the sisters. “Don’t take it personally. Delia’s like that with everyone. And thanks for keeping Miss Hughes occupied. How’d you do?”
“I can’t fucking believe it,” I murmured.
“I know. It takes some getting used to. It feels like she’s faking, right?”
I nodded.
“Her being high functioning almost makes it worse.”
“I think she had a small seizure.”
“That’s to be expected,” Rita said. “They’re called absence seizures. They don’t hurt her.”
“Do they happen a lot?”
“Not too many now. It used to be worse. When she first arrived, she was panicked. Seizures every day, all day. Screaming and hysteria, the poor thing.”
“S-S-Screaming?”
Rita nodded, not hearing my stutter. “The reset would hit, and she didn’t know what was happening. Imagine coming aware in the middle of taking a sip of water or taking a walk outside. Or waking up, not knowing if it’s morning or night. But she’s been at Blue Ridge two years now, so she’s grown used to it.”
“So she does remember where she is.”
“No, honey,” she said. “She can’t remember anything. Most of what she says is out of habit.”
“Does she remember you?”
Rita shook her head. “Nope. She doesn’t know my name. Or her doctor’s name. She eats in the dining room every day, three times a day but couldn’t tell you where it is. She can’t make her own way from this room to her bedroom. If you turned her loose outside, God forbid, she’d be lost within minutes. But she knows routine. We’ve been careful to build a sameness into her days, and that’s grooved itself into her subconscious. Consistency keeps her calm.”
I shook my head slowly. “Unreal.”
She put her hand on my arm. “I know it’s hard to understand, but the brain is an amazing mechanism with billions of outlets. When they’re damaged, the results can be random and fascinating.”
I didn’t find Thea’s situation fascinating.
Fucking horrifying, maybe…
Thea suddenly jumped out of her chair. “Delia!” she cried. She bent over her sister, hugging her tight. “I’m so happy to see you. How long has it been? Where are Mom and Dad?”
“It’s been two years,” Delia said. “Mom and Dad will be here soon. Tell me about this pyramid.”
Rita leaned in. “She’s redirecting Miss Hughes to the drawing to keep her from asking about her parents, the poor thing.”
“Does she do the same Egypt stuff every day?”
Rita nodded. “Every day.”
“What’s the deal with the word chains?”
“They’re extraordinary, aren’t they? The detail. Miss Hughes is a talented artist.”
“Do they mean anything?”
“Her neuropsychologist, Dr. Stevens, says they’re echoes of her life before her accident. She attended an art college and was considered one of its best and brightest, according to Delia.” Rita quirked a funny smile. “However, Miss Hughes sometimes claims that she was an etymologist.”
“A what?”
“Someone who studies the origins of words,” Rita said. “Dr. Stevens says it’s a confabulation. That Miss Hughes made it up. He thinks it’s her poor brain trying to create a history for herself because she has none.” She glanced at the cubby full of drawings. “Almost time for a clean out.”
“You just throw them away?” I asked.
“What else can we do with them?”
I didn’t have an answer, except that the art was too good for the trash. Thea was too good for Magic Markers and scratch paper.
Rita studied my expression and put her hand on my arm.
“She’ll draw more,” the nurse said. “And she’ll never know these are gone because she can’t remember she did them in the first place.”
I nodded vaguely, though I didn’t like it. Not one fucking thing.
“I’d better get back to work,” Rita said. “You’ll get used to Miss Hughes. Just give it time.”
Time. I had plenty of that. Years and years. Thea had a few minutes.
It’s Miss Hughes to you. Let her go. Do your job.
As I swept the rec room floor, my eyes kept stealing glances at Thea. My stupid heart ached the way it did the day Grandpa Jack died. Grieving for something lost that could never be regained.
This was Thea’s loss, not mine.
You sure about that?
I nodded. I hadn’t lost Thea. She wasn’t mine to lose and she never would be.
Chapter 4
Jim
Joaquin was right; Alonzo gave me two night shifts in a row. I met Mary Flint, the duty nurse who worked every night—a middle-aged woman with short dark hair and a pronounced nose. The biggest part of her job was dispensing nightly doses of medications from a locked mini-pharmacy on the second floor. Once the residents were out for the night, Mary didn’t have much to do. Every