Lakewood(49)

“I’m not drunk, guys,” Lena said, but no one laughed.

After two hours, Dr. Lisa said it was fine to stop. There was some soil in her hair, beneath her fingernails. Lena wondered what everyone in the office was doing, maybe it was like the Bethany situation and they were all having the day off.

An older man with a snow-white beard was standing with his arms crossed. He was giving Lena the kind of prolonged look that she equated with seeing someone with a smear of food on her chin or a chunk of oozy yellow sleep in the corner of her eyes and wondering if it was more or less embarrassing to say something. It was hard not to start feeling her own face, seek out the mess.

“Your last name is Johnson, right?”

She nodded.

He pursed his lips. “Did they feed you yet?”

Lena nodded again.

“Do you look like your mom or your grandma?”

“People say I look more like my grandma. But I think I have my mom’s facial expressions.”

The man nodded as if he knew exactly who she was talking about, not as if he was looking at her motor functions, listening to the way she spoke.

“Do you remember anything about last night?”

“I was dizzy. And I had a dream that I saw. . . .” She touched her chin. “What are those monsters? The ones that look like men, but big?”

“Centaurs?”

“Do centaurs live in mountains?”

“Oh—yetis.” The man touched his beard a lot like he was unused to having it on his face.

“Yeah. That. The yeti was driving a lawn mower. I told my grandma about him and she said I was being rude. People can’t help their faces.”

While she spoke, the man seemed not to listen. He had a look on his face like he knew her from somewhere and was trying to figure it out. Lena waited for him to ask how often she was forgetting her words. Or if she was having muscle spasms or how strong her legs felt. She noticed that no one was interrupting, their eyes were mostly on him.

“You’re close with your grandma?”

His question surprised Lena so much that her voice trailed up. “I was. She died.”

The expression on his face was genuine sadness. He took a step closer to the bed. “What was she like?”

Lena adjusted herself so she was sitting completely upright.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”

The kindness in his voice made her exhale. She kept her eyes on his face as she spoke, ignored everyone else. “I think the thing I miss most is hearing her laugh. Though I guess that’s not really about her.”

“No, it tells me a lot.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Lena Johnson.”

He turned and walked out, pausing in the doorway to gesture at Dr. Lisa and say, “Let’s talk again in fifteen.”

Most of the observers began to gather their things and followed him out the door. Lena sank back into the pillows. The little girl’s bare feet on the carpet. Her small hands on the gun. The way almost everyone in the room took notes, unfazed, as this girl killed her family, murdered her own life. Lena’s brain kept clasping the image of the mother’s head right after the shot had been fired. The sleep mask, her mouth open. Pink and scarlet and gray on eggshell walls and the charcoal pillows. Lena’s eyes watered. She hoped if they noticed, they would explain that away as another side effect.

After Dr. Lisa signed off on Lena’s health, Smith drove her home. He told her to get some clothes, some books. She was going to her mother’s house.

“Do you need help going up the stairs?” Smith asked.

“My legs are tired, but I think I’m okay.” Lena coughed.

Up in her apartment, everything was cleaner than she had left it. The carpet in her bedroom had fresh vacuum lines. All her dishes were washed. The tub and bathroom sink were sparkling. The medical power of attorney form she had filled out with a small note to Tanya had been opened.

She gathered books, checked to see if the other letters to Tanya had been found—they had not. She picked up her phone charger and some clothes. It wasn’t yet 6:30 in the morning, but Lena didn’t know what day it was. There are times in your life, Lena knew, where to think actively about what was happening in the moment, what had recently happened, would shatter everything. You could only focus on the small tasks, let them link together to build a chain to pull you through the day and hopefully toward the necessary distance needed to survive.

When she got in the car, there was coffee waiting in the cupholders. Smith said it was also okay if Lena wanted to sleep, not to worry about giving directions.

“You know, we don’t know why people need to sleep,” Smith said.

“Because we get tired?”

“It’s not that simple.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Sleep does so many things.”

“How are we going to explain to my mom why you’re there with me?”

“I’m not staying with you.”

“Am I kicked out?”

“Oh, no. No. You’re just getting a break. You need to recalibrate.”

Fog seeped off the rivers and roads, thickening the air. One of the things that made this part of Michigan different from home was how foggy it was. The locals said it was because Lakewood was in a valley. That’s why all the tornadoes avoided it too. Just the week before, Lena had heard an old man in one of the donut shops talking about how the government was learning how to control the weather now, because climate change was going to be a true crisis. His friends nodded. Lakewood was one of the test stations. No tornadoes. Blizzards miss us. You think that’s all because of a valley? The hiss of tires on the road. Rubber telling pavement gossip that shouldn’t be repeated.