Life Is but a Dream (22 page)

His eyes catch my hand stretching in his direction. He stares at me as if I were a stranger and I stop my hand in midair. I doubt it would work anyway.

—
What is this other kid’s name?
— my dad asks, his frustration rising to the top again. —
I want to talk to his parents.
—

—
I can’t give out that information
— Dr. Richards answers. —
Besides, I don’t mean to be dismissive about what happened, but I think it’s best if we focus on your daughter right now.
—

—
That’s exactly what I’m trying to do
— he tells her. —
I want the boy’s name. I want to press charges
.—

I listen helplessly.

They gave me one pill to make me quiet.

Another pill to make me behave.

—
There’s nothing to suggest anything criminal took place
— Dr. Richards assures my dad.

—
Oh, is that so? Well, maybe I’ll just have to go after the hospital then.
—

—
If you want to pursue action against the hospital, that is up to you
— Dr. Richards says. —
I’m not here to talk you out of that. I’m here to tell you that I’m concerned about Sabrina. I really think we need to discuss new treatment options.
—

—
Wait. What new options? Why?
— my mom says, speaking to Dr. Richards for the first time since I’ve entered the room. —
I thought she was improving. That was the impression we were given.
—

—
I’m afraid her condition has become more severe
— Dr. Richards says.

Outside the window, the sky is changing. The clouds are lower than usual and they get caught in the tree branches. They are quickly torn apart. I feel the same way—stretched between what is going to happen and what has already been.

—
But she’s always had her good days and bad days
— my mom says.

—
That may be, but the fact remains she’s no longer responding to the treatment. We’ve tried changing her meds and increasing her therapy sessions, but it doesn’t seem to have made a difference
— Dr. Richards confesses. —
She’s become as withdrawn as when she arrived. It also seems as if her delusions are reasserting themselves. Her grasp on reality is deteriorating.
—

My hands get fast and nervous in my lap. I fidget inside my pockets until my palm wraps around the smooth surface of the stone I’ve hidden there. My mom reaches across her chair and rests her hand on my elbow. Her voice cracks when she speaks again. —
We were hoping she could come home soon.
—

—
I know this is difficult. But there are some things we haven’t tried yet that may help
— Dr. Richards explains. —
I’m very hopeful that after a month or so …—

My dad doesn’t let her finish.

—
You actually think we’re leaving her here?
—

Dr. Richards raises one eyebrow. She tries to stay even and calm but I can read her better than she knows. I can tell she’s surprised. She hadn’t expected my dad to say that. Neither did I, honestly. —
I would hope for Sabrina’s sake that you’ll give this new treatment a chance
.—

—
She’s been here almost three months! Now you want to try something? What have you been doing this whole time?
— His words come quick and breathless and he points accusingly as he shakes his head. —
No. I’m not leaving my daughter here to be some guinea pig. You people obviously don’t know what you’re doing. We’re going to take her to see someone who does.
—

My mom rubs my arm with her hand. —
Honey, this is the best clinic in the state
— she says. —
We need to think about this. Just because Sabrina met a boy, we can’t rush a decision like this. She’s fifteen. It’s normal. I mean, isn’t that why we’re doing all of this? So that she can have a normal life?
—

Alec says a normal life is worse than dying.

He says we’re better off crazy and I believe him.

—
I assure you, if this is about the incidents involving the other patient, it won’t happen again
— Dr. Richards says. —
The boy has been discharged and, as of this morning, is no longer a patient here at this hospital. Arrangements have been made for him to be treated at home, so I would hope you’ll keep Sabrina here.
—

As I sit up, my breath makes the sharp rush a knife makes slashing through the air. It’s the first sound I’ve made and everyone in the room responds by staring at me. —
That’s not true. It can’t be
— I say softly like a whisper into my sleeve. —
Alec wouldn’t leave me.
—

My dad looks at me and back to Dr. Richards with suspicion.

—
I’m sorry, Sabrina. I would’ve liked to break this to you in a different way. I know you and he are close
— Dr. Richards says with static swirling just behind the center of her eyes.

She’s lying.

She’s planned it like this all along. She never wanted Alec close to me. She’s never liked him telling me the truth.

—
Regardless, it doesn’t change anything
— my dad says.

He’s wrong—it changes everything.

Ignoring them both, my mom turns to face me. —
What do you want? Do you want to stay here?
— she asks.

I shake my head violently.

Only bad things will happen if I stay.

—
I want to go home
— I say.

I feel desperate to leave.

The noise is suddenly so close and getting closer. It’s everywhere inside the walls and I need to go.

—
Please
— I beg. —
Can we go today?
—

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

The twigs are still green on the inside. It makes them easy to twist and bend into shape. I’ve already done most of them. The pile in my lap is getting smaller. I probably won’t even need them all to finish the roof.

—
How’s it going down there?
—

—
Fine, Daddy
— I say, looking over my shoulder. My dad is standing at the edge of our lawn, where the grass turns into a small patch of woods separating our house from the houses in the next development. He’s waiting for me to smile at him or give any little sign that it’s okay for him to come closer. He knows I don’t like him to see the fairy coves before I’m done.

This one is just about finished. I’m binding the last curved pieces with twine and it will become the rounded ceiling. The walls have been done since yesterday. I made those from dry sticks that I glued together, and I’ve already decorated too. I put three candles around the entrance. They’re in glass jars I covered with pink and purple crepe paper that my mom bought as streamers for my eleventh birthday party next month. The seashells I collected on our last trip to the beach are laid out like a stone path in front of the cove. Then I used some of the new blossoms from my mom’s garden and stuck them in twigs to look like windows—not too many though because she’ll get mad.

