Unravel(80)

“That doesn’t warrant someone who’s been completely normal and healthy to be sent here,” I argue.

She smiles sadly. “When someone has the breakdown you had, and experienced what you did, it does.”

My lips quiver. I feel foolish. I feel ashamed. And that is ridiculous. “I want to go home,” I say.

Is home even home anymore? Will my parents let me come back?

“No. You’re not ready to be released yet.”

I drop my head into my hands. Weep or scream? I don’t know. I wait for the big, knotted ball to burst free from my throat, but nothing happens.

“What are you feeling, Naomi?”

“I feel like I just took one step forward, and twenty steps back,” I say into my hands.

“You think you’re getting nowhere?”

I nod and look at her, blinking back tears of frustration.

“I just want answers,” I say hopelessly.

“As much as we want it to happen in a flash, that’s not the way it works.”

My eyes flutter shut and I listen to her, feeling rejected.

“Tomorrow’s a new day.”

I’m tired of new days and the fresh new optimism that comes with it, because hours later, when the sun sets, it steals my optimism and it’s back to feeling so alone.

Mary opens the door. My session is up. Dr. Rutledge says she’ll see me tomorrow. She gives me one of her uplifting smiles.

I don’t tell her what I’m feeling or thinking. I just stand up and walk out the door with Mary.



39—GENEVIEVE

“Dr. Rutledge, may I have word?”

I lift my head. Dr. Woods, Naomi’s old psychiatrist, is standing in the doorway.

Tim Woods is 58 years old, with black hair that’s peppered with gray. Lines are forming around his eyes and, not surprisingly, around his lips. He never smiles. He is straight to the point—a factual kind of person. He’s at the end of his career, biding his time until he can retire. Maybe he once cared, but he doesn’t now.

It’s a fleeting thought, but I wonder if this career will siphon the determination out of me like it has Tim Woods. Will I too stop caring?

I shut the medical textbook in front of me and wave him in. “Of course.”

He glances at my book. “Were you busy?”

“Not at all.”

Tim takes a seat. I hardly speak to Dr. Woods so seeing him in my office is a surprise, to say the least.

“What can I help you with?” I say with a smile.

His fingers drum on the armrest. His eyes are somber. My smile starts to fade and my stomach starts to churn. Something’s wrong.

“I wanted to talk to you about Naomi Carradine.”

My gaze drifts to her file sitting on the corner of my desk. In the upper, right hand corner her name is written in black marker: CARRADINE, NAOMI.

“What about her?” I ask, my eyes on her file.

“I thought you should know that her mother signed her out of Fairfax.”

My head lifts slowly. I stare at Tim with disbelief. Did I just hear him right?

Tim watches me, his fingers steepled against his lips.

“What?” I ask faintly.

“As of today, Naomi is no longer a patient of Fairfax.”

Four years of college.

Four years of medical school.

Four years of residency.

Hours upon hours of studying. I trudged through all those years remembering why I wanted to be a psychiatrist: to help people.

Before I came to Fairfax I worked for a small private practice for two years. I would see moms stretched thin. A few teenagers down and in a hormonal rut they couldn’t get out of. There was nothing over the top. The opportunity to work here was by chance and I took it, anxious to show what I was really capable of.

I didn’t know what being a psychiatrist was until I arrived here. Until I took Naomi Carradine on as a patient. Every time I looked at Naomi, I saw a girl that when she looked in the mirror she saw nothing but darkness. I couldn’t ignore that.

“Why?” All I can come up with are one-word questions. I see all the progress that Naomi’s been making and it makes me feel sick to think that’s all been a waste.

Tim shrugs. “Her parents believe that her medications will be of more help.”

“You don’t agree with that, do you?”

“She’s getting better,” he argues weakly.

“She is. But not good enough to leave!” I explode. So unexpected. So unlike me. But my patience has snapped in half. “My sessions were going somewhere. She was so close to having a breakthrough. A few more sessions and she could’ve been released within six months.”

“Her mother doesn’t want a few more sessions. Time’s up.”

Dr. Woods watches me carefully. I stare down at my desk.

“I’ve barely had her,” I say quietly. “We were just now getting to the root of the problems!”

“We’re not against Naomi. We—”

My head shoots up. I pounce on his words. “Who’s we?”

Tim balks. “Me and her parents.”

I’ve been so focused on Naomi leaving that I didn’t even think how Tim even knew she was leaving.

“When did you speak with them?”

“I spoke to them just yesterday.”