Was I trying to be the perfect little girl they wrote about, longing for the fantasy of parenthood they portrayed? Did I want it as badly as they did?
“I really hated that place,” I say finally. “Other treatment centers don’t pretend to be anything other than what they are. But it’s like Rush’s Recovery wants you to forget why you’re really there.”
“I know what you mean.” Dr. Mackenzie smiles.
For a moment, the only sound is Milo’s show in the background. I take in the dishes crowding the sink, the scribbled drawings on the refrigerator door.
“How’d you end up working there anyway?”
“Honestly?” Dr. Mackenzie asks, and I nod. “They offered more money than anyplace else, and I have a pile of student loans up to here.” She holds her hand just beneath her chin. “And I thought, what does it matter whether the people I’m helping are rich or poor, as long as I’m helping them? Not that it has to be one or the other, but I got certified by working in a women’s prison.”
“Rush’s Recovery must’ve been a culture shock.”
“In some respects.” She smiles wryly.
“Do you think you’ll keep working there? When it opens again?”
Dr. Mackenzie moves her gaze from my face to the little boy in the living room. “My family and I live here, and it’s not like there are a ton of places on this small island in need of therapists. But—Rush’s Recovery never quite felt like the right fit for me. Andrew—Dr. Rush—his approach isn’t quite conventional.”
“No,” I agree. My mouth tastes sour. “It’s not.”
Dr. Mackenzie puts her hands on her lap, pressing herself to stand. “We better get going if we’re going to get you to the ferry in time to make your flight back home.”
Home.To the house my grandmother mortgaged to the hilt.
Dr. Mackenzie, Milo, and I pile into my former doctor’s Subaru. The snow on the sides of the road has melted to gray sludge.
Milo stays in the car as we dig my bags from the back, my mother’s notebook now tucked neatly alongside my gum wrappers and cigarettes. Dr. Mackenzie hesitates like she’s not sure whether to hug me goodbye, so I move to embrace her. Can’t be more unprofessional than letting me sleep on her couch, letting her son feed me Cheerios. She holds me tight, the wayonly Naomi has ever held me. I feel a lump rise in my throat, homesick for my grandmother’s touch, my house in the hills.
“I hope, I truly hope, that you find what you’re looking for,” Dr. Mackenzie says. “I’m sorry that Rush’s Recovery couldn’t give you what you needed.”
I feel the weight of my mother’s notebook in my bag. Maybe I’m leaving this island with exactly what I need.
68Lord Edward
My sister picks up on the third ring.
“Yes?” she says, instead of hello.
“Why did you send me here?” I ask. After the call with Harper, I didn’t fall asleep, but lay awake staring at the ceiling as the sun rose.
“You know why. It was to keep you out of trouble after you’d nearly killed a girl.”
She lies so easily I can almost believe she’s forgotten the truth. Perhaps that’s what happens when you grow up in a family like ours.
“I wasn’t the one driving that night.” For once, I sound as reasonable, as in control, as she does. “Now tell me, why did you send mehere? There are a million rehabs closer to home.” She could’ve easily convinced Harper’s parents that any of those places was better.
Anne doesn’t hesitate before answering, doesn’t weigh her options. When she speaks, her voice is clear, certain, and unapologetic.
“I thought if that place didn’t jog your memory, nothing would.”
I close my eyes. I can see Anne’s assured gait: never rushed or harried, her shoulders back. She doesn’t swing her arms or wave her hips. She moves precisely the way a woman like her is meant to, as though she’s balancing a book on her head.
“So sending me here was some kind of test?”
“One you failed, apparently.”
“Actually, Harper told me the truth.”
