break the pattern of revealing myself to her.
My phone rings, startling me.
I don’t reach into my pocket to answer; I’ll be out of here in two minutes and can call whoever it is back. Then the thought strikes me that it could be Thomas.
It rings again, the shrill peal cutting through the silence.
“Answer it,” Dr. Shields says easily.
My stomach clenches. If I pull it out, will she be able to see the screen or hear the conversation?
It rings a third time.
“We don’t have any secrets, Jessica. Do we?”
It’s like I’m mesmerized by her; I’m unable to summon the will to disobey. My hand is shaking when I pull it out of my jacket pocket.
I see the little picture of my mother on the screen and I can’t help it; I sink into the chair opposite Dr. Shields.
“Mom,” I say, my voice almost a croak.
It feels like I’m being pinned down by Dr. Shields’s stare. My limbs are leaden.
“I can’t believe it!” my mother cries.
In the background, I hear Becky yell: “Florida! We’re going to the ocean!”
“What?” I gasp.
The corners of Dr. Shields’s lips curve into a smile.
“A messenger just delivered the package from the travel agency a few minutes ago! Oh, Jess, your boss is so wonderful to do this! What a surprise!”
I can’t form the words to answer. My mind feels too sluggish to keep up with the events whirling around me.
“I didn’t know about it. What was in the package?” I finally ask.
“Three airplane tickets to Florida and a brochure for the resort where we’ll be staying,” my mom gushes. “It looks so beautiful!”
Three tickets. Not four.
Dr. Shields reaches out and picks an orange from the bowl on the coffee table between us. She inhales the scent.
I can’t stop staring at her.
“I’m so sorry you won’t be joining us,” my mom says. “Your boss wrote us such a nice note explaining that you need to work, but that she’ll make sure you won’t be alone on Christmas Day, that you’ll be going to her home to celebrate.”
My throat tightens. It’s difficult to breathe.
“She’s obviously so fond of you,” my mom says over the sound of Becky’s happy laughter. “I’m really proud you’ve found such a great new job.”
“It’s a pity you’ll be needed here over the holidays,” Dr. Shields says softly.
I can barely choke out the words. “I’ve got to run, Mom. But I love you.”
Dr. Shields sets down the orange. She reaches into her pocket.
I lower my phone and stare at her.
“Their flight leaves tomorrow night,” Dr. Shields says. Her voice is so precise; each word is like a musical chime. “I guess you won’t be going home on Friday after all.”
You can’t just leave someone like her, Thomas had said in the frozen park.
“Jessica?” Dr. Shields pulls her hand out of her pocket. “Your check.”
Without thinking, I take it.
I pull my eyes away from her probing gaze. They land on the bowl of bright fruit.
Then I realize the oranges are the same kind I used to sell every December for our high school’s annual fund-raiser: Navel oranges. From Florida.
CHAPTER
FORTY-SIX
Wednesday, December 19
You reminded me of April again tonight.
On that June evening just six months ago, she perched on a stool, swinging the top leg that was crossed over her bottom one, sipping wine. She held a frenetic energy, as usual, but her initial affect was buoyant.
This in itself wasn’t cause for concern.
Her mood often shifted rapidly, like a sudden rainstorm interrupting a sunny day, like a cold morning swiftly yielding to afternoon heat.
It was as if her internal barometer reflected the month for which she was named.
But on that evening, her precipitous emotional turn was more abrupt than in the past.
Harsh words were spoken; she cried so hard she gulped for air.
Later that night, she took her own life.
Every lifetime is marked by transformative moments, as unique to each individual as strands of DNA.
Thomas’s materialization in the darkened hallway during the blackout was one of these seismic experiences.
April’s vanishing was another.
Her death, and the words we exchanged just prior to it, set into motion a downward trajectory, a descent into emotional quicksand. There was a second casualty: My marriage to Thomas.
Every lifetime contains these pivot points—sometimes flukes of destiny, sometimes seemingly preordained—that shape and eventually cement one’s path.
You are the most recent one, Jessica.
You cannot vanish now. You are needed more than ever before.
There are two likely possibilities the facts point to thus far. Either you are lying, and you and Thomas have met or intend to