Chapter 6
Kate
We’d made better time getting home than I thought we would, especially given the fact that it was rush hour when we’d left the hospital. But we’d made it to our apartment a good hour before I was expecting, and that meant a considerable amount of downtime before we had to go see the therapist.
I really just wanted to head straight for the doctor’s office and sit. Wait for as long as we had to, until he had a slot open.
But we both needed to rest. I just didn’t want to go home because I knew as soon as I got there I’d want to throw my ass on the nearest comfy surface and go to sleep—I wouldn’t want to go back out.
But I’d do anything for my sister and her wellbeing.
So, with her arm draped around my shoulder, and her feet not really moving with me, I basically dragged her to her bedroom. Her feet slid roughly against the hardwood, making the weirdest sound. As soon as we crossed over the threshold to her bedroom, I heard her feet slither over gunk and catch and drag shit behind us. But I didn’t care if her feet dragged the disgusting floor of her room. Served her right for leaving a mess all over the place.
I reached her bed, almost out of breath from lugging her through the house, and laid her down as gently as possible. I pulled off her shoes and grabbed a small blanket from the foot of the bed. I tucked it around her before sitting on the empty space just beside her.
I leaned over her and kissed her on the forehead. I smiled as I pulled back away from her soft, youthful face. I really did love her. She looked so beautiful and peaceful sleeping. I knew it’d kill me if I couldn’t see that again.
I sighed and stood up, moving my gaze away from her. I probably could have stared at her all day, relished the image for all time, if I would have let myself. But that was weird. I didn’t have time for weird.
I trekked across the hall to my bedroom and went straight over to my dresser. As I walked, I noticed how teenager-y my room looked again. I couldn’t help but think back to when I was a teenager. I had been nothing like Claire. I’d been so innocent, and happy.
The difference between my bright colored, butterfly-clad room and Claire’s was striking. They were like two separate worlds.
I pulled a pair of oversized black sweatpants from the back of my dresser. I didn’t even care that I had to go back out. I needed loungewear, and I needed it now.
After I changed into the sweats, I smiled, feeling almost relaxed for the first time since that morning. I couldn’t believe it: what had started as a pretty damn good day had turned into a really, really shitty one. It was probably the longest in the history of long days at that. Seriously, longest day ever.
Being in sweats helped. I already felt a little better, and I knew what would make me feel even better than that. With a smile, I traipsed to the kitchen. I went right for the kettle and filled it with water. Then I turned off the faucet and turned around to face the gas stove. It was stainless steel, top of the line. The entire kitchen was the kitchen of my dreams, actually.
Too bad a teacher’s salary would never pay for something quite like it.
That was fine, though. I couldn’t whine about it now. I’d made my choice — I’d taken my path. Business, money, the corporate world — none of that was what I chose. That was all Ben.
It was apparently all Ian, too. Ian had chosen business. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and how sweet he’d been to come to the hospital. I knew he was busy. Yet, he still made time for me — to show his support. I wondered how he might be in a relationship, although I knew it was dangerous territory thinking about that.
Did I really want to get so invested so quickly? I was moving across the country in a matter of months, after all!
While the water heated, I grabbed my phone and searched for the number to Claire’s therapist. I had to debrief the doctor before the therapy appointment. When I’d called earlier, his receptionist was screening his calls. I’d only gotten to speak with her briefly. According to her, the therapist knew nothing of Claire’s mishap at school. If I could tell him what had happened, it would save time.
On the third ring, someone picked up. It was a pleasant sounding woman, younger in age than the usual receptionist.
“Dr. Furhman’s office,” she said in the perkiest voice I’d ever heard. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been digging into the doctor’s stash of medication with that sort of chipper voice. I held my laugh in after my mind automatically shifted into stupid-territory. I was good at that when I was exhausted.
“I’d like to speak with Dr. Furhman directly, please,” I said.
“He’s in with a patient at the moment,” she said. “I’ll get him to call you back as soon as he finished — which should be soon. Would that be all right?”
I nodded, although she couldn’t see me. “That’s perfect. Kate Murphy.”
“And a number you can be reached at?” she asked. I could hear her pecking on the keyboard of her computer through the phone.
I frowned. “He has the number.” Unfortunately.
