I look at the bowl. The cereal is the color of cardboard.
My hand feels like it’s in slow motion as I reach for the bowl, like I’m moving through thick syrup. I try to take a deep breath, but my throat won’t cooperate. Maybe they’re pumping something in through the heating vents that’s changing the quality of the air.
I intend to select three pieces of cereal. I mean to bring each one to my mouth, to chew, to swallow. I definitely don’t plan to pick up a handful and toss them at Maurice, the spy who gave me away. I don’t mean to crush another handful beneath my feet into the carpet, creating another mess to punish Izabela for telling Dr. Mackenzie what she saw. I don’t intend to pick up the bowl and hurl it across the table, nearly hitting Dr. Mackenzie in the face. I don’t want to smile when I see the bowl smashed into pieces on the ground, the tiny littleO’s of cereal mixed among pieces of shattered pottery. That’s the sort of thing Georgia would do.
I wait for Dr. Mackenzie to shout at me, to tell me I could have seriously injured her. But she doesn’t move from her chair, doesn’t crouch to clean up the mess that I made.
Instead, she says, “I wish we had more time together so I could try to give you what you need, but this place doesn’t work that way.”
This isn’t how it works at other treatment centers. There, you refuse to eat and they lock you in your room until you cooperate. They threaten you with a feeding tube, explaining the process of sewing it to your nose with such detail that you know they’re getting sadistic pleasure from it and some part of them wants you to be difficult so they can force-feed you.
“You’re sending me home?” I sound breathless, as though I’ve been running. “Because I wouldn’t eat a few lousy Cheerios?”
I say it like the cereal is beside the point. If it were so unimportant, then why couldn’t I eat it?
“I’m afraid there’s no choice in the matter,” Dr. Mackenzie answers. “I was hoping we’d make some progress today and I’d be able to convince the owner to make an exception—”
She makes it sound like today was my last chance, a test I didn’t know I was taking.
“I’m not ready to leave,” I protest, desperate. I need more time. I have to make it to the house in the woods. I have to find Georgia’s file. “I’m sorry. I’ll try again.”
Dr. Mackenzie shakes her head slowly.
“Amelia, you need to leave the property as soon as possible.”
46Amelia Blue
“What do you meanas soon as possible?”
“Unfortunately, you can’t stay here any longer.”
“I’m sorry about the cereal,” I say, scrambling. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. It was like an out-of-body experience.”
Dr. Mackenzie’s shoulders relax, and she almost smiles. “You know, I think that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”
“That’s progress,” I say hopefully. “A good sign, right?”
Dr. Mackenzie takes a seat on the couch beside me. “Yes, but that’s not the problem.”
I press my fists into my belly. “What do you mean?”
“We were unable to complete the payment for your stay.”
Relief floods my body, and I release my fists, resting my palms onto my thighs. This is something I can fix. I can literallybuymyself more time here. “I’ll call my grandmother,” I say. I’ll tell Naomi the therapy is helping. She’ll be happy to dig into my trust if she believes I’m getting better.
I reach for my phone, but before I can dial, Dr. Mackenzie says, “I spoke with your grandmother last night.” Her face looks so solemn that I almost laugh. “I convinced the owner to let you stay for one more night to give you the day to arrange your travel home, but beyond that, there’s nothing I can do.”
“There must’ve been a clerical error or something.” I jump to my feet and dial my grandmother’s number. It’s early in California, but she’ll be awake.
Ach, who can sleep late?
I slide the door to the bedroom shut behind me. Much to my surprise, my grandmother sounds sleepy when she picks up the phone. For the first time, it occurs to me that maybe her sleeping habits are different when I’m not there.
I tell her a version of what Dr. Mackenzie told me. There’s silence on the other end.
“Please just call the bank, Grandma.”
More silence.
