Saving Meghan(85)

I figured we’d have to get new identities like they do in the movies. Then we’d need to find a doctor who believes us, a doctor who can make me better. But a question tumbled about in my head, whispering to me in the dark, roosting in my gray matter. What if I was leaving with the very person who was making me sick? What if the doctors were right and my mom was all screwed in the head? What if she was the sick one, not me? What if she had me so convinced I was sick that my body was acting the part, taking her cues and turning them into something physical? But those doubts were no match for my desire to get the eff out of here.

At first, I told Mom no, I couldn’t do it. Maybe it was all those unanswered questions that gave me cold feet but, honestly, I think I was just scared half to death. But Mom was smart. She knew I’d be too nervous. That’s why she came at lunchtime yesterday, so we could plan and prepare. She didn’t bother bringing me soup from home, and instead told me to get the hot lunch, so it wouldn’t look out of the ordinary when I did it again today, and also so I could see for myself how her plan would work. I paid real close attention to every detail she pointed out to me. I thought the timing was a bit tricky, but I saw what she was talking about.

There’s no easy way out of here. I couldn’t just slip out during a shift change. The doors to the unit were locked and always guarded. My room check happened every fifteen minutes. I had thought about pulling a fire alarm, trying to make my break in the chaos, but hospitals don’t evacuate. I found out during a fire drill that they use fire doors to keep patients safe without moving them. I honestly couldn’t see a way out of here until Mom came up with one.

And in forty-five minutes, we’d find out if it was a good plan or not.

I was on my bed, distractedly flipping through a magazine, when Mom showed up. She looked gorgeous in her jeans and black knit sweater over a white top. She also looked really tired. I had a feeling she hadn’t slept much either. Mom gave me a big hug. I sank into her embrace. When we broke apart, I checked the time on her phone. Ten minutes before lunch. Today they were serving mac and cheese (again) and salmon (gross), but I wouldn’t be eating. I would be leaving.

I wanted to use Mom’s phone to check Instagram, but I couldn’t do that. In fact, I’d never do that again, because soon I was going to be gone, not just from here, but from everywhere. Meghan Gerard was going to die. She’d be born again as somebody else. She’d have a new name. A new address. A new life.

“You can do this,” Mom whispered in my ear, stroking the back of my head. “I know you can do this, sweetheart. We have no choice, okay?” Mom pulled away so I could look her in the eyes. “We don’t have a choice.”

I nodded, showing her that stiff upper lip I had perfected as a youth soccer player.

“You know where we’re meeting?”

I gave Mom the address that I’d committed to memory.

“You take the first cab you find.” She handed me four twenties. I shoved them into the pocket of my sweatpants. “Pay cash. Don’t talk to the driver after you give him the address,” she said.

I nodded again.

Mom unzipped her tote bag. She took out a fuzzy blanket from home that covered a long navy trench coat I recognized from her closet. She removed both items, tossed them on the bed, and then showed me the empty bag. Using her fingers, Mom pried something loose from the bottom of the tote. She held up the edge of a false bottom for me to see.

“Holy crap,” I said. “You’re like James Bond.”

“Jane Bond,” Mom said with a wink and a smile. “Yesterday, I went to a sewing store and bought some Peltex; cut it to the same dimensions as the bag.”

I held the false bottom in my hand. It was sturdy, nonpliable. I brushed my hand over the dark fabric Mom had fused to the Peltex with a hot iron. “I had to risk seeing your father to get my sewing machine, but I needed the fabric tight. I didn’t want Nash to find it.”

“Did she search your bag?”

“She did. Even checked the pockets of the coat. Since there was nothing else in the bag, I knew she’d have no problem letting me bring you a comfy blanket from home. What harm could a small blanket do?”

Mom smiled wickedly. Nash was always there when Mom came to visit. I didn’t understand all the dynamics, but I knew I was important enough to Dr. Nash for her to keep a close watch over things.

Hidden underneath the false bottom was a small backpack. Mom unzipped it to remove two wigs, one blond and one brown, as well as a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. The blond wig was long like my hair, which would come into use later. The brown wig was short. In less than an hour, the police would be looking for a girl with long blond hair who didn’t wear glasses. They wouldn’t find her. Mom stuffed the coat, the brown wig, and the glasses back into the backpack, which I then slid underneath my bedsheets. Yes, I had bedsheets now. Someone, maybe Nash, had decided I wasn’t a suicide risk.

I jumped when a nurse, not much older than me, poked her head into my bedroom. I shifted position quickly so that I was sitting on the backpack, worried the nurse might see a lump and decide to investigate.

“Hello, Meghan, Mrs. Gerard,” the nurse said, friendly as can be. “Just making a room check. Is everything okay?”

“We’re fine, thank you.” Mom’s harsh tone sent the nurse scurrying away with a frown. After the nurse left, Mom checked her watch for the umpteenth time. “It’s twelve fifteen,” she said. “Go get your lunch and bring it back here. Hurry, hurry!”