that it can make you free, but if you look at the fine print you’ll finally see that it will leave you alone with your doubts and fears until it makes you feel like you’re going crazy. Sometimes it comes in and saves you. Sometimes it doesn’t.
And everything I’m reliving just piles on the pain.
It seems like the more memories that come back to me, the louder the voices become. But sometimes I think they’ll get louder until I discover every last detail of my past. Then they’ll go away.
During lunch the next day, I hum quietly to Evelyn, more to block out the voices in my head than to soothe her. If I hum long enough, all the noise fades away. But I know it’s just a temporary reprieve.
They’ll be back. They always are.
All around me, patients are either eating or just shifting food around on their plates. There’s a quiet murmur of conversation. A few patients, like me, sit at the same table for all three meals. The rest sit wherever; they’ll talk for a bit, but never long. Most of the time we all eat in silence; forever friendships aren’t exactly created at Fairfax.
Reagan sits across from me today. During meals, she hardly says a word. “Oh, will you stop the fucking humming!” she snaps.
If she could hear the noises inside my head, then maybe she’d get it. I just stare at her, and if anything, I hum a bit louder.
“Seriously, you gotta stop. I’m this close to chopping my ears off and throwing them at you!” For dramatic emphasis Reagan picks up her plastic fork and holds it threateningly to her left ear.
“Don’t listen to her. I think it’s a pretty tune. What song is that?”
Gasping, I lift my head and see Sinclair standing beside my table. Reagan drops the plastic fork and boldly looks him up and down. I can’t blame her. Wearing black dress pants and a white dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned, he looks mouthwatering.
“Hi,” I say dumbly.
“Hi.” Sinclair smiles and points to the empty chair across from me. “Can I sit down?”
I nod anxiously, feeling like a bobblehead doll.
As he scoots his chair in, his legs brush against mine, causing a bolt of awareness to shoot through me.
This is Sinclair’s third time visiting me. Warmth surrounds my heart. My guard lowers. My body relaxes.
“What were you humming earlier?” he asks.
I shrug, suddenly feeling embarrassed that he witnessed that. “Just a little nursery rhyme that Evelyn likes.”
His smile slightly fades but I choose to ignore it because my daughter turns her head and looks in Sinclair’s direction. She smiles at him, and when she likes someone, I like someone.
“Do you want to hold her?” I offer.
Sinclair sits back in his chair, looking shell-shocked. His face drains of color as he stares thoughtfully at Evelyn.
Reagan whistles loudly. “Don’t take this offer lightly, Tall Dark and Brooding. Mommy Dearest never lets anyone hold the baby.”
Sinclair doesn’t reply and apprehension kicks in.
“You don’t have to hold her if you’re not comfortable with it,” I blurt out.
“She looks content in your arms,” he replies quietly.
I paste a smile on my face to hide my hurt feelings. It didn’t occur to me that Sinclair just might not be a kid person. That’s okay, right?
It should be. But for me, it’s not. I want him to like Evelyn. I want him to see her brilliant smiles and hold her in his arms.
“I think she likes you,” I confess.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Does she not like a lot of people?”
I shake my head emphatically. “Oh yes. She hardly lets anyone hold her.”
Reagan spits out her water, spraying little drops across the table. “You’re kidding, right?”
When I dodge her question and glare at her she rolls her eyes and stands up, holding her tray in both hands. “As always it was a pleasure, Mommy Dearest.”
She walks away and harasses another patient. I take a deep breath and focus my attention on Sinclair.
He’s shaking his head. “Is that your friend?”
“Reagan?”
I nod. “I wouldn’t really call her friend.”
“Do you have any friends here?”
Before, I would have gestured to Evelyn and told him that with my daughter with me, I don’t need a friend. But that reply doesn’t hold up like it used to. I need someone to lean on, and to help me as I untangle my memories.
“No,” I finally say. “No friends here…but you’re here now. And you’re a friend, right?”
“I’ve always been here, Victoria.” His hand reaches across