  “You’re not, honey. I … I’ve spoken to Dr. Walker a bit this week. He’s impressed with the insight you have into … the stuff that’s going on with you.”

  “Um … I thought what I say in therapy stays with the doctor?”

  “Oh, it does. He’s very vague when we speak. I didn’t get any details.”

  “I’ve only seen him once. How often are you guys having these discussions?”

  She pursed her lips, refusing to look at me. “A little every day. We … we kinda hit it off.”

  “What?” I blurted, a little louder than necessary. “What do you mean, hit it off?”

  “Brie—”

  “What’s happening here?”

  “He’s a nice man. He’s not married. I'm not married.”

  “Oh, my God! You’re not dating my shrink. No.”

  “It’s just friendly.”

  I shook my head, getting to my feet. “I can’t talk to him anymore, Mom. Sorry.”

  Worry flared in her eyes. “Sit down, Brie. Where are you going?”

  “I gotta pee. I wanna leave.” I rushed to the bathroom, while a myriad of thoughts raced through my mind.

  Thank God I found out about this now! I’m so glad I didn’t tell him anything really personal. Ugh.

  I washed my hands in the sink, thoroughly shocked and irritated, but trying not to freak out completely. Taking a few deep breaths, I calmed myself, warding off twinges of what threatened to be a full panic attack. By the time I left the bathroom, I felt steadier.

  Mom waited by the front door, holding it open for me. “I’m sorry.”