Beware That Girl (28 page)

He looked up. A flash of annoyance almost broke free. She saw him catch it and produce a smile instead.

“Hey, babe, I’m just freeing up my Sunday for us. I’ll be right back.”

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

“I poured you another glass of wine. It’s on the credenza.”

“But I—”

He sighed. “Take the wine and wait for me in bed, my darling.”

“Yes, Mark.”

She couldn’t quite get a deep breath in. Olivia tried. She inhaled as deeply as she could, but her breath caught on the ever-expanding block of granite that seemed to be wedged between her lungs and the top of her stomach. Worse yet, she was out of Ativan.

She crawled under the immaculate white sheet and drew her knees to her chest. Olivia had been so hell-bent on feeling “real” feelings that she’d wanted to master this game, master Mark.
Stupid, stupid girl.
What she wouldn’t give to rewind and go back to roaming Chinatown with Kate, having coffee with the Wonders, going to a party or two, just hanging out together and bitching about everybody else. Long, rambling conversations with her dad were over. She had to keep it short because her father had picked up something in the tone of her voice. Her father…

Mark came into the room and yanked off the sheet.

“My father,” she said.

He got out of his pants, carefully folding them and placing them on the bureau. “What about your father?”

Mark was not in a good mood. Olivia gulped and then was afraid that he’d seen her do so.

“My father wants me and Kate to join him for spring break in Rio.”
A life raft.
“He’s got a place overlooking Copacabana. Kate will just—”

“No.” Mark walked over to the bed.

“No?”

“Make it
not
happen. Don’t arouse his suspicion, but make it go away. And don’t have Daddy jetting home because he’s all worried about you. I want you here.”

How could she possibly do that? How could she make her father understand? Kate would have loved Rio.

“Understand?”

Olivia nodded.

“Good.” He straddled her. “It’s time to make me happy.”

“Yes.” She adjusted herself. “I would love to.”

“No, not just in that way.” He stroked her hair with a caress so gentle and loving that she would have melted and promised him anything…before. “I’m growing a little frustrated.”

If she could only get one good breath in.

Mark leaned over and kissed her forehead, and then her eyelids, and then her cheek, and then he whispered, “It’s time, my love.”

“Why her? I’ll do
anything.
You know I’d do anything to make you happy. Besides, she won’t come anywhere near you.”

“I have faith in you.” Mark smiled, exposing one adorable dimple. “And if she doesn’t…” He kissed her. “I.” Kiss. “Will.” Kiss. “Tell her.” Kiss.

No.
She commanded a breath, and then another. Then, with a courage she didn’t know she was capable of, Olivia went for the bluff. “I told her. She knows already.”

Mark laughed as he settled himself on top of her. “Come now. You may have told her a
version
of the truth, but I’m sure she doesn’t know the whole truth. Nor do the rest of the staff. Nor does the admissions board at Yale.”

The shame was blinding.

“There, there.” He kissed tears that Olivia didn’t even know she’d shed.

“It’s time.” He pinned her arms against the mattress. “Deliver Kate to me.” He tightened his grip. “Do you understand, Olivia? Do you really understand how much I want this?”

“Yes.” Olivia closed her eyes. She had to please him or she wanted to? Which was it? “Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

Poor old Mr. Jefferson had to let me in again. It was 6:47 a.m., and he was not pleased. “They gonna work you to death, girl!”

“Almost finished, sir. And it’s my choice, really. I like to get in while it’s quiet. I can get ten times more done.”

“Young lady, you’re going to be wrung out before you even get to college. You gotta lighten up. Don’t let ’em get you.”

“No, sir, I won’t.”

I got it then. Mr. Jefferson knew I was the scholarship kid. He wasn’t pissed. He felt sorry for me. Just like Johnny. Johnny could tell something was going on. But nobody gets in for the real story, ever.
Nobody
gets to feel sorry for me. We’d argued about it all the way back from coffee on Sunday.

“Okay, fine! Don’t tell me. Who cares? I don’t!” He yelled at me right in front of the mangoes before stomping away. So mature. Mrs. Chen caught it.

Tough.

I was still working out why it bothered me so much.

I dumped my stuff onto Miss Shwepper’s desk, turned on my laptop for effect and headed for Kruger’s office. I had to will my feet to move with every step.
Let’s go, let’s go.
I couldn’t risk turning on the light. The castoff from the administration office would have to do. For the first time in years, I made a sign of the cross and headed for her bookshelf. The little gold bowl was still perched on top of the books on the very top shelf. What if I was wrong?
Please, please let the key be there.
I felt beads, coins, a ring and…a key!

Straight to the oak file cabinet. My hands were ice cold, my fingers stiff and awkward. Precious seconds were wasted trying to get the key in the lock. Done! The first drawer was packed tight with file folders. They were all alphabetical and all marked “Confidential.” I ran my fingers across the tabs. They were current students. I snagged on that for a bit. How many secrets do we have in this school? Fingering my way through the alphabet, I froze on
O:
O’Brien, Katherine. Man, it was thick. I didn’t have time to stop and examine it. I mean, I knew what was in there, but the knowing made my hands shake. I reached in and pulled out one of what had to be dozens of press clippings, reports and hard copies of Internet dreck. I shoved the clipping in my pocket. Why? A souvenir? I put the file back. I was breathing hard now.

