Y
ou poor thing,
Keely thought, as she pressed her lips to Abby’s forehead and waited for her former mother-in-law to answer the door.
You’re not going to recognize your own house.
She rang the buzzer again.
Come on, Ingrid,
she thought.
I’ve got to get going.
She wanted to get over to the Blenheim Institute in time to see Dylan’s doctor before she visited Dylan. She leaned on the buzzer, but no one answered.
Keely frowned. Ingrid’s car sat in the driveway. It was not like her to make a promise and then not be there. She turned the doorknob and opened the door, poking her head in. “Ingrid?” she called out. Abby’s toys were set out as usual. The lights weren’t on, but the TV was. It looked as if Ingrid were expecting them. But there was no sign of her. Keely walked in, cradling Abby. “Ingrid? It’s Keely. Are you here?”
Keely hesitated, suddenly feeling worried about Ingrid. She hadn’t looked too well lately. A couple of times, she had looked kind of pale and sweaty.
But she would have called if she was sick,
Keely thought.
Maybe she went to a neighbor’s,
Keely told herself. She pulled back the curtain and looked around at the other houses on the block. Lights were winking on behind the shades as twilight deepened. All of a sudden, from the direction of the bathroom, Keely heard a muffled, gagging sound. “Ingrid,” she cried. She heard it again, and then, the sound of the toilet flushing. Keely felt like rushing to Ingrid’s aid, but she hesitated, not wanting to intrude on her former mother-in-law’s dignity. She waited anxiously in the living room. “Ingrid, are you okay?” she called out.
There was no answer, but in a minute she heard shuffling steps in
the hallway. Ingrid walked slowly into the living room and held on to the back of a chair.
“Ingrid,” Keely asked, alarmed. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t think I can watch Abby tonight,” she said. Her complexion was ashen.
Keely frowned. “What is it? You look terrible.”
Ingrid shook her head, and her chin trembled. “I’m sorry. I hate to let you down. I’m just not feeling a hundred percent. I know you want to go see Dylan . . .”
“That’s all right,” said Keely, not knowing what she was going to do. Then she remembered Nicole Warner. “I can ask the girl down the street. There’s a teenager who lives across the street,” said Keely, thinking aloud. “She said she’d be glad to baby-sit.”
“That’s good,” said Ingrid absently. Then she gasped and doubled over.
Keely set Abby down and rushed to the older woman’s aide. “What’s wrong with you? Can you talk?”
Ingrid straightened up, clutching her abdomen with one hand and the back of the chair with the other. Her face was chalk white, and there was perspiration along her hairline. She gestured for Keely to get away from her. “I’m all right. Go on now. You’ve got to get going,” Ingrid said. “I’ll be all right.” Breathing hard, Ingrid licked her lips. Even in the dimness of the room, Keely could see blood on her teeth.
T
HE
ROOM WHERE
Dylan was spending his stay at the Blenheim Institute looked like a cross between a college dorm room and a prison cell. There was a single bed with an orange cotton bedspread, a desk, and, on the lone window, bars painted a discreet industrial gray. The only similarity to a hospital room was the private bathroom on the right as you entered. Keely stood in the doorway, holding a shopping bag. She felt her heart plummet at the sight of the bars. She struggled to keep her expression neutral as she looked at her son, who was seated, fully dressed, on the edge of the bed. There were deep circles under his eyes and a bandage at his throat.
Dylan looked up and regarded her ruefully.
“Hi, sweetie,” Keely said. She came into the room, bent to kiss him, and sat down gingerly on the bed beside him.
“Oh, it’s you,” he whispered in a gravelly voice.
Keely tried not to be offended by his tone. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, “up and around like this.” Keely wanted to envelop him in an embrace, but she could see, from the way he sat, that he was feeling diffident and fragile.
All in good time,
she reminded herself.
Give him some space.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Did they tell you I called?”
“No,” he said dully.
“Grandma got sick. I had to take her to the doctor. Didn’t they tell you?”
Dylan shook his head. “I thought you forgot.”
“Of course I didn’t forget.”
“Is Grandma okay?”
“She will be,” said Keely. “Just . . . a . . . real bad reaction to some medication she was taking. They didn’t say anything?”
Dylan shrugged. “No. Are you sure she’s okay?”
“Yes,” Keely insisted. “Dammit. I asked them to tell you.”
He didn’t seem to be able to share her indignation. “Did you bring my things?” he asked.
Keely sighed. “I brought the things that were permitted. You’re not allowed to have your own food. The CD player was out, but I brought your Discman.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“Did you see the doctor?” she asked.
“Dr. Stover? Yeah.”
“How was that?”
“He was okay.”
