Before I Let You Go(69)
“It’s me,” Annie croaks down the line. I can tell immediately that she’s been crying. I clutch the steering wheel harder, until my knuckles turn white.
“What happened?”
“How is Daisy?”
I notice that she’s deflected my question. But it must be a good sign, if she’s been granted access to the phone?
“She had a good day today—one of the best she’s had yet.” I take a deep breath, and ask again, “So—what’s going on?”
“I can’t stay here, Lexie.”
I pull to the side of the road. My stomach lurches and I think for a minute I’m going to be sick. I close my eyes and breathe carefully—purposefully, trying to calm myself.
It’s like I’m living a flashback to the last time this happened, and the time before that—and those earlier times, I really thought that Annie completing rehab was the most important thing in the world. I couldn’t even imagine back then how much higher the stakes could actually be.
“Annie,” I say, very slowly and very carefully. “You have to stay. You have to complete the program. For Daisy, remember?”
“You don’t understand, Lexie. They are picking on me. Luke is such an asshole, and no one here likes me, and it’s just not working. The scar still hurts from her birth all of the time, and I can’t forget even for a second of the day that I’m here and not with her where I belong.” Her voice increases in pitch and volume. I let her speak, waiting patiently for the rush of energy to fade. As I sit in my car by the side of the highway, my hand is pressed over my mouth to hold in the sobs. It is too hard to talk to her when she’s like this. I know from experience that there is nothing I can say to calm her. “Would you just say something?” she exclaims eventually.
I bite my lip, and I admit in a hoarse whisper, “Annie, I don’t know what to say.”
“You have to help me, Lexie! Get me out of here, for fuck’s sake! Are you really going to leave me in here to rot like this while the early days of my baby’s life slip away?”
She hangs up then, and I open my eyes and stare at the screen on my dash. The call lasted less than a minute.
I go home and I ignore Sam’s repeated insistence that I come to bed. Instead, I sit at the computer and I Google for hours, trying to figure out a way to keep her out of jail if she did walk out of the clinic. There’s no guard at the gate to stop her, no one to save her from herself. Even as midnight passes, I’m still staring blindly at legislation that may as well be written in Greek, and I’m no closer to finding a loophole. And of course I’m not, because if a loophole existed, Bernie would have told me about it.
I wake up at the desk in the office. My neck is stiff and my eyes are gritty. I pour several cups of black coffee down my throat and call Luke at 9:00 a.m. the next morning.
“What the hell is going on? She’s obviously not handling the process well at all—why haven’t you called me?”
“Alexis, I have explained this to you. Your sister is here to get help and treatment. You don’t need to be involved on a day-to-day level. If anything of significant concern happens, I will call you.”
His nonchalant attitude is irritating, and I can suddenly see why Annie is finding this man’s treatment so difficult to deal with.
“Last night she was threatening to walk out of there. So I’d say that’s a significant concern.”
“Annie is well aware that if she leaves the clinic, I have to call the police and they will arrest her. She won’t risk that,” Luke says calmly, and the easy modulation of his tone infuriates me more.
“Maybe you’re not the right person to treat Annie,” I snap. “She said you’re making things very difficult for her, and you said yourself you rarely treat patients directly—maybe someone with more recent experience—”
“Don’t you see what she’s doing, Lexie?” Luke interrupts me, still speaking very gently. “Can you really not recognize when she’s playing you against me?”
I falter, my mouth still hanging open. I try to reframe this whole situation in my mind—to take myself out of the panic of her call and turn off my automatic reaction to the pleading in her voice.
And then I can see, as clear as day, that once again Luke is absolutely correct.
“Shit,” I whisper, and then I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m asking her to walk me back over her history, and she’s refusing to participate in the therapy. She’s not engaging—and I don’t believe she will make any progress at all until she starts to unpack the things in her life that have led her to this point. So yes, I’m pushing her, and yes, I’m asking a lot of her. But I’m doing it because she can’t leave this place until she really makes herself vulnerable. Otherwise she’ll wind up right back where she started.”
“Okay.” My face feels hot as the embarrassment of the moment dawns on me. I’m a doctor, for God’s sakes. I should have seen this myself. “I’m really sorry.”
“Annie is a woman of incredible potential—she’s articulate and intelligent, but that also makes her dangerous because she’s just clever enough to know how to manipulate. And as I’m sure you’re aware, addiction can make even the sincerest people expert manipulators. Listen, since we’re chatting anyway—I’m trying to convince her to join in some of the group sessions to bring her out of her shell a little. Even just occupational therapy would be a good start. A lot of our patients like to do crafts or sports, but Annie’s refused everything we’ve invited her to. Any ideas what might draw her out?”