My dad’s footsteps crunch through what’s left of last fall’s leaves. He bends down and whistles as he looks over my shoulder. —
That’s a fancy one. Quite extravagant. I didn’t realize we lived in 90210 of Fairyland
— he says, half-teasing. Even so I can tell he’s impressed.

I punch him playfully on his arm. —
I just wanted to make one that was special
— I say, tying the last pieces together. Then I carefully place them on top and the dome takes its final shape. —
Do you really like it?
—

—
It’s perfect
— he says. —
I couldn’t have done a better job myself.
—

—
Thanks
— I say even if it isn’t true. My dad used to help me build fairy coves when I was littler and I know he could do better. But now I like to do them myself. My dad’s the only one who gets to see them. I catch my mom taking a peek every now and then when she’s gardening, but that’s okay. I just don’t tell anybody else. I don’t want any of my friends to say it’s silly or anything. I’m afraid if they did, it would ruin it for me.

My dad kisses the back of my head and puts his arm around my shoulder. —
Come on, kiddo, your mom will come screaming down the yard if I don’t bring you back for dinner.
—

I stand up and shake out my skirt. I notice the bottoms of my feet are brown with dirt and know my mom will flip if I don’t wash them before I come in the house. We start back up the yard when I remember the note in my pocket. —
Hold on! I forgot
.— I spin around and dash back to the fairy cove. The note is a welcome card for any fairies that might move in and I leave it just inside the door.

—
All set?
— my dad asks, and I nod.

As we walk, I keep fingering my star-shaped charm necklace. It’s smooth and feels like good luck between my thumb and forefinger. —
Dad? Do you think they’ll come this time?
— I ask, and he shrugs. —
I mean, I know it’s kind of childish for me to hope for it and everything. But they must exist somewhere. Or they might. And if they really do, then who’s to say they won’t come here, right?
—

My dad smiles and pulls me so close my shoulder bumps into his ribs and I have to cross my legs to catch my balance. —
You know, Sabrina, sometimes I wish you could stay a kid forever
— he says. —
Promise something? Even when you do get older and grow up, stay this perfect for me.
—

My eyes light up and I smile.

—
Sure thing, Dad
— I tell him. —
I promise.
—

*   *   *

My bag rattles in the seat next to me. It’s stuffed with all of the same things that were in it when we took this drive last time, only then we were traveling in the other direction. My mom did the packing again. I watched from the chair in my hospital room. The only things she left behind were the stones that flew from the pockets of a pair of jeans she pulled from the closet. She knew what they were as soon as they scattered over the floor. She knew they were wishes that had yet to come true but still she left them there.

She doesn’t believe in making wishes.

My dad used to, but I think he believes I’m too old for them anymore.

I believe Alec and I can make dreams happen and that’s what I keep wishing on the stones I still have with me.

We’re a little more than halfway home when my mom wants to stop. My dad drove the way up, so she’s driving back. She doesn’t ask or take a vote or anything like that. She simply puts the blinker on and says —
I’m pulling in there
.—

From the back window, I watch the headlights gleam off the other cars in the diner’s parking lot. Their metal surfaces sparkle like Christmas lights. Red and silver, brown and green—the cars twinkle in the hazy glow of a streetlamp high above. The white lines of every parking space appear to be painted with snow. The urge to let myself get lost in the colors is overpowering.

—
Should we go in? Or just get something to take out?
— my dad asks when the car comes to a stop.

My eyes are taken over by the warm electric glow coming from the diner’s many windows. They are as large as movie screens. Some show nothing but blank booths and bottles of ketchup. Others are filled with people whose mouths never rest because they are either eating or talking, but never making any sounds that can be heard from here. My dad doesn’t trust me with those strangers and that’s why he asks about going in or not. What he really means is whether I should remain in the backseat like a dog while he runs errands.

—
We’ve been driving a long time
— my mom says, pushing her hair back so that she looks as if she’s just woken up. —
I think we could all use a rest.
—

With his safety belt still buckled, my dad half-turns and pokes his head uncomfortably into the backseat. —
What do you say, Breen Bean? Feel like eating?
—

He’s been doing that since we left the hospital—calling me the old nickname he hasn’t used since I was ten or so. I know why he’s doing it. I heard my parents talking with Nurse Abrams as they were filling out the paperwork to get me discharged. She reminded them that they needed to
engage
me. Using nicknames is my dad’s way of trying.

I wonder if he even realizes how fake it feels for me. He says it like an actor who hasn’t yet rehearsed his lines. In fact, everything about both of them seems that way. They don’t behave at all like I remember. I haven’t been alone with them in weeks and weeks and they’ve changed more than I could have imagined. I wonder if they are even themselves anymore or if they have been taken over by static, erased completely.

—
You want to go in?
— my mom asks.

—
Yeah, okay
— I mumble, and open the door.

Outside, the world is so different from what I’ve grown used to at the Wellness Center. The air is warmer and tingles with the hum of electricity competing for space with the buzzing bugs. On the road that runs alongside the parking lot, the rush of cars never stops. The rumble of their tires on the asphalt swells and I can almost hear their echo weighing on me. Already there is a smell of salt water in the breeze, even though the ocean is miles and miles away. It is all familiar and horrifyingly strange at the same time. I walk up the stairs and into the diner quickly, hoping to escape it all.

It’s not really any better inside. If anything, I feel more out of place in the diner’s neon confinement as we stand by the counter. My dad looks around. There is a sign that says we will be seated, but my dad says we should just take a booth by a window.

Walking past all of the people sitting on the red vinyl benches reminds me of wading through waves in the ocean. Each set of eyes is wider. Each stare lasts longer. I tuck my hair behind my ears and lower my head, sucking at my sleeve as I watch my feet stepping carefully across the checkered tiles.