Okay—
P, Q, R, S.
Sala, Salinsky, Stephens. Sumner, Olivia. Not as thick as mine, but thicker than most. I glanced at my phone; it was 7:12. There wasn’t enough time for a good look. Draper could be here at any moment. I teased her file up but not out and flipped through pages and reports. I didn’t know what I was looking for until I saw a name I recognized: Dr. Russell Tamblyn, MD, PhD. Olivia’s shrink. It was a letter dated August 12. I tried to expand the file enough to give me a sideways sight line; I couldn’t risk slipping it right out to read it.

Further to the attached report from Houston Medical, I concur with the diagnosis, the instigating events and the prognosis…

Something, something, something…schizophreniform disorder…first psychotic break…something, something.

My heart beat in my head. Psychotic?

An episode of acute primary psychosis led the patient to believe that she was pregnant. A full medical workup revealed that the patient was still a virgin.

Jesus.

Mitigating and inducing factors…the temporary psychosis could have been instigated by several factors: although the client continues to deny it, it is likely that she had discontinued the risperidone as prescribed eighteen months prior (first onset of possible symptoms) in reaction to the anhedonia. (Attached please find a summary report relaying Miss Sumner’s account of how the medication left her feeling flat and “without any decent feelings.”)

…the client’s recent bout of depression and feelings of dislocation might have been exacerbated by a virulent case of mononucleosis. The attendant stress of loss of school time, coupled with self-reporting of experimentation with “party drugs,” is a possible causal factor…in light of possible noncompliance with medication…

I fully concur with my Houston colleague’s assessment that the presenting psychosis has been well treated and is likely not to be a chronic factor in the client’s school term. She will remain under my care and is fully compliant with the maintenance regime.

Oh, my God, Olivia. I was running out of air. I shoved the file drawer closed, then had to hang on to it to steady myself. Was it better to be pregnant than crazy? Maybe. As sympathetic as the Ivies were to modern emotional issues, the word
psychotic
still had that hard thunk to it. Just keeping this kind of secret would cost her plenty. I knew what it did to me.

So this was the thing Mark was playing her with. This knowledge, these secrets. Bastard!

Get a grip. Who cares?

I did. I was in too deep. Apparently, there was still enough of Sister Rose in me that had not been beaten to a pulp. Olivia had given me a home, a dog, a life with open arms.

A rage welled up and took over, leaving no room for the fear. To hell with him. To hell with Waverly and Yale and scholarships and keeping an eye on the goddamn prize. She was the only family I had. I would see him burn before I’d let him destroy her.

The outer office door rattled.

Raw fear ricocheted right back, shoving out the anger and leaving it in a puddle on the floor. I locked the cabinet drawer as quietly as I could, grabbed the DSM-5 and left. Who could it be at this hour?

“Ah, my favorite Wonder!” Mark Redkin looked amused. “Good morning! Is there anything in particular you were looking for in our good doctor’s office?”

I raised the book in my left hand. My right was gripping the key so hard it threatened to break skin. I’d have to return it before Kruger got in. “Dr. Kruger said I was welcome to use it whenever, so long as I stayed in the office.”

“Right.” He smiled at me. “Still working on your sociopaths?”

“I have an intense personal interest.”

“You’re looking stressed, Kate. I’m concerned.” And I had to admit, he actually did look concerned. “Life is a game.” He crossed his arms. “I believe you have an innate talent for it. In fact, you’re the best I’ve seen. I wish you’d let me show you how to play with the rest.”

My stomach roiled. I would have hurled, but thankfully there was nothing in there. I hadn’t even had time for a coffee.

“Good morning, all!” Ms. Draper breezed into the office. She was wearing a brand-new floaty dress. They were still at it, then. Still timing their entrances. That meant Draper was still useful to him. “How pleasant to find the office not deserted. Mark, Kate!”

“Good morning, Ms. Draper.” I took this as an opportunity to sit at Shwepper’s desk before my knees gave out. “Thank you, Mr. Redkin.”

I spent the next half hour staring at the DSM-5. All I needed was to hold it together and not give in to the cramping that was clawing at my gut. At precisely 7:45, I made a show of sighing, shutting the book and returning it to Kruger’s office. I placed the book on her desk, but the spasms were so bad by then that I had trouble reaching up to the bowl to drop in the key.

The cramps didn’t disappear when the immediate threat did. I minced into the file room and played at reorganizing the next batch for logging. The inhabitants of our little nucleus in the administration office came in, called out greetings and chided each other good-naturedly. I didn’t leave the file room until it was time for class.

“Oh, Kate”—Mark came to the threshold of his door—“I have something that may aid you in your paper. I know our library doesn’t carry this.” He held out a book.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Redkin.” I walked over and took it from him, eating the strain with every step. “I really appreciate it,
sir.
”

I didn’t even look until I got to the third floor.
Snakes in Suits: When Psychopaths Go to Work
by Paul Babiak, PhD, and Robert D. Hare, PhD.

I was late for AP French.

Turns out, you can puke long and hard even on an empty stomach.

1:50 a.m.

What was that Plath poem? The one way back at the beginning of the year? The one that Kate got her through? The one about dying being like an art or something. She strained to retrieve it. It was important, maybe. Dying, living, the scars, it was all art.