Rita and Alonzo drifted away from the corner to work with other residents in the rec room. I busied myself straightening up but did a half-assed job, always keeping an eye out for any signs of distress in Thea. None. She was consumed. I doubted she’d have heard a window shattering.
And no reset. Holy shit…
“Rita.” I waved her over. “When was her last reset?”
“Before she came down.”
“That was what, twenty minutes ago? She’d have had three or four by now, right? But she…”
“Painted right through them.”
We shared triumphant glances. Thea painted for another thirty minutes straight and then Rita checked her watch.
“I hate to stop her, but I have to take her back,” Rita said. She stepped forward and touched Thea on the arm. “Miss Hughes?”
Thea froze and blinked. “How long has it been?”
“Two years,” Rita said. “The doctors are working on your case.”
Thea looked at the palette and brush in her hand, the smock over her drab clothes and back at the unfinished painting.
“I did this,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“You did,” Rita said. “It’s beautiful and you can work on it again after a rest.”
Thea beamed and her body relaxed. No seizure.
I slumped back against a wall as relief coursed through my veins. Happiness so potent it felt illegal.
It worked.
“Awesome.” Thea set down her paints, removed the smock. “Not too shabby, right? I mean, it’s a start. Not done yet, obviously. Not at all. But I can come back and finish?”
“Of course,” Rita said. “Are you hungry? Would you like a snack?”
She thought for a second. “Starving.”
Rita shot me a smile as she led Thea out of the room. In a few minutes, everything she’s accomplished would be wiped clean.
But she can come back tomorrow. Or have an easel in her room. She doesn’t have to stop…
“Okay, cool your jets,” Alonzo said, chuckling. “I know where your thinking’s going, but let’s take it one step at a time.”
“She looked pretty happy, right?”
“She looked a lot happy.” He crossed his arms, not quite meeting my eye. “You know I run around this joint trying to keep it from falling apart. Because that’s important.”
I nodded.
“But that’s not all that’s important.” He patted me on the shoulder, meeting my eyes. “You did good, Jim.”
The father-son feeling came over me again, and I crossed my own arms over my chest, not sure if I wanted to keep it out or hold it in. “Thanks.”
Alonzo coughed and looked away. “Speaking of falling apart, I called a guy to fix the hole in the supply closet ages ago. Better go see what’s keeping him.”
He hurried out of the rec room and I turned to Thea’s painting. Tall, rough, rectangular cuboids reaching into a sky of blue. I didn’t know what it meant, but there were no word chains, no cries for help, and that made the unfinished painting a masterpiece to me.
Seven a.m. the next morning, and the heat was already intensifying. I entered the cool confines of the sanitarium to see Brett Dodson leaning over the front desk, laughing with Jules.
“How’s the night shift treating you?” she was asking.
“Boring as hell,” Brett said. “I’m scheduled for three weeks. Alonzo’s a dick.”
I let the front door slam shut.
They both turned. Brett’s face broke out into a grin as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Hey, Jim. How’s it going?”
“Good morning, Jim,” Jules said. “Whatsa matter? Cat got your tongue?”
Brett coughed a laugh into his hand.
Fear, anger, and humiliation all tied up in a knot in my stomach, just like they had every day of my life when I was a kid. But I didn’t get this far from the high school bully bullshit just to have it start up all over again here.
“Cat got your tongue?” I said, dragging my glare between Brett to Jules. “That’s the best you got? You didn’t even stutter the t.”
“Hey,” Brett said. “It’s cool, man. I was just telling her what happened yesterday.” He turned to Jules. “Don’t make fun.”
Jules stared at him and burst out laughing.
He’s full of shit. They both are.
Inhale. Exhale.
“Enjoy your three weeks of night shifts,” I told him as I went past.
Brett smiled lazily. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find a way to keep them interesting.”
Thea stood in her corner, humming to herself. My earbuds in her ears, my phone in her pocket. Her hips swayed side to side as she painted.
“I’ve never seen her so happy,” Rita said. “These last few days, it’s like a light turned on. And it doesn’t shut off, even with the resets. It’s like…”
“She knows,” I said.
Rita’s eyes filled with tears. “God, maybe she does. When I think about all the times I’ve been busy and overworked… Delia said she loved The Office, so I plunked Thea down in front of the TV, for hours on end, when she could have been doing this…”
“She’s happy now,” I said. “That’s what counts.”
“Yes, I think so. Thanks to you.” She shook her head. “God, look at that painting.”
The rough obelisks were now the towering skyscrapers of New York City, with the Empire State Building front and center. A forced perspective, as if the viewer were looking down at Manhattan from a high angle, making the building facades sprout from the grid of streets like a bouquet. Yellow cabs and cars, like children’s toys, dotted the boulevards. Puffy clusters of green made up Central Park. The sky was clear blue, with a blazing sun glinting off the metal skyscrapers in perfect bolts of silver and copper.
It’s a masterpiece, just like Delia predicted.
“What the hell is going on?”
Rita and I turned. As if my thoughts conjured her up, Delia Hughes marched across the rec room in her navy suit, staring at her sister, who was still lost in her work and the music. For a moment, Delia’s dark, hard eyes softened. I could almost see her remembering Thea before the accident. Maybe painting just like this at home with their parents alive and well.
“She always wanted to go to New York,” Delia murmured softly. Sadly.
Then her entire expression turned stony, and she whirled on Rita and me. “Whose idea was this? Not Dr. Stevens, I presume.”
I opened my mouth to speak but Rita cut in.
“Mine,” she said. “I felt two years was adequate time to acclimate Thea to Blue Ridge, and it’s time she resumed the activities she enjoyed before the accident.”
Alonzo came rushing into the rec room, then stopped when he saw Delia. He smoothed the front of his white uniform down and joined us. “Ms. Hughes,” he said slowly.
“Why was I not consulted about this?” Delia flapped her hand in Thea’s direction.
“It’s non-medical care,” Alonzo said. “We are authorized to—”
“And if she had a seizure? Those are medical in nature, are they not?”