Saving Meghan(86)

The urgency in her voice sent me darting out into the hall with the other inmates—or what the doctors here called patients. I got in line behind a suicidal girl, another with an eating disorder, and this schizophrenic chick who I think tried to drown her sister in the bathtub. Those three always whispered to each other whenever I passed them in the halls. They didn’t like that I was the floor celebrity. They were jealous the local news was still hot on the Meghan Gerard story—the only kidnap victim who wasn’t actually missing. Soon I wouldn’t have to think about them. I wouldn’t have to think about anybody here.

I listened to Loretta, who must have said a dozen times that the right side of the cart was the mac and cheese, and the left was for the salmon. The mac and cheese side went the fastest, but I got the tray with the fish to keep to the plan. I paid close attention to the cabinet space underneath the cart, which kept growing larger as more trays were taken away. Once all the trays were gone, Loretta would wheel the cart away, only to return an hour later to collect trays from each room. It was an efficient process, but more important, a predictable one.

I brought the food back to my room. The salmon smelled disgusting. Mom put the tray on the side table and removed all the covers. Then, she mashed the salmon with a fork to make it look like I’d eaten some of it. She took a few bites of the mashed potato and peas to enhance the illusion.

“Don’t forget the shower,” Mom said.

“Right,” I said, glad she’d reminded me. My nerves made it hard to keep all the details straight.

Mom checked the time on her phone. Ten minutes past twelve. Five minutes to go.

“How long is the lunch line?” she asked, tension hardening her face.

“Probably almost done by now,” I said. My legs shook like Jell-O.

“Go check,” Mom said.

I poked my head out of my room. There was only a handful of kids waiting for meals. When the last tray was gone, Loretta would be, too. I told Mom she had to hurry. Mom gave me another hug.

“You can do this,” she said, kissing my forehead softly. “You can do it.”

Mom stepped out into the hall. I went to the bed to get the backpack out from under my sheets.

There was no turning back now.





CHAPTER 40





BECKY


There was fire in Becky’s eyes as she stormed down the hall, channeling all the anger and resentment she’d built up since the start of Meghan’s forced confinement. Behind her fierce exterior lurked fear, uncertainty, and doubt in spades. There were holes in her plan—gaping ones, at that—and she’d yet to figure out how to close them. But the other option was even more distressing. If Zach Fisher had done anything, it was to convince Becky that Meghan needed to resume her treatment ASAP.

Yes, it would take time to sort everything out—plug the holes, so to speak—but at least it would happen on her timetable, not the court’s. No plan was perfect, Becky had decided. Even if the publicity would make it impossible to find another doctor to treat Meghan, she could, at a minimum, mix a mito cocktail herself. The ingredients were listed online, and these days there were plenty of sources for buying most any vitamin or supplement. She was confident, though not entirely certain there’d be a way to get a compounding pharmacist to fill in the gaps in her knowledge.

Again, no plan was perfect. But doing nothing was not an option for her or, more important, for Meghan. Every day she’d be locked in here, getting sicker, for months, until she hit the same point of no return that Zach’s son, Will, had reached. Even if the court eventually released Meghan back into her custody, there’d be Carl to contend with. She highly doubted he’d support her taking any kind of supplements, let alone one as complex and pricey as the mito cocktail. The only way to save her daughter, Becky believed with every fiber of her being, was to go at it alone.

Even if alone meant far from perfect.

She came to an abrupt stop in front of Loretta’s food cart, her canvas sneakers squeaking slightly on the linoleum floor.

“May I speak with you a moment?” Becky said in a clipped tone. She folded her arms across her chest, deepening her sour expression.

Loretta, who had a sweet and innocent face, looked utterly confused. She glanced around, perhaps seeking approval before taking direction from the parent of a patient, but the nurses were down the hall.

Nash was nowhere to be seen. She’d already done her duty by searching Becky’s tote bag for contraband. Jill Mendoza, who had to personally approve each of Becky’s visitation requests, had been present while Nash conducted her bag check.

Mendoza had arranged for Becky and Meghan to have lunch together in A Wrinkle in Time, but Becky had put her foot down.

“Could I please, please just have some time alone with my daughter in her room?” Becky had asked Mendoza. “We need privacy to talk about what’s going on between Meghan’s father and me. We’re getting divorced, and it’s very hard on her. She blames herself.”

Mendoza and Nash held a sidebar conversation. Would they let her be alone with Meghan in her bedroom? The entire plan hinged on that happening. While awaiting a decision, Becky focused on the sounds of the hospital floor: the whimpers, grunts, and strange noises Meghan often complained about.

At one level, Becky understood this was a place of healing—sick people really did get better here. But her daughter would not be one of them. Meghan’s illness was something else entirely, something only Zach Fisher understood. Now they’d have to find a new doctor, one like Zach but in California, where they were headed. Nash and Mendoza had pushed Becky toward the ledge, but Kelly London was the real tipping point. That bitch—and Carl. Screw them both, Becky thought.