“As I understand it, your cousin and aunt came to visit your family when your aunt was unwell. Your aunt passed away in your home, and Lauren suddenly became a permanent resident of the household. In effect, you gained a sister, and your parents gained another daughter.”
“Yes,” Elsa agreed. “We all loved her and were happy she stayed.”
“She was fifteen and grieving. She required a lot of attention from your parents after her mother’s death. Attention you craved for yourself. It couldn’t have been easy for you, raised as an only child up to that point.”
Elsa shook her head. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“Then you became ill.”
“Please tell me you’re not suggesting I contracted polio as a bid for my parents’ attention.”
“Of course not. I believe you were genuinely sick. But I also believe that after you were able to convalesce at home, you enjoyed the concern of your parents—who had hitherto been rather aloof, I’d surmise—and didn’t want it to end. I understand they threw a ball for Lauren while you were still in the hospital. Most children would have been jealous.”
“Dr. Stanhope, what you are suggesting is preposterous. I didn’t even know about Lauren’s ball until a few weeks ago when my mother told me about it. I would never pretend to be sicker than I was for Mother or Father’s attention.”
“I stand by my considered opinion. You dragged out your recovery to gain sympathy from your parents. It was understandable, you being a child, but that didn’t make it healthy. I advised them against giving in to it. In fact, I recommendedthey send you to a boarding school to eliminate the temptation for both of you.”
Elsa stood. “You what?” she gasped.
“With you separated from your parents, you wouldn’t be tempted to act sick, and they wouldn’t be tempted to reward your deception by fawning over you. We had to break the cycle, you see. Your parents argued with me, but in the end deferred to my professional judgment over their own.”
She sank back into the chair, speechless.
“And now your mother is planning Lauren’s wedding. I imagine that takes up much of her time.”
“Mother asked me to help her with the planning,” Elsa choked out. “And I’ve been trying to hide how I’ve been feeling from my parents, not advertising it!”
“Don’t you find it interesting that the recent decline you’ve described lines up with your mother’s new and critically important involvement in Lauren’s life?” Dr. Stanhope went on as if she hadn’t even spoken. “You might feel replaced all over again. You might even go so far as to trick your body, to trick yourself in general. Do you want more lumbar punctures? Injections of adrenaline or intravenous serum? As your current brace proves so ineffective, shall we fit you up with one that reaches your ribs again?”
Sweat pricked all over Elsa’s skin as the memories of painful procedures became real to her flesh all over again. She pushed herself up to stand on shaky legs. “We’re through here,” she said simply.
It had been a mistake to come.
Deep inside Central Park, Elsa sat on a bench in The Ramble, watching for movement in the tree canopy, but mostly listening. After that terrible appointment with Dr. Stanhope, therewas no place she’d rather be than right here. Recording in her notebook all the birds she spotted proved a welcome reprieve and distraction.
So intent was she on looking up that she didn’t notice the man approaching her until he was a few feet away. “Luke!” she said. “Do you come here often?”
A smile warmed his scarred face. Hands in his pockets, he shook his head. “My doctor prescribed this visit, specifically to bird watch. He said it was relaxing. And you were the one who mentioned The Ramble at twilight as an ideal place for that.”
Ah yes. She’d forgotten she’d said that. Elsa patted the bench. “I like your doctor better than mine already. Believe it or not, I’ve just come from seeing him.”
“You did? Did someone go with you?” He sat on the left side of her. She wondered if he meant to hide the scar on his left cheek.
Elsa waved a mosquito away, then withdrew the small jar of peppermint oil she kept in her handbag to repel the pesky insects. “Ivy’s busy with a class tonight, and I’d never ask either of my parents. The last thing I want to do is remind them how defective I am.” She shook a few drops of oil into her palm. “Want some?”
Luke held out his palm, then rubbed the oil she gave him over his hands and patted some on his neck. “Defective? What kind of a word is that?”
“Sorry. You’re right.” She capped the oil and returned it to her handbag. “I’ve been reading Linus van Tessel’s eugenics materials—those folders we found in his secret office. It’s a term I’ve read a lot lately.”
His face clouded with evident disapproval. “Eugenics is hogwash. The self-directed evolution in the quest of a ‘perfect human product’? Absolute rubbish. You were made in the image of God, and so was every other person. Once you start reducing people to measurements and heredities, you strip them of their dignity. We aren’t livestock. We have souls. I don’t buy that eugenics garbage.”
The muscles between her shoulders relaxed. She peered sideways at him. “Tell me what you really think, why don’t you?”
The lines in his expression eased into the hint of a smile. “Will you tell me what the doctor said?”
She did. The more she shared, the darker his expression became, until a vein throbbed on his temple. “I’ve met doctors like him before. From what you told me, he wasn’t listening to you. The army doctors didn’t want to believe soldiers were sick if they couldn’t see the injuries or signs with their own eyes because they wanted the men to keep fighting. But what was Stanhope’s excuse? If he didn’t know the answers, he ought to have said so, instead of telling you the symptoms are all in your mind.”
He took a breath and rubbed a hand over his cheeks and jaw. “Sorry. Tom says I can look really scary when I get worked up. He calls it Scary Face.” His lips tilted in a self-deprecating smile.
