floor, unsure of what to say.
“Never mind,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.” The shadow of a smile flitted across his face. “It was a long time ago, Clare. We’ve both moved on. At least, I know I have.”
“Of course you have,” I stammered. “I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think I’d pine after you forever?” His laugh was forced. “I did, for a while. Too long, maybe. But I’m over it now. What’s it been, nine years?”
“Something like that.”
“Long enough. So why are you here? In the hospital, that is?”
“Oh. Wes. My brother. He’s being released today.”
Kenneth raised a dark eyebrow. “I didn’t know he was here. Is he injured?”
“No, he’s been in the psych ward . . . for a while.”
“Ah. I see. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Fine. Great. Sorry . So many meaningless words. What happened to the two of us?
You know exactly what happened , my bitchy inner voice told me. But despite the way we’d parted, it felt good to see an old friend right now. “Do you want to join me?” I asked, gesturing toward the cafeteria.
He looked at his watch. “I could probably spare a few minutes. The coffee here isn’t great, but at least it’s caffeine.”
“That’s all I need. Jet lag is not my friend.” We ordered our coffees and sat down in a couple of gray metal chairs around a small table.
He was right; the coffee was pretty bad. I made a mental note to get a fresh cup for Wes before I went back up, and to add plenty of sugar.
“How long have you been back?” he asked.
“Just a day,” I said. “Got in last night.”
“It’s a horrible reason to come back home. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”
“Not great,” I muttered.
“And Wes being released . . . was that supposed to happen before . . .”
“Yeah. They were going to pick him up. But I’m his new guardian now, so they have to do the family meeting with me before they can let him out, and they did some extra tests, and it’s all a little . . . overwhelming.”
“I can imagine,” he said. “And it’s been really . . . busy here lately, so things are probably taking longer than usual.”
“Why is it so busy?” I asked. “I especially noticed it over in the psych ward. I’ve never seen the hospital like this. It’s frightening.”
He frowned into his coffee cup. “There’s been a rise in . . . erratic behavior, for lack of a better term. Remember how I have an aunt with schizophrenia? And there’s your brother, of course. It reminds me of that, in a way—as if there’s been an increase in schizophrenia, but that doesn’t make sense. This past week in particular has been intense. A colleague told me that they called in the CDC a few days ago to help figure out what’s happening here.”
“The Centers for Disease Control? That seems a bit over the top, doesn’t it?”
He shrugged. “It’s their job to step in when the state health department feels overwhelmed or out of its league. There’s a staff meeting later today, so hopefully we’ll get an update.”
“What are the symptoms like? You said erratic behavior; what do you mean?”
He hesitated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but when I heard about your parents . . . well, you deserve to know. Some of the people who’ve been admitted in the past few days are completely withdrawn. Talking to themselves or to people who aren’t there; unable to remember loved ones. Typical symptoms of dementia, except these patients aren’t old. But most of the patients are more like . . .”
“Like Wes.”
“Like Wes at his unmedicated worst,” he admitted.
“So you think the man who killed my parents . . .”
“I can’t say for certain, of course, but it fits the pattern.”
I must have looked stricken, because Kenneth leaned in and said, “Hey, you’ve got enough to worry about. You just focus on taking care of yourself.”
We avoided each other’s gaze for a few seconds. Then
“Never mind,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.” The shadow of a smile flitted across his face. “It was a long time ago, Clare. We’ve both moved on. At least, I know I have.”
“Of course you have,” I stammered. “I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think I’d pine after you forever?” His laugh was forced. “I did, for a while. Too long, maybe. But I’m over it now. What’s it been, nine years?”
“Something like that.”
“Long enough. So why are you here? In the hospital, that is?”
“Oh. Wes. My brother. He’s being released today.”
Kenneth raised a dark eyebrow. “I didn’t know he was here. Is he injured?”
“No, he’s been in the psych ward . . . for a while.”
“Ah. I see. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Fine. Great. Sorry . So many meaningless words. What happened to the two of us?
You know exactly what happened , my bitchy inner voice told me. But despite the way we’d parted, it felt good to see an old friend right now. “Do you want to join me?” I asked, gesturing toward the cafeteria.
He looked at his watch. “I could probably spare a few minutes. The coffee here isn’t great, but at least it’s caffeine.”
“That’s all I need. Jet lag is not my friend.” We ordered our coffees and sat down in a couple of gray metal chairs around a small table.
He was right; the coffee was pretty bad. I made a mental note to get a fresh cup for Wes before I went back up, and to add plenty of sugar.
“How long have you been back?” he asked.
“Just a day,” I said. “Got in last night.”
“It’s a horrible reason to come back home. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”
“Not great,” I muttered.
“And Wes being released . . . was that supposed to happen before . . .”
“Yeah. They were going to pick him up. But I’m his new guardian now, so they have to do the family meeting with me before they can let him out, and they did some extra tests, and it’s all a little . . . overwhelming.”
“I can imagine,” he said. “And it’s been really . . . busy here lately, so things are probably taking longer than usual.”
“Why is it so busy?” I asked. “I especially noticed it over in the psych ward. I’ve never seen the hospital like this. It’s frightening.”
He frowned into his coffee cup. “There’s been a rise in . . . erratic behavior, for lack of a better term. Remember how I have an aunt with schizophrenia? And there’s your brother, of course. It reminds me of that, in a way—as if there’s been an increase in schizophrenia, but that doesn’t make sense. This past week in particular has been intense. A colleague told me that they called in the CDC a few days ago to help figure out what’s happening here.”
“The Centers for Disease Control? That seems a bit over the top, doesn’t it?”
He shrugged. “It’s their job to step in when the state health department feels overwhelmed or out of its league. There’s a staff meeting later today, so hopefully we’ll get an update.”
“What are the symptoms like? You said erratic behavior; what do you mean?”
He hesitated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but when I heard about your parents . . . well, you deserve to know. Some of the people who’ve been admitted in the past few days are completely withdrawn. Talking to themselves or to people who aren’t there; unable to remember loved ones. Typical symptoms of dementia, except these patients aren’t old. But most of the patients are more like . . .”
“Like Wes.”
“Like Wes at his unmedicated worst,” he admitted.
“So you think the man who killed my parents . . .”
“I can’t say for certain, of course, but it fits the pattern.”
I must have looked stricken, because Kenneth leaned in and said, “Hey, you’ve got enough to worry about. You just focus on taking care of yourself.”
We avoided each other’s gaze for a few seconds. Then
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