“I’m eager to talk to him,” Keely said. “I was hoping to see him tonight, but then, with grandma. . . Maybe tomorrow.”
“When can I come home?” Dylan asked.
Keely frowned. When she’d spoken to Lucas, she had told him everything about the social worker’s visit and her barbed innuendoes. Lucas had assured Keely that he would move heaven and earth to get
Dylan back home to her. But Keely was left with the feeling that it would take almost that much to accomplish it.
“Soon,” she said vaguely. “I’m not sure exactly when. I’ll know more when I see the doctor.”
Dylan nodded hopelessly.
“Honey, they need to keep an eye on you for a little bit. They need to be sure you won’t . . .”
“Do it again,” he said bluntly.
She was about to brush it off, pretend that wasn’t true, when she suddenly thought,
Who are you kidding?
“That’s right,” she said. “We were lucky this time.”
“I’m not going to do it again,” he insisted wearily.
“It’s not just you, Dylan. They don’t feel like I did a very good job of . . .watching out for you.”
“It’s not your fault . . .”
“No, it’s true, Dylan. We both know it. I wasn’t paying attention. I was lost in my own . . . misery and I wasn’t paying attention—and I could have lost you. That
is
my fault.”
Dylan did not argue with her, and a gloomy silence settled over them.
Keely felt as if there were an anvil sitting on her heart.
He blames me,
she thought.
He does blame me. He’ll never trust me again, no matter what I do. He’ll always remember that I didn’t listen to him. That he couldn’t count on me . . .
“Did you find out anything yet?” Dylan asked suddenly. “About the gate?”
Keely looked at her son and felt gratitude flood her heart. Gratitude at the renewable faith of children. “I’m working on it. I spent the day on it. Somebody is going to give me the answer. The more I think about it, the more I am sure that someone besides Mark opened that gate. He would never have been so careless. He wasn’t that sort of person. Do you know I found it open again today?”
“How’d it get open today?”
“Evelyn Connelly, next door. She was looking for a tennis ball she’d been hitting to the dogs and she left it open.”
“Figures. That old bat. Maybe she did the same thing that night.”
Keely sighed. “I thought of that. She denies it.”
Dylan sighed hopelessly. “You’ll never find out.”
Keely grabbed his shoulders. “Don’t give up like that. I’m not giving up. Not ever.”
Dylan nodded, seeming to have lost interest. “How’s Abby?”
“She’s fine, honey. She misses her brother.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he said, but a fleeting smile temporarily altered his grim expression.
“Nicole Warner is watching her tonight. Because Grandma’s sick.”
“Nicole Warner?” he said incredulously.
“You know her?” Keely asked.
Dylan shrugged. “I know who she is.”
“She seems like a very nice girl. She offered to baby-sit. She was very concerned about you.”
“She thinks I’m a freak in the looney bin.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sure it is. They’ve even got me on psycho drugs. Mood elevators. Sounds cool, doesn’t it? Get in the elevator, press the magic button, and up you go.”
“Who prescribed that? Dr. Stover?”
Dylan nodded.
“I’ll find out all about that,” said Keely grimly. A scream from down the hall made her jump. She jerked her head around as if to look for the scream’s source.
“Oh, that’s normal here,” said Dylan, a world-weary veteran of eight hours. “After all, it is the nuthouse.”
“They told me in the office that it was just kids on this floor,” Keely protested.
“Yeah, crazy kids,” he agreed. “Actually, it seems to be mostly drug ODs and anorexic girls.”
“You don’t belong here. I’m going to get you out of here, honey. I swear to you.” She said it even though she didn’t know how she was going to do it. “You just concentrate on feeling better.”
There was a sharp rap on Dylan’s door. “All visitors out,” called a green-suited orderly.
“What are you going to do tonight?” she asked, gathering up her purse. “Listen to your music?”
“I might go watch a movie in the common room with the other nut cases.”
“Don’t say that, sweetie,” she pleaded.
“Ah, most of them don’t seem to be too bad. There’s just a few screamers.”
“All right, honey,” she said, embracing him gently. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Whatever,” he said.
Keely gave him a thumbs-up as she walked out, but her smile vanished as she walked away from the room. She asked at the nurse’s station if there was any chance that she could still see Dr. Stover.
The lone nurse on duty looked at her blankly. “He’s gone for the day,” she said. “You can leave a message on his voice mail. Dr. Stover or someone else will get back to you. We have doctors on duty if it’s an emergency. Otherwise you can make an appointment. Is it an emergency?”
Keely stared back at the nurse, feeling helpless at her own impotence in the face of this bureaucratic wall.
Careful how you go,
Keely reminded herself.
Don’t make any more waves than are absolutely necessary. Is it an emergency? No,
she thought.
Not to anyone else. It’s just my whole world falling apart.