With a final, parting glare, she went and sat beside Thea, her arm around her, murmuring comfort in her ear.
I pulled Rita aside.
“It’s because of the painting. I never should’ve bought the canvas.”
“I don’t know,” Rita said, biting her lip. “She’s been so happy. I think you were helping.”
“Maybe I wasn’t,” I said. “Maybe I made her worse. I should stay away. No more walks.”
Rita shook her head, her eyes on Thea. “I don’t know, Jim. I just don’t know.”
I didn’t sleep for shit that night, and as much as I needed to see her, the following day I didn’t give Thea her FAE. I waited with my guts twisting in knots until it was rec time.
Thea stood in front of her painting in the corner, studying what she had created over the last few days. New York City under a brilliant summer sky.
A masterpiece.
“How is she?” I asked Rita.
“Not good,” she said. “Worse, I think. She’s not herself. But she’s with her painting now. Maybe it will help.”
For long minutes, Thea didn’t move, and I wondered if she felt the painting was finished. Then she reached for the tube of black paint and squeezed a huge dollop onto the palms of her hands. With a small cry, she slapped the canvas and dragged her hands across it.
“No!” The word erupted out of Rita.
Oh fuck…
We watched in horror as Thea smeared black paint across her beautiful cityscape. Once. Twice. Black swathes across the perfection of her Empire State Building and the pure blue sky.
Rita and I broke from our shock at the same time and rushed forward. Rita took the paint out of Thea’s hands, while I gently guided her a step back from the ruined canvas.
Thea was crying, her breath coming in silent, choked gasps. She stared in horror at her hands covered in black paint. Before we could stop her, she raised them to her face and dragged her palms down her cheeks.
“Jesus, honey, no,” Rita cried. She looked over at me fearfully, confused.
I could only shake my head, slack-jawed and my heart thumping in my ears.
I did this. I did this to her.
We took hold of her arms and started her away from the canvas. A voice rang out from the rec room door.
“My God…”
Delia was there with Alonzo, staring in horror. Alonzo’s dusky skin was paler than I’d ever seen it.
“Delia,” Thea cried. She went rigid in my hands as an absence seizure made her stiffen and tremble.
“What in the hell is happening?” Delia said, rushing forward. Her blazing gaze swept over Rita and me. “What is happening to my sister?”
“Delia,” Thea said, before we could speak. Her voice was a watery croak. “You’re here. How long has it been? Where are Mom and Dad?”
“Jesus,” Delia breathed, then hurried to add, “Two years. They’ll be here soon.”
Thea slipped out of my grip and collapsed in Delia’s arms, sobbing, black paint smearing Delia’s hair and the shoulder of her suit jacket.
Delia held her sister tight, stroking her blond hair. Her glare was both murderous and terrified.
“I told you,” she said, her voice shaking with tears and anger. “I told you painting would be bad for her. But did you listen? No, not to me. Not to her doctor.”
Rita shook her head, tears in her own eyes. “I don’t understand. She was so happy.”
“Help me get her cleaned up,” Delia snapped. She kept an arm around Thea as they walked to the door, Rita following. Delia stopped and stared at Alonzo and me.
“I think it’s time we had a meeting with Dr. Poole and Dr. Stevens.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Alonzo said to the ground.
Pain wracked my chest as if I were having a seizure too. “Alonzo—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t.” His brown eyes were heavy as he looked to the ruined canvas in the corner. “Best go clean that up.”
I put the canvas away. Cleaned up the paint splatters. Stored the brushes in the supply closet. The next day, Thea was back at the table, markers and a sheet of paper in front of her.
I went to get a broom, to do the job I should’ve been doing all along, instead of interfering where I had no business.
I swept the rec room, working around Mr. Webb doing his jigsaw puzzle and Ms. Willis playing dominoes with her nurse. Mr. Perello spoke about the war to his attendant. All the while, I