There was no way to hide the shock on my face, no way to think fast and come up with an answer as to why I’d suddenly gone mute. Dr. Maslow was Stella’s therapist? If so, which one? Neil or Debbie? It didn’t matter. How was I supposed to lie to either one of them? They’d both been there for me from the beginning—when my temper tantrums went from impertinent toddler to “we may have a problem on our hands.” Dr. Debbie Maslow had come to the rescue, going as far as to send people to our house once a month to record my progress. Neil and Debbie became like family to us, and Karen, who rarely showed appreciation, used to cry at their feet sometimes when they arrived. So, presenting myself as Stella Thompson was definitely something I was not looking forward to. They both knew me and that meant they’d been hiding the fact that I had a sister all along. And secondly, Stella knew about me?
“You okay?” The driver frowned.
“Yeah, I just . . . ” My heart was beating too quickly. Stella knew about me.
“Last time we saw each other you were panicked and said you found a sister.” She looked between the street and the mirror as she spoke. Each time she looked in the mirror, she looked more concerned. “Your dad didn’t believe you, but I do.”
“I’m scared to tell Dr. Maslow,” I said finally.
It wasn’t a lie.
They were serial prescription givers and constantly looking for new forms of therapy to whip our brains into shape. If I told them this, I wouldn’t see the light of day. They’d lock me in the white room and start tweaking my brain until I surrendered and said I was fine.
“I’m sorry,” the driver said, and I could tell she meant it. “I didn’t tell anyone what you told me, but it’s weighed heavily on me. I can’t imagine what he would do to you if you said anything to him, especially after trying to cure your being gay.”
So Neil is her therapist.
I licked my lips, unable to speak. My heart hurt for Stella. I’d pictured her in this perfect life, with a doting father and deep pockets, but that didn’t mean she was exempt from worries. They’d tried a lot of different forms of therapy on me, but never anything extreme. I wondered how they tried to cure my poor sister of something she couldn’t help. I glanced outside the window and focused on the trees as we drove into the iron gates of The Institute. The Maslow Institute was what was written everywhere. It was the official name for the four-hundred-acre mental institution. Sometimes, when I was still in the stages of driving up and hadn’t been here in a while, I could trick myself into thinking I was pulling up to the Ritz. Everything from valet drivers to world-class pools made up The Institute. The chefs were James Beard contenders and the bedrooms rivaled a five-star hotel’s. Everything about The Institute was made for appearances. Everything except the white rooms. Those were their dirty little secret, and if they weren’t, they should be. Everyone who walked out of the white rooms walked out different. Sometimes, it was a good different. Jayson Melvin had been cured of his fear of flying. Once he left, he was able to travel.
Sometimes, the results were devastating. Katrina Skulski had been forced to remember the grueling rapes she suffered as a kid and left defeated. She hanged herself as soon as she went home. I knew them both from group therapy sessions I’d attended as a teenager. When the people from church suggested that maybe my anger issue was just a teenage thing, Karen began to question everything Debbie told her, and in turn, question my feelings. Despite that, Karen stuck to the sentiment that therapy sessions were the only things keeping her from kicking me out. I had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that therapy actually kept me out of the house four hours a week. Whatever the case was, I never resented therapy or Dr. Maslow. Debbie had been a saving grace for me. If not for her, I wouldn’t have survived life.
The driver stopped in front of the building and waved off the valet who was running toward the car.
“I’m going to the café.” She drove past the valet and parked the car on the right side of the circular driveway. Once she parked, she came around the car, but I was already halfway out the door. “I hate that you always do that.”
Stella did that? I smiled. “I’m perfectly capable of opening my own doors.”
“So you’ve said.”
So I’ve said. I walked in the doors and went straight to the elevator, taking it to the fifth floor, where Dr. Neil Maslow’s office was. I usually got off on the fourth floor, where Dr. Deb was, but I tried not to think about that or fixate on the fact that I was about to try to trick a person I knew. Dr. Maslow’s secretary let me into his office just as he was finishing up his lunch.
“Well, don’t you look well-rested today.” He smiled wide as he stood up and waved at me to have a seat on the sofa in the sitting area across from his desk. “How were your classes?”
“Good.” I sat down, setting my backpack on the floor, my mind on his comment. If I looked well-rested, Stella must really get no sleep. “We talked about the Twin Study.”
“That’s nice. Dr. Nichols?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “Was she one of your interns?”
“Yes, years ago. She did her internship here.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a new one starting today.”
“Another intern?”
“Meredith dropped out of the program.” His eyebrows rose. “She decided to switch majors.”
“To what?”
“General practice. She was in the teen wing here and couldn’t handle it. You know not everyone can.” He winked.
“Yep.” I knew from experience because I’d been one of those teenagers.
I got the feeling Stella was as well. How had I never seen her here? God, I wanted to yell that question out into the universe, into Neil’s face, even if just to see the shock on it.
“Enough about that. What’s going on with you? How are you sleeping? Better?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat and thought of the driver. “I just . . . ”
“What?” He crossed his legs, twirling the iPad pen in his hand and clicking the iPad so it was on. “What’s going on?”
“I saw someone who looks exactly like me.” I bit my lip, pausing to gauge his reaction. He gave nothing away, but jotted it down. “It was at a party on campus.”
“Were you drinking?”
“No, of course not.”
“And?”
“And it was like looking in a mirror.”
“Stella.” He sighed heavily, setting the iPad and pen down on the table between us. “Not this again.”
“She looked just like me.”
“We’ve been down this road before.” He stood up and went over to his desk, picking up his keys and unlocking the drawer to his right. He brought a folder out and opened it. “There was one time at the mall, a girl wearing the same shirt as you. The girl at your new church who sat too far away for you to truly see her, but was definitely your twin. So on and so forth.”
He stared at the folder for a second before looking up at me. “It’s completely understandable for you to want a sister, or a mother, or someone out there with your blood. I understand it, Sweet Pea, I do, but I’m sorry. We’re all you’ve got.”