Saving Meghan(72)

I told the doctors they could tie me up, put shackles on my ankles, staple me to Dr. Levine if that’s what it would take, but please, please, let me breathe some fresh air, let me get out of this sterile rat maze even for just an hour. But there was no place for me to go, or so they said. I kind of understood. This was a city, after all. But if they were trying to keep me from being anxious or depressed, it sure would help if they gave me some natural sunlight instead of that stupid lamp. And no—yoga and Wii tennis don’t make up for having zero time outside.

Like I said, I’m a prisoner here.

What looked like a big pile of presents seemed a lot smaller after I’d finished opening them all. That Jill Mendoza lady looked on approvingly, as if I’d invited her to the party. Dr. Nash hung out in the back, near this attractive young woman who got a lot of those kinds of looks from my dad. Her name was Kelly London. Apparently, this Kelly lady was the special investigator who could help us out, which explained why Mom pulled me aside to tell me she was super important and that I should be extremely nice to her, so that’s what I did. I smiled and tried to act not crazy.

Mom’s words came back to me: If you’re sick, you can get out of here.

We’ll see about that, I thought.

Despite this being the worst birthday celebration ever, and I do mean ever, there was this really strange vibe in the air. I thought maybe it was because I’d obviously lost weight and basically looked like a dirty stick mop, stringy hair and all, which maybe is why Mom came armed with a thermos of her chicken soup. But no, my raggedy appearance wasn’t it. There was something else going on, something that nobody was telling me, but I didn’t bother to ask. You spend enough time here, and you learn to lose your voice.

I slipped on the new Beats headphones and used my mom’s phone to listen to Pandora, which, to be honest, sounded totally sick. I was just getting into the good part of a song when this big, important-looking guy came storming into the room, all red-faced and super agitated. I turned the volume of the music all the way down but continued nodding my head to the nonexistent beat. I heard somebody call the angry guy Knox Singer, and I remembered he was the hospital CEO or had some mega job like that.

“Have any of you been outside?” he yelled. “It’s a goddamn circus out there. There must be a dozen news trucks. More! I don’t need to tell you that we can’t run a hospital like this.”

Dr. Nash and Jill Mendoza went over to Singer, and so did my mom, but not me. I was just bobbing my head, pretending I couldn’t hear every word they were saying.

“What’s the matter, Knox?” I heard my mom say. “You don’t like it? Well, you better get used to it, because those reporters are going to be around for a long, long time unless you want to relinquish my daughter back to our care. If not, I’ll keep getting more press.” Mom poked her finger at Singer like she was stabbing him in the chest.

“You do realize you are putting us in a very difficult position,” Knox said. “And it certainly won’t help your case with the judge when she learns how uncooperative you’ve been.”

“I had nothing to do with getting the media involved,” I heard my dad say, which made me sad. I mean, he’s always been the alpha, the big dog in the family. He’s the kind of guy I never thought would let anyone push him or us around. But that was all an illusion. Everything about him is an illusion.

“Let me be clear about something,” Knox said. “This attention you’re drumming up is a safety issue for my patients and staff. I can’t accept this.”

“Well, I can’t accept what you’ve done to Meghan,” my mom shot back.

This guy didn’t intimidate her. Not in the slightest. I wanted to stand up and hug her, but I didn’t dare.

“I want to transfer Meghan to a residential treatment center where she can get the kind of specialized treatment and support she needs,” Knox said. “She could even go outside. I think it’s especially important we make this move in light of what happened to Dr. Levine.”

Dr. Levine? I thought. What happened to him? Only now did I realize he wasn’t in the room with us. Where is he?

“Let me tell you something,” my mom said. “I will sue anyplace that agrees to take Meghan in, and all the news crews outside your hospital will move there, so I highly doubt any residential treatment center from here to Missoula is going to accept your generous offer to house my daughter.”

I managed to swallow the gasp rising in my throat.

“You have a dark soul, Mrs. Gerard,” Knox said. “And what you’re doing to your daughter is unconscionable.”

“I assure you, you and I share the same sentiments about each other,” my mom said.

“Becky, please, constrain yourself,” my dad chimed in. “Think about how this will look to Judge Trainer.”

“Meghan is a sick girl,” I heard my mother say. “She’s sick, and soon enough you’re going to realize it.”

I glanced out the window, looking into the hallway at the other patients, who carried lunch trays back to their rooms. It was noon, which meant in fifteen minutes Loretta would wheel her empty food cart away. I’d seen the menu that morning and was grateful to sip Mom’s homemade soup and not the sock dipped in broth that Loretta was serving for lunch that day.

I honestly couldn’t have been prouder of my mother. She was amazing, standing up against the CEO like that. And then I was overcome by a terrible sadness. She was battling for me, fighting doctors and courts, facing off against my father, coordinating the press, all for me. And what was I doing to help? Nothing. But there was something I could do. Something I would do. Yes, I would have to do it. For my mom, for me. I knew what had to be done.