We ended the call. I’d known Dr. Furhman for a long time now. He was young — incredibly intelligent, and incredibly attractive. In truth, I could tell he had a little bit of a thing for me — or at least, he used to, once upon a time.
It wasn’t more than a few minutes before my phone rang, and Dr. Furhman’s name rolled across the screen. I smirked and answered.
“Hi, Kate. My receptionist said you called.”
“Hi, Dr. Furman. How are you?” I asked, trying to make a little small talk before just leaping into the nitty gritty.
“Better now that I’m talking to you,” he said with a laugh.
Maybe I hadn’t put my naïve teenager days behind me. I couldn’t tell if he was flirting, or being funny. Sometimes I liked it about myself, and sometimes I hated it. In this moment, I hated it. Because, whether I wanted anything to do with it or not, it would have been flattering to know that a stud doctor was trying to flirt.
I listened carefully as we continued to chat quietly. All small talk. A book he read the other day that reminded him of me, a wonderful new mocha latte that he’d tried at a coffee shop down the street from his office.
I didn’t stop him because I wanted to see if he’d bring Claire up, and bring up why we needed an appointment. I was waiting for him to ask what the matter was. He always did, after all. But the more we spoke, the more I realized that he wasn’t asking. Annoying. He should be asking about his patient’s health.
After a lull, I said, “So I called earlier to make an appointment because Claire was in the hospital. She tried to hurt herself today.”
“Excuse me?” he asked. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”
He seemed alarmed, and not just in a doctor sort of way — in a way that seemed like he genuinely cared.
I answered a few of his generic questions, same as usual. Whether she’d been eating, showing signs of increasing depression, and if she’d been taking her meds.
All “No.” Which was fine on all the questions except for the last.
“You need to make sure she’s taking her meds,” he said forcefully, as if I didn’t know.
“I understand that,” I said as I rifled through cabinets looking for the tea packets and sugar. “Just calm down for a second and let me debrief you on everything before our appointment later on.”
“Kate?” he questioned.
I wondered if I was breaking up. My apartment building liked to have shoddy dead zones hidden and tucked away in the strangest of places.
“Dr. Furhman?” I laughed. “Sorry if you’re losing me.”
“No, no,” he said, in a strange tone. “It’s not that.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just — you don’t have an appointment anymore.”
“What do you mean?" I asked as I rolled my eyes and reached for the box of teabags on the top shelf of the pantry. I knew he was kidding. But it wasn’t funny — not today.
“I didn’t know she was hospitalized. You just called to ask for an appointment,” he said.
“Ha. Ha.” I said in the most sarcastic, monotone voice that I could muster.
“No, Kate, seriously,” he said, sounding pretty damn genuine.
“I called you earlier and set one up.”
“And then Claire called an hour ago and cancelled it. I didn’t know she’d been hospitalized. As far as I knew, she was rational enough to make her own decisions on mental healthcare.”
“What?” That was all I could manage. I was stunned.
“I thought everything was fine,” he said quietly, and then the line went quiet for a moment.
I found the box of tea and the sugar, and pulled them both down, my phone pinched between my ear and shoulder.
I flipped through the variety pack of tea, trying to get my mind off the phone conversation I was currently having. Trying to calm myself down before I blew up. I scrounged through the box until I found chamomile. I needed chamomile. Anything to relax me. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but I had to try. God knew I needed it.
“She called and cancelled her appointment. Said that the appointment was no longer necessary. I didn’t know she’d been hospitalized.”
That’s who she had been talking to when I overheard her through the curtain at the hospital. That’s who she refused to tell me was on the other line. That’s what she was hiding.
“That bitch,” I muttered, just loud enough for it to be audible. Whether or not he heard it, though, I didn’t know. I cleared my throat, shaking free my anger for a second.
Dr. Furhman was quiet.
“Well, then can I make another appointment for later today?” I asked, dividing my attention between him and the tea.
“Kate,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I’m booked for the rest of the week. I was going to see Claire on my dinner break because my secretary had said you sounded so disturbed when you made the appointment.”
“There’s nothing you can do, even for an emergency like this?”
“If it’s an emergency, we can have her admitted.” His tone was that of pure displeasure. I could tell that he knew that was the last thing I wanted — or needed — to hear. That it was either get Claire help — or admit her into a facility with twenty-four hour surveillance.
“No. That’s fine. Let’s just make an appointment, and give me instructions on what to do in the meantime.” I couldn’t keep my tears from falling, but at least he couldn’t see them.
He rattled off instructions and medicine directions, and I responded, trying to keep my voice in a measured tone. I was good at that. I had perfected it over the years, actually. I was a master at concealing the anxiety and tension I felt. But when we finally hung up, I was furious. Claire had ruined this appointment and thrown a wrench into her recovery. I wanted to stomp to her bedroom and shake some sense into her.
But I knew I couldn’t, of course. I took a deep breath, trying to figure out a better way to channel my frustrations.
I found myself with my phone still in my hand. I tapped the screen as soon as I saw his name, and a smile grew across my lips. I knew what I needed. I needed Ian. Just seeing his name in the contact list was enough to calm the anger that had been boiling up in me. I let out a breath of air. It was crazy that a man I hardly knew could make me feel like this. He could make me smile when smiling seemed impossible.
I knew this was foolish. I’d be moving to San Diego in a few months. I really shouldn’t want a relationship — but I couldn’t help myself. The more I got to know him, the more I wanted him—the more I liked him.
I texted him, and as I did, the frustration left me. I was putting my feelings into words and directing them to someone that I knew would help me feel better. Hell, he’d already made me feel better. It felt more than good—it felt freeing. It felt like whatever terrible hold this day had on me was now fluttering away somewhere in a text message.
I knew I was texting a novel, and I hoped more than anything he wouldn’t mind.
After hitting send, I put down my phone and watched it for a second. Ian would probably text me back quickly. If he were anything like Dr. Furhman, it’d only be a matter of seconds before he did.
But the screen faded after a minute and went black.
I tapped my fingers on the top of the table. I didn’t know why I’d expected such an instantaneous response. I sighed, and rested my chin in my palms until my teakettle whistled. I jumped, caught off-guard by how loud it was.
I bent down to grab hold of the silver tray my dad kept on the bottom shelf of his drinks cart. It was beautiful, and as my fingers grazed it, a slew of memories rushed to the forefront of my mind. I remembered him and Mom using it to entertain guests over the years.
I remembered that Mom had even let me use it during my tea parties as a little girl; she said that it — along with all the other silver we had — would one day be mine.
It made a clanking noise as I pulled it out of the shelf. With pursed lips, I examined it. I couldn't help but admire how beautiful it was. It was so well kept — after all the polishing that’d been done to it over the years — that I could still see myself in the reflection. I hated thinking of Mom. Especially memories that should be happy ones.
Dammit, she should be here. She should be comforting Claire, comforting me. If I was being completely honest with myself, part of me blamed Mom for what Claire was going through. If she hadn’t left, maybe Claire would have never felt depressed or anxious or not good enough.
No. This was as much Mom’s fault as Dad’s, maybe more. The sad thing was, I was really all Claire had as far as a supportive, loving comforter. And that was more than I had. I should have had a mother for that. I shouldn’t be relying on a man I’ve known barely a week to assuage my fears and calm my demons.
After I finished making my tea, I placed it and a small plate of cookies onto the silver tray and then I carried everything over to the table. Although I tried not to, I kept glancing over at my phone. Ian still hadn’t texted me back. I thought for sure he would have by now.
I sighed as I bobbed my tea bag up and down in the steaming water.
I wanted to drink my tea and forget about texts and depression and hospitals, and it worked for a minute or two. But it didn’t stick. My phone was there taunting me with its silence, and I couldn’t help but glance at it again and again and wish more than anything he’d text back.
When I finished my tea, I put everything away, and he still hadn’t texted me back.
I laughed and shrugged it off. I wanted to tell myself I was being ridiculous and even a little clingy. After all, Ian had said he needed to get back to work when he left the hospital. Whatever it was that he had to rush off to had to have been important, because, otherwise, I don’t believe he would have left.
As I went to throw away the tea wrapper, I noticed the label. “Soothing blend of chamomile and herbs.” It sounded exactly what I needed—to be soothed and calm the hell down. So far, though, it hadn’t worked. The one thing I knew would work was hearing back from Ian. In the meantime, I needed to try to relax. Because once Claire woke up, there was going to be hell to pay for her cancelling that appointment.